And, for an experiment, I decided to try both my hero-heroine first meet scenes from the POV of the one who's not the POV character at that point in the official version:

Tumble

How long has it been since he last fell from a horse? His shoulder hurts, but the sting of humiliation is far greater.

And to have such a witness! A girl, a sallow girl in a yellow dress, as calm and intrepid as can be as she catches Ghost’s bridle, calms her, and ties her to a low-hanging branch.

With the horse secure, she turns her attention to him, asks if he is injured. Her eyes are big, brown, and forthright, and he doubts she’d look half so sallow in a color that suited her.

Healthy Man

She hardly looks at the sergeant at first. A glance is enough to tell her he’s bursting with health and vitality, and she’s here to minister to the ill and injured. And the first few things he says to her are commonplaces, nothing to make her look closer.

He speaks again, and something about it makes her think that he sees her. Most people only see the facade. So she looks up and meets his eyes.

A strange jolt, like recognition, runs through her veins. How can anyone she’s just met seem so little like a stranger?

Susan looks around and realizes she's utterly alone in the thread. She shrugs, and lies back to drift off to sleep upon a sea of words.

Not utterly alone, I'm just lurky. Congrats on the accomplishments of the day, Susan! I'm getting really sucked into Lucy from the stuff you've been posting.

I really want to do this drabble; all of them have been so fascinating, but I'm not inspired. Oh well, there are still a couple days left.

There was one more in me, the one I didn't want to write. Damn it.

The One That Didn't Happen

4 September, 1994. We're in the car, and here it comes, a familiar piano riff.

I go stiff. I can't help it; it's reflex, hardwired. I try not to visibly react , bank down the fire that won't die, show nothing that could hurt. Wasted, of course. Nic knows me.

He glances at me sidelong, and pats my knee. "Someday," he says, no particular intonation, "you're going to bump into him. You know that, right? And you're going to keel over and faint, and that's it, you'll be fine."

I consider it. Finally I say "Damn. I hope you're right."

Two days later, my phone starts ringing.

I'd say this was a fateful encounter.
---------

Ten hours of labor, a gush of liquid that floods the floor, makes the midwife shout, “She’s in a hurry!” Six burning pushes and she’s out of me, my cranky fullback baby.

“Why won’t she nurse?” I’ve got tears in my eyes and the lactation consultant pats me on the shoulder.

Every nurse at every shift thinks she’s got the answer. My nipples burn from the pokes and twists as each attempts to force the baby to suckle.

The pediatrician laughs. “She’s a lazy-sucker; strong-willed. It happens.”

I laugh with her, clueless, stupid. I have no idea what this portends.

Susan, would you mind if I submitted that romance writer's PATRIOT Act story to lisnews.com?

ION, still sick. Have reached the most frustrating point of recuperation, where you have just enough energy to be bored but not enough to do anything but lie about.

Dani--For something like that where it's more official, I'd feel more comfortable if the magazine gave permission to reprint it. I could snail-mail you the whole article and the editorial contact info, if you're interested.

Deena, that piece reminds me of Betsy's story about her son, Will, living up to his name. Her father asked her, "What do you suppose would have happened if you'd named him Compliant?"

Susan, those were really good vignettes. I like Anna's comeback to the scumbag officer.

Deena--that's vivid, and oh-so-familiar.

I like Anna's comeback to the scumbag officer.

Since she spends a chunk of the early going as a Damsel, it's fun to give her the chance to be a Badass.

I fucking hate synopses.

That is all.