Marissa Lingen (mrissa) wrote,
Marissa Lingen
mrissa

Cherries, I really think.

Cherries are on the tip of my brain. Once I figure out what cherries have to do with this story, I will be able to finish it. That will be good. They go somewhere, the dark good kind. I think I need to make my brain shift to feeling the story with my mouth instead of my hands, and then it'll all go. (Writers are all fruitbats. Remember this. Not even the same kind of fruitbats.)

"This story" is "Why I Live in the Silver Mine," the dwarves/Grateful Dead/Eudora Welty story with the edges of Snow White coming around its edges. I was mostly joking when it came to mind, but then Quartz Marie was not a narrator I could ignore indefinitely, so here we are, Quartz Marie and her sister Tourmaline (who went off with a Tall Folk and is now back without so much as kiss-my-boot) and Uncle Gabbro and all the rest.

I'm having a good time with it, with the magic fiddle and the mining, and I'm inordinately fond of Quartz Marie telling the rest of the family, "If you ask me, we should listen to a bird who knows more than one story," when Tourmaline has consulted with a crow on the subject of the magic fiddle. If it turns out to be any good, that'll be a bonus after all the fun it's been to write.

Still. Cherries. I just don't know where they go.
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