Viola

"Allez Les Cougs!"

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 19:27:05 GMT

My favorite comment on WSU's mauling of Notre Dame yesterday, to advance to the Sweet Sixteen:

From the Seattle P-I: "Somebody hand me a Rwandan espresso! Wow! Allez Les Cougs!"

Death is not an option

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 04:41:45 GMT

So, my NCAA tourney bracket? Is supremely fucked. (I believed in George Mason. And Baylor.) But, then, who in their right mind would have picked four 12-13 seeds to advance to Round 2? No one, that's who. At least I can put my instilled, lifelong hatred of Notre Dame* to good use tomorrow. Wazzu buried Winthrop 71-40 yesterday and it was glorious -- but ND is a much better offensive team than Winthrop, so we will see.

And, speaking of sports, there is this:

“You want to talk about your day?” Byers asked, taking a drink.

“Nope. You?”

“Not particularly.” There was a long pause, filled only by the background chatter of the ESPN sportscasters. “So, uh, see any good sports lately?”

“You want to talk about sports? Really?”

“Sure.” Anything was better than thinking about Susanne. “Why not? Tell me some football stories.”

Jimmy hesitated a moment, then dived right into tales about trick plays, West Coast offense and the size of your typical Big XII defender.

“So, I played tight end in high school, but once I got to college the receivers coach decided I was fast enough to be a full-time receiver if I dropped a few pounds. They’d still put me in at tight end, though, if they needed someone who could catch and reinforce the pocket.”

Byers just stared.

“None of that made any sense to you, did it?”

“You might as well have been speaking Dutch,” Byers admitted.

“I caught the ball, and occasionally had to hit people.”

In spite of himself Byers smiled. “Now those are terms I can understand.”

“It was lucky I was big and fast. Even still, I got my bell rung a few times.”

Jimmy sustaining a series of head injuries in college actually explained a lot.

“I loved that game,” Jimmy said, looking suddenly thoughtful. He drained his beer and signaled the bartender to bring more. “Football was my whole life. I was never really all that good at anything else.”

“Why did you quit?” Byers had asked before, but Jimmy hadn’t wanted to share.

“It doesn’t really matter.” He moved his elbows off the table as the bartender brought another round of beers. “Hey, Merl, can we get a couple shots of Crown, too?”

“Sure thing, Jimmy.”

He turned back to Byers. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. It wasn’t my choice, but it’s how things worked out. I was lucky to have as long a career as I did.” Their whiskey shots arrived and Jimmy picked his up. “Cheers,” he said and downed it easily.

Byers followed suit, mostly managing not to cough as the whiskey burned his throat.

“Want to talk about girls?”

At that, Byers did cough. Pounding slightly on his chest, he managed, “What?”

Jimmy shrugged. “We talked about sports; I figured girls and cars were next.”

Byers laughed, the shot of whiskey beginning to ease some of his tension away. “Sure, Jimmy. Sure. Let’s talk about girls.”

“Meg is nice. I like her.”

Okay, Byers thought, on second thought, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Um, maybe we shouldn’t talk about my ex-wife?”

Jimmy gave him an odd look, but just said, “Okay. How about Susanne?”

“Uh-uh.” Byers paused. “Yves?”

“No.” Jimmy took a large drink from his beer, shaking his head. “Wait. I’ve got it… Ginger or Marianne?”

“Marianne.” A pause. “Emma Peel or the Bionic Woman?”

“Oh, Emma Peel. Totally.” Jimmy grinned, looking happier than he had all night. “Paris or Nicole?”

“Ack.”

“Death is not an option.”

“Er, Nicole. I think. Maybe.” Byers paused. “Brett Favre or Peyton Manning?”

“No way!”

Byers chuckled into his beer. “Death is not an option.”

“Aw, man. Favre, I guess.”

*This is entirely my parents' fault.

And gravity has taken better men than me / Oh how can that be

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 03:55:34 GMT

These days most of my writing energy (and what little time I have to write) goes into my original projects. Tonight though I was picking through my old fic files, and found an unposted piece that I'd totally forgotten about. I'd originally started it for a drabble challenge. It wound being too long for a drabble, but not substantive enough for a ficlet either. That being said, I think I'll post it anyway (a few years after the fact) just for fun. :)

Title: Grief
Fandom: The Lone Gunmen/The X-Files
Summary: Post-Jump the Shark Jimmy/Yves, albeit in a sad, dark, drunken way...

There was a bar six blocks from Arlington, with peanut shells on the floor and a jukebox that only ever seemed to play the blues.

Whiskey and lager blurred the edges of the world, made it bearable. She’d had the first drink for him, the second for them, and all the rest for herself. That hadn’t really been part of the plan, but here she was.

Then again, nothing had gone much according to plan lately.

“Yves?”

Jimmy reached across the table and grabbed her fingers. He was still pale, his eyes red-rimmed, the lids swollen.

“What is it, Jimmy?” she asked shortly, but didn’t move her hand.

“I think maybe we should talk- you know, about what comes next…?”

Next? Of course, he would assume. But all she said was, “We’re not in much shape to be thinking about the future, let alone talking about it.”

“I just- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Walk away,” she said before she could stop herself. “Walk away, live your life. Send flowers once a year. But, otherwise? Never look back.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I very much do.”

“No.” He stood up and walked around the table, leaning down and taking her chin in one hand, grabbing her wrist tightly with the other. He wasn’t usually this physical with her. “Tell me you don’t mean that.”

“Jimmy-“

And then somehow they were in the men’s room, the metal door of one of the stalls pressed up against her back.

This was a terrible idea. Even drunk as they both were, she knew that much.

"The dialogue on this show is not good... not good-er than usual."

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 07:09:00 GMT

I can't be the only one who thinks One Tree Hill would be vastly more interesting if the central love story were Peyton/Brooke... right?

(Apparently, this is what it takes to get me to post something.)

“You might as well have been speaking Dutch.”

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 02:31:44 GMT

It's not often anymore that I have an entire afternoon to sit by myself and not do much these days. When I do, I try to tinker away at least one of the ongoing writing projects I have hanging around. Some are originals, some are old fanfic series (some are new fics, but I'm trying not to do those until I finish what's on my plate). So here's a section from this afternoon's efforts:

From The Geek Rock Series (LGM/X-Files, ongoing series):

"This is the most boring stake-out duty we have ever done,” Langly whined, tossing his binoculars onto the van’s passenger seat. “How many times in one month can a woman get her toenails painted?”

As much as Frohike hated to admit it, Langly had a point. Kate Grey was not proving to be the femme fatale he’d initially suspected her to be.

The most interesting thing she’d done since they’d started watching her was dissolve into tears in the cookie aisle at Trader Joe’s. He’d felt a little guilty watching that, especially from across the street through a pair of binoculars. He remembered what it had been like just after his dad died. He’d found himself misting up at odd times, set off by everyday things that conjured up a random memory.

She’d gone home with a box of Chocolate Joe-Joes and sobbed on the couch all night.

So, yeah. Maybe not a criminal mastermind, after all. (Either that, the paranoid voice in his head warned, or she’s just very, very good at this.)

