Riley ,'Sleeper'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Allyson, Sam made a visit to Delaware last week. He was hanging out (literally) under the roof outside of my place of work. I totally meant to take a picture, but I forgot. I could kick myself. Anyway, everyone who saw him thought he was adorable. The pizza guy down the way left some water out for him, which was beyond adorable.
Anyway, just thought you'd like to know. I assume he's on his way across the Atlantic by now.
I hate that email, Jilli. But the awesome part about readers is that by the time your editor gets it, s/he will be all, "wow, there's barely anything to change. this is great work."
Seriously, my Vampire People readers rocked it out, and both my agent and editor thought I was some super brilliant thing, but it had already gone through the hardcore spicy brains of Buffistas, so it was super clean.
Better to get those horrific emails from your betas, sit down, and get it one more painful push.
The hats challenge is now closed.
The new challenge is dive.
Y'see that pine paneling on the walls? Once upon a time, it was a raw, almost anemic sort of yellow. That color it is now, that's smoke and sweat and pure devotion. That mahogany bar, with with the brass rail? Your great-granddaddy won that in a poker game. And reason we have two long tables is cause there's no exclusivity around here, no sir. Millionaires sit beside construction workers and maids and consider themselves lucky while they put away the best God and a good pitmaster have to offer.
Cause there ain't nothin' like a good barbeque dive.
Cherish it, son. In here, we're the kings of the world.
I had a dive drabble way back when, under a different challenge word. I still kinda like it. Is recycling allowed?
Don't know what the original color of the trailer was: today it is rust. "Bar food" when you are on the Texas side of the Lousiana border in a certain type of dive is deep fried quail you have to pick the buckshot out of and "hoppin chickin" (deep fried breaded frogs legs). The drinks? Lone Star, Budweiser, home-made wine bought from Cajun Joe down the road, the owners home brew if you dare. Locals come for the gossip and music. Tourists come because they've taken a wrong turn somewhere along the road.
I still kinda like it. Is recycling allowed?
Don't see why not.
Oh, nice dcp, despite the recycling.
His office was in the basement, cinderblock walls painted shiny urine yellow, slick vinyl tile over uneven concrete floors. A wire hanger leftover from winter’s overcoat dangled from an overhead pipe. She was here to discuss her class load and her benefits, and despite the oppressive atmosphere, the battleship desk and the institutional chairs, he seemed knowlegeable and interested in her courses. They were chatting, relaxed, when they heard it, sharp and distinct: ping! They exchanged a glance, and continued talking. ping! Another glance, and a waiting silence. ping! With innocent eyes and a straight face he ordered, “Dive! Dive!”
Dude. Talk about killing the thread. I'm sorry, 'kay? I'll try not to do it again.