Favorite lines you've written

Papaya

Unfold your own myth. - Rumi
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Yes, it's saliva. I've been plagued by a stomach flu the past few weeks so I've had lots of recent experience with this. It's nature's way of diluting the stomach acid that's about to make an explosive appearance in your mouth and throat. Yuck! Swallowing the saliva increases the chance of vomiting while spitting it out decreases the likelihood of vomiting.

There is bile reflux, similar to acid reflux, but I don't think it's related to vomiting.

Charming subject, isn't it?
So sorry you've got the flu. There is nothing good to say about having the flu, other than I hope you start feeling better really soon.

I didn't know that about swallowing the saliva. That's good to know, for both personal and story reasons.

Yes, this is such a lovely topic. I'm sure you're really grateful to be discussing it while you fight off the next round of nausea. Sorry, Pandaman. :(


?? It's actually a yellowish to greenish-brown liquid secreted by the liver and stored in the gallbladder, from whence it goes into the duodenum to aid in digestion. It may be part of the vomit if someone throws up, and I think people have come to (possibly incorrectly) associate that sudden rush of digestive fluids and acid up into the throat and mouth as bile...but I don't think it has anything to do with saliva. Where did you read that?

ETA: Ack! Sorry! Total fail on my part. I misread what you wrote.

Lol, no worries. I was having issues with communication last night, so chances are my phrasing was confusing. I have thrown up bile before, and it's extremely unpleasant. When your stomach is emptied of food and water, the next thing to come up is the bile. Once that's gone, you start dry heaving. I was ten when I got sun stroke, but I still remember how awful it was. Food poisoning will cause this, too.


Yeah, the rush of liquid that floods your mouth just before you spew is saliva, but I think bile can come up eventually - I have a very vivid memory of the worst hangover of my entire life, where all I did was hang my head over the bucket at the side of my bed all day. After the first hour, there was literally nothing in my stomach to come up, so I started puking this horrible bright yellowish stuff. That's bile - and there is a reason it is often used as a metaphor for bitterness. It really does taste foul and bitter :(

That's a good way to describe it; bile tastes disgusting. That's what made me think I probably had it wrong in my scene. When I've vomited from drinking too much, it was always when I was still drunk. For some reason, I never throw up the next day. I can feel like the walking dead, and wish I was throwing up, but it never happens that way for me. I don't know why, because it seems like everyone else does it your way. I do get horrible cramps, and have thrown up from the pain more times than I care to remember. Panic attacks also used to make me puke sometimes. So I have had plenty of time to observe this phenomenon in a hyper aware state...unfortunately.


Quick question for you, Kallithrix: what word is it, and who doesn't know what it means? I would settle for just knowing what word it is. That way I can verify if I know what it means. :D


And there I was, almost weaned off Japanese puke porn, and now...all that erotic bile dripping from this quivering moist thread.

Suddenly, my research into medieval squid romances has lost all relevance.

mt739z.jpg


Farewell, sweet fisherman's wife...
Oh no! I'm so sorry to have been such a bad influence. That is quite the description -- I'm not sure whether to laugh or throw up. Hopefully Pandaman will be feeling better before he stops by this thread again. :eek:
 

Papaya

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Here's my favorite line from my WIP.

I love that line, Pandaman, just love it.

I love, love, love that line. It needs to be in a book of famous wise quotations. I want it framed or something. And signed by the author!

Yeah, this. ^ Stories have given me company and kept me sane my entire life. They are very precious to me.
 

Papaya

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I do love a good redemption story. I have one of those as a subplot in mine.

I like redemption stories, too, as long as they are well done. I don't like characters doing horrible things, and suddenly having a change of heart for no reason, and then just as suddenly being forgiven because they decided to be a decent human being after all, and then the other characters treat the traitor like nothing ever happened. Just, ugh. That's lazy writing, IMO.

The redemption arc would be a subplot in my series as well. It actually opens up a future story to tell, because the way it's currently written, once they get back on land, the captain's role in the story is over.

Re the fire ability--in the past, he often couldn't access it, at least not on demand. That's about to change.
His powers are growing -- how exciting! Maybe that will help him get out of the very bad situation he just landed in.
 

Sonsofthepharaohs

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That's a good way to describe it; bile tastes disgusting. That's what made me think I probably had it wrong in my scene. When I've vomited from drinking too much, it was always when I was still drunk. For some reason, I never throw up the next day. I can feel like the walking dead, and wish I was throwing up, but it never happens that way for me. I don't know why, because it seems like everyone else does it your way.