At the moment little Katie was propped up on pillows in an oversized pedicure chair, soaking her feet and glancing through an outdated issue of Vanity Fair. Her friend, a loud, brassy blonde with a fake tan, alternated between complaining about her latest boyfriend and breaking off to send text messages on a hot pink phone.

“This,” Langly said, “is why I don’t date.”

“This is why you don’t date?” Frohike lowered his binoculars incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. “You tease me about how I’ve never touched a girl. Whatever. The fact is, I’ve had girlfriends, and to be perfectly honest nine out of ten women are a complete waste of my time.”

This was possibly the most Langly had ever said on the subject of women or dating at one stretch. All Frohike could find to say in reply was, “Wow.”

“I’m serious, man. Look at these girls.”

“I see two hot blondes. What’s your point?”

“Hot? Sure. Maybe. But imagine all the baggage that would actually come with dating one of them. I’m not talking a one-night drunken hook-up in Mazatlan,” he amended, as though reading Frohike’s mind, “I mean actually dating. The chick with the cell phone is an obvious nightmare. On the surface she’s a spoiled princess but, deep down, she’s suspects that maybe daddy never really loved her. So now she needs to find a new daddy, one who’ll prove that he loves her with his undivided attention, expensive jewelry and constant reassurances that her ass does not look fat. And the other one… Kate. Well, hell, you think she’s probably evil, so there you go.”

“That’s what you think your dating options are? Insecure, self-involved daddy’s girls, or evil?”

“There are also controlling harpies, total wet blankets and girls who really, really like unicorns. Oh, and horrible ice queens with anti-freeze in their veins.” He shrugged. “You know. Jimmy’s type.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that last part.” Frohike paused. “But you’re also kind of a jerk.”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em. I’m not trying to win any popularity contests.”

It was a good thing, too.

Meme

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 05:09:20 GMT

A meme, of sorts, via praetorianguard

1. What was the highlight of your day yesterday?
We slept in. :)

2. Whose car were you in last?
Mine.

3. When is the next time you are going to kiss someone?
Tomorrow night, when my boyfriend gets off work.

4. What color shirt are you wearing?
Grey. White. Both. I'm wearing a grey t-shirt with a red Washington State logo, layered over a long-sleeved white tee.

5. How long is your hair?
Very long. Longer than I've had it in years.

6. Last movie you watched?
Heat.

7. Last thing you drank?
Water.

8. Last thing you ate?
A slice of the Bourbon-Pecan Tart with Chocolate Drizzle that pink_hobbit made last night.

9. Where did you sleep last night?
In my bed, with the heated mattress pad turned on. I was wiped out yesterday. I fell asleep around 9 p.m.

10. Are you happy right now?
Mostly.

11. What did you say last?
"I love you, Mom."

12. Where is your phone?
In my purse, which is... somewhere.

13. What was the last museum you went to?
Portland Art Museum

14. What color are your eyes?
Hazel.

15. Who came over last?
To my house? My boyfriend.

16. When was the last time you had your heart broken?
It's been awhile, thankfully.

17. Who/what do you hate/dislike currently?
That's broad. In no particular order: the current state of the U.S. government, skinny jeans, WSU's football season, global warming deniers, crazy bitches, Victoria's Secret and my own inability to express important emotions in a non-awkward way.

18. What are you listening to?
Fox Sports: Washington State is wiping the floor of Friel Court with the EWU Eagles. 68-41.

19. If you could have one thing right now what would it be?
If we're talking material things, then this dress:
http://www.trashydiva.com/trashydiva/40SDRESSforest1.html

20. What is the best smell?
Coffee. Citrus and vanilla. Tuberoses. Salt air. Anything baking.

21. Who is always there when you need someone to talk to?
My boyfriend, family and a couple close friends.

22. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Sleeping.

23. Are you left-handed?
No, but I do favor my left side in almost everything else, especially sports. I surf/snowboard/tumble/etc. 'backwards' for a right-handed person.

24. What's for dinner tonight?
Slow-Roasted Pork Loin with Tuscan White Beans, Bourbon-Pecan Tart.

26. When is your birthday?
July 28. I am the worst Leo in existence; I fail at my astrological sign. Fun fact: I was supposed to be born on August 5th, but they induced my mom seven days early. My best friend from college was supposed to be born on the 28th, but she was born seven days late.

27. Who was the last person to send you a text message?
pink_hobbit

29. Where was the last place you went shopping?
Nordstrom.

30. How do you feel about your hair right now?
It needs trimming.

31. Do you have any expensive jewelry?
Some. I actually prefer vintage or artsy pieces over the traditional expensive stuff.

32. AIM or MSN?
MSN. BillG owns my soul.

33. Where does most of your family live?
Nebraska. Though the immediate nuclear fam is scattered throughout Oregon, Idaho and Kansas.

34. Are you an only child or do you have siblings?
I'm the oldest... of two, and we're so close in age and look so much alike people often think we're twins.

35. Would you consider yourself to be spoiled?
Definitely not. I was raised in a lower middle class, Midwestern household, where "up by your bootstraps" was not just a quaint expression.

36. What was the first thing you thought when you woke up?
Must pee.

37. Do you drink beer?
Yes. I love beer, and am definitely in the right city for it.

38. Myspace or Facebook?
I have both. (Don't judge me.)

40. What is/was your favorite subject in school?
Oceanography/Marine Bio. English Lit.

41. What type of boy/girl do you usually fall for?
Nice boys. Clean-cut, athletic guys who help people.

42. Do you have any hidden talents?
Hidden? Um, I'm extremely flexible. It's a talent I used to show off on a regular basis, actually, but there isn't much call for me to do a back walkover into the splits these days.

43. Have you ever been in a wedding?
Yes, it's actually not as bad as most people think... or maybe my friends are just mellower than most brides.

44. Do you have any children?
No.

45. Did you take a nap today?
No. I can't nap.

46. Ever met someone famous?
Yes. I worked at an entertainment mag for more than two years. (Though 'famous' is arguable in some cases.)

47. Do you want to be famous one day?
It would depend on what I was famous for.

48. Are you multitasking right now?
Yup.

49. Could you handle being in the military?
I sort of was for the first 21 years of my life.

50. What is your average cell phone bill?
$80, but I have a smart phone with data service and the bill is partially paid by my employer.

51. Do you believe in karma?
Absolutely.

52. Been to Las Vegas?
Not yet.

53. What are you doing today?
Today is almost over. The plan for the rest of the night involves pecan pie and the new episode of Numbers.

54. Have you ever been gambling?
Yes. I suck at cards, but dice are a whole different story...

56. Have you been to New York City?
Yes, quite a few times.

57. Have you ever been to Disney Land/World?
Yes, in Orlando and Tokyo.

58. Do you have a favorite cartoon character?
I'm sure I probably do, I like cartoons. But no one immediately springs to mind.

59. Last thing you cooked?
Cooked? I heated up the leftover pork loin and white beans earlier, but the last thing I cooked from scratch was yesterday: blueberry muffins.

60. Stupidest thing you've ever done with your cell phone?
Left it unattended in the presence of drunk assholes.

61. Last time you were sick?
A couple months ago, and I was so miserable I had to drive to Vancouver (sniffling and cursing the whole way) to buy real Sudafed, not those god-forsaken sugar pills they sell in Oregon now. Even in Washington, I had to show two pieces of ID and sign some sort of DEA loyatly oath to get the damned stuff. Methheads have a lot to answer for.

