Which obviously doesn't mean I catch everything.
Willow ,'Get It Done'
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.
I plead editing sophomore research papers all night before I wrote that.
Obviously, bad grammar is infectious.
And I am off to bed now, so my brain can regenerate. Hopefully. Argh.
Erin, that hymn came to my mind as soon as I saw Teppy's latest challenge. Beautiful piece. I actually liked your original organization better, I think.
For what it's worth, the hymn lyrics are present tense (walks/talks/tells/share/tarry).
T!C it was wonderful piece. I think the new organization may make it stronger for an audience who has not shared the experience so much - non-church goers.
It start with a narrative fact (non-church goer, not thinking about jesus grandma is dead.) then a commonplace scent from a commonplace activity (unwrapping a mint) evokes memories of lesss common place and invokes a mystery. And then you've got the story, the church and being slipped the mints, and drawing in the program. And the powerful ending, her and Christ chilling amongst the roses.
I was a little reluctant to give this feedback. Obviously, organization in fiction is a very personal thing; what order to tell things in is very subjective. But this other order felt so right, I thought it might be useful.
I am so utterly adorable.
My denial of same, deplorable.
I'd quite like a willy
Either wet or dry
It may seem mad, but it's no lie,
I'd like a tiara before I die.
One can but try.
Glad you came by.
If just to say hi.
You're one great guy.
May I ask why
Your esteem is so high,
That if I were nigh,
You'd buy me pie?
In the Hospitality Suite
They thought it'd be neat
To pretend to be Pete
And play up the 'Sweet'
But now I am back
To find I've been hacked
Facing a fuckton of flack
Though I didn't do jack
But everything's fine
Pay heed to the signs
Cos after this line
Vengeance is mine...
Have camera. Prepare for war, mother-fuckers.
Luv, Pete