Archive | January 5, 2012

In Any ‘Verse

For TheLadyisUgly’s prompt. This is set in the two AU’s of the Addergoole ‘verse, whose landing page is here on DW & here on LJ.


Jamian hadn’t been at his new school for more than a week when the pretty strawberry-blonde upperclassman cornered him.

“So,” she demanded, with a cheerful smile of perfect teeth, “are you going to ask me on a date?”

“I…” suspecting a prank, Jamian looked around for the girl’s other friends. She hung out with a tough crowd of dangerous-looking seniors and juniors, some of whom looked like the sort that would enjoy pushing the new kid around, or getting a laugh at his expense. Seeing no-one else around, he hazarded “was I supposed to?”

“Well, duh,” she smirked. “If you wanted a chance to talk to me outside of school.”

“Ah.” Not feeling any more clear about things, he offered, hesitantly, “would you like to go out for dinner sometime? I hear the restaurant down on Main and Schmidt is pretty cool.”

“D’Angelo’s?” She looked surprised. “That’s a really nice place, yeah. This Friday?”

“Just you and me, right?” Feeling a little braver, he added, “I can’t afford all of your friends, too.”

“Just you and me, handsome,” she assured him. “Pick me up at my mother’s at eight?”

“Sure…” His stepfather would let him borrow the car for proof he wasn’t really gay. “Uh… where?”

She smiled slowly at him, a teasing thing he was already in love with. “If you really want it, you’ll find out.”


“You’ve been here a month, and the only people that know your name are the ones who pay attention in your classes.”

“I’m sorry?” Jaya hadn’t even noticed there was someone in the student lounge; she had been cutting through on the way to her study hall. She turned around to search out the speaker, and found him looking up at her from an armchair.

“You should be.” He grinned up at her, offering her a hand languidly. “I’m Ty. I’m a senior here.”

“Jaya… freshman.” She didn’t quite squeak it out.

“Jaya. That’s a lovely name. Why so shy, Jaya?”

“I, uh…” Brilliant. “People generally aren’t all that nice when you’re the new kid. And I’ve been the new kid a lot.”

“Well, I’m always nice, and so are my friends. Sit with us at lunch today, instead of hiding in the corner?”

He didn’t make it sound so much like a request as a royal demand. She should have been offended, told him whatfor. But he really was the first person who’d bothered asking her name since she got here. “I’d like that,” she told him shyly. “Um, right in the middle, right?” Out where everyone could see them.

“Right in the middle,” he grinned. “Advantages to being a senior – or to being friends with one.”

And that was definitely a suggestion. “I see,” she agreed carefully. “I’ll see you there.”

“I look forward to it,” he purred.

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I Want to Tell a Story

For EllenMillion‘s prompt.

“I want to tell a story.”

It wasn’t what Miss Kelley was expecting to hear from her students, and certainly not from this particular student, shy and a bit slow to learn. She looked down at Diandru thoughtfully. “What kind of story, Di?”

“I had a dream,” the very earnest child told her. “And it was like a movie, with everything very clear and bright, and there were explosions and gunshots and people were crying. And there was a dragon.”

“It sounds like a very interesting dream.” Miss Kelley found herself leaning forward, intrigued by the suggestion of a story.

“It was really cool. But I don’t know how to draw it and I’m not very good with letters yet.” Diandru held up a few crayon drawings. “They don’t look right.”

“Well, then.” Miss Kelly patted the bench next to her. “Let’s figure out how to tell this story, then, you and I, okay?”

“Okay.” Diandru scrambled up next to the teacher, and the two began to plot.

So it was that, at storytime the next day, Diandru began to speak, in a voice as clear as a bell, holding up illustrations drawn by Miss Kelly, labeled in painstaking handwriting by Diandru.

“The dragon came into town in the middle of the night. It was very cold, so cold that his fire wouldn’t light.”

The children leaned forward, intrigued, even those who wanted to be dismissive.

“He was looking for a warm place, somewhere that would make his steam turn back into fire. Dragons don’t like the cold, you know. Like Miss Carpenter’s snake.”

The children nodded. Snakes didn’t like the cold. They knew this to be true.

“There was a building on fire. It was in the part of town where the firemen took their time, a scary neighborhood where people shot just to hear their guns.”

The kids shivered, and nodded. They knew those neighborhoods. Some of them lived there.

“And the dragon saw this building, and its fire – it was a house,” Diandru hurried to add, but managed not to break the flow of the story anyway, “with people trying to get out. And the dragon settled down around the house, soaking up the fire like a cat in the sunlight.”

The children smiled at the image, but leaned in. “What about the people?” demanded a classmate.

“Well, they shot at it. That’s what people did in that neighborhood.”

“That was silly!”

“Yep. It was very silly, because the dragon didn’t even notice. It just kept soaking up the fire, eating it up, getting warmer and warmer… so that by the time the firemen showed up, the fire was all gone, and the people were saved.”

“And what about the people who had shot at the dragon?”

“Well, they felt really silly about shooting at something that was helping,” Diandru answered, holding up the picture labeled “feeling silly.” “And they threw all their guns into the lake…. Where the lake monster ate them for dinner!”

As the children giggled happily, Diandru hugged Miss Kelley’s legs. Looking down at the small child, the teach couldn’t help a giggle of her own. “Next week,” she whispered, “we can tell them the story of the Lake Monster.”

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Thursday Morning!

We ordered blinds for the Giraffe Room last night (Cellular/honeycomb shades, to be specific), so we’re down to “make the moulding fit, paint everything again, and find/install a light” for livability. (Also, the shades arriving, though chances of someone peeking their head in our bedroom window are pretty slim)

Slowly getting picked up and organized. Slowly. I come home from work pretty exhausted at the beginning of the month.

Art is happening all over the place, in less sleepy news! [personal profile] anke is still taking free sketch requests! And shadows-gallery is holding a $5 character portrait day.

[personal profile] ysabetwordsmith has also posted her list of poems from the January Fishbowl

This entry was originally posted at You can comment here or there.

Ask me about my writing, a meme

Stealing this one from [personal profile] recessional, who stole it from [personal profile] lizbee:

I think it would be fun to talk about stories, but the usual memes are like, “What happens next?” “Tell me about Character A?” Which isn’t so much talking about stories as it is writing more of a story. But you know how sometimes you read something and you’re like, “I got ___ out of this story, I wonder if I have that right?” or “What on earth was ____ supposed to be?” and it’s too awkward to ask the author? Now you could totally ask!

I’ve heard people say that writing is hard because you have to make decisions, but we never really talk about the decisions we make with stories or why we make them. We talk about plot bunnies, but not about how we actually turn them into a story.

And it seems like a lot more fun to do that than to do working.

So, if you wanted, ask me questions! (Or use this to ask your flist to ask you questions).

What were you trying to do [here]? Why did you decide to ____? This is what I thought about xyz, is that what you were going for? What made you write ____? Why did you decide to do this? And so on.

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