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garnigalDon't be all excited - there's nothing new. I have come up with a plan, however.
One of the other WriterCon attendees wrote a couple of months ago about making up business cards with her contact info to hand out at the con. I thought that was a great idea, so I knew I was going to abscond with it.
Then I read Iterations by Robert J. Sawyer. It's a short story collection and includes a very short (250 words) story. The cool thing was that he put it on his business cards, so when he passed them out, everyone had a sample of his writing. Another brilliant idea, and I'm already good at stealing brilliant ideas, so...
However, there is one issue. I have 33 pages of 100 word drabbles. Some of them were ruled out because they were part of a series (hard to fit 4 100 word drabbles on a card), because they were weak, or for other reasons. That still left me with 18 drabbles that I consider my best. Now I have to choose.
I abdicate.
I leave the choice to you. All 18 drabbles are behind the cut, and if you have time, I'd love to hear your comments (via the comments or by email) about which one I should put on my contact card.
Hope you like them!
The prompt that inspired the drabble is in bold.
Betrayal
It felt like betrayal.
Everything had been going well. The sun was shining, some boys had hit on her, and some girls had started making friends. She’d be cool again. She could be the cheerleader, the prom queen. She could even be a good student and make her mother proud.
Step one was go to the library, get the books, study. High school couldn’t be as hard as last year.
Then the damn Englishman dropped that book in front of her and looked her knowingly in the eye. A heavy leather book, a dusty thud, and destiny screwed her again.
News Report
It’d been months, and Xander still checked the newspaper every week. The ad was always there, the tone getting more and more desperate as time went on. First came a request for him to come home, then begging for just a phone call. Eventually the ad demanded “Have You Seen This Boy?”, and offered a reward for information.
Xander thought about telling them some of the truth, convincing them that it was a lost cause, looking for their son. He couldn’t face Mrs. Milne though, so he left an anonymous note.
The next week Jesse’s name was in the obituaries.
Time Travel
Buffy watched Angel through dark, pain-filled eyes. She saw his love for the fragile child in his arms, his passion. This time, though, she saw his love and passion turn dark, the pink blush rose of young romance turn black with mania and obsession. The girl in the bed slept on, peacefully unaware of the change in her lover’s demeanor.
Buffy considered waking the girl, but decided against it. This would be the last peaceful sleep 17-year-old Buffy would get for months. Older and wiser, Buffy turned her back on the scene. The past just had to play itself out.
Somewhere Else
Sometimes she came back to herself. Sometimes she knew she was in the white room with the padded walls, with the doctors and nurses who drugged her to make her safe.
Usually, though, she was somewhere else. Somewhere like an empty house filled with the smell of blood, a dark, terrifying basement with a dark, terrifying man. A subway train in New York, a shadowed forest in Romania, a temple in China, a perverse underground church in California, one city after another, one town much like the last. Places always filled with danger and enemies.
It was never anywhere good.
Heat
She was good, he had to admit. She spun and kicked, jumped and punched. Imaginative, too. Slayers tended to be one trick ponies – walk in and either win or die. This bitch was sneaky. Creeping around in the ceiling – clever.
Didn’t save her though. Eventually, she had to face him, vampire and girl, the way it was intended. He loved this part, the dance; the fire rising in him, the flames burning in her. The heat got to a fever pitch and he knew he’d won.
Funny how an axe to the back of the head can cool you off.
Addiction
Cocaine doesn’t care who snorts it, opium doesn’t care who smokes it. Drusilla doesn’t care who loves her.
He’d spent years lavishing attention on his dark princess, his mad bride. He’d kept her alive in her weakness, protected her in her madness.
But now, from his viewpoint in this cold metal chair, he can see it was the attention she craved, the adoration she was addicted to. He was sure she tried to care for him as he’d cared for her, but she always had her own devilish need to fill.
He was addicted to Drusilla. And so was she.
Lullaby
They all had the best of intentions. Joyce and Hank doted on their beautiful little blonde daughter. Ira and Sheila filled with pride over their daughter’s brilliance. Even Jessica and Anthony wanted the best for their son.
Back then, before marriages fell apart, before success meant book tours, before booze was its own food group, they tried to be good parents. They taught their kids the important lessons – be kind, share, say please and thank you. And at night, they tucked their babies in bed and sang them soft, sweet songs.
Honestly, they all had the very best of intentions…
Sunday
Every week it is the same damn thing. Some new big bad pops up, things go to hell, but eventually it gets taken care of and everything is okay – until next week.
Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes it’s like cutting butter with a hot knife – messy, but easy. Sometimes it’s more like … spreading honey on bread – it’s sticky, gooey and leaves a nasty mess behind, but it gets done eventually. Sometimes it doesn’t get done at all – those weeks are the worst.
If I’d known how hard it was, I never would have started with these damn drabbles.
Thunder/Lighting
There was a time when the violence of the storm frightened him. When he was a child, he’d keep the light on when thunder rumbled.
There was a time when the violence of the storm excited him. When he was Ripper, he’d revel in lightning striking earth with white-hot destruction.
There was a time when the violence of the storm annoyed him. When he was the Watcher, he yearned for the English mists of he’d idealized.
Now the violence of the storm reminds him. Reminds him of all he’s been, all he will be. And he is content to be.
Rain
She really tried in English class. In other classes she relied on Willow. But she really tried in English.
Angel had loved literature.
So she tried. It was a way of hanging on to him. A way to ignore the pain and the guilt. She at least skimmed every book, every play, every poem. She thought about allegories and metaphor. She imagined discussing it with… him.
Then came the discussion of pathetic fallacy. She mutely listened, then wrote it off as a stupid, emotionally manipulative technique.
Surely, if it was real, the sky would cry tears of rain for Angel.
Once Upon a Time
Every kid loves fairy tales when they are little.
In the Summers household, Joyce and Hank took turns reading Snow White, Rapunzel and Cinderella to Buffy before bed, then kissed their “little princess” goodnight.
In the Rosenberg household, Sheila and Ira instructed Willow in female subjugation, using The Little Mermaid, The Little Match-Seller and Rumpelstitlskin.
In the Harris household, Jessica and Anthony didn’t tell stories to Xander. Instead, he cuddled up in his babysitter’s lap to listen to Rin Tin Tin, Brer Rabbit and The Brave Tin Soldier.
It was a solid foundation for the strangeness of life in Sunnydale.
Once Upon a Time
Buffy wanted to be a princess.
She dressed up in pink tulle and a sparkly crown for Hallowe’en and was offended if anyone called her a fairy.
“Magic isn’t real, but princesses are.”
She grew out of Hallowe’en. But she never grew out of being a princess.
At 12, she dreamed about marrying Prince William.
“Then I could be a real princess."
At 14, she dreamed about being Captain of the Cheer Squad.
“They’d all look up to me like I’m a princess or something.”
So how did she end up being the one to save the damsels in distress?
Red
Her skin felt tight. Everything itched, but she didn’t dare touch, knowing that would just make it worse.
She felt cold, but if she put her hand near her skin she could feel heat radiating. She tried to convince her parents to let her stay home from school, but got a lecture combining the importance of education and the value of learning from experience.
Her clothes rubbed painfully, but she kept her long sleeves rolled down. She didn’t need to display the full extent of the damage.
“Whoa.” Xander stared. “You’re all red, Willow.”
Willow’s eyes filled. “Worst sunburn ever.”
A Simpler Life
Another night in a graveyard, ambling along behind Buffy. Part backup, but mostly target, Xander thinks about simpler days. Playing with Jesse and Willow, then getting too old for “playing” and just “hanging”. Hitting on girls and getting shot down. Living life the way normal teens lived life.
Going to a funeral every couple of weeks. Calling to make sure everyone got home safe and sound. Not knowing what was out there, but knowing that something was.
Maybe simpler wasn’t better after all.
A hairy fist comes out of nowhere and Xander hits the dirt.
Then again, maybe it was.
Birdsong
Dawn giggled delightedly at the antics of the yellow canary. It sang, twittered and looked cute. You could tell he was happy, loved and well-fed.
That cat thought so too. He stalked, plotted and schemed, drooling over the fat bird. Every once in while, that cat caught the bird, but it never lasted too long. Something always saved the birdy.
This time it was the potion in Dr. Jekyll’s lab. The tiny, cute yellow canary became a huge, scary yellow monster.
Dawn laughed again as Tweety chased the confused cat.
Buffy watched the cartoon grimly. “I totally sympathize with Sylvester.”
Mom (unposted)
Joyce woke to the smell of burning.
The pancakes were a loss, so they drank coffee and started again. Buffy didn’t burn the second batch and Joyce cooked the sausage. A few years ago that would have been Hank’s job, but they had a new tradition now.
Joyce spent the day reading and relaxing, but after their pizza, Buffy and Joyce curled up to watch movies and eat popcorn until bedtime.
