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keladry_lupin and snarkyroxy.
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favorite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre)if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
From an untitled parody that I've been meaning to post as a ficsnip...
"My dear Hermione," he said, raising her hand to his lips, "you look much too concerned right now." He kissed the soft skin on the back of her hand, took out his wand, muttered floreo ameton, and handed her one of the two white roses that appeared.
"What you need," he said as he pulled her in to him, encircling her waist with his free arm and holding her hand gently in his, "is to dance!"
From an angsty piece called "Mirage"
I was fond of them all, in my own selfish way. I took pleasure in seeing them achieve the heights of their prowess, in seeng them relish the power they held in their hands. They knew the glory that was to be had, that was theirs to hold, caress, break. And they knew that I held them the same way, I could hold, caress or break them if I so chose, and my greatest power over them was making them guess which I was wont to do.
Yes, it gave me great pleasure knowing that such powerful people were mine. I owned them, for they had sworn their fealty to me. They wore my mark.
From a very silly post HBP piece that I really need to work on called "The Space Between Passing Ships"
She hated nature. Hated, hated, hated. She liked all the convieniences of civilization, like running water. Showers. Public transportation. Sidewalks. Water.
She just wanted the simple things. Even if all that wasn't possible, she would be happy just to have a wand, because then it would be a simple matter of conjuring a glass and casting aguamenti - not to mention the ability to either apparate or summon the Knight Bus. And cast a cleaning charm.
From a friendship piece tentatively titled "Redemption." I think it has promise, but I doubt I'll ever get around to writing it.
I had often wondered what caused the dream. One shrink I had seen went into an in-depth analysis of how the shadows represented the three selves. They were taking my anger out on my mother for having abandoned us, and then setting up the classic Freudian Oedipal complex scenario.
When I commented that my mother hadn't abandoned me, that she had died, he just as firmly explained that a child cannot see death as anything but abandonment. I asked why my father wasn't being tortured as well. He told me the hour was up.
I said somewhere that I was thinking of writing a story based on "Snape's Letter." Well, this is from that.
"I'm sorry about that, sir, it's... I've heard many stories about this place, but this is the first time I've been inside it. I hadn't counted on the atmosphere. If you like, there's another row-house on the other side of the mill that is a little more expensive, but the feeling is quite cheerful and homey and—"
Gary shook his head, cutting her off. He was now very intrigued.
"What stories have you heard about this house?"
The agent shuddered again and looked up the dirty brick wall with distaste.
After a pause she said, "It's like something from a faerie tale. The neighbors, the few who are left, talk about a family who lived there, although, more specifically, they talk about the son. The man was as forbidding as they come, tall, dark, fierce looking with nary a good word for anyone. Everyone kept their distance, and even the neighborhood kids learned not to play around this place. Strange things occurred if anyone got too close; one foolish child, who had tried to break a window, was nearly killed when the rock rebounded off the glass and smacked him between the eyes.
"The Sights Upon Which Men Will Stake Their Souls" (Almost certain not going to be finished because it's a maudlin piece of ... self indulgence, as the title shows)
I know I make her uncomfortable. My behavior around her, in private, has changed fairly dramatically. I no longer can bring myself to be overly critical to her. Minerva told me of Miss Granger's visit to her after that drunken debacle the other week. Only then did I realize that her unease was brought on by concern, not fear. Now I know and interpret her covert glances at me as check-ups, making sure I'm not suicidal still. Otherwise I might have held hope.
Nevertheless, her concern has touched me.
Titled "Victory Dance" for some reason I can't remember. A post-HBP friendship fic.
"I would say your dismount was rather clumsy, but otherwise a fine performance of a carefree child, Madamoiselle," a familiar voice intoned behind her.
Spinning around quickly, while digging her wand out of her pocket, she froze when she saw the man on the swing next to the one she'd just vacated, aiming his wand at her with practiced ease. Her breath hitched, and her pupils dilated as she imagined what hex he was going to throw at her. She almost whimpered as she realized this was going to be the last day of her life.
"St. Valentine's Day Massacre" (yes, I'm still working on it... slowly, ever so slowly) Humor.
"I may be a pervert, but as tonight has shown, I measure up better than you do." He released my hand with enough force to send me back a step or two, smirked smugly, then Disapparated.
Untitled as of yet. For the Truthsayer Challenge.
Paranoid bastard.
At least I'm not the only one who wants to hex him at the moment. He has very good reason to be paranoid now. I frankly wonder if even Dumbledore isn't more than a little annoyed at him. It's enough to almost make me feel sorry for the bastard. Almost.
Non-fanfic titled "Sardon and Bruce" (don't laugh too much... I haven't revised even once yet.) Fairytale.
The castle, though 'tis small and dull
Was built from cheer and pleasure
Held together by a daydream hull
full of imagined treasure
An original untitled piece that I still think has promise, should I ever get around to it. Sci-fi/fantasy.
"Helen," he said, trying not to startle her too badly. "Helen, it's a beautiful day out. Time to leave your dreams behind."
She shuddered slightly, then her eyes shot open with a gasp. She looked around wildly for a moment or two, then focused on him, and let out a shaky breath.
"John," she said and smiled faintly. "How long did it take this morning?"
"Snape's Journal."
Nott told me he's horrified at the idea of Hermione being trapped by Lucius, and has been trying to get Hermione alone to warn her so that she can find someone to marry. He said that he was hoping she would accept his hand.
And finally, here's a tiny bit from the next part of "She Married Her Choice." (subject to change upon revision)
Having recently been chastized for not taking other people's opinions into account, I thought it prudent to consult you on how you wish to "make a day of it."
I have more works in progress than I like. Damn. And those ore only the ones on the computer.
keladry_lupin and snarkyroxy.If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favorite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre)if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
From an untitled parody that I've been meaning to post as a ficsnip...
