This is longer than 100 words - I remembered a dream I have, a little too often for my own comfort. I had it again last night. It fits the theme, weirdly enough, but I'm not word counting here. It hurts.

Often

He's gone again.

Last night I dreamed of him, as I often do. He was young again, fingers on the keyboard, smiling, the fragile charm shining, as it often did, through enormous brown eyes, set like beacons in a fragile face, calling me home again.

Then, in the way of dreams, the air between us thickened, a red-tinted mist. Here was the old jeopardy, regret turning tragic, loss beyond regaining. The door opened and shut behind him, as it often did.

I wonder, as I often do, what would have happened if I had stayed. I wonder if love would have survived between us. I wonder if he would be alive today.

I wonder, and I fight down the taste of tears, bile, salt. I often do.

She looks around again. She's alone here, unless you count it, and she's wont to.

It wasn't here yesterday, or any of the times she's been here before. But she's never been at the knollside at sunset. Red light bleeds over the horizon and sends every shadow reaching towards the new (or perhaps old) door.

She lets her fingers brush against it - they want to, and she doesn't feel able to stop them. It's warm - warmer than dead wood should be, on an evening where the chill creeps in with the shadow.

She didn't push it. Why is it opening?

I posted some "Crip Noir" in lj. It's at [link] Thoughtfully cut-tagged for your protection. pauses to aim "Cut tag, this, bitch," look at New Mod on Thursday100, but that's another story, for Another Day. Just one life-affirming story after another. Nobody has ever seen this. Keep that in mind as you read, and not in a "If I don't get feedback, I'll quit writing," ff.net sense.

More, erika. Damn, woman.

erika, that piece, even as is and without a word altered, fucking reeks of power. Keep it coming. It's got teeth.

Dude, that is good. More.

Wow, really? Thank you so much. What to post next? The Possibly Gratuitous Prologue?

I just decided to post the end of the scene...still haven't made up my mind about the PGP. But the end of the first scene is at [link] No pressure.

OK, so the word from people who attended the national Romance Writers of America convention last week is that the market isn't looking good for historical romance, especially works that are more serious in tone. While I know that the market won't die altogether, it's still depressing news. I've been telling myself all along my goal is to write what I'm good at and hope I'll succeed despite trends, perhaps even becoming the next Big Thing and spawning countless Pale Imitations.

But it's still hard to make myself go write my nightly two pages of my very serious romance set in 1811. My perhaps arrogant confidence that of course I'll sell eventually, because I'm really just that good, is shaken.

People told J.K. Rowling not to get too excited by her little kids' book. IJS. (Although I know how rare that kind of success is. But you don't really need the castle, do you?) :)