Is the House thing online, or, more to the point, where can I read it?
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 could send you a copy to your profile...you won't see the cool format and stuff, but you could read it...
::flail::
Sample chapters, website stats, and page mock-ups have now been sent to the Nice Agent Lady. Now the nervous waiting begins. What if it's crap? What if she reads it and says "Are you kidding? No publisher in their right mind would make an offer on this!"
::flail::
I don't think that'll happen, Jilli.
Jilli, did you ever get to read my feedback? I'm hoping it was remotely useful.
And even without changing a word, you aren't going to get that reaction from the agent, believe me. Breathe.
Jilli, did you ever get to read my feedback? I'm hoping it was remotely useful.
I did, and it was quite helpful. Thank you!
Thanks, erika!
Pretty sure you don't have to worry, Jilli.
Me too, Jilli
I did say I was going to drabble on the On Holiday topic...
Anniversary
Poolside at the Bellagio, not yet 9 am and it's 94 degrees. My husband snores gently upstairs.
I'm slathered in 45SPF. I have iced coffee. I have two enormous towels, from the pretty cabana boys. I have a chaise and an umbrella. I have my iPod.
Relax, escape the daily grind - isn't that why I'm here? I take a fast swim in the chilly water, and stretch out, noise-cancelling headphones cranked high. I close my eyes. Relax, escape...
Piano, your voice, my voice, filling my ears, heart, eyes, memory, the Nevada morning.
Relax? Escape? Maybe someday.
But not today.
drabbling "Holiday": My favorite holiday memory isn’t of a special gift, although there are many that I could choose from, of all descriptions. It was of one Thanksgiving, baking cookies, the smell of warm vanilla and the sounds of girlish laughter filling the place. Lately, our holidays have felt a little too quiet, but maybe that’s because we know now what we didn’t then, that that was a borrowed warm moment and it would take more than pretty pink icing to sweeten what was ahead.
II In my dreams, walking is like flying. After the dreams are over, I think what a break that would be, like my own desert island built with the power of my legs and my suddenly strong back. It would be nice to be stared at because I’m captivating, or actually run on a beach. Nice to have things that are wrong with me that are not announced to every sad-eyed passerby who’s never actually spent time with someone like me.