Thee and me both, Deb.

(In other news, I'm all chuffed at having added another 8000 words to my big fuckoff Potterverse story these past couple of days. I think I might actually get the bugger finished before I leave the country! I do hope so. It's at 58,000 words at present, which is more than double the size of the longest thing I've ever written in my life. I'm quite excited.)

58K??? Fay, love, that's a frellin' novella.

Well, it pretty much is, yes. I think it should be around 70k when it's finished. I'm pretty chuffed.

Once this is out of the way I'm going to concentrate on trying to rewrite some of my fanfic into an idea I've had for an original novel. I know that in the real world publishers mostly don't look at anything less than, what, 100k? But 40 or 50k is allegedly novel(la) length, I think? So that's what I'm aiming for, just to see if I can do it. As a writing exercise, type of thing.

100K? Um, "Weaver" is just about 70K on the nose.

Really? Well, bugger me. That's immensely cheering.

Actually, it's 69,422, and that includes acknowledgements. The second book, "Famous Flower of Serving Men", is longer, about 78K. Don't know where "Matty Groves" is going to finish up, but likely around 74-75K.

"Plainsong" was 70K almost to the word.

I dreamed of Ethan Rayne last night. No fic has come of it, yet, but I take it as a sign that I should pick up Ethan and Giles on the Road to Shanghai pretty soon. Especially as Ethan was chanting and taking off his shirt as he studied a statue in a circle of candles. I'm afraid my muse is contracting spell-hits on me. Or, she just knew I liked seeing Ethan without his shirt on.

I agree with your muse. There should be more Ethan and Giles.

Mine you, my dream last night had naked Lex drinking tea. I'm a little at loss to work out what the muse wants, except to take it as encouragement with the Smallville fic.

(I wrote this overnight. Even I don't plot this early.) More of Tim at Casa Summers.

"Excuse me?"

She laughs, not really a happy laugh, but one of those "Where is my brain?" kind of laughs that some women use to be endearing. "I can't leave you standing around here, Detective..."

Why doesn't anybody on this case remember his name? "Bayliss. Call me Tim." And he decides the laugh is endearing.

"Joyce Summers. Like the season, not like Suzanne."

"Joyce, I'm here about Ms. Calendar. I need to talk to Buffy."

"She's in her room. I'll get her for you. Would you like something to drink first? Water, coffee, hot chocolate with marshmallows?"
She nurtures everyone, he can see that. In a perfect world, he would come back here and complain about the lieutenant and the long hours and she'd know the perfect thing to say. But in this world, he exists to rip the scab off a wound. It's better if you do it fast.-more-

"A little water would be fine, thanks." She insists on filling his glass for him. "I read that if you don't drink enough water, your brain actually shrinks. Can you imagine? Oh, listen to me, rattling on. Buffy! There's someone here to see you!"

This girl has the perfect nickname, he decides, for he can't imagine "Buffy" being on anyone's birth certificate. She looks like she would be happy and bouncy most of the time, but the last few weeks have been wearing. He cannot believe the fate of the world rests on such a tiny person. He's not sexist. He considers Kay at work one of the best investigators he's ever seen. But Kay is more(and he knows she would give him shit if he said this out loud) substantial. He could imagine that her reaction would include a "Substantial this, Bayliss," and a quick middle finger. But this girl looks like the wind would blow her over.