62. Random fact about you?
After seeing my x-rays, my orthopedist recently told me I had the most clear-cut case of chondromalacia/cartilage damage he'd seen in a decade. I was like, "That's good... right?" (Apparently, it *is* good because it rules out anything more serious.)

On this week's episode of Peyton Place...

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 17:35:38 GMT

In all honesty, the most interesting thing about the ASU-Oregon game is the anticipation of whatever crazy bullshit the Oregon coach's wife is going to pull this week. (John Canzano is, by all reports, kind of asstastic, but still...)

Nebraska's down by a touchdown against Kansas, right now, but Ganz looks really promising at QB so far.

I'm not sure I'll be able to watch WSU-Cal, though, what with Dwight Tardy out for the season and Cougs' tendency to utterly collapse on the road.

Also? Go Stanford.

"Hey, are they winning? That never happens!"

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 00:05:58 GMT

I'll take the W, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't still like to see Doba given a gold watch and our sincere thanks at the end of the season. Doba may be one of the nicest guys in college football and all, but the program has floundered hopelessly since Mike Price got exiled to UTEP.

That being said, it's an overall good week for the Cougs: Wazzu basketball is #10 in the pre-season ESPN/USA Today coaches' Top 25.

(The Beavers handled Stanford pretty easily yesterday, but I still think Tavita Pritchard is a good QB -- and he could have been ours, if the recruiting priorities weren't so messed up.)

Fic Meme

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 03:59:10 GMT

Meme: Post the first and last lines of your most recent (unfinished) fic.

So here's the first and last lines from the fic I worked on most recently.

From The Geek Rock Series:

First line: She was waiting in the bar when he arrived.
Last line: They pulled out onto the highway, Byers took a deep breath, and began to head west.

Maybe I shall meet him Sunday / Maybe Monday, maybe not / Still I'm sure to meet him one day

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 03:03:27 GMT

A bit from Session 3 of the The Solitude Sessions, to keep the momentum going.

Time passed.

As inconceivable as it had once seemed, life went on.

June abandoned her career, something that had also once seemed inconceivable, and spent her days idle, lounging on beaches and in hotels with Hayden’s seemingly endless circle of friends.

“Darling, you look absolutely amazing,” one of those friends (Katherine? Katerina?) was saying. “You simply must tell me where you got this dress.”

“Oh, this?” June said, distracted as another of Hayden’s friends – this one an Italian race car driver – pressed a glass of perfectly chilled champagne into her hand. “Hayden brought it back for me from New York.”

“Lucky girl.” Katherine-or-Katerina winked at her. “He is absolutely delicious. We’re all supremely jealous, I hope you know.”

“It isn’t like that-“ she began, but never finished the sentence.

“There you are, June,” Hayden said, appearing seemingly from nowhere. “We’ve been waiting. You’re the guest of honor, after all.”

He reached out and grabbed her by the hand. “Excuse us, won’t you? And be sure to fill up those glasses, we’re about to have a toast.”

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, letting him tuck her hand beneath his arm.

“Just in time to rescue you from Matteo and Katelin? I can’t say I blame you. Ah, here we are..."

The dining room was aglow with candles and a crush of fashionable people, the table elaborately set and open bottles of champagne littering the sideboard. In the center of the long table, a tiered layer cake twinkled with more candles than she was entirely comfortable with.

"Happy 28th, my darling," he leaned in and kissed her briefly on the lips, "and many happy returns."

The light from the candles reflected on his features, making him seem simultaneously beautiful and dangerous. He smiled, and it only served to heighten the impression.

“Here, here,” someone said, breaking the spell, and the others raised their glasses.

“For she’s a jolly good fellow,” Hayden said with a grin, and they all began to sing.

"Some people like pizza and others like sandwiches... but some people like pizza and sandwiches."

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 02:27:57 GMT

Coolest thing done this week: My boyfriend and I went to a barndance last night, complete with a bonfire, hayrides, square dancing and candy apples. It was truly awesome. All these 20- and 30-something urban dwellers eating BBQ, drinking (organic) beer and learning how to "take a walk" and "birdie in a cage." They were selling homemade pies, hot cider and pick-your-own pumpkins, too. Just lovely. One of the best things about Oregon is how urban and rural coexist in better harmony than just about anywhere else I've lived. The results are usually truly delicious.

In unrelated news- I feel the need to point out (for myself if no one else) that I plotted out the end of Dreamwalk Blue long before the release of the final Harry Potter book, let alone this revelation.

I feel somewhat prescient. Half-prescient, anyway.

"You wonder why I'm such a baby and the Dolphins make me cry "

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 03:32:34 GMT

So I was wrong. Last Saturday was the worst football day ever. I can only remember one season since the November afternoon in 1992 that Drew Bledsoe and a snowy end zone made me a Cougar fan, that they've sucked this badly. I know there were dark times in the 70s and 80s, but that was before my time.

FSN replayed the 2002 Apple Cup the other night and even though WSU lost that one, it just made me sad for the days when Wazzu and UW were both, you know, good. And the outcomes actually had some stakes attached.

But, hey, non-conference b-ball starts Nov. 4 -- and there's a home game vs. Idaho the weekend we're going to be in Pullman.

FIC: Dreamwalk Blue: The Solitude Sessions (2/5)

Sun, 30 Sep 2007 21:20:38 GMT

Title: Dreamwalk Blue: The Solitude Sessions (2/5)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Summary: The cop-out ending to Dreamwalk Blue

Session 2: Stormy Weather

If you don't come tonight
Think you'll give me a fright
Tell you what I will do
I'll put on my best gown
And go painting this town
Baby, I don't cry over you

England was rainy, grey and slightly disappointing upon their return.

It was the second week of September and they’d arrived two days earlier at Southampton. No one met them at the dock – not that June had really expected anyone to – and Hayden had hired a car to take them back to London.

“Might as well end this adventure in style,” he’d said, heaving her steamer trunk into the boot himself. “Unless you’d rather just disappear with a wink and a pop...?”

“Not at all. Let’s make a proper end of it.”

The truth was, now that they were back, she wasn’t really in any sort of hurry to be home.

But eventually they had arrived home, with rain falling outside and the lights somewhat suspiciously low inside Hayden’s townhouse.

"More brandy?" he asked, waving the decanter in her general direction.

"No, Hayden, thank you."

"Marry me?"

"No, Hayden, but thank you," she said placidly, taking a sip from her glass.

“Next Tuesday, then?”

“Next Tuesday,” she agreed. “Assuming, of course, that you still want to ask.”

“Anything could happen, of course, but I’m rather sure I will want to ask.”

They were already at four Tuesdays and counting. She kept expecting him to get bored and find another way to needle her, but it hadn’t happened yet.

“I think I might go to Hogwarts tomorrow,” she said suddenly, unsure what made her voice the thought aloud.

“Really?” Hayden raised an eyebrow. “Well, I thought you might want to at some point, but this seems awfully soon. Don’t you think?”

“I think- I think I ought to just get it over with. Face him and see what happens.”

“Now see here,” he said, vacating his chair and coming to kneel in front of her. “Go see him if you must,” he took her hands in his, “but don’t you dare apologize for doing what you thought was the right thing for you.”

