Like taking dictation from a character today...

 was almost hard to catch up(No, I'm not one of those people that thinks I created a saucy minx that does things  I wasn't expecting, but it did feel like having someone read in my ear.)

500 words came out like nothing, for once.

Not sure how much I'll show this one around....it feels a bit too personal, right now, though the person who read a fragment and asked me if I thought about expanding it will see it.(He asked for it.)

It's just a good feeling to get something without fighting for a change. Can't get used to that, though!

Letter from Twitter Jail...

 Fed up with my life being decided by somebody else's arbitrary standards.  It happens at home, it happens at work...social media needs to get it together. so that some oversensitive blue check can't get his posse to ruin my day

Continued...

 

When she could walk, she had been much better at papering over the obvious. Which is why she had been so great at having a hand-crafted reality that seemed to work to suit her till that weekend in Mexico. What Leti said was so close to what she had been thinking that Carla’s face burned; really, she felt like the embarrassment touched her unfeeling toes.  Carla opened her mouth to spin a little social fiction, but after the first weak-sounding syllables of her “No, not at all,” that sounded like her voice was about to change, no sound came out. “What can I say? I’m busted.” Of course, that sentence came out clear and strong.  What would it mean if she couldn’t lie to anyone anymore? She imagined, again, this time a flurry of reality-show style social engagements and, then, the quiet of a lifetime spent eating macaroni from the pot in front of some television show from her childhood.

There was still plenty she hadn’t shared with Leti; imagining her destitute self on one of those news-magazine shows, wrecking her make-up that her mother might apply, making her look too severe, herself telling some fatherly voice off-screen that “She was supposed to help me…I trusted her,” and soaking up America’s mixture of love and pity that, at times seemed to Carla to be a sort of national dessert, considered especially filling when served around or

about disabled people. One “treat” she didn’t like the taste of, but still pictured herself lapping up when things got bad. She didn’t have to get the spoon and start serving it herself, though, did she?

She took a deep breath, relieved that the heat from the blush had almost left her face, and tried to be diplomatic.

“Yeah, that was a little like what I was thinking.  I don’t think you’re a criminal

From the "Nano" style WIP...

 Not bad if I may say so...

thoughts on attendants, etc.

Carla and Leti zipped along on the freeway, Leti giving off a more professional vibe than her job, owing to the BlackBerry she clicked away on. Carla wished the attendant would keep her eyes on the road even as she also reasoned that she couldn’t be unlucky enough to get in horrible accidents twice in a lifetime.  She knew that was a rationalization, most likely, but in her experience the people who talked the most to her about “facing reality” tended to mean “Go and live somewhere where someone can watch you dribbling tapioca into a cup,” and she had no intention of ever doing that. Still, a few more miles into what seemed like an endless journey, she was brought up short  by all that it seemed she didn’t know about her new employee. She confessed her anxiety to know the final

verdict on the guest blog and Leti snorted“ You don’t need that cabrona’s blog, you know? I read your old one.  We could resurrect it. It was pretty good. Or maybe you could just write, like ‘ Screw you…you have no idea how you’d make shit work if you had to trade places with me, so kiss my fine, white, crippled ass if you don’t like the decisions I’ve had to make… you know? My cousin had to do that, but the wheelchair really changed his place within the gang, so…might not be the same for you.”

Carla reddened. “I think it’s more the same than it is different, but I don’t think I could write that literally.  Thanks for the tip, though.”

Leti made a shrugging gesture.  “Hey, the advice is worth what you paid for it.”

The writer asked “Do you really think I have a fine, white… well, you know?”

“I don’t remember you writing about your ‘you know’ in that thong, but, okay, since we’re going there, might as well take, well, most of the trip… I’ll end the suspense right here, should there be any, although for ladies in your tax bracket, my shoes tend to answer a lot of questions.”

“My former tax bracket,” Carla corrected, feeling rattled.

“My point being, I’ve seen more than my share of what your mother might call ‘lady parts’ and yours stack up against the best