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You're wondering if I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting
Time after time
(Time After Time, by Cyndi Lauper)
(Revised and reposted)
----
I looked at Strawberry in the dark, at her pretty petticoat with the ruffle. I was really afraid, and hugged her close.
"Val?"
"Mm?"
"Am I a girl?" My voice was shaky. "Really?"
Valerie rolled over and pulled me tight and talked into my back.
"I don't know...." She took a breath and whispered.
"Can I tell you my deepest secret, about how I feel?"
"Yes?"
"I really, truly... don't care."
"You don't care?"
She held on to me hard. When she spoke, her voice was quavery.
"Promise you won't tell Mom and Dad?"
"Val..." My voice was a scratchy whisper.
"Please? I'm not saying forever, just... just for a few days, so I can tell..."
She was just quiet, not even breathing, but she stopped shivering. I was scared, trying to think what she'd ever not want to tell them.
She took a big breath.
"I'm not a virgin...."
I stayed still.
Valerie breathed for almost a minute, really deeply, but quiet and slow.
"I've slept with three people.... And one of them was a woman."
I started to say something to make her feel better or something, that that wasn't anything bad, and she kept on.
"Because of you, because I've met the people at the university gay club, and Carson..." She pulled me even closer. "Listen."
"It doesn't matter what you are. It really, truly doesn't matter, so long as you're happy. So many... most of the men and women in that club are... happy. They're dating, or have boyfriends or girlfriends, or not seeing anyone, but they're ~living~...."
She leaned her head into my neck.
"But some of them... there's this one woman, she just talks about hating high school, how oppressive it was and how she hated being gay and how it would've made her a freak, and the other gay kids who were out and so flaunting it.... She's a senior, and that's all she ever talks about. Stuff from years and years ago." Val sounded so sad.
"And one of the guys, a really cute, nice man... all the other guys avoid him like the plague because he won't even be seen with anyone who's out, and he's ~so~ unhappy, but he's paranoid of anyone finding out he's gay because he says his parents would disown him."
She shuffled up a bit so she could talk over my shoulder.
"There's about a dozen who come to every meeting, including me, and half of them are friends, like they hang out and go clubbing, and study together...."
"And the others... some of them... it's like they're on hold, like they're not growing, or something, or a part of them isn't. They're so screwed up by hating themselves and blaming everything on being gay, or they blame school or their parents or religion... but they just don't ~live~! And some of them have been really badly hurt! One guy's parents won't even talk to him, haven't seen him in over a year and won't let him go home!" She took a breath.
"But one of the really outgoing guys had that happen, too, when he was in high school, and had to live with his friends' families for almost six months before he could move back home at all, and he still says it's strained, but he's... he says his family is getting better. And like it wasn't really them that had the problem, and he understands they need time to learn and to get used to him and... having a gay man in the family, for a son and all...." She swallowed.
"And I know everyone's different, and has different... abilities to adapt, I guess, and the same with their families and friends, but I want you to be one of the happy people!" She sniffled.
-
After a long time, I moved my hand on hers.
"Val?" She didn't move at all.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. After a minute, she rolled back and pulled me over so I was on my side and she could see me.
"I don't want you ~ever~ to be ashamed of who you are. No matter what any ignorant idiot ever says, I love you... boy or girl, okay?"
"Ashamed...?" I didn't understand what she meant. She took my hand in her free one.
"Like blaming yourself or listening to other people's prejudice or caring what... more about what someone else thinks you should be like than your heart says, okay?" She stared at me like it was light.
"You're not like everyone else, and some people think that's bad, and lots of... a lot of the problems gay kids have is believing they should be ashamed about being gay, that it's wrong, and they, they sinned or chose a lifestyle, or want something that they know will hurt their families?
"And that's all crap. You are who you are. We all are, and Mom and Dad and I think you're just fine and we'll ~never~ suddenly decide that you're doing anything just to hurt us, okay? And if you feel shame over something or other about who you are, well, it's from someone else, ~not~ us, or Carson or her family, or your real friends, okay? So don't."
-
"And if you still do anytime, then call me so I can tell you you're being stupid, okay?"
She kissed my cheek.
"Just say no to shame." She touched my cheek where she'd kissed and smiled.
"And blue eye shadow. It wouldn't be your color."
-
"Val?"
She moved a tiny bit. "Mmm?"
