October 4th, 2006

writing everywhere

Postcard shards

I am doing a meme I have seen elsewhere, but adjusted for my own purposes. Because I will really hardly ever copy something verbatim and put it in this journal -- my promise to you. No matter how much I agree with it. So here's the version I'm doing:

The first five people in the continental postal US* to respond in a comment to this post, will get a postcard with a fragment of fiction on it. No one else will get your fragment or any other fragment from the same work. You have to either send me your address or verify that I already know it if you want a random piece of Mris-fiction to show up in your mailbox. You can specify genre or even sub-genre if you like, although if I feel I know you well, I may have ideas about what will make you go, "Oooh, shiny."

In addition, up to two people from outside the continental postal US can get the same deal. It's just that I had five boring blank USPS postcards and five extra-bit stamps to make them go, so people outside the US will -- sorry, US residents! -- get better postcards.

If the five ("Seven, sir!") seven spots are already taken, you can still comment here, and I will do this until I get sick of it. Or you can just e-mail me off lj, especially if you (this is rather poor timing, considering yesterday's spam stuff) don't have an lj. But the first five seven are guaranteed.

You do not have to send me a postcard snippet of fiction back, but anyone who wants to be nice to a mrissa could consider this a method.

*Postal US includes anything that's a flat US mailing rate: military bases and diplomatic postings included, as long as the address is an American address and not one local to where you currently are. redbird pointed out to me that HI is not extra just because there's a lot of ocean to haul the mail across.

Edited, 9:20 a.m.: As of 9:20, I have the five promised US posts, plus one of the two promised "foreign" posts. (Most of Canada is less foreign to me than Tennessee, but never mind that now.) sartorias resorted to bribery: she has promised to send $10 to the John M. Ford Memorial Foundation if I sent her one. People, bribery works. I didn't start this as a fundraising post, and it's not going to become a solely fundraising post, but hey, if you're willing to do like sartorias, I guarantee you a snippet of postcard fiction.

You still do need to send me your address, though.

Agreement, disagreement.

The doglet and I are united in our dislike of box elder bugs and Canadian geese. Having trained this brain to work in symbols and patterns for fiction-writing purposes, I find I sometimes have difficulty pulling the brain out of that rut -- in this case, convincing myself that the box elder bugs are not symbolic of everything being chaotic and scary with many unpleasant things looming. They are not symbols. They are bugs.

On the other hand, it might be comforting if I could just squish unpleasantness symbolically and have it work. Having the guts of unpleasantness neatly disposed of on a tissue: well, all right.

The doglet and I disagree on the subject of the neighbor dogs, and also on the subject of squirrels. I keep trying to teach her, "That's none of our business," but she feels that a dog hardly has any business more pressing than the neighbor dogs, squirrels, or possibly what the neighbor dogs are doing in regards to squirrels.

Tomorrow I can have wild rice pudding with sour cherries for breakfast if I want it. I probably won't, but I can.

That's really as deep as it gets here tonight, folks. There's stuff that's a lot deeper but less coherent, so it would come out as, "you know that feeling you get when stuff happens? I hate that. It's like, much worse than that other feeling you get when different stuff happens. The End. By Mris, Age 28." But you do know that feeling you get, right? With the stuff? I thought so. Good.