So so good!

Should I know that world?

-t this is the first story in that world to emerge. I'm so glad you liked it.

ps - if you reddit... come visit me today? [link]

Congratulations! To where?

The Genius Loci anthology! I can't believe the authors I'm sharing a table of contents with.

Congratulations, PC!

P-C, that's pretty darn awesome!

I still can't really believe it. And there are at least three other first-timers in there with me, including one person from my writing group!

Here's the intro from a story I'm working on. Feedback would be lovely!

__________________

I used to be a nice girl. Normal. Well, as normal as anyone is, really. I mean, it’s a subjective term, right?

But I digress.

My name is Liz. I used to be Lizzie. Lizzie led a quiet life, full of all the things normal people do. She had a family that drove her crazy sometimes, but whom she loved. A younger sister, Laura. She had an apartment, bills, a steady job she mostly liked. A fiancé. She liked horror and fantasy novels, bad action movies, yoga, and sex on Sunday mornings before making waffles. She made small donations to the ACLU and the ASPCA. She had two cats, Xander and Anya.

Lizzie was nice. Normal.

But that was before. I thought I was smart, savvy. I thought I knew about the atrocities perpetuated in this world. I thought I knew. I thought I was doing what I could to make the world a better place in my own small way.

I was a fool.

This was before what happened to Laura. Before the Goblin Market. Before. . . everything. I fell into the shit. No – I walked into it. For love. I had no idea.

I’m covered in shit now. And blood. And death. You can never go back from some things. Forget what the shrinks tell you. You. Can. Never. Go. Back.

I made my choices. They say you have to live with them. They’re wrong – you don’t.

I don’t have to live with them. I thought about it – just laying down and dying, letting myself be killed, doing it myself. It would be so easy. It’s the most alluring thing in the world. I came close. It’ll probably still happen.

I’ll die. Covered in the shit, the blood and the guilt, the memory of love and normal a faint taste in my mouth, like the lingering taste of apples and quinces, lemons and oranges, plump unpecked cherries,bloom-down-cheeked peaches, blackberries, apricots, strawberries. . .

I’m not normal anymore. And I’m not nice. I can’t be.

I’m Liz. Lizzie is dead.

And Liz probably will be soon, too.  

Strix, I like it, I like the pacing here. The narrator's tone prompts questions about who she is and how much we trust her take on events, but in a good way, because it feels like reading further will yield answers.

One question: how literal will the shit be? (I may be the freak reader who hears a term repeatedly in the intro and is waiting for the dung pile later in the story.)

I dropped in to announce a productivity update: I now have the first 4 chapters drafted of the piece I've been working on and I'm ready to move into the next part of the story.

hey ~t, you still have that Asimov's subscription?