"How come you told me about who you slept with...that you had?"
She rolled over and settled so our foreheads touched.
"Because ~I~ felt ashamed that I'd slept with a girl... until I, until the guys in the club started educating me." She nodded against me.
"It's a bad feeling." She kissed my cheek again.
"Janice is the girl I slept with and she's a lesbian and I was dissing her to feel that way over a lovely night and one ~I~ wanted and it might not be my real preference, but she deserves better from me, and I did nothing to be ashamed about."
"Janice...?"
"Not her. Someone at the uni."
"Oh."
-
"Val?"
"Mm?"
"What was it like?"
"What was what like?" She sounded more awake, and like she was smiling.
"...." It felt too embarrassing to ask.
"What?" She was definitely smiling, from her voice.
"Unh... I mean... when you were..." I swallowed. "With... that girl...?"
"Oh, Janice? Well, why didn't you just ask!" Laughing, more like. "Well, little sister o' mine, it was lovely. And fine, and special."
I didn't say anything, hoping she'd just go on. She didn't.
"Was that all?" She spoiled it with a giggle.
I huffed.
"OH! You meant what the ~sex~ was like! Is that it?!"
I didn't say anything, and wished I never had.
"Well, I'll just have to assume it was.... Well...." She sighed.
"I don't know if I can describe it. She knew what would feel good for me, but I was pretty nervous and I think that spoiled some of it, but she's really giggly and ticklish and she made me laugh...." She went from kinda fast to drifting off.
"And I could see why two girls would enjoy each other all the time."
I had to think whether what I wanted to ask was polite. Or stupid.
-
I finally just ~had~ to ask. Even if I had to whisper, too.
"Is... it different... than... with a man?"
Valerie moved a funny way. Then she sat up and away. I thought I must've asked something rude, or wrong...
She put her hand on my neck, touching.
"How does that feel?" She kept talking. "It's different for me and you. Everyone feels everything differently, so my words for it can't really mean the same for you either."
She laid back down and pulled me into a hug.
"It was wonderful with a man, the second time, and it was wonderful with Janice, the one time we did it." She kissed my hair.
"And if you're both respectful, and you both will be... it'll be wonderful with Carson, even if it's completely different than I felt."
-
I was ~still~ thinking ten minutes later.
"Sis?"
I mmm-ed?
"When you're in love, if you sleep together a thousand times and just do what feels safe and good, every time'll still be special."
She whispered it so softly I could hardly hear.
"I promise."
----
"Sis!"
-
"Hey! Wake up, just for a minute..." Valerie shook me a bit harder.
Wa..."
When I could see, she was fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Are you awake yet?"
"Yeh..."
"What's the name of the third-smallest economy in Central America?"
"Wha? What?"
"Okay, you're awake. Now stay that way for just a minute." She smiled. I rubbed my cheek, which felt itchy for some reason. And blinked.
"Two things. Let me tell Mom and Dad about what we talked about last night, please? It isn't a secret, but I'd like to tell them myself, okay? Please?"
I nodded. I remembered.
"Alright. Number two. You awake?"
I nodded. "Number two. Second item..."
"Number two. What did you think of how Dad reacted to what you told Mom and me?" She smiled.
Dad had smiled and pulled my into a harder hug. And asked if I was okay.
"I.... That he loves me? Us?"
"He does. But I meant that he didn't ask anything, and I don't think Mom called him before, but he didn't say anything or have to ask what you meant?" She smiled like she just wanted me to ask.
"Okay... what do ~you~ think?"
She smiled. Right the first try.
"I think that Mom and Dad've been learning all about you and talking to gender experts for a long time."
"What!?" My heart went from sleepy to too fast in a second.
"I said... relax, it's not bad.... ~I~ think they've talked to people about you ever since you were little, like with Cathy and even me, how you were more feminine than most boys." She grinned.
"And now you're all little-girly ~again~..."
"I'm still a boy!"
"Coulda fooled me..." She flipped one of my pigtails.
"~You~ put those in!"
"And ~you~ wanted the ribbons!" She made a shocked face.
I started to feel hot.
"And we're lucky Mom still has all her old sewing stuff." She leaned over and kissed my cheek.
"And Mom and Dad love you... and you'd know, if you just think a second, that they asked anyone they did ~just~ so they could love you better. So don't panic."