I don't usually get bad stomach hangovers, but I've had it on two occasions - that one happened to be a massive overdose of tequila. Ever since that experience, I can't touch the stuff any more.

The other bad experience was after too much red wine. God, that was, er... vibrant.


Quick question for you, Kallithrix: what word is it, and who doesn't know what it means? I would settle for just knowing what word it is. That way I can verify if I know what it means. :D

Well, if you don't know what that's a quote from, I'm afraid I can't be your friend no more :tongue
 

Papaya

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I don't usually get bad stomach hangovers, but I've had it on two occasions - that one happened to be a massive overdose of tequila. Ever since that experience, I can't touch the stuff any more.

The other bad experience was after too much red wine. God, that was, er... vibrant.
I do recall a very bad experience on vodka a few years back that has put me off the stuff ever since. I was kind of hoping it would eventually change, but maybe there’s not a lot of hope for that. The guy I was dating, who was also pouring the drinks, tried to convince me it must have been food poisoning, but unlike vodka, I can still stomach all of the food I ate that day. I’m guessing alcohol poisoning can potentially last for three days, too. That’s the sickest I’ve ever been because of something I ingested. Here’s hoping I never have to repeat the experience.


Well, if you don't know what that's a quote from, I'm afraid I can't be your friend no more :tongue
:e2bummed:

Okay, I looked it up, and yes, I do know what the word means. I feel so much better now.

For some reason, I thought it was a quote from a conversation with an AW member. Turns out it’s from a movie that was huge during my childhood. We were all infatuated with Wesley and obsessed with the romance between him and Buttercup. But I still didn’t recognize the line. That must mean it’s time to see it again.

Does this mean we can still be friends? :snoopy:

ETA: Looks like the quote was originally in the book, which makes sense. I forgot about the book. I guess because I never read it. I don't even think I knew there was a book, during my childhood, which is sad, because reading The Princess Bride as a child would have made it extra special. Maybe I should finally read it. I've been meaning to read The Neverending Story, too.
 
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PandaMan

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I'm impressed you were able to choose only one, because I've seen so many wonderful lines in your writing.

I love, love, love that line. It needs to be in a book of famous wise quotations. I want it framed or something. And signed by the author!

It's a deal! Would you like it in a bamboo frame?

I love that line, Pandaman, just love it.



Yeah, this. ^ Stories have given me company and kept me sane my entire life. They are very precious to me.

The kind comments from the both of you are helping me feel better! Thanks. I'd say hugs to the both of you, but you probably don't want to get to close, if you know what I mean. A barfing panda bear ain't a pretty sight. :D
 

PandaMan

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Hey Papaya, I remember I once told you I had papaya in my WIP. Well, here it is.

The MC, Kohtalo, is a storyteller with the mission in life to shape his granddaughter's (Olana) soul and magic storytelling ability via his stories. His younger brother, Tengar, has other ideas about storytelling though.
“Savor the aroma of a papaya first. Let your tongue anticipate it’s sweetness.” He held it to her nose. After she took a long whiff, he picked up a knife and sliced through the soft skin, squeezed a wedge of lime over the flesh, and handed one half of the fruit to her.

“Aren’t you going to take out the seeds?” she asked.

“I want you to close your eyes and do it with your hands.”

She looked puzzled but scooped out the seeds like she was told.

“What does it feels like?”

“Squishy and gooey.”

“What else?”

“Bumpy. Kind of mysterious.”

“Excellent. Let’s eat.”

He watched Olana sink her teeth into the orange flesh, slurping as much of the fruit as she could fit into her mouth, gnawing on the tidbits clinging to the skin. Juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped the sticky mess with the side of her right hand, followed by her left in the same manner, then licked them both. She crunched on a few of the seeds and winced at their peppery bitterness. “Why do papayas have so many seeds?”

“Because they have lots of stories to tell.”

“That’s silly.”

“Not to papayas it isn’t. They like to spread their stories far and wide. They’re great storytellers, you know.”

“Why are they bitter and not sweet like the fruit?”

“Everything in life is a balance, My Dear. Sweet flesh, bitter seeds. Some have dark secrets.

“You mean like Uncle Tengar’s stories? I want to be a storyteller like Uncle Tenger, bitter and sweet.”

A mixed feeling of relief and panic swept over him. It was certainly a good sign she wanted to be a storyteller, but it’s only been since Tengar told his version of the story that she’s been so curious. What did he say to her?

A mosquito buzzed around his ear. He swiped at it but it got away. “You must be careful of the stories he tells. There’s a dark magic to some of them.”

