Connie, that's lovely.
Yes. Men like sports. Men watch the action movie, they eat of the beef, and enjoy to look at the bosoms. A thousand years of avenging our wrongs and that's all you've learned?
Xander ,'End of Days'
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 - Mar 14, 2005 10:07:24 am PST #548 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Connie Neil - Mar 14, 2005 10:09:21 am PST #549 of 10001
brillig
For some reason writing that has made me terribly weepy.
Anne W. - Mar 14, 2005 10:14:04 am PST #550 of 10001
The lost sheep grow teeth, forsake their lambs, and lie with the lions.
For some reason writing that has made me terribly weepy.
Maybe it's because large parts of it are starting to apply to us again? In different ways, and differing degrees of magnitude, but still...
Connie Neil - Mar 14, 2005 10:19:20 am PST #551 of 10001
brillig
Maybe it's because large parts of it are starting to apply to us again? In different ways, and differing degrees of magnitude, but still...
That's some of it, but for me, I think there are various Mother issues starting to rear their ugly little heads. She was a teenager during WWII, and she told lots of stories about her and her own mother working in kitchens and laundries etc.
deborah grabien - Mar 14, 2005 10:33:57 am PST #552 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
With apologies to Mister Sondheim
Follies of 1933
The photo had been taken in October, stiff, awkward, acting it out: Essie in her braids, Minnie with her broad cheeks, Gert with her cornhusker's calluses, Jean with her sensitive stomach, Glad with her homesickness.
They'd met at a casting call, five little girls from West Nowhere, Broadway baby wannabes, quavering voices, high kicks, laughter and hope and dreams. They took the apartment on West 48th Street together.
A decade later, they'd scattered and lost touch. Two had found jobs, one was dead at the hands of a back-alley abortionist, two had gone home, fleeing, seeking the solace of familiarity.
Connie Neil - Mar 14, 2005 10:34:55 am PST #553 of 10001
brillig
You're feeling cheerful today, deb.
deborah grabien - Mar 14, 2005 10:39:12 am PST #554 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Oddly enough, I am.
But these sepia-toned photos bring out my Big Bad.
Heh.
Anne W. - Mar 14, 2005 10:42:19 am PST #555 of 10001
The lost sheep grow teeth, forsake their lambs, and lie with the lions.
It's always fun to torture fictional strangers.
Ginger - Mar 14, 2005 10:43:31 am PST #556 of 10001
"It didn't taste good. It tasted soooo horrible. It tasted like....a vodka martini." - Matilda
The picture was all that was left of the fur coat, the fashionable hat and even of the square. He assumed the pigeons, or their great-grandchildren, survived. The picture lay at the bottom of a cigar box, with Cuban seals and flaking paper labels. The box also held a lead soldier, missing one leg, and a pile of letters with foreign stamps, letters asking about jobs, about visas, about connections. He dumped the pile in the barbecue grill and lit a match. The ashes swirled up to meet the ashes of the forgotten world, leaving a shining pool of lead.
deborah grabien - Mar 14, 2005 10:44:59 am PST #557 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
DAMN, Ginger.
Anne, I COMM'd you.