end:
Fifteen years have gone by. I have a certain measure of peace, and my house, Le Perdu, is all my father Alain promised me; a haven, a floating ship. Sometimes I direct it, to places where there exists something I need; sometimes I let it drift. I keep it anchored to this world, though, for every home must have some foundation, and mine is in the hills outside a small California town called Sunnydale. I had no idea why the house kept wanting to return to this spot, but return it did.
So I wait in peace, sometimes in yearning, always learning what I can. And someday, perhaps, there will be more to tell.
clap, clap, clap, clap! Brava!
Wonderful! Oh, it leaves so many little threads fluttering loose, so tantalizingly, even while it explains some things in The Pensioner. Did you know all this backstory on Amanda when you wrote The Pensioner?
The remarkable thing? You've done just enough to anchor this story in the late 60s and very early 70s. Just the way Mary Stewart anchored her stories postwar in England or in the mid-sixties in Greece and France. It isn't 'dated,' so much as anchored in the sensibilities of the time. Excellently, evocatively done.
What Beverly said about anchored, not dated. And the other nice things, too!
Did you know all this backstory on Amanda when you wrote The Pensioner?
Nope. Only the bit about the confrontation in the shop on her birthday. No details at all, and none of the rest.
It's damned near 15,000 words long. Crikey.
I'm thinking the final bit (third story, that is, which aint gonna happen yet) will have the big happy ending, at least by my standards of happy endings.
Set post-Pensioner?
If only Giles weren't
dead.
Post-Pensioner.
Hey, it's my fic, godamnit. If we put Wes in bed with Andrew, I can keep my honeybunny Rupert alive.