Curling up in her bed, Buffy drifted off to sleep. No sneaking out to patrol tonight; the least she could give her mother was not dying on Mother’s Day.
Payback(unposted)
It was just tiny things. Little tricks she’d learned at her mother’s side. She might put too much salt in the casserole or not enough sugar in the pie. She’d shrink their underwear while she did laundry, or accidentally bleach Donny’s favourite shirt into rags. There was never any Benedryl in the house when allergy season around rolled, and there never seemed to be enough beer in the house when Daddy’s friends stopped by.
Just enough to make their lives less than perfect.
She might be a good witch, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t looking for a little payback.
Dizzy
Thinking back makes his head spin. Thinking forward makes his hands shake. So he tries to stay in the present. He makes schedules and enforces them scrupulously. He trains his Slayers and educates them to his standards. He maintains an immaculate appearance and strives for an air of competence.
His schedules are ignored. His Slayers are stronger and know more than he does. His appearance is comical in laid-back California, and his air of competence doesn’t last five minutes.
He tried not to think about past and future failure, about death, about evil.
He tried to keep the dizziness away.
Paternity
They were proud of their history. They were proud of their secrets. They were proud of their tools.
They were proud of their Slayers.
Young women. Strong, fast, brave. Obedient, intelligent. The perfect weapons to combat evil. Their femininity is a lure. Their power is an enticement. Their battles are legendary. Their deaths are tragic.
Their deaths are necessary.
No one could keep up the required pace forever. No one can maintain the strength of will, strength of mind or strength of body. Each Slayer to fall is mother to the next Slayer chosen.
And the Council is their father.
One of the other WriterCon attendees wrote a couple of months ago about making up business cards with her contact info to hand out at the con. I thought that was a great idea, so I knew I was going to abscond with it.
Then I read Iterations by Robert J. Sawyer. It's a short story collection and includes a very short (250 words) story. The cool thing was that he put it on his business cards, so when he passed them out, everyone had a sample of his writing. Another brilliant idea, and I'm already good at stealing brilliant ideas, so...
However, there is one issue. I have 33 pages of 100 word drabbles. Some of them were ruled out because they were part of a series (hard to fit 4 100 word drabbles on a card), because they were weak, or for other reasons. That still left me with 18 drabbles that I consider my best. Now I have to choose.
I abdicate.
I leave the choice to you. All 18 drabbles are behind the cut, and if you have time, I'd love to hear your comments (via the comments or by email) about which one I should put on my contact card.
Hope you like them!
The prompt that inspired the drabble is in bold.
Betrayal
It felt like betrayal.
Everything had been going well. The sun was shining, some boys had hit on her, and some girls had started making friends. She’d be cool again. She could be the cheerleader, the prom queen. She could even be a good student and make her mother proud.
Step one was go to the library, get the books, study. High school couldn’t be as hard as last year.
Then the damn Englishman dropped that book in front of her and looked her knowingly in the eye. A heavy leather book, a dusty thud, and destiny screwed her again.
News Report
It’d been months, and Xander still checked the newspaper every week. The ad was always there, the tone getting more and more desperate as time went on. First came a request for him to come home, then begging for just a phone call. Eventually the ad demanded “Have You Seen This Boy?”, and offered a reward for information.
Xander thought about telling them some of the truth, convincing them that it was a lost cause, looking for their son. He couldn’t face Mrs. Milne though, so he left an anonymous note.
The next week Jesse’s name was in the obituaries.
Time Travel
Buffy watched Angel through dark, pain-filled eyes. She saw his love for the fragile child in his arms, his passion. This time, though, she saw his love and passion turn dark, the pink blush rose of young romance turn black with mania and obsession. The girl in the bed slept on, peacefully unaware of the change in her lover’s demeanor.
Buffy considered waking the girl, but decided against it. This would be the last peaceful sleep 17-year-old Buffy would get for months. Older and wiser, Buffy turned her back on the scene. The past just had to play itself out.
Somewhere Else
Sometimes she came back to herself. Sometimes she knew she was in the white room with the padded walls, with the doctors and nurses who drugged her to make her safe.
Usually, though, she was somewhere else. Somewhere like an empty house filled with the smell of blood, a dark, terrifying basement with a dark, terrifying man. A subway train in New York, a shadowed forest in Romania, a temple in China, a perverse underground church in California, one city after another, one town much like the last. Places always filled with danger and enemies.
It was never anywhere good.