“Are you saying his stories are bad?”

“Not necessarily, but you must be mindful of where they lead. He tells them as if he were wearing a mask, a mask of changing expressions, like sunlight falling through dark clouds, playing peek-a-boo with your soul.”

“His story scared me for weeks, but after thinking about it, I want to know why he told it to me.”

Kohtalo wanted to know too, but his confidence in her ability now shook like earthquakes from Mount Pongaro. He didn’t know which story, his or his brother's, would take root and flourish. Like little black papaya seeds, Olana’s magic ability loomed somewhere in a dark mystery of stories, waiting to be eaten by wild animals, or come to rest upon the fertile soil of possibilities.
 

Papaya

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The kind comments from the both of you are helping me feel better! Thanks. I'd say hugs to the both of you, but you probably don't want to get to close, if you know what I mean. A barfing panda bear ain't a pretty sight.
I'll pass on the puking panda, but glad to help give you a boost. :D

Hey Papaya, I remember I once told you I had papaya in my WIP. Well, here it is.

The MC, Kohtalo, is a storyteller with the mission in life to shape his granddaughter's (Olana) soul and magic storytelling ability via his stories. His younger brother, Tengar, has other ideas about storytelling though.

Wow, your writing is profound, which is the sort that always pulls at me the most. I’ve been looking for fantasy that has more of that. This kind of writing hits me on a soul level. I’ve always been drawn to it. As a child, my favorite recitation to read during the puja was the most esoteric of them all. It was spiritual poetry, and I loved it, for both the beauty of the words and the wisdom they held.

I resonate with the philosophy and wisdom inherent in the culture you’ve created. I wish I could live in that culture.

After reading this scene, I have a whole new appreciation for papayas, too. I ate so many of them when I lived in Fiji, my hands and feet turned orange, but they don’t taste nearly as good here and cost a bloody fortune last I checked, so I haven’t had many since I was a child. I used Papaya for my avatar, because it rhymes with my name, and when I was a kid people used to tack Papaya onto my name. For some reason, I didn’t like the nickname. I guess I was a painfully serious child.

I do hope you’ll let us know when this story is available for purchase. I can already tell I’m going to love it.
 

Sonsofthepharaohs

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Okay, I looked it up, and yes, I do know what the word means. I feel so much better now.

For some reason, I thought it was a quote from a conversation with an AW member. Turns out it’s from a movie that was huge during my childhood. We were all infatuated with Wesley and obsessed with the romance between him and Buttercup. But I still didn’t recognize the line. That must mean it’s time to see it again.

Does this mean we can still be friends? :snoopy:

As you wish ;)

ETA: Looks like the quote was originally in the book, which makes sense. I forgot about the book. I guess because I never read it. I don't even think I knew there was a book, during my childhood, which is sad, because reading The Princess Bride as a child would have made it extra special. Maybe I should finally read it. I've been meaning to read The Neverending Story, too.

I've never read the Princess Bride. I want to, but I have a sort of fear of reading it, in case it messes with my love of the film.

On the other hand, I couldn't bring myself to read Neverending Story even if I wanted to - that film both scared the crap out of me (the wolf thing) and made me cry my eyes out (when the horsey died) when I was a kid. We're not just talking a bit upset here, we're talking YEARS of trauma that still resides somewhere deep in my psyche to this day. A while ago it was on TV, and I thought I'd watch it again just to prove it had no affect on me anymore. OMG, I was under the duvet quaking like a puppy in a thunderstorm, and I couldn't sleep with the lights off for weeks!

No way am I picking up that book! I can't afford the therapy...
 
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BethS

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It's a deal! Would you like it in a bamboo frame?

Oh yes. That would be perfect.



The kind comments from the both of you are helping me feel better! Thanks. I'd say hugs to the both of you, but you probably don't want to get to close, if you know what I mean. A barfing panda bear ain't a pretty sight. :D

I hope you're recovering by now?
 

BethS

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Hey Papaya, I remember I once told you I had papaya in my WIP. Well, here it is.

The MC, Kohtalo, is a storyteller with the mission in life to shape his granddaughter's (Olana) soul and magic storytelling ability via his stories. His younger brother, Tengar, has other ideas about storytelling though.

Happy sigh. I love all the layers in this. A little mix of sweet and bitter itself, and the last lines are just perfect. Another happy sigh.
 
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The toe of her boot caught a piece of twisted scrap metal lying half-buried in the sand and the momentum sent her airborn. Leigh's flew, an awkward, featherless bird, the pistol still clutched in her hand and leading the flock south.

