I can do that.
BookPeople B&N Borders all in easy reach. Hmm.
I've pre-ordered mine on Amazon already.
Mal: Ready? Zoe: Always.
'Serenity'
The Great Write Way
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Astarte - Aug 10, 2004 9:05:21 am PDT #5997 of 10001
Not having has never been the thing I've regretted most in my life. Not trying is.
ChiKat - Aug 10, 2004 9:09:08 am PDT #5998 of 10001
That man was going to shank me. Over an omelette. Two eggs and a slice of government cheese. Is that what my life is worth?
Woot, deb!! That is so very cool!
And, here's my very first drabble (been lurking for awhile):
His lips felt soft on her neck. Did he know what that did to her? How her heart thumped and her legs went limp? He pushed her up against the refrigerator with gentle force, pinning her wrists to the door up near her shoulders. Oh dear god.
She could feel his teeth nibbling the skin over her collar bone and his tongue lapping the base of her throat. Her head spun as her breathing grew shallow and her vision blurred. Heat emanated from her chest and radiated outward to the rest of her body.
She tried to say, “Oh my god. Yes. Please,” but speech failed her completely and the only sounds she could make were low guttural syllables. Finally, her knees buckled as she tightened in orgasm. Did he even know what he had done to her? Just by kissing her neck?
deborah grabien - Aug 10, 2004 9:09:38 am PDT #5999 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Lalala, let's clue in the bookstores.
Because the bookstores is where people browse. And they can't browse and buy what isn't there. And if they're asked, they'll generally order a few copies.
(grabs pompoms)
"Gimme a BEST! (best!) Gimme a SELLER! (seller!) What's that spell?
Place in the Tuscan hills to run away from the NeoCons!
deborah grabien - Aug 10, 2004 9:10:41 am PDT #6000 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Heh. ChiKat, we both went for the most enjoyable definition of "near death experience"...
sumi - Aug 10, 2004 9:14:10 am PDT #6001 of 10001
Art Crawl!!!
I've pre-ordered on Amazon, but I can think of people that enjoy a copy for Christmas.
Connie Neil - Aug 10, 2004 9:34:21 am PDT #6002 of 10001
brillig
High places
The trestle is very high. The ravine is tucked in the hills, surrounded by old trees and silence.
I stand in the middle of the trestle as the sun sets and darkness rises. Joe is yelling at me to come back.
You can fly, whispers the voice that can never get high enough to see everything.
No, you can't, says the desperate voice that understands gravity.
The wind comes through the trees, moving my hair, pushing, encouraging. My mind understands gravity, too, but thinks those few moments of flight might just be worth it.
I blink, step back. Vow that the black door in the bottom of my mind needs a better lock.
deborah grabien - Aug 10, 2004 9:54:48 am PDT #6003 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Vow that the black door in the bottom of my mind needs a better lock.
I love this line, muchly.
§ ita § - Aug 10, 2004 4:57:22 pm PDT #6004 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.
She died of cancer. I did not know her, but the article said she died young and beatifically and asked people not to be sad.
Nicole died of cancer too. It was neither beatific nor beautiful, and it wouldn't have mattered if she'd asked anything of those near her.
She was a beautiful girl hollowed by tumours. She left behind a beautiful sister, who watched her die in stop motion. A beautiful brother, who lay down in bed next to her and told his friends to come see him there. A beautiful mother who still feels she failed her child.
deborah grabien - Aug 10, 2004 5:49:51 pm PDT #6005 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
October 1997, Stage One
There's tubes in your arm, a mask nearby, people in clean white clothing and sensible shoes. You're waiting for them to finish prepping the OR, set up the tools they need for you, tools you shocked them by demanding to see first. Cancer patients are not usually so - invested.
A nurse comes out and signals, ready, but it's poor timing; your oncologist is still talking in a low voice. As you sink into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is your doctor, telling your husband that, depending on what they find, he may be taking you home to die.
Liese S. - Aug 10, 2004 7:37:02 pm PDT #6006 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."
Wow. This one turned out difficult. I tried this same concept, but with a closer topic, and I couldn't handle it. Turns out I've still got some repressed rage hanging around in there. Guess I'll have to write about that later. Anniversary of my grandma's death is coming up too, so I guess I'm just being morose. But anyway, here you are.
---
Carole
His hand on the bedrail beside her still body. Quiet. No more noise from the ventilator that she hadn’t wanted anyway. She’d shaken her finger at him when she’d realized.
The family with him, the friends and their party recently departed. The quiet in the house wouldn’t be new. She hadn’t been a conversationalist in a year. He would miss the routines, the daily rituals of caregiving, what to do with his hands. But he had already lost her, long ago.
She had been near death for a year. Now he was near death, but not his. He stood up.