Heh. Amy, they sound more like Ferragamo or Manolo types than Jimmy Choos.
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.
Since I am now a paid-up member of the writing community, may I now comment on how writers are just like everyone else?
We all lust after StephL, we are all mostly broke, and we all want a good sentence.
Yay, Gus!!! That is so very cool!
they sound more like Ferragamo or Manolo types
Could be. I don't actually know one from the other very well. But they were also a weird mix of hometown South Philly with very new money and Manhattan taste.
We all lust after StephL, we are all mostly broke, and we all want a good sentence.
Quite true. Especially the...no, wait, all of it's especially true.
I think Jimmy's are a little exotic for most of them, is all. In the same way I wouldn't expect them to be wearing Robert Clergerie shoes, either.
BTW, ma'am, you have a chapter segment. Feedback is wanted, if and when anyone can deal with it.
Gus, of course you may comment. Writer! Isn't everyone in here a writer?
Good one, AmyLiz.
I've never heard of Robert Clergerie! This is what happens when Sex and the City ends. All my fashion comes from Target lately.
BTW, ma'am, you have a chapter segment.
If I gt my page quota done tomorrow, I promise will read and comment. I'm behind, though, and it's killing me. I would so much rather be reading Kinkaid goodness than writing the Crappy Book That's Going to Kill Me.
Gus, of course you may comment. Writer! Isn't everyone in here a writer?
Like that ever stopped me.
The In Crowd #2
He’s the new kid again. Here, it’s all skateboards and baggy jeans and thrash metal.
He can do that. What he can’t do is sit in the lunchroom alone anymore. Wait for them to decide he’s too skinny, too quiet, too poor stupid homely smart rich weird.
It’s just another set of rules. They change from town to town. Last time it was pot and too many nights watching Adam Sandler movies in a basement that smelled like wet laundry.
It’s insurance. It’s not getting cuffed against a locker. One day, he figures, he’ll have to do the cuffing himself.
Jesus, Amy. Ouch.
I'm once again deeply pleased that I spent high school backstage at Fillmore East or hanging out at Ungano's with my big sister at night. It's so much easier when the not giving a shit what your contemporaries think is so obvious, they end up fearing you.
Otherwise, I suspect high school would have been sincerely shitty.