“Hayden-“

“Promise me, darling.”

She managed a smile. “I think you want him to toss me out on my ear.”

He didn’t smile back. “Never,” he said seriously. “I don’t understand why you want him, but you do. All I want, my darling, is for you to finally be happy. If that means old Dumbledore, then so be it.”

*

For the first time in his life, Albus had begun to question his fitness to teach. The world had lost some of its blurred edges, some of the distance it had held for him since Albania, and that was good. He felt more like himself than he had since Jack’s death, though that wasn’t really saying much. His students, though, remained at a far remove from him. He couldn’t reach them; didn’t understand them. Their young lives, full of possibility and hope for the future, were completely alien to him.

He hid it well -- at least, he hoped he did -- but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on.

It was a Thursday, late in the afternoon, with rare fall sunlight slanting in through the windows of his office. A shadow crossed the open doorway, blocking out some of the light, but he chose to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would take the hint and go away.

"Hello, Albus," June said, and brought the world crashing down around him.

It was a moment before he could regain his composure. When he did, all he could find to say was, “Why are you here?”

She sat down across the desk from him. “I thought we might have a talk.”

“What on earth could we possibly have to talk about?”

She looked undeniably lovely, much as he’d imagined. He tried not to think about all the dreams he’d had about her while she’d been gone. He thought instead about all the letters he’d written to her, filled with bitter words, burned instead of sent.

“I understand that you’re angry, but I’m not going to apologize for leaving. What I did was the best thing for both of us.”

“Something you decided all by yourself,” he said bitterly. “How convenient.”

“You weren’t in any shape to-“

“What is it you want, exactly?” he interrupted.

“I just-“ She watched him intently. “I wanted to know how things stand between us.”

“You want to know how things stand?” He laughed sharply. “Then know this: I’m through, June. I’m done with you.”

“All right.”

That stopped him for a moment. She noticed.

“Did you think I was going to cry? Beg? Make a scene? Did you really think it never occurred to me that you might not want me back? I’d have to be a fool.” Her voice didn’t even waver.

“You’re so damned cold,” he said suddenly, surprising even himself. But it was true, and it was the thing he hated most about her. Even now, with her heart’s blood all over his office floor, she wouldn’t show it. Couldn’t.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists to stop them shaking. “I’m sorry, Albus. I shouldn’t have come here. It was selfish, and a mistake.”

She stood.

“I wanted- I wanted to see whether we could fix things between us. I want you to forgive me, but I can see that’s going to take some time.”

“So that’s how this is going to be?” He stood as well, leaning over the desk, emphasizing his height advantage. She took a tentative step back. “You get to be the martyr? You left me, while I was injured and grieving, to go on holiday, to circle the globe with another man… and you expect… what? Pity? You are incredible.”

“That is not how it happened at all. Hayden hardly qualifies as ‘another man’…”

“I’m not blind, June.”

“If I wanted to be with him, I’d be with him. I wanted you. I loved you, I couldn’t stop loving you.” Her voice finally broke. “I tried to run away. I tried to put this all behind me because I thought it was better, but I can’t-“

He couldn’t listen to this anymore. If he let her keep speaking, he’d say something or do something he’d regret.

“Go,” he said, coming out from behind the desk and taking her by the arm. “This isn’t- Just go.”

June tried to twist out of his grasp and he had the perverse pleasure of seeing her wince in pain.

“Please-“

“Stop,” he said. “Leave. Now.”

He released her and she stumbled toward the door without looking back at him again.

He fled as well, shaken by his own anger, shaken by the lack of control he had over his emotions since Albania. He walked; he didn’t run, but he had to get out, away, heading blindly toward the trees at the edge of the grounds as he’d done just once before. He’d been very young then, cut to the bone by his father’s disapproval over some trivial school matter. At the time, it had seemed like the end of the world. At the time, June had followed after him, cleaned his puffy, red face with her crisp white handkerchief and told him exactly where she thought his father ought to go.

That miserable old bastard. You’re going to become twice the man he is, and he hates you for it. That’s all it is.

“Hello, Albus,” a voice said, just as he reached the tree-line. “You look ghastly… not that that’s anything new.”

Professor Ivey was sitting behind her greenhouses, smoking a cigarette. She scooted over, inviting him to sit. He hesitated and she gave him an appraising look, one that said she had his number and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Hello, Brionne.” He sat beside her, a bit reluctantly. “Ghastly?”

“Ghastly,” she confirmed, fumbling in the crisp, white jacket she wore over her dress. After a moment, she held her cigarette case out to him.

“I don’t usually…”

“Take it.”

He did, and managed to cough only a little when she lit the cigarette for him.

“One would think you put nothing but bubbles in that pipe of yours,” She paused, cocking her head. “You don’t…?”

“I don’t. I’ve just never much liked cigarettes. Pipe smoke is entirely different.”

“I suppose,” she said, not sounding particularly convinced.

They sat in silence for a moment. Brionne’s shoulders slumped forward slightly as she smoked. Albus inhaled and thought longingly of the bottle of whiskey he had hidden in a drawer back in his rooms. Perhaps it would dull the edges a little.

“It will get better, you know,” she said, exhaling and turning to look at him.

“What will?”

“Everything,” she said and gestured expansively with her cigarette.

“You don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re right. I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. Not much, anyway.” She paused. “I’ve three brothers, you know, in London. One was too young for the fighting, but the other two…” She inhaled again. “At first, I was just so relieved that they came back alive. Now, of course, I realize that things are significantly more complicated than that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. The only reason I mention it is because it means I do have some idea what you’re going through.”

“I didn’t go to war.”

“Not in the usual way, perhaps, but I know the signs.”

“The signs?”

“Of shellshock. It’s far more common than most people are likely to admit, so there’s no use going all manly and stoic.”

Albus smiled slightly, in spite of himself. “I assure you, I had no such plan.”

“There’s talk, of course, about you and Jack Seward and that dark wizard in Albania. But no one knows what actually happened.” She stubbed out her cigarette.

“What talk?”

“Well, I hear they’re going to give you a medal for it.”

That was news to Albus, but it didn’t seem all that farfetched.

“And I’ve heard Seward is dead, though with fellows in his line one can never be sure…”

“He’s dead,” Albus said bluntly. “Make no mistake.”

Brionne was watching him intently. “Well, I thought it might be something like that. I’m sorry you had to see it.” She paused. “There’s no potion or pill or magic herb that will cure this, Albus, but it will get better. You just need to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me. Just somebody.”

He sighed. “That’s the trouble, though, isn’t it? There isn’t anyone left that I can talk to. Not about this.”

Brionne leaned over and took him firmly by the wrist. “Then find someone… before it eats you up anymore than it already has.”

*

The Welsh Green was a dive, the sort of wizard pub that had been around as long as anyone could remember -- and looked it. It was the sort of place plainly designed to appeal to those serious about their drinking, and tonight June was quite serious about getting seriously drunk.

“Scotch rocks,” she said to the kid behind the bar, who looked too young to drink in the place let alone serve the drinks.

She lit a cigarette and leaned back on the barstool, knowing that this was exactly the wrong way to deal with her problems and not caring for once.

“You okay, lady?” the bartender asked, sliding her drink across the bar.

