Sorry 'bout that. It has been a busy day. If all goes well, I'll get some more writing time tonight (once I get a good look at that lunar eclipse).

I'm quite chuffed and a wee bit embarrassed by the positive feedback. There's part of me that's all whee!! and part of me that is waiting to be found out as a fraud. Does anyone else ever feel that way?

Anne, this is lovely. More more more!

Anne, oh yes, about the 'they must mean somebody else' feeling.

I love it, Anne. I'm tempted to start watching the bloody show so I can get the deal on these characters.

Only every day...that's my OTP, so far.Whee/fraud I mean.

There's part of me that's all whee!! and part of me that is waiting to be found out as a fraud. Does anyone else ever feel that way?

t giggle, snort

You mean the "stop while you're ahead, you've got better things to do wtih the next year of your life than start another multi-part novel length thing, even if you have been planning it from the start. You'll never match what you did before, go out on top before they find out it's all been a very lovely fluke and they should really just ignore the man behind the curtain" thing?

No, not at all t tugging the curtain a little closer around the mystic control center and hoping the pyrotechnics distract them

Odd.

I never feel like a fraud, not about writing. About other things, yes; at the moment, for instance, fraud-parenting looms large.

Not about writing, though. If a piece sucks, it sucks; so what? Write another.

To me, a fraud indicates dishonesty.

You'll never match what you did before

This. I know this well.

Glances at desk drawer of partially written stories....

The biggest thing that keeps me going is the knowledge of all those kick-ass stories out there on the net that never got finished for some reason or the other. I'm not going to join them. I don't want people thinking "Yeah, Two Ladies of Quality, nice stuff, though I wish she'd finished that one piece. I wonder what happened to her?"

it's progressing slowly, but it's progressing

Friday night, date night. Xander walked down the hallway to Anya's apartment with a bouquet of chocolate roses. She agreed that flowers were pretty, but she had an odd quirk about having what she called plant corpses around the house. Which made odd, Anya sense.

He paused at her front door to listen for signs of her presence. They'd been trying all summer to recreate something resembling a relationship, but between the shop and the demon biz, free time was something Anya didn't have a lot of. She had been practically living with him before the trip to the convent, but after getting her old job back they'd decided some reorganization time was in order. Which was just as well: when Anya got the call that a scorned woman was looking for some payback, she headed out immediately. Xander found it less upsetting to stop by her place to find a note saying, "Off to Vladivostok, love you," then to have her teleporting out of his place on her missions of unmercy.

The stereo inside was playing something upbeat, so she was home. He knocked on the door.

"Come in if you're Xander!" came the answering call.

He paused to savor the sound of her voice. Even a whole summer later, Xander still had trouble replacing the image of Anya dying in his arms with the ongoing pictures of the perky woman bustling through her world. Perky demon. He shook his head firmly and went in.

For a couple of hours they pretended they were nothing but a devoted couple catching up on the day's news over dinner. They traded stories of the shop and of the construction site over some surprisingly good lasagna. Dessert was apple pie a la mode--Xander suspected supermarket pie meets a few seconds in the microwave for warmth, but he didn't care because it was good--and they took their plates over to the couch to catch some sitcoms on TV while they ate and leaned against each other.

The evening was about to progress to the "kissing leading to sex" part of the schedule when a puff of air moved through the room, followed by a woman's voice saying, "Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt, Anyanka! I didn't know you had a guest."

Anya sighed and straightened up from her very comfy spot on Xander's shoulder. "This isn't a guest, Halfrek, this is Xander."

The woman standing in the middle of the entryway--where she hadn't been two seconds before-- was the fluffy, pretty sort. She blinked at Xander in eager curiosity. "Oh, so *this* is Xander. He's pretty."

"Thanks," Xander said with a frown. He raised an eyebrow at Anya, who sighed.

"Halfrek, Xander Harris. Xander, Halfrek. She's a friend from work."

He grimaced. "I'm thinking you don't mean the Magic Box."

Halfrek bounced over to the couch. "No, I'm a vengeance demon, too. Hi." She held out her hand.

Xander shook her hand gently. "So, vengeance demon. Who do you venge for?"

Her smile slipped a few points. "Children. I work with kids."

He blinked in surprise. "Then how come none of my wishes as a kid came true?"

"It's--complicated." Halfrek turned back to Anya. "So, sweetie."

Anya shook her head. "I have tonight off. It's down on the schedule. D'Hoffryn himself initialed it."

"Well, that was before this guy in Paris cleaned out the bank accounts, ran off with his secretary, and left his wife and four kids homeless and bankrupt. It's a two-for-one deal. Plus--Paris!"

Anya started to look intrigued, then shook her head again very firmly. "Night off. Night off with Xander. Paris is . . ." She tossed her head. "I've seen Paris. I haven't seen Xander all week." She leaned back against his shoulder.

Halfrek sighed. "Anya, Mme. DuCharles is whipping up potions and firing up the hand of glory as we speak. The kids are holding candles at the edge of the circle and chanting. We're up, honey."

"No. Get somebody else." But the smile she gave Xander was uncertain.

Xander sighed. "Honey, if you've got to go--"

"No. It's on the schedule. If we start ignoring the schedule, then chaos has won and the bunnies are members of the board." She shuddered and dropped her head firmly onto Xander's shoulder.

Halfrek looked to the ceiling for guidance. "Look, if it's such a big deal, why don't you just bring him with us?"

Anya started to answer, paused, then looked at Xander. "Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I've been to Oxnard."

"Oxnard isn't Paris."

"No, it isn't. But Oxnard is where I've been."

"You'd like Paris," she grinned. "It's very pretty and old, and if you ignore the Frenchpeople, it's a very nice place. We could stroll along the river and listen to the music."

Xander blinked and thought about it. He'd only ever been out of the state of California once, and he hadn't quite given up his dream of traveling and seeing something of the world. The idea of strolling along a river in a romantic city hand in hand with Anya was actually pretty appealing.

Halfrek nodded at the look on his face. "Xander, yes, come along and wait in some nice little Left Bank cafe while we finish with Mme. DuCharles' wish, then you and Anya can have a wonderful time."

Anya sighed. "Yes, we should get that out of the way first. Then I wouldn't be distracted."

"So," Xander said slowly, "we'd have our romantic tour of Paris after . . ."

Anya shrugged sadly. "Can't be helped. Work before pleasure."

"And I'd wait in a cafe someplace while you and Halfrek here . . ."

"Oh, we can talk Mme. DuCharles into something quick for her husband, then we'd have most of the weekend for ourselves."

Somehow Xander didn't see himself sitting in some restaurant, calmly waiting for Anya to finish eviscerating some poor schmoe so they could have a nice little vacation.