Oh dear, Ginger is me. Not for the first time, either. Only for Nancy and me it was PP&M.

And then Love, Love Me Do.

She could hear the promise in every note; see the lush fields and sparkling waters. If she closed her eyes, she would see them clearer yet, and find herself half-standing, about to join the stream of merry children following him to the hillside.

But when she opens them, she sees herself in the room, with ripening breasts and widening hips, and feels the dull ache presaging monthly blood, tying her to this hearth.

She watches instead, as they run into the newly opened cavern, and when it closes, leaving one behind, she stands at last, and moves to comfort him.

Looking for a little advice -- a friend of a friend has asked me if I know any agents who specialize in fantasy. I never worked in the genre, and I don't think any of the agents I know handled it. Any suggestions for reputable people I could refer her to?

Ginger, I love your drabble. I used to listen to my dad's Kingston Trio records -- he and my mother were definitely the Harry Belafonte, Carpenters, Hi-Lo's types. I think the funkiest record they had was Jesus Christ Superstar.

So powerful, ita -- such lyric language ("tying her to this hearth") but such rich emotion.

Oh, ita.

My father was a jazz musician and producer. Music runs through the family like a particular gene, or something. We all have it. Hell, my brother's daughter is AD of a major municipal symphony orchestra, and also first chair violin, and her brother is doing a PhD for something called "modern somethingorother piano" at San Diego State. The music in my immediate family is ridiculous; my poor sister Alice, who loves it with a passion, is the model for Penny's musical inabilities in the current series: she knows songs in seven languages and can't hum any of them, or play an instrument.

ita, that was lovely.

Ginger! That brought back some memories; I was the first acid rock lover I knew in my own age group, and it definitely polished the edges of me being One Apart.

ita, will you write for me forever?

I'm drabble-less, but I'm thinking about it. It's sneaking around the back edges of my brain.

Ever quiet, ever gentle on your mind?

You are the coolest person, Robin. I'm glad to have met you (albeit not in person).

That's gorgeous, ita.

I've got a couple of drabbles lurking in corners of my mind, but they'll have to wait until I get my partials ready to go out the door.

a day in the life

It's not music, whatever it is. Noise, cacophony, chaos.

She's new on the drum kit, so it's taking her a while to find the groove. The boys don't really want to practice, they're just messing around on the guitars. And whatever song they're playing from the song bank on those cheap keyboards I've already heard one million times. The bassists are working, but that four-finger exercise doesn't exactly sound like Patitucci.

And then, unexpectedly, he raises those teenage boy eyes to me and says, "I don’t want you to go." My heart breaks as symphonic glories swirl around my head.