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first lines
Oct. 2nd, 2005 10:05 amI like this kind of meme (which I caught from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
matociquala).
Post the first sentence or two of all your works in progress. [N.b., these are stories in all different stages of completion. Some are finished drafts (i.e., having a beginning, a middle, and an end, and all the twiddly bits in-between) that need revising, or overhauling, or perhaps a whole new engine. Some are partially finished drafts. Some are fragments. What they have in common is that they are projects I still want and intend to finish, as opposed to projects that have been abandoned to rust out quietly in the back yard.]
The Mirador [sequel to The Virtu]
I was standing in the middle of what the flashies call a crush, and I'd never been so lonely in my whole damn life.
Summerdown [sequel to The Mirador]
My sister Isobel was nervous.
The Emperor of the Elflands
"Maiah! Maiah, wake up!"
An urgent voice, a hand shaking roughly at his shoulder.
The Weight of Memory [hate that title]
He came stumbling up out of the darkness, knowing nothing except that the people in the fortress at the top of the pass had to be warned.
Schrödinger's Parable of the Cat
The heat in Hylant Station was like nothing Tanasestefeth had ever imagined.
The Aftermath of the Glastalvon Rebellion
Cuthbert Swetenham, who had been the ninth Earl of Glastalvon, rose to his feet as the transparent fourth wall of his cell vanished. It worried him, a little, how something that was already invisible could vanish, but he had no other words to describe the phenomenon.
The Marriage of True Minds
The greatest danger was that he wanted to trust.
The Second Son
On the twenty-fourth of April, Medraut dreamed of Loheris again.
"The Ghoul Hunters"
"And, ah, how are you and Sharpton doing, Keller?"
It was a loaded question, and Jamie Keller considered it carefully before he answered.
"Draco campestris"
The Museum owns eighty-nine specimens of the genus Draco.
"Moonwork"
In January, Jenny Sutpen's baby died.
"The Clockwork Pianist"
He played as perfectly and lifelessly as a music box.
He was nearly finished with the Mozart fantasia, a pale, almost fragile figure against the black bulk of the Steinway, before Julia realized that no one else thought there was anything wrong with his performance.
"Somewhere Beneath Those Waves Was Her Home"
184. Figurehead. Wood. 35" x 18". American, ca. 1850. Figure of a woman holding a telescope and compass. Ship unknown.
"After Sunset"
Shelby was waiting for them on a rise two miles out of town.
"To Die for Moonlight"
I cut off her head before I buried her.
"The World Without Sleep"
In the January that I turned thirty-six, sleep became a foreign and hostile country.
"Thirdhop Scarp"
It was an open question in the Parrington which of Samuel Mather Parrington's two daughters was more to be feared.
"Under the Beansidhe's Pillow"
The Beansidhe does a lot of wailing during the crossing.
Untitled [sf story about Marxism and Stockholm Syndrome]
They yanked the bag off my head and shoved me forward, hard.
Untitled [Kyle Murchison Booth story]
In clement weather, I sometimes went to the Henry Davenport Public Zoological Gardens on my lunch break. The zoo was free to the public, and an hour spent watching the credo quia impossibile gaudery of the flamingoes or the bright-eyed inquisitiveness of the otters was more than worth the discomfort of the crowds.
Untitled [Henry James meets Aleister Crowley story]
Therese Winslow was sixteen, a tall child, slender, with the porcelain-fair fragility of a tea rose or a Shakespeare heroine: Cordelia, Desdemona, Ophelia.
Untitled [Hamlet story, both meta and slash--and the whole first two paragraphs, which is the first section, for lagniappe]
Fortinbras is not Hamlet.
I wish with all my heart that he were, wish even that I could close my eyes and pretend. But he is a swarthy, swaggering Pole, broad-shouldered, with a warrior's heavy muscle. His hands are hard with calluses; Hamlet's were soft, narrow, the hands of a scholar. Hamlet liked to discuss philosophy in bed, the light rambling voice like a counterpoint to the explorations of those soft, clever hands. Fortinbras does not waste his breath.
