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.

I make my way to the stage, self-conscious about my walk for the first time in...forever. Carrie used to tell me I walk like a Teamster, and maybe I do. But it's not all bad. Nobody fucks with them, right? But it's not exactly seductive. But my sister? Makes herself small. Tiny steps, tiny bites, tiny men with tiny brains. I told myself I would never do that, and I don't. I take the stage as my usual cowgirl self, and feel like raising my fist in victory to the crowd. But I don't...I stand there for a minute, not saying anything
"Take it off!" some drunk idiot says. Everybody's a comedian, huh?
That, I can cope with.
"I'm afraid that'll take more money than you've got. Ok, sir? But I guess it's good you brought up clothes, since my song is about boots."
I hear Lorne from the audience saying "But of course! Go for it, peaches!" The audience chuckles. When they're quiet, I feel like I took Drunk Dumbass' advice, and I'm standing there, naked, every pucker showing. Oh, God, shoot me now, I think. But then I remember that God and I had that opportunity recently, and I lived. The hell with it, I think, and sing as if I'm in my bedroom again, using my hairbrush as a microphone, except for a brief pause while I think you'd have to be pretty high to think "You keep lying when you oughta be truthin'" is any good. But it's not the same as when I was twelve, huh? I was just barely getting how suggestive that song was...which I think is why I liked it...I felt like I was in on something, huh? But really, "a brand-new box of matches" Jesus. I decide to go for broke and sing as if I wanna go home with every critter in this place. It's been a long time, I'm far from home, and have a lot on my mind. I'll never see most of them again, anyway. But part of me hates for Wes to see me up there making a slut of myself.He thinks I'm forward, anyway.