They like me, they really like me...
Dec. 2nd, 2009 05:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jl_merrow...but, uh, not enough to actually accept the story. Hmmm...
This, btw, is Cathie Culver's debut effort, which several of you were kind enough to give me advice on submitting *hugs you all*. The mag sent it back with a request for a reworking of a couple of really quite small bits - and blimey, that was quick! I only sent it in last Friday, and we're talking snailmail here! *blows a kiss to the slushpile fairy*
So, have done a quick rewrite and will send it back. Fingers crossed!
In other news: the Dreamspinner Press Mistletoe Madness stories are now on individual sale, including mine:
Pleasures with Rough Strife
(piccy is a linky) :D
Danny Costessey slung the last furry little body into his bag and grinned, satisfied with the night’s work. Three rabbits, all of them good-sized. Not so fancy as what they’d be eating up at the Manor – but it’d still make a grand Christmas dinner for his mam and the kids. Now, though, it was time to be heading off home before that bastard of a gamekeeper caught him.
Snow had started to drift from the heavy clouds, a few flakes finding their way in between the leafless trees to fall on Danny as he made his way home. At least they had plenty of firewood this year – life was a bit easier now Toby was big enough to help out, and he’d done a cracking job of collecting wood for his mam. Funny to think of Toby growing up. He’d been so tiny when he was born, a couple of years before the Great War. And now he was ten years old already. He’d taken his little sisters out to gather holly to cheer up the cottage in honour of the season, although there had been a few tears over pricked thumbs that day, Danny recalled. But his mam had smiled to see it, and that was the main thing.
No mistletoe, though, Danny mused. His mam did love a nice bit of mistletoe – said it reminded her of her youth. Not that she was old now, mind, but five kids and no husband were enough to wear any woman down.
It was still dead dark in the forest, hardly a scrap of moonlight to find your way by, but Danny knew his way through these woods better than he knew his own face, and he recalled a big old oak tree set in a clearing that had a grand patch of mistletoe growing on it. It hung down from the branches like – well, Danny wasn’t much good with poetic descriptions and the like, but what it reminded him of most was the time he and Billy Wainwright had broken into the abandoned cottage next to the orchard for a lark. They’d crept into the pantry and found a wasp’s nest that was bigger around than both of them put together. They’d stared at it open-mouthed for a moment as the wasps started to swarm angrily on being disturbed. And then they’d both yelled out loud and run like buggery.
This, btw, is Cathie Culver's debut effort, which several of you were kind enough to give me advice on submitting *hugs you all*. The mag sent it back with a request for a reworking of a couple of really quite small bits - and blimey, that was quick! I only sent it in last Friday, and we're talking snailmail here! *blows a kiss to the slushpile fairy*
So, have done a quick rewrite and will send it back. Fingers crossed!
In other news: the Dreamspinner Press Mistletoe Madness stories are now on individual sale, including mine:
Pleasures with Rough Strife
(piccy is a linky) :D
Danny Costessey slung the last furry little body into his bag and grinned, satisfied with the night’s work. Three rabbits, all of them good-sized. Not so fancy as what they’d be eating up at the Manor – but it’d still make a grand Christmas dinner for his mam and the kids. Now, though, it was time to be heading off home before that bastard of a gamekeeper caught him.
Snow had started to drift from the heavy clouds, a few flakes finding their way in between the leafless trees to fall on Danny as he made his way home. At least they had plenty of firewood this year – life was a bit easier now Toby was big enough to help out, and he’d done a cracking job of collecting wood for his mam. Funny to think of Toby growing up. He’d been so tiny when he was born, a couple of years before the Great War. And now he was ten years old already. He’d taken his little sisters out to gather holly to cheer up the cottage in honour of the season, although there had been a few tears over pricked thumbs that day, Danny recalled. But his mam had smiled to see it, and that was the main thing.
No mistletoe, though, Danny mused. His mam did love a nice bit of mistletoe – said it reminded her of her youth. Not that she was old now, mind, but five kids and no husband were enough to wear any woman down.
It was still dead dark in the forest, hardly a scrap of moonlight to find your way by, but Danny knew his way through these woods better than he knew his own face, and he recalled a big old oak tree set in a clearing that had a grand patch of mistletoe growing on it. It hung down from the branches like – well, Danny wasn’t much good with poetic descriptions and the like, but what it reminded him of most was the time he and Billy Wainwright had broken into the abandoned cottage next to the orchard for a lark. They’d crept into the pantry and found a wasp’s nest that was bigger around than both of them put together. They’d stared at it open-mouthed for a moment as the wasps started to swarm angrily on being disturbed. And then they’d both yelled out loud and run like buggery.
