Ooh. I like to think I'm good at dialog, because I rarely attribute a speech, and usually have Tom unpacking his suitcase.

"No." He returned the stack of folded undershirts to the open drawer, and then shut the drawer just a little too hard. "I didn't enjoy the trip."

"But why not?" she fiddled with the Hello Kitty figurines atop the bureau, aligning them in a rank to face him with blank, accusing faces. "Didn't you guys go out after your meetings all day?"

My real strength, though, is putting the reader in place. I write sensually, because that's the way my imagination works. I see/smell/hear/feel on my skin the scene in my head, and that's what goes into words. I'm good at it.

Unfortunately, once the reader and I are there, with all our spidey senses tingling, most often I don't have a story to tell. So, there you go.

I'm good at the telling detail, the one thing that grounds a scene in reality--well, some reality, anyway. And I'm getting better at plot, but that's more like work.

the best writers (and even good writers) always question this, while the really crap writers always assume they are great.

That takes me back to that study from a few years ago, about how competence and judgment are related--those with competence are able to analyze themselves and their work more critically and clearly than the incompetent. So the bad writers don't know what good writing looks like, and therefore think they're fabulous, whereas good writers are a bit more skeptical of their own work.

So long as we are skeptical, and looking to improve, I think there's hope for all of us.

Turning It On

He watched his older sister carefully; she seemed to have an idea of how to breach the barrier. She was, of course, taller than he was; she had some hope of her height advantage helping her make it over the top. However, every attempt to dig in and scramble over, failed. He looked around; there had to be another way. Then, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. He grabbed one of the ottomans, pushed it up against the plastic mesh fence, climbed on top of the ottoman and he was over! First, the kitchen; next, Mt. Everest.

Anyone have some time to look at some pages? There are about thirty now...

Challenge #133 (lightbulbs) is now closed.

Challenge #134 is photos from the Look At Me Web site. Select one (or more) of the following pictures, and drabble away!

When you post your drabble, please mention which photo it is that you're using. Thanks!

Picture #1

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Picture #3

Picture #4

Picture #5

Picture #6

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Picture #10

[link] Picture 9

The coat was a wedding present from her new husband. The necklace was a grudging gift from her new grandmother-in-law. They were going to New York for their honeymoon. They took turns taking pictures of each other on the deck of the ship.

A nice couple. She giggled too much, though, and at the wrong time. Such as when I was strangling her husband at midnight when I caught them strolling alone together on the boat deck. When I finally made her stop giggling, I tossed them overboard--after getting their cabin key out of his pocket.

I checked into their hotel room with the most respectable prostitute I could find and spent some time perusing the society columns for newlyweds planning to take their honeymoon in Europe. Wedding season is so busy, I think I'll take a vacation when it's done.

Challenge #134 (photos from the Look At Me Web site) is now closed.

Challenge #135 is sparks.

sweeps away all the crickets

Challenge #135 (sparks) is now closed.

Challenge #136 is circles.

I'm sorry nothing sparked for me with the last challenge. I blame my headcold and holidays.

Circling around

"It's a wonder half my cousins don't have extra fingers, the way everyone back home is related to each other. At least I know I'm not related to you, you were born in California."

"Um . . ."

"What?"

"My mother was born in West Virginia."

" . . . what part of West Virginia?"

"Grafton. That's nowhere near where you grew up, is it?"

"No. Nowhere near. It's probably a good 30 miles away."

"Well, that's a long way, what with all those hills in between."

"Long for the horse and buggy, not so long for the small world."

Heh. That's a good one, connie. It makes me think of New Guinea, where 30 miles means 5 different languages in between, not a lot of marriages made when you can't talk to each other, much less get there for the terrain.

Sad to say, I just haven't been in the writing mood. When it will kick in again, nobody knows.