Heat
She was good, he had to admit. She spun and kicked, jumped and punched. Imaginative, too. Slayers tended to be one trick ponies – walk in and either win or die. This bitch was sneaky. Creeping around in the ceiling – clever.
Didn’t save her though. Eventually, she had to face him, vampire and girl, the way it was intended. He loved this part, the dance; the fire rising in him, the flames burning in her. The heat got to a fever pitch and he knew he’d won.
Funny how an axe to the back of the head can cool you off.
Addiction
Cocaine doesn’t care who snorts it, opium doesn’t care who smokes it. Drusilla doesn’t care who loves her.
He’d spent years lavishing attention on his dark princess, his mad bride. He’d kept her alive in her weakness, protected her in her madness.
But now, from his viewpoint in this cold metal chair, he can see it was the attention she craved, the adoration she was addicted to. He was sure she tried to care for him as he’d cared for her, but she always had her own devilish need to fill.
He was addicted to Drusilla. And so was she.
Lullaby
They all had the best of intentions. Joyce and Hank doted on their beautiful little blonde daughter. Ira and Sheila filled with pride over their daughter’s brilliance. Even Jessica and Anthony wanted the best for their son.
Back then, before marriages fell apart, before success meant book tours, before booze was its own food group, they tried to be good parents. They taught their kids the important lessons – be kind, share, say please and thank you. And at night, they tucked their babies in bed and sang them soft, sweet songs.
Honestly, they all had the very best of intentions…
Sunday
Every week it is the same damn thing. Some new big bad pops up, things go to hell, but eventually it gets taken care of and everything is okay – until next week.
Sometimes it’s easier than others. Sometimes it’s like cutting butter with a hot knife – messy, but easy. Sometimes it’s more like … spreading honey on bread – it’s sticky, gooey and leaves a nasty mess behind, but it gets done eventually. Sometimes it doesn’t get done at all – those weeks are the worst.
If I’d known how hard it was, I never would have started with these damn drabbles.
Thunder/Lighting
There was a time when the violence of the storm frightened him. When he was a child, he’d keep the light on when thunder rumbled.
There was a time when the violence of the storm excited him. When he was Ripper, he’d revel in lightning striking earth with white-hot destruction.
There was a time when the violence of the storm annoyed him. When he was the Watcher, he yearned for the English mists of he’d idealized.
Now the violence of the storm reminds him. Reminds him of all he’s been, all he will be. And he is content to be.
Rain
She really tried in English class. In other classes she relied on Willow. But she really tried in English.
Angel had loved literature.
So she tried. It was a way of hanging on to him. A way to ignore the pain and the guilt. She at least skimmed every book, every play, every poem. She thought about allegories and metaphor. She imagined discussing it with… him.
Then came the discussion of pathetic fallacy. She mutely listened, then wrote it off as a stupid, emotionally manipulative technique.
Surely, if it was real, the sky would cry tears of rain for Angel.
Once Upon a Time
Every kid loves fairy tales when they are little.
In the Summers household, Joyce and Hank took turns reading Snow White, Rapunzel and Cinderella to Buffy before bed, then kissed their “little princess” goodnight.
In the Rosenberg household, Sheila and Ira instructed Willow in female subjugation, using The Little Mermaid, The Little Match-Seller and Rumpelstitlskin.
In the Harris household, Jessica and Anthony didn’t tell stories to Xander. Instead, he cuddled up in his babysitter’s lap to listen to Rin Tin Tin, Brer Rabbit and The Brave Tin Soldier.
It was a solid foundation for the strangeness of life in Sunnydale.
Once Upon a Time
Buffy wanted to be a princess.
She dressed up in pink tulle and a sparkly crown for Hallowe’en and was offended if anyone called her a fairy.
“Magic isn’t real, but princesses are.”
She grew out of Hallowe’en. But she never grew out of being a princess.
At 12, she dreamed about marrying Prince William.
“Then I could be a real princess."
At 14, she dreamed about being Captain of the Cheer Squad.
“They’d all look up to me like I’m a princess or something.”
So how did she end up being the one to save the damsels in distress?
Red
Her skin felt tight. Everything itched, but she didn’t dare touch, knowing that would just make it worse.
She felt cold, but if she put her hand near her skin she could feel heat radiating. She tried to convince her parents to let her stay home from school, but got a lecture combining the importance of education and the value of learning from experience.
Her clothes rubbed painfully, but she kept her long sleeves rolled down. She didn’t need to display the full extent of the damage.
“Whoa.” Xander stared. “You’re all red, Willow.”