“Why do you ask?”

“You don’t exactly look like our usual sort of clientele,” the kid said, giving her a once over.

June downed her scotch and turned to look at the pub’s other patrons. There were a half-dozen working-class wizards in one corner, a group of kids barely out of Hogwarts toasting pints of bitter in another and several lonely-looking souls who’d clearly been at the bar since morning.

“I suppose I am a bit out of my element,” she said and signaled for another drink.

“You aren’t the first, though usually we only get your type in here when something really horrible has happened to them.”

“I don’t about horrible exactly, but I do feel pretty rotten.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not especially,” she said, draining her glass in one go. “Just keep pouring drinks, and you and I will get along just fine.”

By sunset, she was completely blotto.

“Listen, miss,” the bartender said kindly. “I don’t think you ought to have anymore.” He paused, as though expecting her to protest. When no objection was forthcoming, he added, “Can I call someone for you? Someone who can come to take you home?”

She laughed a little at the ridiculousness of it all, and then gave him a name. It seemed only mere moments before he was there.

“Now, then, what’s this?” Hayden said softly, appearing out of nowhere and taking the seat beside her.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” the bartender said.

“June,” Hayden chucked a fist under her chin and turned her face toward his, “What happened? As though I couldn’t guess…” He turned to the bartender. “What on earth has she been drinking? Turpentine?”

“Take your pick, mister,” he replied, sweeping a hand over the neatly-lined bottles. “I think she’s had a bit of each.

“I should never have gone to see him…” she began, and found she couldn’t make the rest of the words come.

“Now, now, darling. You’ve still got me,” he said gamely, attempting to smile. He picked her up, and she buried her face against his neck and began to cry softly. “Yes, I know. Not really a consolation prize, is it?”

In no time at all, they were stumbling up the steps to Hayden’s townhouse. He half-carried, half-dragged, her into the bedroom without even bothering to turn up the lights.

“June? Come on, off with this.” He chuckled softly. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever undressed a woman with purely honorable intentions.” A pause. “Well, mostly honorable.”

In spite of herself, June began to laugh.

“Now that’s better. Here, you’d best put this on.”

He let go of her briefly to get something from the dressing table and the floor tilted dangerously away from her again. She grabbed wildly at him and he helped her gently back to sit on the bed.

“There now. I won’t let you fall.” He pulled something soft over her shoulders and began doing up the buttons. “These will probably be too large for you, but I’m not in the habit of keeping ladies clothing on hand.” Another pause. “At least, not anything that would be appropriate to the occasion.”

Finally she was able to lie back on the soft pillows. Hayden pulled the covers up over her, tucking them beneath her chin, and took up position in an overstuffed chair in the corner.

“Good night, darling,” he said, and didn’t leave.

*

Albus was by nature an early riser. He liked the silence in the castle before the students were awake. He liked to sit and read by the lake, or grade papers in the quiet morning hours in his office. That morning, however, his solitude was broken by a sharp and insistent knocking on his office door.

“I say, old boy… I know you’re in there,” a familiar voice called from the corridor.

He got up from his desk, wondering what exactly he’d done to deserve this, and let Hayden Fairborne in.

“Here at Hogwarts, a closed office door is generally considered a polite cue that the occupant is not receiving visitors…”

Hayden waved the words away, looking around the office with undisguised curiosity.

“Nonsense. I came all this way to talk to you.”

“Whatever for? I always imagined you were the sort who never got up before eleven.”

“Learn something new every day, don’t you?” Hayden said coolly and flung himself into the chair across from Albus’ desk.

“I asked you what you want…”

“Oh, thanks. I’m just fine. No coffee for me.”

Albus sighed heavily. “Would you like something?”

Hayden brightened. “Well, now that you mention it, I could use some refreshment. Maybe a spot of tea? A scone or two?”

Albus rang a bell, calling for one of the house elves to bring tea.

“All right. Now, what do you want?”

Hayden looked up, surprised. “I’m here to talk about June, of course. All the evidence at hand indicates that you’ve chucked her.”

“Why do you care? I’d always gotten the impression that you didn’t particularly like me.”

“I don’t. But I like June, and she’s unhappy. When she’s unhappy, so am I -- and that really puts me all out of sorts… Oh, hello there, little fellow.”

A tiny house elf ran between them, carrying a tray laden with scones with jam and a giant silver tea service.

“I’m a bit in love with her,” he said off-handedly, picking up a cup of tea. “I have been for rather awhile, as a matter of fact.”

This admission was not entirely unexpected, and Albus said so.

“I suppose I haven’t been exactly subtle about it, have I?” Hayden said, looking a bit chagrined. “Nevertheless, it’s you she loves.”

“You don’t understand…”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” He crossed his arms over the lapels of his well-cut jacket. “She hurt you badly, and now you want to punish her. Well, good job of it, old boy. She’s miserable.”

“Is she? Well, I’m sure you can think of a way to take her mind off it. Perhaps another tour of West Indies would do the trick…”

“We never actually made it that far,” Hayden murmured, the slightest of smiles playing around his lips.

The fragile hold Albus had on his patience failed him abruptly. “Oh, just get out.”

“Wait a minute-“

He grabbed Hayden by one sleeve, and propelled him toward the door. “Out. Go home. Tell her I’ve already forgotten all about her. Tell her to get on with her life already.”

“You may regret it,” Hayden said mildly, tugging his sleeve from Albus’ grasp.

“I don’t. I won’t.”

“Come on now… Can’t we all be adults about this?”

He slammed the door in Hayden’s face.

“Well, I guess not,” came the reply from the other side.

*

The bed was enormous, the sheets robin's egg blue and expensive. June sat up, the too-long sleeves of Hayden's tailored pajamas slopping untidily over her hands.

"Back in the land of the living, are we?"

She turned and found herself looking directly into a pair of hazel eyes: the man himself.

Hayden was sitting beside her, fully dressed and atop the coverlet, holding a tray. "Breakfast," he said, "and a hair or two of the dog that bit you."

"Oh, Hayden. No. That sounds dreadful."

He ignored her and poured champagne into her orange juice. "It will help. Now be a good girl and take your medicine."

"About last night-" she began.

"I'm one step ahead of you." He wasn't looking at her. "The less said, the better."

“I was dreadful. I’m so sorry.”

“No apologies. These things do happen, though rarely to you. Now if you were to make a habit of trying to drown your unhappiness in expensive Finnish vodka…”

“Don’t say ‘vodka,’” she said, feeling suddenly very ill.

“It was, at least, a rather nice bottle.” He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach all the way to his eyes.

“What is it? There’s something else.”

“Nothing that can’t wait until you’ve finished your eggs. I’ve had the kitchen make a stout country breakfast for you. It ought to help.” He stood. “Breakfast, and then I’ll have Michael draw you a nice hot bath and see about some fresh clothes for you.”

June ate as much as she could stand, though she had to admit that the champagne eased the ache in her head a bit – not that it was a remedy she was going to make a habit of. Not that her behavior from the night before was something she was going to make a habit of.

When she emerged from her bath, Hayden’s valet Michael was waiting for her. His posture was poker-straight and his expression entirely neutral, though she thought she could sense a bit of empathy for her plight.

“Feeling better, miss?” he asked.

