The things people leave

There is no such thing as the dog poo fairy.

There is no such thing as the 'used sanitary towel fairy' either - what on earth do these women think they are doing by leaving their little packages tucked behind plants by the side of the path? I'm tempted to put up one of those sniffy notices saying "there is no Council waste collection from this flowerbed, please do not leave your body fluids for the neighbours to clean up", but it wouldn't do any good...

An Unfair Advantage

I've been going backwards and forwards as to just how satisfied I am with this; after I'd had the initial idea I became doubtful as to whether it was suitable material for a story, when I'd finished playing about with the manuscript, I was pretty pleased with it, and now that I've typed the whole thing up I feel less happy about the result again. It also has the technical issue of being overloaded with adjectives attached to practically everything, which I was aware of while I was writing and did try to minimise; the trouble is that each one in isolation always seems necessary. I've made a few more tweaks to try to make it run smoothly, but the ending remains rather lame. Humour never was my strong point.

One change from the original that I was quite pleased with was made in response to my concern that there simply wasn't time for all the dialogue required to take place in a brief interlude between scenes; rather than trying to cram it all implausibly in, I realised that it would be far more in character for the protagonists themselves to decide to deal with it later :-)

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An Unfair Advantage

Cometh the hour, cometh the man... This time, "Point of No Return" is not to be interrupted.

The two voices rise entwined, powerful tenor and soaring passionate soprano, their notes embracing one another with an ardour that more than matches the caresses on stage. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn...

At the climax, Aminta melts into her lover’s arms, all resistance overcome. There is clarion triumph in the voice of the hooded Don Juan, a note of victory that goes beyond the mere playing of a part, and beneath the dark cloak he seems almost puffed up with anticipation. As the final chords ring out, thrusting and insistent, he begins to urge her across towards the curtained bed that awaits.

Aminta goes willingly, in a dreamy glide that is more than half a swoon. She seems to hesitate an instant at the last, putting up her hands as if to hold him off. Then her head falls back languorously, offering a kiss, and her grasp slips across his shoulders to put aside the hood that keeps his mouth from hers.( Read more... )