Willow’s eyes filled. “Worst sunburn ever.”
A Simpler Life
Another night in a graveyard, ambling along behind Buffy. Part backup, but mostly target, Xander thinks about simpler days. Playing with Jesse and Willow, then getting too old for “playing” and just “hanging”. Hitting on girls and getting shot down. Living life the way normal teens lived life.
Going to a funeral every couple of weeks. Calling to make sure everyone got home safe and sound. Not knowing what was out there, but knowing that something was.
Maybe simpler wasn’t better after all.
A hairy fist comes out of nowhere and Xander hits the dirt.
Then again, maybe it was.
Birdsong
Dawn giggled delightedly at the antics of the yellow canary. It sang, twittered and looked cute. You could tell he was happy, loved and well-fed.
That cat thought so too. He stalked, plotted and schemed, drooling over the fat bird. Every once in while, that cat caught the bird, but it never lasted too long. Something always saved the birdy.
This time it was the potion in Dr. Jekyll’s lab. The tiny, cute yellow canary became a huge, scary yellow monster.
Dawn laughed again as Tweety chased the confused cat.
Buffy watched the cartoon grimly. “I totally sympathize with Sylvester.”
Mom (unposted)
Joyce woke to the smell of burning.
The pancakes were a loss, so they drank coffee and started again. Buffy didn’t burn the second batch and Joyce cooked the sausage. A few years ago that would have been Hank’s job, but they had a new tradition now.
Joyce spent the day reading and relaxing, but after their pizza, Buffy and Joyce curled up to watch movies and eat popcorn until bedtime.
Curling up in her bed, Buffy drifted off to sleep. No sneaking out to patrol tonight; the least she could give her mother was not dying on Mother’s Day.
Payback(unposted)
It was just tiny things. Little tricks she’d learned at her mother’s side. She might put too much salt in the casserole or not enough sugar in the pie. She’d shrink their underwear while she did laundry, or accidentally bleach Donny’s favourite shirt into rags. There was never any Benedryl in the house when allergy season around rolled, and there never seemed to be enough beer in the house when Daddy’s friends stopped by.
Just enough to make their lives less than perfect.
She might be a good witch, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t looking for a little payback.
Dizzy
Thinking back makes his head spin. Thinking forward makes his hands shake. So he tries to stay in the present. He makes schedules and enforces them scrupulously. He trains his Slayers and educates them to his standards. He maintains an immaculate appearance and strives for an air of competence.
His schedules are ignored. His Slayers are stronger and know more than he does. His appearance is comical in laid-back California, and his air of competence doesn’t last five minutes.
He tried not to think about past and future failure, about death, about evil.
He tried to keep the dizziness away.
Paternity
They were proud of their history. They were proud of their secrets. They were proud of their tools.
They were proud of their Slayers.
Young women. Strong, fast, brave. Obedient, intelligent. The perfect weapons to combat evil. Their femininity is a lure. Their power is an enticement. Their battles are legendary. Their deaths are tragic.
Their deaths are necessary.
No one could keep up the required pace forever. No one can maintain the strength of will, strength of mind or strength of body. Each Slayer to fall is mother to the next Slayer chosen.
And the Council is their father.
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Re: Bad with decisions
Date: 2006-07-11 06:30 pm (UTC)And one vote for Addiction, which is totally fannish and deals with a completely canon character.
Somebody is going to have to make this decision for me!
Re: Bad with decisions
Date: 2006-07-11 08:04 pm (UTC)Re: Bad with decisions
Date: 2006-07-12 02:27 am (UTC)Word count was important when I first wrote them (100 words exactly) but I suppose it isn't if I'm showcasing my work. So what do you suggest?
Re: Bad with decisions
Date: 2006-07-12 11:55 am (UTC)I have some edits written out and jammed in my bookcase at home. I'll try and email them tonight. Most are minor removal of redundant things to tighten it up.
The bigger one was this... go look at "Addiction", and look at this paragraph:
"He’d spent years lavishing attention on his dark princess, his mad bride. He’d kept her alive in her weakness, protected her in her madness"
Two things here I think can be built on, one is "bride" and the other is "protected"... when I read this paragraph, I see bride and protect and feel like the rest of the wedding vows are missing. So I would suggest either removing princess and seeing what else of the traditional wedding vow language you can fit in (sickness/health, rich/poorer, love, honor and cherish, long as you both shall live (ha ha)), OR, remove the bride reference, as I found it to be distracting in this context without the supportive imagery.