“Much,” she said. “Thank you.”

He indicated a tiny, glass bottle with an ornate quartz stopper. He’d brought the bottle in on a tray along with a pitcher of water.

“If I might be so bold as to suggest…” He pulled out the stopper and tipped a few drops of a thick pink liquid into her water glass. “I think this might improve your situation considerably.”

She drank it, and felt better almost immediately.

“Michael, you really are a treasure. Does Hayden pay you enough?”

“I am more than adequately compensated for my services,” he said, though with the faintest hint of an amused smile. “Now, Mr. Fairborne is waiting for you downstairs.”

She found Hayden in the morning room, drinking black coffee and frowning darkly at the morning edition of The Daily Prophet. He brightened when he saw her, though.

“Hello, my darling. Back to normal, I take it? You look as fresh and lovely as ever.”

“I’m better, thank you.” She sat, accepting a cup of coffee. “I suppose I ought to tell you what happened yesterday. After all, you-“

“He’s very angry with you…” Hayden said, glancing back down at the paper,” and with himself, I think.”

“And you know this because…?”

“I went to see him.”

She set her cup down. “Hayden-“

“It’s done.” He folded the paper. “So no use protesting. He kicked me out unceremoniously, incidentally. But not before he made it very clear that he’s not in any condition to be making important decisions about his own life.” He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t fret, darling. All’s not lost.”

Somehow, though, June didn’t feel comforted.

She thought about sending Albus a note, to see if Hayden’s visit had persuaded him to speak to her – even if only to express his displeasure at Hayden’s stunt. Somehow, though, when she went to put ink to paper no words would come.

Instead, late that afternoon, she sat by her fireplace and hoped he’d answer when he heard her voice.

Much to her surprise, Albus wasn’t in his office. Someone was, though.

“Oh, hello,” she said.

Brionne Ivey looked up from a stack of papers she was filing away. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry. I was looking for Albus. Maybe I have the wrong-”

“No, you’re in the right spot. I’m afraid Albus isn’t here. He’s taken a few days to visit an old family friend.” She looked sympathetic. “He asked me to put a few of his things in order.”

“Oh, I see. Do you have any idea when…?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t.” She came over and sat beside the hearth. “You and I don’t know each other well, so maybe it’s not my place, but… He’ll be back, and when he does come back, I think it will be better for both of you.”

She smiled, and June managed to smile back.

*

Albus hadn’t been to France since the end of the war. Mundane travel was still somewhat dangerous: razor wire, collapsing embankments and unexploded bombs posed threats to travelers on foot. Still, once he reached the Luberon valley he decided to walk. The long valley road wound through vineyards and fields of lavender, dotted occasionally with tiny village markets and stone chapels.

He wasn’t alone on the road. His fellow travelers were displaced or searching, some shellshocked, some hoping to find missing friends or relatives safe in the countryside.

On his third morning on the road, Albus stopped in a small village market to buy fresh bread and cheese. As he was paying with the unfamiliar money, he stopped a moment to take note. There was something new on the air, something familiar. Old magic had been done here, and just the shadow of it was left.

He walked the rest of the day, until, just before sunset, he came upon a house. It was fully visible from the road, though set back away from it, at the foot of a southern-facing slope. There was something about the house, though, that caused one’s gaze to slide right off it, to wander to the hills to the west, to drift back to the road.

This had to be it. Forcing his attention back to the house with an effort, he left the main road and headed toward it.

The house stood at the end of a dirt lane lined with washed white stones, just beyond an old but well-tended cherry orchard. On the slope behind the farmhouse, old vine Cabernet Sauvignon grew between newer plantings of Grenache and Syrah grapes. An old man sat on the veranda facing the vineyard grounds. He appeared to be dozing lightly over a thick book.

“Hello, Nicholas,” Albus said, coming up the path to the veranda steps.

“Albus?” Nicholas Flamel said, looking up from his book and blinking. “It’s certainly been a long time.”

“It has.” Albus wasn’t quite sure how warm his welcome would be. Nicholas had taken some pains to hide himself and his wife. “You’ve fashioned yourself a rather nice retirement here,” he paused, “though perhaps a bit beneath your skills…”

“The making of wine is alchemy at its most complex,” Nicholas said, smiling out at the neat rows of vines, “and it’s not as though I have need of any more silver or gold.”

“I wasn’t sure whether to come, whether I’d be welcome.”

“You’re always welcome, Albus,” Nicholas stood, “though it’s true that we’ve decided to hide ourselves away from the world. We have our wine, our books, each other. We’re happier this way. The world was becoming too much for us, things as they are.”

“Things are better now.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Are they? Well, perhaps you’d best come inside and we’ll choose a nice bottle to go with a discussion of current events.”

He led Albus inside the house, through a large library, one that rivaled the library at Hogwarts. The room was lined, floor to ceiling, with books, many of them so old they were hand-scribed.

“We’ve cellared a few nice bottles, just in case anyone that we care to see comes calling.”

At this, Albus relaxed a little. Nicholas swung open a section of bookcase to reveal stairs leading down into the darkness of a wine cellar.

“Your father always wanted to make wine,” he said conversationally, leading the way with surprising agility for a man of his apparent age. “Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“I imagine there’s a fair amount about him that you didn’t know. He didn’t make it easy, for you in particular. He was a good man, though, and a good friend.”

Before Albus could reply to this, Nicholas was skimming his fingers along the racks of wine bottles, brushing away dust here and there and muttering softly to himself. Looking, apparently, for a particular bottle.

“Ah, here it is. I’ve a nice Grenache rosé.” He pulled a bottle out of the rack. “It should be right up your alley.” He started back up the steps. “Come sit and have a glass. We’ll talk about whatever it is that’s brought you so far.”

The sun was beginning to dip below the vineyard slopes when they emerged from the house. Nicholas poured a splash of wine in Albus’s glass and settled himself back in his chair.

“I would have thought,” he began, waving a hand at the wine glass, “that you would’ve come to see me sooner.”

Albus dutifully swirled the wine around his glass and took a taste.

“It’s lovely. Thank you.”

Nicholas nodded approvingly and poured them each a fairly sturdy glass of the rosé.

“I heard about that unfortunate business in Albania. As much as anyone’s heard, I suppose. We may be a bit remote from things here, but some news still gets through.” He paused. “Is that what you’re here to talk about?”

“I don’t know, really.” Albus raised his glass absently, still looking out over the hills. “I got some advice recently from someone whose opinion I value. She told me to seek out someone I trust, someone I can talk to.”

“She, is it?”

“It’s not anything like that. She’s an old and very dear friend.”

“But there is a woman,” Nicholas said, looking at him shrewdly. “But that’s only part of the problem.”

“There is a woman,” Albus admitted, “and I can’t tell where she ends and the rest of it begins.”

“A very old and very common problem.”

“I’d loved her since we were children, and now… Now I can’t even look at her face for fear of what I might do.”

“Another man?”

“Not exactly. Not- Well, I hope not.”

“It sounds as though you’ve known her long enough to judge whether she would do such a thing-“

“All this war and fighting has changed everyone. I don’t even know myself anymore.”

Nicholas said nothing, looking thoughtful, and simply refilled their glasses.

