Tep, I liked both of yours. Beverly, that was hot. Of course, reading about linoleum makes me...well, never mind.

Brandy, half full. Scotch, the dregs of an old single malt; that one was hidden beneath some dirty clothes.

She limps around his house, stooping painfully on her injured legs. There's evidence of stupidity, of addiction, of self-destruction and need, all over the place, as if a man with multiple kidney transplants and a heroin habit needs hard alcohol on top of it.

Eventually she stops beside the bed, where he's curled up and shivering. She stands above him, brandishing the last bottle like a billyclub.

"Next one of these I find," she tells him, "I break over your skull."

OK, I've only written the second darkest now. Or third, maybe, with ita's.

You know, I've just realised; I don't think I've written a fictional one since the very first week? Everything else has been autobiographical.

Mine sort of straddle the line...

OH! And since I'm in the writing thread, I had lunch with my COMPLETELY AMAZING editor today. And I have, in my hot little hand, the Minotaur fall catalogue, and "Famous Flower" has its own page, and the cover, and it's superb. Same theme was "Weaver"'s, but instead of the page being lifted to reveal the haunted building in the lower right, this one looks like a jagged tear, to reveal the theatre in the lower left.

Heh, deb. I was just thinking about that. Something about the medium, I suppose. I had become aware that I didn't like anything I'd written that wasn't autobiographical. I mean, drabbled, specifically.

And then it has to do with the themes, too, doesn't it. Memory, sense, hands. Those are all very personal things, very intimate.

Liese, yup. Drabble as therapy, or catharsis: I really do love that.

A big "Go you!" for the wife!!

The wife curtsies and pumps her fist in recognition.

I wish they'd send the damned cover to Amazon for upload, already. They haven't even uploaded it to the online catalogue yet. But it's there in the print version.