Maybe we need to a Neurotic Buffista Writer subthread.

Ms. Grabien is simply here to provide contrast.

On another board I had as a tag, David Simon bitching about "pimping his shit to people that weren't as excited as he wanted them to be." Since he's living my dream right now, I suppose I'm fucked as far as being rid of that. Or in Wire-speak, "it's all in the game." I'm having a slump following a hot streak, personally.

Ms. Grabien is simply here to provide contrast.

Yeah, right. That would be why every single segment of "Cruel Sister" that went out to WIP readers had the subject line "Please don't let this SUCK." Invested in Kinkaids, resented writing more Haunted Ballads, a lot of the shit from the Kinkaids bled into Cruel Sister, and dayum, it's a good read. But I was pretty damned neurotic about it while I was writing it. Until the dark stuff from the Kinkaids got in there, I felt like I was phoning it in. Does that count as neurotic?

I don't know. I can't square it. I mean, I know everyone has their moments, but...

Yup. Those were my moments.

Anyway. Having read both Jilli's and Allyson's - and having had a hellacool telephone "aren't those last two essays frickin' INCREDIBLE?" praise!Allyson session with our mutual agent - I can honestly say their stufff is bloody good, and in places, completely wonderful.

So, I get (get as in understand, I mean; get as in grok, not as in share) the nerves. Just not for the reason they're both having the nerves.

Because they neither of them suck, even in the slightest.

edit: almost forgot:

When, on re-read after gaining distance, I despair of ever writing something that good again.

Yep. My version of that is the "Holy CRAP, did I write that...?" thing.

Hey, I was out walking today and found my "Foreign Language" drabble.

I wish the telemarketers would stop calling.

I wish that when someone dials the wrong number, they wouldn’t ask me what number this is, who I am, what number they should call.

I wish they wouldn’t stop me in the store to get me to buy their product. I wish people would stop telling me my headlights are on. I wish they would stop asking me directions. I wish people wouldn’t ask me about my baby, whether he’s sleepy or shy; I wish they’d stop giving me parenting advice.

I wish they’d quit talking to me, because I can’t answer.

Raq, I love that.

Jewelry.

Skin

A warm summer night, moon stitched against darkness. It's you and me. Outside is the rest of the world but right now, sod that, it's you and me.

Naked? Yes. It's me and my skin, and what you've been doing since the cab from the airport dropped you off; this is me, sweat pooling on hairline, below breasts, dotting and glistening on collar and cheekbones.

You touch your tongue to each, diamonds made of me, laughing down into my face. Later, falling asleep, I remember what you said as I clung to you: you look like you're made of pearl.

100 words, including title.

The Jewelry You’re Wearing Right Now

A plain gold band and a matching diamond solitaire. White gold – yellow looks bad against my skin and platinum, the saleswoman assured us, scratches fast and looks dull. I have a certificate somewhere declaring that it’s not a “crisis diamond”, but otherwise I am unsure of its ethical provenance.

I haven’t welded them together, or whatever jewelers do to make two separate rings one unified set. With every movement of my hand they rub against one another, slowly eroding. They grind away their own gold, losing value, mass, integrity.

I have to fix that.

A solid silver band gleams dully on my finger. A simple onyx square set in it does not reflect the light.

A gift from Fran.

Carved marcasite hoops set with tiny twinkling garnets swing from my ears. The garnets are the color of my hair.

A gift from Heather.

An elaborate silver anklet, swirling with vaguely Celtic designs, circles my left ankle.

A gift from Jen.

And from a long chain hangs an amber-colored citrine, setting topped by a dot of a garnet, red as the last drop of blood from a dragon's heart.

A gift from my parents.

I have embellished myself with love.