I haven't edited this passage yet so it's still in rough draft form, but I was happy with the line about her pistol leading the flock south in relation to the whole "awkward bird" imagery.
 

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I think my favorite is from my first novel:

We all have the power of light inside us, it’s just that sometimes the darkness is stronger. Fear is like darkness, too. It can consume you. It will consume you. And when you let it consume you, it’ll be hard as hell to break free from it. You have to fight it.

:snoopy:
 

Katharine Tree

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Editing and editing, and wondering what exactly to work on next. Anna? Should I go back to Anna?

/////

She pressed herself against the window as soon as they came to the trees. It took them another ninety minutes to drive to their campground, and Anna didn’t look away from the woods once. When Hector parked the truck she tumbled out almost before it had stopped moving, and stood stock-still, looking up into the canopy.

There in the trees, amidst the leaves, Anna Reyes shimmered and disappeared. Hector was able to find her body when it was time to hike, to eat, to bed down for the night, but spiritually she was gone. She had flown into the branches, she had seeped into the ground. The river befriended her in a way no child ever had. The nighttime campfires filled and cracked her heart.

Re-entering her body wasn’t easy. She was limp from exhaustion when they drove home five days later. Hector glanced at her every now and then, and was alarmed to see that her clothes were looser than they had been a week before. Her eyes, unfocused, barely blinked.

“Papi, when can we go back?”

Thunder filled Hector’s veins. “Soon, nina. Very, very soon.”
 
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PandaMan

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Editing and editing, and wondering what exactly to work on next. Anna? Should I go back to Anna?

I love the sense of mystery in this passage, esp. this line...

There in the trees, amidst the leaves, Anna Reyes shimmered and disappeared.
Yes, give us some more Anna. Please, please, please. :)
 

PandaMan

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I'll pass on the puking panda, but glad to help give you a boost.



Wow, your writing is profound, which is the sort that always pulls at me the most. I’ve been looking for fantasy that has more of that. This kind of writing hits me on a soul level. I’ve always been drawn to it. As a child, my favorite recitation to read during the puja was the most esoteric of them all. It was spiritual poetry, and I loved it, for both the beauty of the words and the wisdom they held.

I resonate with the philosophy and wisdom inherent in the culture you’ve created. I wish I could live in that culture.

After reading this scene, I have a whole new appreciation for papayas, too. I ate so many of them when I lived in Fiji, my hands and feet turned orange, but they don’t taste nearly as good here and cost a bloody fortune last I checked, so I haven’t had many since I was a child. I used Papaya for my avatar, because it rhymes with my name, and when I was a kid people used to tack Papaya onto my name. For some reason, I didn’t like the nickname. I guess I was a painfully serious child.

I do hope you’ll let us know when this story is available for purchase. I can already tell I’m going to love it.

Thanks! I first tasted papaya in Bali back in 1990 and have loved it ever since. Kohtalo and Olana's culture is loosely based on Balinese culture too. The Balinese live and breathe stories at a far deeper level than we do. They are incredibly beautiful people!

Puja, huh? I'm currently writing a puja scene for my WIP, although I don't call it that. Are you Hindu, Buddhist, Jain, Sikh, or some combo? I studied Indian culture a lot as an undergrad back in the early 1980's. Now that's another fascinating culture.
 

PandaMan

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Happy sigh. I love all the layers in this. A little mix of sweet and bitter itself, and the last lines are just perfect. Another happy sigh.

Thanks Beth. It's nice to know I have an audience. Most of the time I have no idea if my writing is any good or not.

Olana is the most challenging character for me to write because she ages quickly in the early chapters. It's difficult to show the differences between an eight and a nine year old, and then a nine year old and a ten year old, and so on.

In the scenes with Kohtalo as a little girl, I want their relationship to resonate with warmth but not get too cutesy pie. It's a difficult balance. She's easier to write as a teen and young woman though.
 

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I hope you're recovering by now?

Yes, a huge improvement since Friday. Thanks. I was even able to take Mrs Panda to Siesta Key (near Sarasota, FL) yesterday for our anniversary. The wind and the waves and the powdery white sand did wonders for me.

She bought me six mangoes and a papaya. A perfect gift. God, I love that woman! :kiss:
 

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Editing and editing, and wondering what exactly to work on next. Anna? Should I go back to Anna?

/////

She pressed herself against the window as soon as they came to the trees. It took them another ninety minutes to drive to their campground, and Anna didn’t look away from the woods once. When Hector parked the truck she tumbled out almost before it had stopped moving, and stood stock-still, looking up into the canopy.

