Define drabble, please?
I want to start participating! Writing is too much fun, I'm getting addicted.
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Define drabble, please?
I want to start participating! Writing is too much fun, I'm getting addicted.
Then, you'll want quantity more than quality. Most junkies do. Sorry, Homicide quote, bad habit. A drabble is a story that can be told in 100 words. ION, I finished a story today.
Teppy's been giving us themes on Monday, and we spend the rest of the week trying to get our thoughts into 100 words.
Toss. Turn. Roll.
He thinks of her.
Turn, again. Try, again, to sleep.
Why can't he stop these thoughts?
Fluff the pillow, straighten the sheets.
He doesn't like her! She's just a friend! No romantic feelings, really, so move along!
Meditate. Breathe. Relax.
But that was a good conversation, wasn't it? He really enjoys her company, doesn't he? Isn't she a neat person, a good friend, this new girl in his life?
Toss. Turn. Roll, once more.
Maybe he does like her. He doesn't even know. Maybe she's the one.
Maybe he'll know, tomorrow.
Toss. Turn. Finally...sleep.
btdt. Still sleep alone. Sigh.
Oh, NICE one, Nova!
One hundred words precisely, on a given theme. BTW, it's a gorgeous way to tease out a problem in longer pieces; at my brilliant husband's suggestion, I've used it to define plot points in my head, and surprised myself in the process.
Hmmm.
Paris on a Summer Night
Quiescence, the heart of rest.
The long march of hours, from moonrise to the monochromatic grey of first light, has not been silent. Cities are never entirely quiet; in this, the heart of France since the Parisi first settled here, there are footsteps, murmured conversations beneath your hotel window, the muffled sputter of a Vespa, somewhere near Sacre Couer.
As in all cities, sleep here is a gift, to be taken as offered. As you drift from even relaxation to half-consciousness, the night completes its ritual.
Count your own heartbeats, and try to sleep while the City of Light permits.
Nice, deborah. Makes me want to go to Paris, and I'm not even much for traveling. Pretty.
I miss Paris. But if you're anywhere in the city centre, you'd best pray for double-glazed windows, or an apartment facing away from the street.
Deena, that was absolutely stunning. The voices were so beautifully differentiated.
And Deb, you make me long for foreign travel. Paris, Tuscany... insert wistful sigh here.
Foot tapping impatiently. Can't wait to see what next week's challenge is. I'm also going back to my writer's group this month, and I think I'm going to suggest the fast-write exercise there.
Edited because grammar apparently eludes me...