Ooh, Amy. Nice intimate touch, there.

Here's mine. Not cohering so much, but actually written, so I'm counting that a plus.

Bedroom Window View

Having to push the Berchtesgaden gasthaus beds together was compensated for by fresh bread and coffee on the shoebox-sized balcony, gazing at our personal Alp.

On Thomas Mann Strasse, military housing with windows like dovecotes reflected our own across the school playground; construction cranes claimed the horizon all the time we lived there.

When we moved home, we could see Pilot Mountain from our window, on clear days, until we switched bedrooms so we could divide the large one for the kids. Our new room's high windows were full of the tops of pines, morning sun, rising moon, and starshine.

drabble

Koogie stopped purring. Shadow raised his head and stared at the window. Faint crunching of old leaves through the open window.

The crunching went past, paused before the next window, came back. Stopped.

My hand wrapped around Present's hilt before I thought. The top of a baseball cap appeared just above the window sill.

Three feet of steel slid silently out of the wooden scabbard. "FYI," I said in a normal voice. "I'm one of the weird people who play with swords in the front yard. You may have heard of us. There's nothing you want in here."

Koogie hissed and Shadow growled. The baseball cap crunched quickly away.

Present stayed naked and within reach the rest of the night.

Nice ones. Damn, this is a good topic.

Marin: Home from the Road

A September night in the hills.

Outside the window, there are trees: redwood, eucalyptus, manzanita with their spectacular peeling bark. Their roots start low, soaring like mythology. If tonight wasn't moonless, I'd see patterns as the night breeze moved them.

Things call out: owls, a hawk, a harsh scree-EE! and then scurrying, down in the garden. If I got out of bed, I'd see one of the cats, chasing some small warm food into deeper shadow.

I ignore all of it. It's your first night back, and I have my face buried against you. Tonight is about the view inside.

Soooo, I have a question: do any of you know anything about Anderson Grinberg Literary Management? [link]

I don't, Jilli, but I could ask Marlene. Wassup?

I don't, Jilli, but I could ask Marlene. Wassup?

One of their people contacted me and asked if I had ever thought about doing a book based off Gothic Charm School.

That sounds like serendipity to me, and serendipity is the nicest grease imaginable on the wheels of publishing.

Hang on, and I'll email Marlene about it.

Hang on, and I'll email Marlene about it.

Yay! Thank you!

Email sent. She's back east, so I may not hear until morning, but she's my bestest friend and good as gold about this kind of thing. I'll let you know as soon as she gets back to me.

Besides, she now has three versions of "Restless" in her inbox and as of this morning, had 40pp of "London Calling" left to read, so I'm expecting a whole shitload of stuff from her tomorrow.

Looking at the agency's client list, they've got a couple of solid clients in there. Did they give you any idea how they'd found your site? Is one of them a good gothy fangurl? Because damn, that would be one major and beautifful serendipity.

Looking at the agency's client list, they've got a couple of solid clients in there. Did they give you any idea how they'd found your site? Is one of them a good gothy fangurl? Because damn, that would be one major and beautifful serendipity.

The person who contacted me said they'd been reading my archives. I haven't replied to them yet, because I'm not done boggling, and I'm afraid any reply would be "OMGSqueee! You want to talk about publishing my stuff? omg omg omg!", which is not so much with the calm, collected, or professional.