Pinging off what I said yesterday, really. About stories being a thing we need.
But also, hey, I’m writing. This thing is a steampunk-style fantasy, for context; my main character has fallen in with some freethinkers that include a women’s support group, and this is a bit of the second meeting she attends.
Eventually that subject, too, was exhausted, and the sandwiches eaten, and the topic turned to Myrtle’s attempts at more complex ironmongery with the scrap iron. After they had turned that over a bit, Margaret suddenly asked, “Myrtle, what is the Fog like around your smithy?”
Myrtle frowned and tipped her head to one side, looking puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s rather a stupid notion really.”
“Don’t say that,” said Rose, sharply.
Margaret looked up and stared at her.
“Don’t say that,” repeated Rose. “That’s the one rule. You don’t get to say your notions are stupid. Men will do that, and then take them and steal them away and use them. Don’t do their work for them. Lay the notions out where we can take them apart and clean their gears, I say.”
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