yay Deb! ;) Thats cool!

Might try a drabble soon, but its probably going to suck so dont expect too much. I´m not the best short writer..

Kessie, no worries. Just let the words out. That's my mantra on these. It's easier because I only commit to 100 words.

And, Deb, if the WDP includes lemon bread it trumps many current contenders for world domination.

Yes, I'm lookin' at you, Shrub. When was the last time YOU baked lemon bread?

And opening a jar of salsa and a bag of chips isn't a substitute.

Kessie, Astarte's right: just let it rip.

x- post with livejournal

Ok here is my try ;) .. 97 words... i managed it , yay! Not a very original place, but oh well...

Its warm and I don't wanna leave. The noise is making me mad and I slap its source, accomplishing silence for a few minutes. I snuggle back into the softness surrounding me, slowly drifting off...

Here I can go anywhere and nowhere at all. But it will always remain comfy, nice and plushy and when I ..."eeek" there is that damn noise again causing me to wince . Annoyed I rise and leave this beautiful place, just wanting to go back there immediately.

It sure feels like some kind of heaven. It really does.

My bed.

Heh, I like that. Sounds like me trying to wake up in the morning. "slap" the alarm and then think-what if I killed it?

Good work, Kessie!

The next 200 odd words of Watery Graves.

The resemblance to Zoe stilled her. Then Mama Z was in hissing range.

“How did you find out?”

Then two hearses arrived. It was finally real. She still hadn’t spoken. She was biding her time. Zoe came from a big family. Wouldn’t want any of them to miss the show. They didn’t seem in a rush to join the encounter. Uncle Vito was hobbling out of the car on his canes with more helpers than he usually had greeters.

“Remember last Christmas, Mama?” Her voice sounded strange. Coffin-like, almost. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the back of the hearse, where the pall-bearers were removing one big casket and one small one to transfer to the graveside.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Mama sounded more guarded now. Grief and anger made her mean, not stupid.

Dani’s voice cracked as she replied. “‘I want you to think of us as your family, now.’ That’s what you said.” Louder now, so they could hear all the way back where Vito was shaking off help to navigate the curb.. “Where else would I turn? I’ve lost my daughter, and I’ve lost my wife. We’re burying them here today.

“Where the fuck else would I be?”

Intriguing. I'm just waiting for the rest of it to unfurl.

Me too.

OK, I tried to catch up, but it's midnight, and there were 700 posts, so i just said, "Bugger it, I'll hop to the end."

Would someone be wonderful enough to explain the community Teppy set up? Actually, being in here at all is a bit stressful for me, because it's filled with all these people who plan to do something REAL with their writing, who are going to dare the bastions of publishing and give it a shot. I want to try, I really do, but I've got that lovely, clicheish fear thing going for me. The old "If I don't try, I won't fail".

Thing is, I finally know I'm good. I keep thinking, "If you're so all damned good, how come you're not making any money at it? If you want to improve your life, there's your skill. Have at it." And good isn't enough in this day and age. I have precious little energy for grand crusades--and I'll shut the hell up on that now, because if I'm boring myself with this shite, then the rest of you are probably laying on your desks and going, "Oh, please, god, no."

Anyway. Ignore the panic-stricken maunderings above. Tell me about the drabbles.

100 words. This week's challenge is "A Place". No limit on how many 100-worders you can write, at least until there are a million of us and we're doing 50 drabbles each per challenge.

The community on LJ is great_write_way . You can do it.