I realized that a flash piece I wrote in February would be perfect for the current Penumbra theme if I can make it not terrible. Another flash piece I wrote in February was workshopped in my writing workshop, and people found it pretty funny, so I need to polish it a bit. And I'm submitting a story to an anthology about genius loci, and that one's looking pretty solid after another revision or so.

Well done, PC!!

ETA Namefix. Slowbrain.

Thanks, Sox! Also I have four pieces currently out and am impatiently waiting for the rejections so I can send them back out again.

So I'm decluttering my digital world once again, and I came across this untitled snippet. I have absolutely no memory of where it was going. I think it was a Drusilla POV piece? Zero clue.

The thing is, sometimes when she saw the stars, she could remember better. The flickerings of stars flickered less than other things, like children and lovers and the ruffles of silk dresses. See, people kept saying things about how disjointed she seemed, but the truth was when she looked at them closely (when she looked at them at all) it was they who were ephemeral. Diaphanous. She could see right through the entangled lace of their intentions and forgotten promises and the tendrils of their abandoned relationships. And when she looked for it, there was rarely any there there. No central core to their ball of yarn, just an empty hollow spot that kept getting bigger when you pulled at them.

No, people weren’t worth the time it took to understand them. Or to make them understand you. She found, in the end, that it rarely mattered if they understood you, or thought they did. They would act the same ways regardless: shallow, short-sighted, ultimately self-focused. So why bother with the people when they were so short lived anyway? You know, even if she wasn’t the one who killed them.

But the stars, the stars were something else. The stars were the same. A woman could rely on stars.

That's lovely, Liese.

WTF, Amazon?

It's been in WTF territory for a while. This is WTFBBQ.

The Worst Muse

I may need to join twitter just to follow that Muse. A world of snerk in there.

So I sold my first short story.