“I’ve known her almost as long as I can remember,” Albus continued. “Our parents had been friendly since their school days. We played together as children, went on holiday together, went to school together.” He shook his head. “My father actually never liked her much,“ he added wryly.

“A bit of rebellion on your part then, perhaps?” Nicholas seemed to consider a moment. “You never would have talked like this with your father, would you?”

“No, I don’t suppose I would have.”

“And yet you’ve come to me, one of his oldest friends.”

“I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go,” Albus admitted.

“Because of the other matter, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. There aren’t many people I’d feel comfortable sharing that story with. The real story, anyway. Not the one they want to pin a medal on me for.”

“What is the real story?”

“I thought I was rather clever; thought I was onto one of the great secrets of our age.”

“Were you?”

“Not in the way I thought. I had it all backwards. I cocked it up and got a brave man, a good friend, killed because of it.”

Nicholas nodded, as though he already knew all this. “And what of the boy? Is he what you thought he was?”

“Worse. I underestimated him.”

“And Grindelwald?”

“He got exactly what was coming to him. He was as bad as we’d feared…”

“But?”

“But by removing him, I think I’ve opened the door for something much worse.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, pressing his hands together thoughtfully. “That’s often the way of it.”

“You say that as though this has happened before…”

“It has, and will again… and over again. I’ve seen it in all my long years and expect to continue seeing it in each generation.”

“Then there’s nothing to stop it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said kindly, “just that I don’t think you’re the one to stop it. The responsibility isn’t yours, Albus. You did what you thought best, as many others have over the generations. Continue to do what you think is best, and you may have the opportunity to help put things to rights.”

And that seemed to be that, as far as Nicholas was concerned.

“For now, my young friend, I would suggest that you put your own house in order.”

“How can I? I don’t even know myself anymore,” he said again. “I don’t know what I want; I don’t see any hope in the future.”

Nicholas looked at him with sympathy. “There’s always hope, Albus,” he said quietly.

“I can’t see it,” he replied, quickly, dismissively. “I don’t seem to even want anything anymore.” He paused. “There are just two things I can remember truly wanting since I was a boy: her affection and my father’s approval.”

“But you’re not a boy anymore. You need to let go of those things, you need to allow yourself to grow up. Your father is gone, and this girl may be as well.”

Feeling a bit shamed, Albus said nothing.

“You have to find a way forward,” Nicholas said, “no matter what’s past.”

Continued in Session 3: Honeymoon Suite

"The thing about football helmets - even invisible ones - is that you can always take them off."

Sun, 30 Sep 2007 06:42:59 GMT

Worst football day ever. Oh, the Cougs. Oh, the Beavs. Oh, the humanity.

I'm also sitting on my hands to keep from replying to this thread. Not every woman who ever beer bonged at a Date Dash got a C-average in General Studies and went on to become a pharmaceutical sales rep, for fuck's sake. The Linux club's fundraiser is probably in questionable taste but a) they are in college b) it was their idea, so they aren't being 'humiliated' by anyone and c) Beauty and the Geek still gets pretty good ratings.

Writing Meme

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 21:19:18 GMT

A cool meme, via lizbee.

What is my friends list writing at the moment? (Or even if you aren't on my friends list.)

Post an excerpt, anything from a sentence to something more substantial, from your current WiP into my comments. Post anything you like, fanfiction, original stuff, poems, your graduate thesis... If you're writing it, share it with me. :)

"And you and the lion die like one..."

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 20:30:05 GMT

At my work, we have large whiteboards and dry-erase markers in all the kitchens. People usually write silly questions, movie quotes or polls, stuff like that.

Right now, in response to the current silly question of the day ("Who would win in a fight?") someone has written, in five-inch-high, bright ~~green~~ red letters:

"Ron Weasley's mom has got it goin' on."

My entire day is made. :)

Winged bears! It's the end times!

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 22:26:19 GMT

I've been re-reading the Harry Potter books, in preparation for the Potterdammerung.

I'd actually forgotten how enjoyable these books are. They're not perfect, they're not great literature, but they are a sweet, fun adventure with just enough elements of darkness and wry humor to make them thoroughly charming. It's a nice reminder.

Apparently, the dog likes them, too. I walked into the bedroom yesterday and caught him licking Order of the Phoenix.

I was originally supposed to be up in Seattle on the evening of the 20th, but now it looks like I'm going to be staying home. My boyfriend refuses to read the books or see any of the movies until they've all been released, so I needed to find some like-minded types to go watch the Potter-pocalypse with me. Luckily, Michael (formerly device55) and I are going to ~~get tanked~~ enjoy a cocktail or two on Friday evening, and then head over Powell's to people watch. So, Portlanders on my friends list, I might see you there. :)

"Okay, now this show can't be cancelled... He's too pretty."

Wed, 09 May 2007 22:17:57 GMT

Deputy Leo! Back on the force! And *I* made it happen. pink_hobbit and I were watching and about five minutes in I said something like, "Man, I miss Deputy Leo..." and then they brought him back. And made him a semi-regular character again! I'm sure something horrible will happen to him by the end of the season, but for now? Deputy Leo! On my t.v., looking very buff, every Tuesday. :)

I also think I'm actually going to like the Vinnie vs. Keith special election, and Veronica/Piz... which is probably a fairly unpopular opinion. Here's the thing: it's completely and utterly doomed and he's going to get eaten alive, but that at least will keep things interesting.

Meme: 30 First Lines

Tue, 08 May 2007 21:49:08 GMT

I'm trying to be better about posting here, despite how busy I currently am. :) I'm aiming for at least once a week, plus commenting on other people's posts. So, this week I've got two things...

1. Meme, via musesfool: Post first lines from thirty of your stories. This is a cool one. Patterns tend to appear in the devices we as authors use to initiate a story, that maybe we and even our readers don’t see until we put them all next to each other.

It's a cool exercise to do, and a very timely one for me. We were discussing first lines of novels and short stories vs. one-line pitches for television shows in my writing class last night. A story's first line can be ambiguous, but should also evoke a sense of place, time, character or mood in the reader. A story pitch has to do all those things, while getting as much relevant information to the listener as possible -- all in one sentence. Both are the 'hook' that gets people to buy your product.

Here are a couple of my first lines that I like best, and then the rest are below the cut:

When they were sixteen, Julia dyed her hair purple. [Amour]

The leaves are dying when Daniel brings Vala home. [Mysteries]

There are men, Mara knows, who love words. [Entropy]

The three of them went everywhere together that summer: Meg, Veronica and Lilly's ghost. [All Over But the Crying]

The words he spoke didn't matter, the comforting sound soft around her shoulders like a blanket. [Lovelorn]

He follows her for days, longer than any of the others, before he makes up his mind. [Lure]

It's a Tuesday when he takes her to meet God. [Surrender]

There was a time when I went a little crazy. [People Undone]

After they put Angelus in the water, the summer brought lightning to the air and ghosts to Connor's head. [Them Bones]

Sometime between his sixteenth birthday and the end of the world, Ginny began to set her hair in old-fashioned pins. [Hand Me Downs]

The Chamber was colder than he remembered. [A tiger by the tail]

Percy Weasley's world effectively ended on a nondescript Monday morning in June. [Percy Weasley: Rogue Demon Hunter]

It all starts when Connor meets a girl. [Soothe the Burn]

