Just got home from playgroup and got it, Susan.
Book: Where's the doctor? Not back yet?
Zoe: (beat) We don't make him hurry for the little stuff. He'll be along.
Book: He could hurry... a little.
'Safe'
The Great Write Way
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Amy - Jan 27, 2005 7:00:55 am PST #9704 of 10001
Because books.
erikaj - Jan 27, 2005 7:10:38 am PST #9705 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
Got it, too. Have not started to read yet.
Ginger - Jan 28, 2005 7:03:52 am PST #9706 of 10001
"It didn't taste good. It tasted soooo horrible. It tasted like....a vodka martini." - Matilda
Fire
The white smoke ran like water into the nooks and crannies of irregular pile, briefly obscuring the hundred shades of brown. Poked with a stick, the pile would flare up briefly into orange flame and then subside into sparks and smoke. We jumped on sparks that escaped. The smell, acrid and yet welcoming, recalled dense black nights with bright stars, the crisp cold of not-quite-winter, and the swish swish of rakes, soft on the grass but loudly metallic on the concrete. We jumped into the piles, laughing, then were scolded into pushing them back into shape.
I miss burning leaves
deborah grabien - Jan 28, 2005 1:30:52 pm PST #9707 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Hey.
Just popping to post one I did for Fire.
Wembley Pool, London, June 1981
We're drivin' in my car...
Wembley, summer, lord have mercy it's Bruce, front row seat and I've made friends with the roadies, up from the pit to the edge of the stage, feet dangling, houselights down and the place goes nuts, rafters shaking
You say you don't want it...
Bruce is dancing all over the stage, the sax is volcanic steam, hot men, hot song, if it gets any hotter in here we're risking spontaneous combustion
when we kiss, oooooh....
He dances toward us, and suddenly the mic is under my nose and I remember the harmony and somehow sing it
fire
Pix - Jan 29, 2005 11:50:13 am PST #9708 of 10001
We're all getting played with, babe. -Weird Barbie
So remember that essay I begged for help on a month or two ago, the one about the student letters? I am finally sending it off to English Journal on Monday. Think happy thoughts.
Ginger - Jan 30, 2005 10:09:20 am PST #9709 of 10001
"It didn't taste good. It tasted soooo horrible. It tasted like....a vodka martini." - Matilda
Susan, insent.
Brynn - Jan 30, 2005 12:53:49 pm PST #9710 of 10001
"I'd rather discuss the permutations of swordplay, with an undertone of definite allusion to sex." Beverly, offering an example of when your characters give you 'tude.
Kristin: Sending you good publishing~ma
Deb: your drabble made me green with envy. *swoon*
erikaj - Jan 30, 2005 1:21:00 pm PST #9711 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
wrod.
sfmarty - Jan 30, 2005 3:02:41 pm PST #9712 of 10001
Who? moi??
Liese S. - Jan 30, 2005 7:48:00 pm PST #9713 of 10001
"Faded like the lilac, he thought."
fire don't play
A million miles away, I watched it burn. Phone calls, email, nothing I could do. The maps, every day. A widening circle, 0% contained. They said the fire was a wall fourteen feet high. Gases igniting in fireballs in the sky. Closer to town, always closer.
I put my hand to my mouth, watching, but only wept when it was over and I saw my favorite restaurant on CNN, still undamaged. Evacuated people I knew going home, safe, safe.
But years later the town is still as scarred as the hillsides. A need to talk about it to every passing stranger. Photos of the fire over the registers. Memory of the possibility of death, tragedy. Restoration is a longer process than just quenching the flames.