She flipped my pigtail again as she stood up.
"You look like Wendy... maybe with some freckles?"
She ran out faster than I could even get my leg out of bed and laughed at me all the way downstairs.
----
It was almost nine o'clock before I made it down for breakfast. Mom was reading the paper at the table and smiled when I said 'morning.
"is Val still here?" I knew Dad would be gone but I couldn't remember Val's schedule this week.
"No, your big sister is off to a grueling ~three~ class workday." She did a quick grin, but I knew Mom and Dad both thought Val was doing great at school.
"How come they won't let us do that in high school!? Maybe we could just have classes in the mornings!"
Mom snorted. "And spend eight years? And then you'd still have college... and I suppose you'd want to take eight years there, too?"
"Yeah! And then I could retire!"
"Then why go to school at all?"
"Well... if you think so...." I smiled my best 'I win' grin and plomped into a chair. Mom snorted.
"Keep dreaming, honey... keep dreaming."
-
"Mom?"
"Mmm?"
I had to wait until she turned to look at me. It almost felt like I was saying I didn't trust them or something....
"What is it?" Mom sounded like I wasn't. Did.
"Mom.... Did you and Dad talk with doctors and stuff about me, before... before I was in the hospital?"
Before I could say about what, Mom wiped her hands and sat down.
"Yes, we did." She smiled like it was okay too, whatever it was about, or who. Then she didn't say what, or who.
I had to start over. After I figured it out again, I still had to look down.
"Was it about... me being... girly?"
She was quiet for so long that I knew it was, that
"No."
I looked up and she was smiling, sort of.
"It was about you being ~you~. We talked to several specialists about you because we wanted to be sure we didn't hurt you."
I didn't know what to ask. It didn't make any sense.
"Why-"
"Honey, what if none of us had understood what depression looked like, or what it might mean? Or anything else you needed to be healthy and happy?" She reached across the table and I did too and she held my hand.
"We talked to Dr. Wilkinson after you were first released because we were worried about you, and because we wanted to ask for advice. Before you saw him."
"Dr. Wilkinson?" I'd thought he was... that he was like an emergency doctor, at the hospital....
"Yes, he is, but he was also recommended to us by Dr. Lebel. He's an expert in how people see themselves, in body image."
I must've looked a bit confused. Or at least I was trying to think if that meant what I thought it might, like if that meant...
"He treats a lot of kids with anorexia, and has counseled a few transsexuals as well." Mom still sounded like she thought it was a normal thing.
"But I wasn't..." I didn't want to say it. But I had to. "I wasn't being that way, then?"
Mom smiled and squeezed.
"Dear..." She smiled more. "We didn't see him because you were sick, or acting any way, in any way different than you ever have. We started to look for advice because you... Dr. Wilkinson called it a life-changing injury."
I was trying to put things in order, what happened when, and Carson telling me, and when I saw Dr. Wilkinson the first time....
"But why did Dr. Lebel tell you to see... someone for eating, and... transsexuals... then?"
"Because you lost a lot of weight in the hospital, and because he thought Dr. Wilkinson would be a good match for you." She kept talking all normal, but sounded quieter.
"And because you've had problems before. He thought you might need help with both your weight ~and~ your gender."
I looked up at her, and I guess I looked scared.
"Do you remember about love?"
I nodded. It wasn't about doctors, though... or their thinking....
"Did you see doctors, before, too?"
"When you were eight years old your father and I went to see a specialist, about making sure you were safe and happy." She sounded... bad.
"She told us you might be mentally ill and she could treat you."
I know I went pale. She looked almost angry.
"We told her if she thought being happier than most little boys was a sickness, she was a quack." Her eyes were still mad, but she smiled.
"Then we interviewed almost a dozen counselors and professors and doctors before we found ~just two~ who knew what they were talking about. And they told us you might grow up to be gay, and you might be transgendered, and you might be both, or neither."
"Why..." I didn't want to ask. That Mom thought I was sick...
"Did we go to specialists? Because you were having trouble in school, and your friends were being bullied too, and your teachers were concerned."
I tried to remember being eight. Grade three? I couldn't remember anything bad happening, really....
"I wasn't bullied. I think?" Billy. Was my friend a bully?
Mom knew what I meant, I guess. "I know. You were happy, but a lot of the children called you names."
"But they always did...."
