A Fall

I was running late when my shoe caught on some tiny imperfection in the street. After a moment of blackness, I tasted blood and felt bits of teeth on my tongue. I saw the flash of revealed bone as a police officer and garage attendant bandaged me, accompanied by the Greek chorus of a homeless man repeating, "I saw it, I saw it, she just fell." The blood had soaked through when I got back to the office, and a security guard rebandaged me for the trip to the clinic. "I haven't seen anything like this since 'Nam," he said.

Ginger, ouch ouch ouch ouch ouchouchouch OUCH.

I felt that one. Ouch.

Ouch, Ginger.

erika, I somehow missed your post in Beep Me, but I just went back and found it. Very powerful piece, and you've a real flair for turning a phrase. I loved this bit:

From my bedroom, I can hear that Mary has decided to narrate her defloration like a Ken Burns movie. Or a nature film on the habits of the captive suburban beaver. It's true; she cannot be struck speechless.

Susan:

Oh, nothing like that at all. AFAICT, first person is rare in romance in general, not just the historical subgenre, because of a perception that you can't tell a love story without both protagonists' POV

Of course, this makes sense but one of the great things about spot-on first person is that the reader might realize things about the character before the character does? Hmm, would it be out the question to write a historical romance from the first person point of view of several characters? ie Lucy's view and then James's? A little PoMo maybe, but I think that would really interesting as an exercise at any rate.

one of my Anna judges said I had a good grasp of period tone, so I'm going to continue to believe I know what I'm doing.

Well, I can honestly say that your passions for both honing your work and research have peaked this thread on more than one occasion. I for one am grateful that this thread kind of lets me follow you along with both your creative and professional experiences... I have learned much about style, word choice, and plot here as well as about the world of agents, publishers and markets. More than in any university writing class or group, that's for sure.

Susan, I meant to say, that whole "changing their voices" thing reminded me all too vividly of the idiot line editor I got saddled with for "Weaver" - the one who did her very very best to make my musician from Edinburgh and my producer from London sound like Tony and Carmella Soprano.

She stopped short of "Don't disrespect the Bing!", but not by much.

I don't like lit crit either, but I suspect it's because it makes me feel dumb! I'll like something, and someone Smarter Than Me will sneer at it, and explain all the reasons it was awful, and I'll feel dumb and unsophisticated and defensive. Kind of like telling a wine lover that I hate Merlot and prefer cheap sweet stuff like Riunite. Heh. The horrified looks! She's feral! Call the zoo!

I'm sorry, but that image? Funny. Susan, the funny part is, that is the gospel truth. I know everything about what went where and why. That's partly why we are not friends anymore. Because she put my stuff out on the street just as much. That's my job. Zenkitty, I know, I tried so hard to be like them, though...mysteries being my embarrassing Secret Shame, and stuff. I've, moved on now.

Actually, my abandoned Lucy edit is an alternating first person POV between Lucy and James. Which wouldn't have made this judge any happier, because no way was I going to swap back and forth between them in that particular 10-page scene. I like to stay in one character's head for awhile. IMO frequent POV shifts are often a cop-out--to me it's more interesting and just better to show what your non-POV characters are thinking and feeling through actions and dialogue than to hop into a new head every few paragraphs.

But that's just me.

Susan, I meant to say, that whole "changing their voices" thing reminded me all to vividly of the idiot line editor I got saddled with for "Weaver" - the one who did her very very best to make my musician from Edinburgh and my producer from London sound like Tony and Carmella Soprano.

Oy.

Hee, hee, hee. Of course, the fact that this amuses guarantees I'll get one who'll want to make my retired Chicago-transplant detective a Brit so maybe I'll just STFU now.

Fall drabble. It's 11 words over, but I can't decide which 11 to take out, so I'm leaving it for now. Also, extremely influenced by an essay I read a few days ago.

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By the time she came along, he had already given everything a name. He named her, too; named her for her origins, her past. He had the power to name, to define, to say, "This is all that needs to be known."

She was tempted, not by sin, but by knowledge – the craving to understand. Lilith, who had known, had run away, leaving only the shadow tracings of her presence on the word. But she didn’t run. She stayed, and she taught.

And she was renamed, reborn. This name also came from him, but it was a name of life, of the future. A fall from definition; a fall into possibility.