The Great Write Way
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
I'm almost ready for Beta reading of Save Firefly, which needs a sexier title but I won't deal with that til it's really most sincerely dead.
Have you considered (or otherwise used) "You Can't Take the Sky From Me"?
I missed this earlier, Cindy. I'm not dissing the ego; it just pays to remember that as a defense mechanism, designed to help keep us from breaking apart under too much criticism or what we perceive as criticism, the ego is not generally going to be your friend in terms of opening up. It's just doing its job.
I understand that. Reading what you wrote, the way you put it, it was like a break-through for me. I really appreciate it.
The Famous Flower of Serving Men
just arrived. The cover is indeed gorgeous, Deb.
Second in a chronological series of drabbles for fateful encounters. I did warn you, there would likely be several.
Bethel, New York: 15 August 1969
It's lucky I'm not claustrophobic, because it feels as though half the population of America is here. I've come up in a helicopter, hitching a ride with my sister the rock journalist. I've got a badge, entitling me to go backstage. This is going to be fun.
Even backstage, it's tricky finding a quiet corner. Eventually, I do, and find myself being regarded by a small slender man with enormous brown eyes. He's staring at me. Recognition of fate, need, love, coming home?
"Hi." English, soft-voiced. "I'm N."
Something in my stomach turns over. I think perhaps it's my soul.
The Famous Flower of Serving Men just arrived.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Doing the happy dance.
The Famous Flower of Serving Men just arrived. The cover is indeed gorgeous, Deb.
Hmph. Just checked Amazon to see if mine had shipped, and it's still listed as "not yet released."
Nothing wrong with that, Deb. Except possibly making my encounters look less than fateful. Huh. I know I can come up with something.
erika, how can one person's encounter be less fateful than another person's? The measure of fate is to the people involved in the encounter.
Mine shipped Saturday -- I hope to receive it tomorrow.
Third fateful encounter.
SIR Studios, San Francisco, February 1977
Recovering from the breakup.
I remember little of the past year: I wept, slept, imploded. Nothing in me wanted to be alive, or knew how hard it would be. I'm 22 and there's a hole in the universe. I've been trying to write it out of me in song.
It's me and my guitar, recording the recent history of being ripped apart. Through the fog, I realise the sound engineer is staring at me. He's a cutie: blond ponytail, blue eyes, beard.
"Want a bassplayer?" He offers a hand. "By the way, I'm Nic."
He knows, now, why I flinched at the name.
Deb, those rock. This:
He knows, now, why I flinched at the name.
especially.
Challenge #28: Fateful Encounters
Luc raised his head from an indifferent contemplation of his wine when Jean LaRoche tapped his shoulder. “May I present Sylvie Buchet? She is only lately of Avencon.”
Courtesy could not be ignored. Luc sketched a bow, accepting the woman’s cool hand. “A pleasure, milady. I am Luc DeLorme.”
“You are widowed, sir?”
“Yes, two years now.” His heart still ached with it.
“I am a widow myself, with two daughters.”
He offered his sympathy by rote, but his mind had raced ahead, to an image of his own small rose, at home alone. Soon, she would need a mother…