"And they were wrong." She wasn't happy.
"Little children say words without knowing what they even mean, but they still want them to hurt. Sticks and stones, but they try to make names hurt worse, and you cried at what they called you."
She put both her hands around mine.
-
I had the strongest memory. Valerie and Diane were watching a movie, and Cathy and me... and... Crystal and Bev were there and we were making noise or something, playing house and laughing....
And Valerie got mad and called us... pests... and I remembered how I cried. That for some reason, it really hurt.
And Daddy came and told them to behave...
We were just little.
He smiled at me and said was I being his little girl today?
-
End of Part 21
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Comments
This is really wonderful how
This is really wonderful how this family has been on top of this from the start and so supporting. If only all families could be that wonderful!
Thanks for another great chapter, oh Mistress of Emotion! ;)
Saless
"But it is also tradition that times *must* and always do change, my friend." - Eddie Murphy, Coming To America
"But it is also tradition that times *must* and always do change, my friend." - Eddie Murphy, Coming To America
Mistress...
Hi, Saless,
Mistress?? Well! That's the first time anyone's ever called me *that*!
I have to admit, though, it's better than 'Ma'am'... That makes me feel like one of my Mom's friends... Ick!!
Thanks for the note, and I'm glad you liked this.
Smiles,
Michelle
(I have this sudden desire to wear thigh boots....)
And Now We Know
a lot more about him/her. I don't know if he/she will transition, or simply cross dress. At least he has his family, and friends there for him, which is more than can be said for all too many here.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Transitional cross-dressing, maybe?
Hi, Stan,
You know? The weirdest thing is, *I* don't know what might happen any more! As I re-write, things just seem to happen, almost like the little dickens has decided on a future I didn't pen in the first edition....
Smiles,
Michelle
A lovely chapter...
As always! ^^ I kinda worry about commenting on this story sometimes, because I feel like I'm just saying the same kind of things each time... ^^;; But that's cause it's always lovely, and cute, and sweet! Which is definitely a good thing. ^^
It's so great that she has such an understanding family! I understand what Val meant about people holding on to their differences and being on hold, because that's what I was like til I finally broke the cycle and talked to my family, and started moving forward. =3 She talks a lot of sense! Or, rather you talk a lot of sense! Unless Val is real and tells you what to write... o.o;;
Thanks for yet another awesome chapter Michelle!
*hugs*
Arisu
Big sisters are the Best!
Or the worst.
Hi, Arisu,
Of *course* Val is real! Unfortunately, she's three sisters, all in one, so none of them get to take credit. :-)
I'm glad you bumped yourself out of your own rut; it's the hardest part, isn't it?
(Of course, getting out of a self-limiting cycle and falling into a *self-destructive* cycle is a risk, too, so I'm doubly glad you avoided that.)
:-)
Smiles, and thanks for the support,
Michelle
Fevered incompetence
Thanks, Saless, Stan and Arisu,
I was afraid that this chapter made *no* sense at all since I've had a miserable flu and high fever for the last four days. (Pic of fried egg....) *This* is my story on drugs...
Thanks for the support and feedback... which I think I'm gonna have to wait a bit to reply to...
(SEE!! I'm dangling participles, too!)
Back to bed,
Smiles,
Michelle
If this is you sick...
...I don't think you have anything to worry about. :-) Excellent chapter, as usual!
Don't worry about "dangling participles". They're not so bad as the complex that English teachers give people about them says they are. Most L1 speakers of English, in fact, incorporate "dangling participles" in their native variation to one degree or another. It's just a manifestation of Trace effects at work. "Who(m) did you send it to?" is more authentic speech (and therefore Language) than "To whom did you send it?" for a reason.
[/descriptive, generative grammar linguist]
-Liz
Successor to the LToC
Formerly known as "momonoimoto"
Whom did you send it to....
...is a split infinitive. A dangling participle uses an actual participle, as "Fluttering gently through the woods, the policeman admired the butterfly."
Both are regularly used in English, but dangling participles cause far more confusion and problems, although they're sometimes difficult to work out.
"Thinking about the Spartans, their homosexual soldiers were deeply committed to each other on the battlefield."
The problem lies with who was thinking? The soldiers? They're the only people readily available as candidates, but the sentence is awkward. What's really happening, we eventually surmise, is that someone has been left out, probably us.