There was blood in the morning on that last day. [The Robber Bride]

They didn't talk about it, this thing between them. [Tipping Point]

The worst thing about being a princess and one of the most wanted women in the galaxy was the annoying lack of privacy. [Mixology]

It was a Wednesday when the sun turned to ash and the stars fell into the sea, not that anyone in Los Angeles noticed. [Complexity]

They’ve always been brothers, but this is the first time that people can’t tell them apart. [Nalowale]

There are black pearls under the water off the hula'ana where the black rock sits. [Loa'a]

Logan called her, drunk and bleeding, right in the middle of the Homecoming dance. [Bad Boyfriend]

She was waiting in the bar when he arrived. [The Geek Rock Series]

Everything Michael touches turns to pictures. [Pillars of a Civilization]

The thing was, Bridget Galvin had never really considered herself the sorority girl type. [The Veiled Lady]

“This is your idea of a holiday?” [Stars]

Somebody must have spiked the punch. [I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me]

The familiar, unknown landscape of a dream stretched before him. [Dreamwalk Blue]

Albus came back from Albania without Jack. [Dreamwalk Blue: The Solitude Sessions]

When he sees her again, she's not beautiful. [Edge of the Earth]

He's looking at her like she's a revelation. [Momentous]

“Is that a milkshake?” [Chocolate]

2. iamtheenemy gave me some great feedback as part of the 2007 Feedback Exchange. The challenge is an extremely cool idea and led me to discover some fic that I might not have stumbled across otherwise. I highly recommend checking it out, if you haven't already done so.

Meme, plus a small general update

Wed, 02 May 2007 18:08:09 GMT

Meme: Name three fics you think I will never, ever, ever write. In return, I will attempt to write a snippet of one of them.... or, you know, all of them if people want. :)

In other news, I haven't been around much online lately, largely because I have been putting most of my spare creative energy into an original project. I'm pretty psyched about this because I never seem able to make time for those. I decided to take a writing class that would force me to do it, for a grade, and it seems to be working out well so far. I'm very excited about the concept I'm working on, and it feels like forever since I've had that kind of inspiration.

"Well, she thinks the truth very loudly..."

Tue, 27 Mar 2007 03:30:58 GMT

A conversation with my brother on the "new" JRR Tolkien book...

viola_dreamwalk: http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20070325/ennew_afp/entertainmentbritain
Brother: The Children of Hurin would make a very good film; it has a real Shakespearean tragedy thing going, although I'm not sure how the public would react to the incest plotline.
viola_dreamwalk: Is The Children of Hurin the one with the revenged-crazed hypno-dragon and people throwing themselves off of cliffs?
Brother: Indeed it is. It also has a vengeful talking sword and a cat-fight with the devil. And it takes place in a land called Belleriand.
viola_dreamwalk: "I'm a Bellarian!"

March Madness

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 01:11:24 GMT

The Wazzu-Vandy game just about killed me dead... and not in the good way. I really, really wanted them to make the Sweet Sixteen. I guess I can take solace in the fact that a team that was picked to finish last in the Pac-10 not only made it to the second round of the NCAA tournament, but only lost by four in a game that was forced to 2OT.

My picks in the first round were awesome, btw. I picked 26 of the 32 first-round winners, including VCU and Xavier. (My bad picks were Gonzaga, Notre Dame, Long Beach St., GW and Texas A&M CC.) The second round, though? Not working out so well for me so far. Hey, Louisville seemed like a possible upset team at the time...

Here's hoping Georgetown goes all the way, or I'm going to feel very silly.

WSU-UW, 74-64

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 08:25:30 GMT

How do you like them apples? Taylor Rochestie for the win.

They play USC in the semifinals tomorrow, which probably means it's going to 2OT again -- but it'll be fun.

"Tiffany? There's got to be one."

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 19:03:14 GMT

In which M (a.k.a the artist formerly known as device55) and I discuss this post of mine from last week.

M: Oh yeah. D.C. Fashion? lulz.
M: I like "Daria" a lot too. I think it was the last non-music thing on MTV worth watching.
viola_dreamwalk: D.C. fashion totally brings the lulz.
viola_dreamwalk: Daria was awesome. I find that quotes from that show are completely applicable to everyday life. I used *two* within 20 minutes at the Tin Shed this weekend.
M: Has Daria appeared on the iTunes iNterweb store yet? I’d pay $1.99 for a trip down memory lane.
viola_dreamwalk: Hmm. I'm not sure. I know it's out on DVD.
M: Didn’t they do a big musical episode with a hurricane?
viola_dreamwalk: I don't remember that, but I didn't watch every episode. (And *that* I would've remembered if I'd seen it...)
M: Also? Tin Shed = Good Breakfast.
viola_dreamwalk: Tin Shed does = Good Breakfast. Unfortunately, the experience was tainted by the fact that I wanted to clunk Tiffany the NE Portland Hipster and friend's heads together while we were waiting for our table. Not only did they stand *right in front of the communal coffee* while the rest of us tried to get through, but all the while they had an extensive conversation about Tiffany's recent tour of a steel mill -- which, apparently, was like totally gross and dangerous! And probably bad for the planet, too! Why would anyone let their spouse, child, etc., work in a steel mill?! Couldn't they just, like, go to college instead? (If you substitute "military" for "steel mill," you'll get the gist of a lot of the conversations I had with similar types of people in college. 'Oh my god! Does your dad, like, kill people? Like little Bosnian babies and stuff?')
viola_dreamwalk:Hence, the Daria quotes.
viola_dreamwalk: Look for excerpts on Overheard in Portland. pink_hobbit promised she would post their conversation. I sadly cannot, as I still want to commit serious violence on their privileged, upper middle class asses.
M: I do not know this “overheard in Portland” of which you speak…
M: I think faced with that kind of stupidity I would be forced to start making loud cracks about how vegetarianism and especially veganism is a luxury morality for spoiled brats who don’t know the difference between opportunity and obligation.
M: You know. For fun.
viola_dreamwalk: http://overheardinpdx.blogspot.com/
viola_dreamwalk: It's not as active as, say, Overheard in NYC, but there's still some good stuff on there.
viola_dreamwalk: I settled for just talking semi-loudly about rampant classism in our current culture and how my dad had to work on the oil pipelines in Texas to put himself through college back in the 1970s. I may also have thrown a few things in there about having to live in tiny, lead-contaminated, cinder block houses and having to wait hours in longs lines for halfway decent healthcare as kids, while all our parents defended Tiffany's right to watch educational programming in her nice suburban house and go to a clean, new school with hardly any rats or cockroaches.
M: Heh. That’s pretty good. It’s not as good as being “King of Karma” and saying “you don’t like steel mills? No BMW for you. [Yoink]”
viola_dreamwalk: Oh, believe me, I was tempted.

"Look, Quinn. If you want to be president of the Fashion Club, why don't you just say so?"

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 18:47:58 GMT

As a follow-up to this post from last week...

D.C. has a Fashion Week? Since when?

That being said, I do love me some Betsey Johnson (and I wouldn't sneeze at an open bar, either). Though Ashleigh Verrier is a relatively new designer, with some similar themes, who I can see myself liking a lot. She's a little less whimsical than Betsey Johnson, which suits me just fine.