::counts::
That's 22 works in progress. Yeah. I, um, have a problem with finishing things.
matociquala).Post the first sentence or two of all your works in progress. [N.b., these are stories in all different stages of completion. Some are finished drafts (i.e., having a beginning, a middle, and an end, and all the twiddly bits in-between) that need revising, or overhauling, or perhaps a whole new engine. Some are partially finished drafts. Some are fragments. What they have in common is that they are projects I still want and intend to finish, as opposed to projects that have been abandoned to rust out quietly in the back yard.]
The Mirador [sequel to The Virtu]
I was standing in the middle of what the flashies call a crush, and I'd never been so lonely in my whole damn life.
Summerdown [sequel to The Mirador]
My sister Isobel was nervous.
The Emperor of the Elflands
"Maiah! Maiah, wake up!"
An urgent voice, a hand shaking roughly at his shoulder.
The Weight of Memory [hate that title]
He came stumbling up out of the darkness, knowing nothing except that the people in the fortress at the top of the pass had to be warned.
Schrödinger's Parable of the Cat
The heat in Hylant Station was like nothing Tanasestefeth had ever imagined.
The Aftermath of the Glastalvon Rebellion
Cuthbert Swetenham, who had been the ninth Earl of Glastalvon, rose to his feet as the transparent fourth wall of his cell vanished. It worried him, a little, how something that was already invisible could vanish, but he had no other words to describe the phenomenon.
The Marriage of True Minds
The greatest danger was that he wanted to trust.
The Second Son
On the twenty-fourth of April, Medraut dreamed of Loheris again.
"The Ghoul Hunters"
"And, ah, how are you and Sharpton doing, Keller?"
It was a loaded question, and Jamie Keller considered it carefully before he answered.
"Draco campestris"
The Museum owns eighty-nine specimens of the genus Draco.
"Moonwork"
In January, Jenny Sutpen's baby died.
"The Clockwork Pianist"
He played as perfectly and lifelessly as a music box.
He was nearly finished with the Mozart fantasia, a pale, almost fragile figure against the black bulk of the Steinway, before Julia realized that no one else thought there was anything wrong with his performance.
"Somewhere Beneath Those Waves Was Her Home"
184. Figurehead. Wood. 35" x 18". American, ca. 1850. Figure of a woman holding a telescope and compass. Ship unknown.
"After Sunset"
Shelby was waiting for them on a rise two miles out of town.
"To Die for Moonlight"
I cut off her head before I buried her.
"The World Without Sleep"
In the January that I turned thirty-six, sleep became a foreign and hostile country.
"Thirdhop Scarp"
It was an open question in the Parrington which of Samuel Mather Parrington's two daughters was more to be feared.
"Under the Beansidhe's Pillow"
The Beansidhe does a lot of wailing during the crossing.
Untitled [sf story about Marxism and Stockholm Syndrome]
They yanked the bag off my head and shoved me forward, hard.
Untitled [Kyle Murchison Booth story]
In clement weather, I sometimes went to the Henry Davenport Public Zoological Gardens on my lunch break. The zoo was free to the public, and an hour spent watching the credo quia impossibile gaudery of the flamingoes or the bright-eyed inquisitiveness of the otters was more than worth the discomfort of the crowds.
Untitled [Henry James meets Aleister Crowley story]
Therese Winslow was sixteen, a tall child, slender, with the porcelain-fair fragility of a tea rose or a Shakespeare heroine: Cordelia, Desdemona, Ophelia.
Untitled [Hamlet story, both meta and slash--and the whole first two paragraphs, which is the first section, for lagniappe]
Fortinbras is not Hamlet.
I wish with all my heart that he were, wish even that I could close my eyes and pretend. But he is a swarthy, swaggering Pole, broad-shouldered, with a warrior's heavy muscle. His hands are hard with calluses; Hamlet's were soft, narrow, the hands of a scholar. Hamlet liked to discuss philosophy in bed, the light rambling voice like a counterpoint to the explorations of those soft, clever hands. Fortinbras does not waste his breath.
::counts::
That's 22 works in progress. Yeah. I, um, have a problem with finishing things.
