Aww, wow.

That's wild, because the whole line of things could have perhaps been different. And he thought you remembered.

It floors me, that I don't remember. I remember the party, because I'd been to a booksigning with my much-older journalist sister that day, and Peter Beagle had signed my copy of The Silver Stallion, and then she took me to this party where there were all these music industry types - that's what Peter did, PR or some junk - but I don't remember meeting N there. He said he remembered meeting me just fine - his immediate reaction, according to him, was "well, now, here comes something different."

But I still don't remember him being there.

Drabble 2, ripped out of an unfinished essay:

I discovered the Bronze in the Spring of 2000, just when I hit the wall of monotony at work. A co-worker made the fantastic suggestion that I think about what I was worth, divide that by what they were paying me, and the difference would be the number of hours I could spend doing jack shit at my desk. This gave me 1.7 hours of slack-time, if I rounded up, and I did. This was more than one full day of work I spent chatting with other people about television shows, life, and arguing about the wisdom of using stranglation as a means to torture a vampire, since, you know, they don’t breathe. I chalked it up as “flex-time.”

Liese, I love, love, love your under the bed drabble.

OK - is there any reason at all you can't lace the book with some of these drabbles? Because that acts as a damned near perfect introduction to the section on the Bronze. And after all, the drabbling? Definitely part of fandom.

So it's appropriate, surely?

It pretty much is the intro to the Bronze. The Firefly drabble is a loose riff of the first paragraph of the Save Firefly story.

Liese, I am Susan on your drabble.

So, they work both as drabbles and as parts of the broader picture? Gorgeous, that is.

Thanks, all. Very kind of you.

Of course, I am mortified that I had to go back in and edit the typo in my favorite author's name! That's the trouble with cut & paste, you propagate your errors much easier that way.

Also, Allyson, I really like deb's idea of integrating shorter bits like the drabbles in your book. You could use them to give splashes of color and hints at things you can't go into further. I can definitely picture sidebar excerpts and pieces alongside your essays in that sort of a compilation. I think it would work well for the reader and for the flow of your whole entity.

For this week, I decided to interview my two sets of lead characters and ask them what first times came to mind. James and Lucy's are both well before their story's action, Jack's is within the story, and Anna's is part of an epilogue that'll never be written:
---------

Lucy, 1801 – Pony

Lucy loves her cousin Sebastian more than anyone else at Swallowfield, but today for the first time she thinks he is lying to her. The pony Ariel is not her friend. Horses are not friends. They are great noisy dangerous beasts that trample tiny girls who are careless and run into the street.

But she is too scared to run away, so Sebastian lifts her unresisting onto the sidesaddle and shows her where to place her hands and feet. The groom leads the pony in a slow circle around the stable yard while Sebastian walks at her side ready to catch her should she fall. She feels the pony quiver with life beneath her, and when she sees how far the ground is, she laughs. She is exhilarated, not frightened.

James, 1805 – Brothel

Oh, she is beautiful with the glossy golden-brown hair flowing loose to her hips and the sweet rosy curves more revealed than concealed by such a thin gown. And the soft, rosy-cheeked purity of her face, so innocent-looking and maybe she really is a virgin.

She looks up with gray terror-filled eyes. Holy God, she’s a child, a well-grown child, but with a face like that can’t be a day over thirteen. He never should’ve come here, should’ve known any place Percy Barrett recommended could only be a house of abominations.

There’s only one thing to do. He’s taking her out of here and finding her a safe place and honest work if they have to climb out the window to do it.

For the first time in his life, James refuses a woman.

Jack, April 1812 – Amputee

On the second try, he manages to shrug into the shirt. Next, the buttons. He bites his lip and tries to hold the shirt in place with the stump of his left arm while he fumbles to wed button and buttonhole with his good right hand.

“Let me help you,” Dan says.

“No.”

“Jack. Let him. All your life you will have friends to help you.”

“No, Maria. If there’s ever no one there, do you expect me to go naked all day? I’ll do this. I’ll figure it out.”

It takes him five minutes, but he manages. Next, trousers.

Anna, November 1812 – Fried Eggs

Mrs. Wilcox never would’ve imagined that anyone could be afraid of an egg. But it was Anna’s first time. Earl’s granddaughters didn’t get cookery lessons as little girls. What a daughter-in-law for a woman like her, but if she made Jack happy…

“You don’t have to do this, you know. You could hire a cook.”

“No. If I try, and cannot learn, perhaps then. But we agreed to try to meet in the middle. I made my choice, and I don’t intend to hire a full staff.”

“You’ve got pluck, dearie, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you. Now, how do I break this egg?”

(Over a hundred words, but I can't edit, I've gotta sleep.)

Holiday World

The joy of slides and bouncing balls is forgotten. He turns his back sullenly to his impatient aunt; he doesn't want her to see his face, screwed up with the effort.

His sister has tried to help, "He doesn't quite do it yet. He needs help." But it is too late. He cannot ask for help now. His aunt has presented him with his shoes, and he must soldier on alone.

A loop, around, but then it slips again. He growls with frustration, and pushes away her fumbling adult hands. She says, "Look, I'll just guide you," but he can't abide it, and she can't wait forever.

Then, miracle of miracles, there it is. Not quite even, and who knows how long it will last, but there it is. His aunt doesn't even understand the achievement. When she tells his mother later, she'll be shocked. "He did it? He tied his shoes?" And he did.