Well, everybody did evaporate. I thought it was me. Memememe!
Speaking just for me? Memememe?
The evaporation by memememe was purely memememe.
'Underneath'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Well, everybody did evaporate. I thought it was me. Memememe!
Speaking just for me? Memememe?
The evaporation by memememe was purely memememe.
Gar, yep - but you might want to look at the "I said" "she said" deal.
Because you only have two characters - this is verbal duel, two people only. So the explanation - I said, she said - becomes superfluous. Your reader is right there in the dialogue - punctuating with the narrator telling us something that's already been shown actually slows it down.
If you want to really bring the scary? Punctuate with character reaction, not narrator action. A la:
"Then what are doing with it?” Her tone was completely friendly.
“Ben said you wanted me to have it.” Tendrils of cold crept up my arm. “From the – incidents - lately, it seems he was misinformed.”
You may find it easier to involve the reader in the picture you're painting, that way.
Please find enclosed one scanned image of a cheque for actual real dollars from an actual publisher.
Wait. B.org doesn't do images. Buffistas have imaginations that are perfectly able to picture dollar-signs, decimal points, and digits.
Especially digits this seldom.
Never mind that. I have here a cheque from a reliable source, rendered to me for monkeying around with a keyboard. Life is good.
Congrats, Gus!
Gus, isn't it fun?
Thanks, Robin. I attribute the bux to lurking around GWW, soaking up all the good advice silently, then running to the bank.
Congratulations, Gus!
DG, Perkins, I'm frackin' giddy!
These dollars are so much better than any other dollars.
Gus, get down with your bad writer self! Way to go!
ION, I drabbled. It's longer than 100 words, and I don't even know if I like it, but here it is:
I'm told that I should want to be a part of your shining golden ranks. So I do, and I cry when you ignore me...but not for long.
I'm told I should be filled with wide-eyed admiration at the Greek letters on your shirt, and that I should offer my body up to you in sheer gratitude that you would choose me. So I do...and I end up watching the clock over your shoulder and wondering when I can go back to my dorm room, my unoccupied bed, and my books.
I'm told to pare down my very flesh in order to lure the pick of the stud farm and make sure he stays by my side. So I try, but I am, it seems, too much to be contained in a tiny frame.
I will never be, never have, never achieve what it is that I'm told I should want, no matter how hard I try. Because, you see, what I want isn't in there. It's out here.