Not yet...will get to that one next week, I hope. Have not been in quite right frame of mind for it, but one good thing about being not...monogamous, project-wise, is that there is something for every occasion. Your excitement is flattering and hopefully inspiring too. Maybe I'll wander around and call myself the female Ellroy. Ha...now imagining an ouevre filled with male prostitutes getting bitch-slapped, is it misandry if I find that a funny thought?

Ha...now imagining an ouevre filled with male prostitutes getting bitch-slapped, is it misandry if I find that a funny thought?

If it's misandry, we're both going to hell, because it made me snort.

cool new tag...there's this terrific essay in The Wire companion book by GP, called "The Writer's Ambition" and ironically it has ended up to be the part of the book I look at most often. He writes about how people give him so much credit and acclaim for writing about poor folks, and how he doesn't really want to take it all because his predominant thought about his work is my tag.In re the Ellroy image, Deb, what do you want to bet that I would be painted as bigger hater than JE, just because hatred of women can be kind of noir "tradition" of a sort, even though women have always succeeded in it(Leigh Brackett, anyone?)

Drabble: Lost in translation

Writing about love is what I do. What I’m supposed to do, anyway. In a romance, that’s the name of the game. And that’s where I always fear I’ve failed, that I can’t truly explain what it means to open your heart to another person.

Because love is a unique experience – there is no single language to express it. There are gazes, nicknames, a gentle touch from behind while you wash the dishes. Breathing each other in, carrying the memory of a smile or a word.

Surrender. Companionship. Passion. Joy. Completion. Can the truly visceral be translated to the page?

AmyLiz, I just teared up a little. Very nice.

Interesting thought, AmyLiz. Never thought about that. Maybe cause my heart's a little shriveled raisin.

Amy, I have my own thoughts on that - want to mull over it a bit.

Thanks, Ailleann.

Maybe cause my heart's a little shriveled raisin.

I think it's bigger than you think it is.

want to mull over it a bit

I'd love to hear it -- this just came to me today when I was thinking about the topic, so I blurted it out in drabble form.

Maybe cause my heart's a little shriveled raisin.

I think it's bigger than you think it is.

If she's not careful she could foment a campaign to make her heart grow three sizes in one day.

Amy, it's really along the lines of how I tend to mentally separate out romances from love stories.

Because I do. I see them as entirely separate things, different realities entirely. Romance, in my head, is all about the trappings: everything from the initial meeting of the eyes through the rampant sex.

Love, written or lived, strikes me as something entirely different. There's nothing romantic about holding the man you love with his head in your lap while he vomits and hallucinates.

How does any of that get translated? It's what I've been trying to do with Kinkaid, and the only reason I can is to write his POV, first person.

I don't know you'd parse it out - it's a fascinating question. Do you separate that out? How do other writers feel about it?