"It's me and the moon," she says.
"And I got no problem with that.
I am a butterfly,
But you wouldn't let me die.
It's me and the moon," she says.

-Something Corporate, Me and the Moon

Yeah, I wasn't gunna do this, but now I just... feel compelled to (and slightly bored). I'm going to summarize my two stories for you because I have no life.

Devastatingly Rich: That classic "boy loves girl, girl doesn't reciprocate" story. You know. I am absolutely in love with idea of a boarding school (sue me) and since I wish I could go to one so much, I put my characters in one. And yes, I am a Harry Potter fanatic, so it sooooo resembles it. A lot. I'm almost done with it, so when I completley finish that, I'm refurbishing the first few chaps to kind of make it more my own. But basically the little cheeky boy, Ritchie, chases after an exasperated Julia their entire boarding school career. And I assure you, as the story goes, it sheds its Harry Potter stuff. But I will fix that, I promise you all. When I fix it all, you'll say, "Harry who?" (Hahaha... not.)

Dr. Love, MD In Heartache: The cynical side of me really goes into the main character, Emily, who narrates about her life and her sworn promise to never deal with boys and the webs of drama and lies that they weave. It's not really as dark as Devastatingly Rich has become, but it's not going to be completely plot-less and fluffy. I'm too anal. So Emily, who has deemed herself Dr. Love, as she listens to all her friends' boy woes, takes a vow of celibacy. That is, until there's a cute neighbor up the street and a few things start to go horribly wrong. But don't worry, I amuse even myself when I write it. You probably won't finish it wanting to slit your wrists. (I've read a few of those, and even if they WERE beautifully written, it left me thinking, "What the hell is the bloody point?")

Give them a chance. :puppy-dog eyes: You won't regreeeeeeett it...

Well. You might. But you definitely DON'T have to tell me that. You could, actually. I won't lie and tell you it won't bother me, cuz it will. I will weep and cry and curse the meager writing skills I have. Gah, I suppose you should tell me if something sucks, it needs to be revised, etc. I just don't want to end up as one of those poor writers that live in an unheated home with only a typewriter to my name. That's just... frightening.

Second frightening is a cubicle job.