Saffron: But we've been wed. Aren't we to become one flesh? Mal: Well, no, uh... We're still two fleshes here, and I think that your flesh ought to sleep somewhere else.

'Our Mrs. Reynolds'


The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...  

A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.


deborah grabien - Jan 27, 2006 9:54:14 am PST #5297 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

Ugh. I feel your pain. Next up: the long synopsis for London Calling. I hate long synopses. Makes me want to yell at the editor: I took the time to wriet the damned book, howsabout you get off your ass and READ the damned book...?


Atropa - Jan 27, 2006 6:21:37 pm PST #5298 of 10001
The artist formerly associated with cupcakes.

For the bedroom window view topic:

From the bedroom window she can see a strip of green grass, and part of a tree that dresses up in frothy pink petals every spring. If she cranes her head to the left, she can see a wrought iron table with two matching chairs. Both of the chairs are being taken over by ivy, and one of the chairs is slowly sinking at an angle into the lawn.

She likes the view; she'd like to visit it. She's just not sure where it really is, since her bedroom is on the eighth floor of a narrow downtown apartment building that is surrounded by busy streets and offices. She's starting to wonder if climbing out the window would get her there.


Zenkitty - Jan 27, 2006 7:50:58 pm PST #5299 of 10001
Every now and then, I think I might actually be a little odd.

Hi. I was gone. I wasn't really here long anyway. Writing is problematic lately.

Allyson, Jilli, I'm looking forward to reading your books!

Bedroom window view, huh?

Past two trees, I can see the gravel lane curving down the hill, to the little bridge over the brook, disappearing into honeysuckle. I can see the fields of our farm, and the fields across the road, and the hills along the river. This is the view from my bedroom window, as long as I can remember.

No one lives here anymore. The house is falling into disrepair, the barn sagging with disuse, weeds where crops were; where animals and workers and family once were, now there's no one.

But the view outside my bedroom window is still the same.


Strix - Jan 29, 2006 9:53:16 am PST #5300 of 10001
A dress should be tight enough to show you're a woman but loose enough to flee from zombies. — Ginger

MAybe a drabble will make me less nervous about my date:

The late afternoon sun slants in through the blinds, turning my cat's eyes into little gems. She slits her eyes, looking out the bedroom window, vigilant for stray cats patrolling the dumpster outside. I obligingly stritch her ears and look outside with her.

No strays, no squirrels even, just the red brick of the apartment bulding across the alley.

Lynne's silver Subaru crunches over the gravel.

I stick my head out the window (the screen is still on the ground outside from where I pushed it out, breaking into my own house a month ago.)

"Hey!" I holler.

"I hate rain," she replies. "Want to come up for coffee?"

I think about my lack of cream, squint up at the spitting winter sky.

"Let me put some pants on, and I'll be right up."


deborah grabien - Jan 29, 2006 1:39:25 pm PST #5301 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

headdesk headdesk headdesk headdesk

I hate long form synopses. I hate long form synopses. I hate long form synopses.

headdesk


Strix - Jan 29, 2006 1:46:34 pm PST #5302 of 10001
A dress should be tight enough to show you're a woman but loose enough to flee from zombies. — Ginger

I don't really feel your pain, Deb, having never written one, but...

Here's a Vicodin, a glass of Prosecco and a foot rub.

And stabbies for those who need 'em.


deborah grabien - Jan 29, 2006 1:55:48 pm PST #5303 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

Erin, they're gruesome. I do two paragraphs at a time, grinding my teeth the entire way, and then have to step away because I'm talking to myself out loud, saying things like "I took the time and the trouble to write it, why can't you just READ the damned thing, you lazy #$#$#$..."

Hate. Hate hate hate.

And joining Allyson on the "as dust" Bench of Impatience. Except I know that since the deadline for the "Restless" submission is 15 February, they won't even start looking until after that.

I foresee ulcers in my near future.


Strix - Jan 29, 2006 1:59:32 pm PST #5304 of 10001
A dress should be tight enough to show you're a woman but loose enough to flee from zombies. — Ginger

"I took the time and the trouble to write it, why can't you just READ the damned thing, you lazy #$#$#$..."

This is where my sympathy lies. JUst SKIM the damned MS.

Tell ya what: I'll write the synopsis, you go on my date.

No, seriously. N. will understand.


deborah grabien - Jan 29, 2006 2:00:29 pm PST #5305 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

perking up

Go on a date? I've never done that before. Is it tricky?


Strix - Jan 29, 2006 2:02:12 pm PST #5306 of 10001
A dress should be tight enough to show you're a woman but loose enough to flee from zombies. — Ginger

It's making me want to vomit.