"Thinking about the Spartans, we can assume that their homosexual soldiers were deeply committed to each other on the battlefield."
Split infinitives, on the other hand, are built into English from antiquity. No need to worry about them at all, unless the sentence itself is poorly done.
Puddin'
-----------------
This is the sort of bloody nonsense
up with which I will not put.
--- Winston Churchill
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Principles of past pluperfect punctuation
Hi, Puddin'
I allays figured if, when you say it out loud and it makes sense, the way a realistic character would say it? Then it's right. And *darn* the sentence structure! (Please forgive my cussing!)
That's the beauty of non-APA writing. And English! And being out of high school!!!!
Smiles,
Michelle
Ambiguity is beauty.
I perfectly agree, as long....
...as it's in dialogue, or direct first person narration.
It's moderately more important, if the author makes an appearance, that the author *appear* slightly more literate than her creations, especially if they are sometimes incoherent or stumble over words. As much as possible, one wants writing to be "invisible," neither drawing attention to itself through needless solecisms nor pretentious over-diction, drawing upon registers or vocabulary that the author doesn't actually use or understand.
To forestall the obvious criticism, yes, I really do talk and think in much the same manner as I write.
One might think of me as the progressive radical lesbian alternative to William F. Buckley, but a bit less smug, less narrow-minded, and less insufferable.
Cheers,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
A Pud with a View?
Sooo...?
You're like the reincarnation of Virginia Woolf?
;-)
Michelle
>> You're like the reincarnation of Virginia Woolf?
I have, of course, read all her published work, and most of the critical examinations, but have no inclination to depression and am not suicidal, last I looked. Indeed, upon rising (early) each morning, I'm so usually so cheerful and bright that a few terminal coffee drinkers have been known to threaten murderous assault, especially when I burst into song, which is often.
Whilst I sympathise with her (Mr Woolf was a putz), I misdoubt that I would have been so easily intimidated into the Bloomsbury sexual "games" and exploitation. While I admire her lyricism and mastery of language overall, I think her talents were to some extent "wasted" by the impositions and expectations of cultural milieu and companions foisted upon her through class and "breeding."
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
reincarnation redux
Ann-Marie MacDonald?
Angela Davis?
Would you believe... Rita Mae Brown??
Michelle
>> Rita Mae Brown??
I met her once at the River Queen, a little place on the Russian River (now defunct) in Northern California.
We were all waiting with great anticipation when a woman walked out on the stage and said, "I'd like to introduce..." (she waited for the beat) "a most fascinating older woman, Rita Mae Brown..." another beat... "Myself."
The room erupted in laughter. All of her books up until then were from small feminist presses, and author mugshots weren't part of the package, so few actually knew what she looked like.
She gave a marvelous talk about the writing life, her early years in the Furies collective, and was, in a word, very witty and perfectly charming. I liked her.
On the other hand, she tends toward elitism. She holds, for example, that any writer who can't properly handle the subjunctive is a poseur who'd be better employed writing for the National Enquirer. She likewise insists that the study of Latin should be mandatory for any writer worth her salt, presumably to inculcate an informed regard for the subjunctive, the vocative, and the indicative moods.
Her early poetry, The Hand That Cradles the Rock and Songs to a Handsome Woman were very nice, I thought, and Rubyfruit Jungle was a work of genius, but she's gone slowly downhill from there, although simultaneously attracting a much wider audience. She's been nominated for an Emmy, and her mystery series featuring her cat, Sneaky Pie Brown, typecast as the feline detective Mrs Murphy, are very popular, although I personally find them saccharine, but then I don't like mysteries to begin with.
It may also be significant that she caused a lot of controversy in my circles when she left Daughters, Inc., a small feminist press, for a larger publisher when her books started selling well. I was mad at her for years, as were many others, and we stopped buying her books.
She, on the other hand, is laughing all the way to the bank, and has been involved in a small series of high-profile scandals over the years, but this is how celebrities behave in the USA, so she's not at all exceptional, and is probably sedate in comparison with many women in the public spotlight.
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Just as well....
I loved Rubyfruit, etc, but that was yarns and yarns ago, during my 'anything that moves' phase... I even developed a predilection for lesbian detective stories. My bad.
And I had (have?) the major hots for Ann-Marie MacDonald... so I'm glad you didn't toss her name back at me. Dunno why *I* mentioned her!