There in the trees, amidst the leaves, Anna Reyes shimmered and disappeared. Hector was able to find her body when it was time to hike, to eat, to bed down for the night, but spiritually she was gone. She had flown into the branches, she had seeped into the ground. The river befriended her in a way no child ever had. The nighttime campfires filled and cracked her heart.

Re-entering her body wasn’t easy. She was limp from exhaustion when they drove home five days later. Hector glanced at her every now and then, and was alarmed to see that her clothes were looser than they had been a week before. Her eyes, unfocused, barely blinked.

“Papi, when can we go back?”

Thunder filled Hector’s veins. “Soon, nina. Very, very soon.”

This is tantalizingly mysterious. I find myself (lacking context) full of questions. Does Hector know what happened to Anna? Is she able to hike, eat, and sleep while her spirit is elsewhere? How fascinating. There's something primeval about this world you've created. People travel in cars and go camping like ordinary folk, and yet the veneer of civilization seems so very thin...
 
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BethS

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Yes, a huge improvement since Friday. Thanks. I was even able to take Mrs Panda to Siesta Key (near Sarasota, FL) yesterday for our anniversary. The wind and the waves and the powdery white sand did wonders for me.

She bought me six mangoes and a papaya. A perfect gift. God, I love that woman! :kiss:

:) Happy Anniversary!
 

Katharine Tree

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There's something primeval about this world you've created. People travel in cars and go camping like ordinary folk, and yet the veneer of civilization seems so very thin...

Thanks Beth, Papaya. That's exactly the mood I'm going for--trying to channel Gabriel Marquez. It's a recurring theme in my Settlement stories (which Anna narrates) that magic lies in the interpretation, not in the fact. Legends are made in the re-telling.
 

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Since we're talking about Anna and magical realism . . . and since I'm hungry for attention . . . here's a scene from the third Settlement book. Anna and her husband, who appear to be entering legend among the primitive people of their colonized world. Perry and Malcolm's people.

Alex is the first Bear. Malcolm is a direct descendant of these two.

/////

Alex returned from settling the horses. With a satisfied groan he wriggled out of his clothes, and when he was naked, he cupped his warm, furry body against the back of mine. His cheek lay atop my head so he could watch Cora.

“How does it feel to be a trophy wife?”

“What?”

He chuckled. “They’re not used to all manner of people coming in through the port, like the people in Nuadh Brae are, and you’re quite the exotic specimen to them. There was some odd speculation about who you were and where you came from. That’s why I made such a point of introducing you, at the end. They think you’re a changeling.”

“For Pete’s sake. What do I change into?”

“A great black cat, of course, maybe a panther. Because of your shiny black hair, and your cat-eyes.” He stroked the hair back from my forehead. “And I change into a bear.”

“Do you now.”

“So they say. I got it from my mother, they think.”

“And not Mata and Iomhar?”

“No, they’re so clearly their father’s children, and a’ course the clan’s lived with them their whole lives. Were there any such doings someone would have seen it. I, on the other hand…”

“Could have been fathered by anyone, including a bear.”

He hummed. “I’m no in a hurry to disabuse them of the notion. I thought you’d enjoy the stories for your own part, too.”

“Poor Cora, what is she, then?”

“I don’t know… shall I ask them how such heredity works?”

“No,” I giggled. “Don’t encourage them.”

Deep rumbles of amusement shook his chest while he pushed his hips against my bottom. “I’m fair interested in bedding a changeling, now I know what you are. Is tonight a good time?”

I blushed. “It’s fine that way, but nobody’s having any fun if Cora doesn’t go to sleep, so hush.”

He rubbed against me and pressed soft kisses on my shoulders while Cora obligingly nursed herself to sleep. When she fell off the nipple I rolled her over and surreptitiously scooted away, pushing Alex over behind me.

“You realize that our tent is open and anyone can look in?”

“Aye,” he whispered. “And if you look into any of theirs, you’ll see the same thing.”

I lifted my head. He was right. A certain rhythmic motion was happening in a tent on the far side of the bonfire.

Alex was long since ready. He slid into me from behind, holding my hips close with his upper arm while playing the fingers of the other through my loosened hair. All around us were the comfortable sounds of popping fires and stirring leaves and murmured conversation. I turned my head so he could kiss the side of my mouth.

“My bear’s son.”

“My skin-changing wife. Do show me your claws, one of these days. And your tail.”
 
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