I'm going to selfishly post a bit of catharsis that I just wrote. I don't really care if it's crap, it felt good. Heh.

She knew she shouldn't be lying there late at night, still sweaty from other things she shouldn't have done. But it all felt so familiar. Two days ago, being next to him, breathing together, sleeping together all seemed so simple, and suddenly they were forbidden. He mumbled, sleep coming quickly over him, and put his hand on her leg, just like always.

She began to drift off, and forced herself to think rationally. Falling asleep there next to him would be a total loss of control. 1:37 am. Shit. She began to rise from the bed, exhausted. "Stay," he said, only partially conscious. "Just stay here."

For what seemed like the hundredth time, she reached for her clothes. It was the right thing.

She kissed his neck, and breathed "I love you" directly into his ear, knowing unfortunately that it was true. She picked up her things, she looked over everything; the room, the bed, him. She shut the door slowly, realizing it could be the last time she would ever be there. The air outside was suprisingly warm. A night this empty should be cold. She shivered anyway, and anxiously began the long walk out into the dark.

Oh, Sassy, not crap at all.

Powerful, and very real.

{{{Sassy}}}

Certainly not crap. Should we spend some time inventing horrible fictional torments for him?

Lordy. You people are writing some powerful stuff.

Damn, Sassy. And damn, Ginger. And DAMN, Kristin.

Could I get a clarification on something, though?

A drabble - as defined - is 100 words exactly. So, are we expanding the definition of drabble? Because the poems are sensational, and they should not, repeat NOT, be fiddled with, but they're nowhere near 100 words.

Are we redefining drabble, as a term? - (edit: or can we just use Teppy's themes, and play with them, which would also make me damned happy, and which is what I suspect we're doing?)

I wasn't drabbling, I was just getting stuff off my chest, and decided this was the best place to share. I probably should have clarified. While I think that the word limit in a drabble is necessary, this was the kind of thing i just needed to write without thinking about it too much.

No, no, Sassy - I totally got that. It was perfect, and powerful.

I meant, specifically, the poetry; is it OK with Teppy if we use the weekly theme for things other than precise 100-word drabbles?

A question for those who write in other time settings:

What is the most efficient/effective way of establishing location, both physical and temporal? With "Nessuno" I kept redoing the beginning, because I know not everyone is going to get the clues of Borgia Popes and the French invasion of Rome and go "Ah, Italian Renaissance." I was tempted to just put "1498" at the top of the story, which I've seen used a great deal, but that always strikes me as a little lazy somehow (but I've done it myself without a quibble). But it's unfair to the reader who lacks my background in history who might be getting more and more confused.

Also, how much description is necessary to establish that folks aren't wearing jeans and t-shirts, and how much is just self-indulgence in pretty clothes?

"Florence, twenty years after the reign of Lorenzo the Magnificent ended in turmoil...."

"London, sombre under an ash-grey sky, still bore the scars of the Great Plague..."

"The news was now official: the small island in the middle of the Seine would soon become to a great Cathedral, named for the Holy Mother..."

Events and landmarks, if you want to get it down early. But really, just paint a portrait of the place, and people it with characters that are true the time in which you're writing. If the thought patterns, societal mores and physical surroundings match, the reader will walk into it.

And truly? I have no trouble with listing the date, especially if the dates in the book are changing. The prologue to Famous Flower isn't historical - it's a three-page incident involving a homeless man in London in 1979 - but the rest of the book is in the right-now. I began the prologue with:

On a raw January night in 1979, a homeless man and a small dog wandered into a nameless alley off Bouverie Street in the City, and prepared to set up sleeping quarters.

It was brutally cold. Europe was seeing one of its worst winter seasons in half a century, and Londoners were currently miserable, dealing with iced-over streets and an incessant windy downpour of sleet that needled the skin and made safe walking an impossibility. Few people willingly came outdoors in this weather, but the homeless man, a beggar of many years standing, had no choice in the matter.

First paragraph gives you the date, the scenario and the character; the second fills in some background.