Oh... and did I mention I studied Latin for five years? Mea culpa.
Smiling,
Michelle
>> Ann-Marie MacDonald
I never met her, although I saw her in I've Heard the Mermaids Singing and Better than Chocolate (both wonderful films), and read a few of her novels. She's family, but stays mostly up in the Great White North.
I can understand why you might be fond of her.
Did you ever run across Sarah Dreher's Stoner McTavish? Hilarious, I thought, but I do have a twisted sense of humour. The later Stoner novels got a little weird, too many ghosts, but the first few were great.
Puddin'
------------
P.S. I never took Latin in school, but I do have Winnie ille Pu and a mess of random textbooks, plus a dictionary and grammar or three, I just fooled around, though, and never went all the way...
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Grammar: (N), an actor on Cheers
Hi, momonoimoto,
Thank you for the note, and encouragement.
As I'm sure you've noticed, I was the unrepentant, living nightmare of the Grammar-Nuns in my high school. (Yup: School uniforms, penguins in black robes and wimples, Latin and all.)
I like to think I did something good for the Sisters, helped them see there was a life on the outside of the cloister.. got them out of the "convent-ional style" habit, so to speak. ;-)
(Gawd, I could do nun-puns all day...)
For penance, saying three thousand Hail Marys and the lyrics to 'Bad Reputation',
Smiles,
Michelle
i wondered what that word meant ...
... "incompetence," i mean. if this is what incompetence is, can i have some of that? i'll take some flu along with it, if need be.
(i have this image of a cat laying beside you as you type, batting at the dangling participles in idle amusement ... picture "participles" as somehow similar to "pigtails", and then you get cats, eggs, and wendy-faced freckled smiling (but ill, so eyes as red as hair) girl)
oh, but the *story* was lovely, as usual ... or more so, perhaps. the whispered confidences shared between the two children (though one of them's more or less grown up) late at night ... 's funny, how it can be easier to talk in the dark. is it because you can't see the other person's reactions? or because you feel somehow hidden, safer, cloaked in darkness? or because if there's no light, you can sort of kind of pretend that it's *someone else's* voice saying those things?
it's kinda nice, too, 'cause the conversation sorta runs off the rails, when our hero/ine *really* *wants* to *know* about this secks thing with gurrulls. :-) it's ... right, and though it kinda seems like it's tangential to the story (if there's a gun on the wall in scene one, it's gonna get fired before the play is over? but i don't think you're going to expose us to *that* gun going off, hmm?), but ... it's rather beautifully and subtly illustrative of our unnamed's character. :-)
heh.
can i be slightly possibly rude, please, if it's in a good cause? because, you see, i think little pink pills was the first story that you posted here, and i read it, and i was utterly enchanted by the story-telling ... but not so much by the story. i thought that some of your later stuff (and especially the points of view series) was much better. now, as you're reposting, and revising ... oh, *my*. this is just splendidly wonderful, both the telling and the tale, and it grows richer and deeper episode by episode.
Amy!
(ever more fangirl with each new posting)
Warning: Secks-you-al Content!
Hi, Amy, and thank you so much for the letter!
I love the comment about the gun on the wall in the first scene.... kinda like Hamlet had no choice, the way Old Will decorated that bleak old castle!!
Hmm.. and my story opened with leg-breaking football. High drama and the crucible of teenage gender role-play! But where were the cheerleaders? Oh! It was only a *practice* crucible....
Or, scene another way, our two main squeezes... touching, for the very first time....
Mysteriously,
Michelle
Schrödinger's Plot Box: having already penned the end of Little Pink Pills, is the end... the end?
Another Plot twist
After reading the original and this one I like this version better. I really like how you have changed and twisted the plot and are setting us up with cliffhangers like this one. Keep up the ingenious application of your latent talent.
Jayme Ann
The answers to all of life's questions can be found in the face of a true friend
Sorry I had to think of something other than keep up the good work....
The answers to all of life's questions can be found in the face of a true friend
Latent Plot
Hi, Jayme Ann,
Thanks for your note, I really appreciate your feedback on the changes in LPP.
In rewriting, I've found that all the little ideas I originally had (and discarded) have become the better part of the plot. I guess I'm more interested in the characters' lives than where the story goes, this time around.
Luckily, I've also rewritten the plot! :-)
Smiles,
Michelle