Thanks for the compliments on the Pied Piper. It was the first thing that came to mind when I read the topic, but the POV took a while to fall into place.

Drabble

"Why are you listening to that?" She looks up from her cleaning. "Are you in love? Did someone break your heart?"

Love? Heart? I'd never thought of those before. I play the song over and over, searching for their meaning, trying to feel their drama.

I'm nine. I can't.

But as time passes, I learn to pull the weft of their lyrics through the warp of my imagination. Where that isn't enough, I embroider with the emotions of the lyrics, and stitch with the stories of my friends.

I wrap this robe around me and pretend that I am warm.

OK. Per the advice of people in my RWA chapter, I'm including a line in my cover letter about how I'm doing a major revision on Lucy's story, to prevent me from getting in trouble if by some strange chance the agent and/or editor happens to get it on Friday, toss it in her briefcase to read over the weekend, and call me Monday to request the full. Because if that's ever going to happen, it WOULD have to be when the full is around a quarter rewritten, wouldn't it? Anyway, here's my draft for the relevant sentence:

I am in the midst of a major revision to strengthen character development and conflict, which I expect to complete by the end of December.

Should I take out the bit about "to strengthen character development and conflict"?

I'd just leave it at "major revision", I think, Susan. If anyone wants to know why, they can ask you.

That was my instinct, too. OK, time to kill a toner cartridge. (And yes, I have a spare on hand.)

Yep. Extra detail not necessary.

ita, another lovely, that one. And Connie, HA! It's like being able to smile and say, why yes, I CAN play about 40% of the bits in the St. Matthew Passion....

Music Drabble 2

I spent the summer driving to the hospital, bringing milkshakes to help take the curse off hospital food. He sat in the bed, wracked with fever, with a pile of CDs next to him and his headphones creating a soundtrack for tests and doctors. Through the fall and winter, I brought him soup, watched as he became a skeletal figure, stark white without the contrast of beard stubble or eyebrows. The next fall, I sat in the back of the club, selling CDs. He started to sing, leaning slightly on the microphone stand. I sat in the dark and sobbed.

All of these music drabbles have been killer. I love them. I have another one brewing but am supposed to be teaching or something. Work. Feh.

Jeepers, Ginger. Dayum. Wow. Ouch.

false starts

On our first date, he took me to rehearsal and played horn with Murph. The boy had chops. Emily asked, "Are you here with someone?" I said, "Yes," but did not say the name. He played and I danced angrily, competitively with her, though I did know until then she was my rival. He didn't understand the language, so was surprised when later that night she screamed and cried and tore her hair out and broke her nails off in the soft Tennessee soil. I waited, for a while, but freshmen had curfews, and the surfer dude walked me home.

the concert

I don't remember if he'd gotten special permission or if we'd broken in. Seeger Auditorium was empty, our footsteps echoing off the polished wood floors. Moonlight glinted through emerald and sapphire-hued stained glass. The red velvet curtain, aglow in the stage lights, framed the big black Steinway.

He sat me in the middle of the eighth row, and took the stage. Time stopped, and he played. Magic dripped from his fingers and wound its way through the air to me, his audience of one. And suddenly, I knew the rest of our lives would unfold from that single pure moment.