So, I've got this drabble stuck in my head. Only I can't type it up on this computer; I'm on my old desktop and it freezes up if I try to open Word. My laptop is in delayed luggage hell (again--second time in less than a week!) I rely on Word to give me a word count, it's just too damn time consuming to keep revising when you have to actually count and recount the words yourself. So, there it is, in my brain, churning around with nowhere to go. Very frustrating.

sj, unless your editor is Ruth Cavin, you apparently have to do it no matter who you are. Ruth prefers short blurby ones to long form - she really does read everything, so all she wants is a teasing little precis.

Most editors want long form. And I HATE writing them. Meh.

The cover copy - that's different. I get to write my own, although for Cruel Sister, I was distracted and working on London Calling and my angelic Laura Anne Gilman offered to write it for me. My editor loved it, so that worked out nicely. And Laura Anne wanted to do it, because her entire WIP group was out of town and she had one day to have some input on the ms of her new series book (Bring It On), and I took a day off writing and did the ms for her. So it all worked.

Amy, I've got the thing so far up in my livejournal. Basic friendslock. I'm desperate for some feedback. This fucking synopsis is kicking my ass.

Well, here it is anyway.

Horizons

The view outside the window, what I could see of it through the nine by twelve inch piece of plexiglass, was a dreamscape of fantasy and illusion. The clouds in the sky were pink and silver wisps of spun cotton candy, so close I felt like I could reach out and pull the gossamer strands away from the fluffy masses. White puffs stretched out in endless peaks and valleys until my gaze got lost at the edge of the horizon. The sudden veil of gray that obscured my vision as we passed into a mountainous mass of moisture made me blink and I landed in my seat, waiting for the pilot to announce our descent into Madison.

Oh, NICE one!

Thanks, Deb. I've never been so frustrated with that one. I started composing it on the plane and I wanted to write some of it down only I didn't have a pen! Man, just one of those days, ya know?

Oh, hell yes, I know.

Deb -- Nattery, but Deb doesn't hang in in Bitches, so...mea culpa.

Date! Easier than I remember! Went well. Funny, smart, and I felt a tingle. Good mix of raunchy stories, and thoughtfulness. I gave him my number.

And he's written a book. Hrm.

But, hey, survived my first date in 4 years.

Woo.

Survived and prospered, sounds like to me. Drabble it!

Just under the wire. At least I thought of something this time, sort of a double drabble:

The First Window

She cooked the dinner, humming a tune. It would be on the table just as her husband crossed the threshold, golden buttery biscuits, pork chops and apples. Their son, beautiful, bright, wriggly boy, waited at the window for a glimpse of Daddy.

A scream, obscene with terror, rolled from the living room and wrapped around her, clutched her belly. She'd never heard the like. She reached him before the spatula hit the floor, but he couldn't speak, just pointed at the window and wailed. She rocked him against her breast and let the dinner burn.

The Second Window

He came into the living room wearing nothing but graying white undershorts loose on his frame, his legs below like pale wormed tree trunks, white belly above, shaggy dark hair at the top. I never saw his eyes. He moaned at the frail old lady half his size, advancing around the worn, delicate furniture like Frankenstein’s monster until she brought up the cattle prod and forced him back into his room. I jumped with every bzzt.

Safe in the car, Mom told a story of demons at windows on foggy nights who eat children’s souls and leave them monsters and I watched his bedroom window curtains, thick and tightly drawn, until the house disappeared around a bend.

oh, wow, Deena.

Damn.