Hunh.

People are making comments about one of the Yuletide stories I wrote, and the comments are making me feel kind of... angry and a little hurt.

I know it's not unintentional, but the fact remains. Authors don't get revealed until Jan 1, and I'm kind of stewing in frustration.

Anybody else had a bad Secret Santa experience?

Last year, I think it caused a big issue in Pop.

I haven't yet, but I am guilty of obsessive checking to see if anyone has said anything, period.

shrift, could you link to it?

shrift, could you link to it?

Well, that's the thing -- it's anonymous until Jan 1, and I don't want to violate the rules. Plus, I know the people who organized it, and I respect them lots.

And I'm not saying that just because they can take me. Although I'm pretty sure tzikeh could. Heh.

I just felt like grumping and ruffling my feathers, and Dana, who already knows which story I mean because she beta read it, is off doing the holiday thing.

And serial-posting to add that the comments aren't mean-spirited or negative. Just. Frustrating me because I can't respond.

Oh, well, I'm glad they're not mean-spirited or negative. I was all indignant on your behalf. Now I have nowhere to send the dignant.

Okay, they're a little negative. And hee on the dignant.

I have worked out exactly what I'm going to post when the story authors are revealed, so grumbling a bit did accomplish something.

More Fledgling: "Hey, Wesley," I say, "instead of more beer, how about some nice Scotch or something. I haven't had any since I finished off the Oban Stanley got me for Christmas...surprisingly thoughtful guy, Stanley. Even if he thinks you need breasts to work a washing machine, huh?"
Reluctantly, he orders it, saying "Do you think that's wise? Considering your ordeal, I mean." These men and their puppy faces. Who says we're the emotional ones?
"I didn't drink it all myself, if that's what you're wondering. And you know what else is an ordeal? Life." And because that line sounded a little too Munchlike, I say "It's a lot of other stuff, too." And take another big swallow of Scotch. I know you're not supposed to drink that stuff so fast, but I already had a killer stage fright going. If I was gonna do this, I was gonna need some serious anesthetic. Nobody outside my family knew about the little routines we worked out. Carrie and I thought we were gonna be famous. Now I'm investigating stiffs and Carrie is busy getting to know half of Italy in a Biblical sense(Don't get me wrong...I'm glad she's now ex-Mrs. Braindead. And I get it about the cancer scare. But I thought the "Find a warm body to make you feel alive' stage would be shorter than this. And I've heard more than I should about Paolo and Vincenzo's salamis, huh? She's looking for trouble and one day she'll find it.) -more-

"Have another drink, Wesley," I say, "Unless you're worried I'll start looking good to you or something." I feel the warmth starting inside me now...I think I can handle this.

"There's still time to back out, you know. We could come back another day...I didn't realize this was such a trial for you. You seem so fearless."
"Key word, seem. It's easy at work cause I'm not just me...I'm the long arm of the law with a B-cup. Here I'm back to being little Katie Howard, who loses everybody. I really don't like being her, Wesley."

"I understand." And somehow I could tell he did. -more-

"I understand." And somehow I could tell he did.

Mmm, I can see his face as he says it. This is nice.