"My dear Hermione," he said, raising her hand to his lips, "you look much too concerned right now." He kissed the soft skin on the back of her hand, took out his wand, muttered floreo ameton, and handed her one of the two white roses that appeared.
"What you need," he said as he pulled her in to him, encircling her waist with his free arm and holding her hand gently in his, "is to dance!"
From an angsty piece called "Mirage"
I was fond of them all, in my own selfish way. I took pleasure in seeing them achieve the heights of their prowess, in seeng them relish the power they held in their hands. They knew the glory that was to be had, that was theirs to hold, caress, break. And they knew that I held them the same way, I could hold, caress or break them if I so chose, and my greatest power over them was making them guess which I was wont to do.
Yes, it gave me great pleasure knowing that such powerful people were mine. I owned them, for they had sworn their fealty to me. They wore my mark.
From a very silly post HBP piece that I really need to work on called "The Space Between Passing Ships"
She hated nature. Hated, hated, hated. She liked all the convieniences of civilization, like running water. Showers. Public transportation. Sidewalks. Water.
She just wanted the simple things. Even if all that wasn't possible, she would be happy just to have a wand, because then it would be a simple matter of conjuring a glass and casting aguamenti - not to mention the ability to either apparate or summon the Knight Bus. And cast a cleaning charm.
From a friendship piece tentatively titled "Redemption." I think it has promise, but I doubt I'll ever get around to writing it.
I had often wondered what caused the dream. One shrink I had seen went into an in-depth analysis of how the shadows represented the three selves. They were taking my anger out on my mother for having abandoned us, and then setting up the classic Freudian Oedipal complex scenario.
When I commented that my mother hadn't abandoned me, that she had died, he just as firmly explained that a child cannot see death as anything but abandonment. I asked why my father wasn't being tortured as well. He told me the hour was up.
I said somewhere that I was thinking of writing a story based on "Snape's Letter." Well, this is from that.
"I'm sorry about that, sir, it's... I've heard many stories about this place, but this is the first time I've been inside it. I hadn't counted on the atmosphere. If you like, there's another row-house on the other side of the mill that is a little more expensive, but the feeling is quite cheerful and homey and—"
Gary shook his head, cutting her off. He was now very intrigued.
"What stories have you heard about this house?"
The agent shuddered again and looked up the dirty brick wall with distaste.
After a pause she said, "It's like something from a faerie tale. The neighbors, the few who are left, talk about a family who lived there, although, more specifically, they talk about the son. The man was as forbidding as they come, tall, dark, fierce looking with nary a good word for anyone. Everyone kept their distance, and even the neighborhood kids learned not to play around this place. Strange things occurred if anyone got too close; one foolish child, who had tried to break a window, was nearly killed when the rock rebounded off the glass and smacked him between the eyes.
"The Sights Upon Which Men Will Stake Their Souls" (Almost certain not going to be finished because it's a maudlin piece of ... self indulgence, as the title shows)
I know I make her uncomfortable. My behavior around her, in private, has changed fairly dramatically. I no longer can bring myself to be overly critical to her. Minerva told me of Miss Granger's visit to her after that drunken debacle the other week. Only then did I realize that her unease was brought on by concern, not fear. Now I know and interpret her covert glances at me as check-ups, making sure I'm not suicidal still. Otherwise I might have held hope.
Nevertheless, her concern has touched me.
Titled "Victory Dance" for some reason I can't remember. A post-HBP friendship fic.
"I would say your dismount was rather clumsy, but otherwise a fine performance of a carefree child, Madamoiselle," a familiar voice intoned behind her.
Spinning around quickly, while digging her wand out of her pocket, she froze when she saw the man on the swing next to the one she'd just vacated, aiming his wand at her with practiced ease. Her breath hitched, and her pupils dilated as she imagined what hex he was going to throw at her. She almost whimpered as she realized this was going to be the last day of her life.
"St. Valentine's Day Massacre" (yes, I'm still working on it... slowly, ever so slowly) Humor.
"I may be a pervert, but as tonight has shown, I measure up better than you do." He released my hand with enough force to send me back a step or two, smirked smugly, then Disapparated.
Untitled as of yet. For the Truthsayer Challenge.
Paranoid bastard.
At least I'm not the only one who wants to hex him at the moment. He has very good reason to be paranoid now. I frankly wonder if even Dumbledore isn't more than a little annoyed at him. It's enough to almost make me feel sorry for the bastard. Almost.
Non-fanfic titled "Sardon and Bruce" (don't laugh too much... I haven't revised even once yet.) Fairytale.
The castle, though 'tis small and dull
Was built from cheer and pleasure
Held together by a daydream hull
full of imagined treasure
An original untitled piece that I still think has promise, should I ever get around to it. Sci-fi/fantasy.
"Helen," he said, trying not to startle her too badly. "Helen, it's a beautiful day out. Time to leave your dreams behind."
She shuddered slightly, then her eyes shot open with a gasp. She looked around wildly for a moment or two, then focused on him, and let out a shaky breath.
"John," she said and smiled faintly. "How long did it take this morning?"
"Snape's Journal."
Nott told me he's horrified at the idea of Hermione being trapped by Lucius, and has been trying to get Hermione alone to warn her so that she can find someone to marry. He said that he was hoping she would accept his hand.
And finally, here's a tiny bit from the next part of "She Married Her Choice." (subject to change upon revision)
Having recently been chastized for not taking other people's opinions into account, I thought it prudent to consult you on how you wish to "make a day of it."
I have more works in progress than I like. Damn. And those ore only the ones on the computer.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-18 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-18 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-18 04:31 pm (UTC)I'm most intrigued!
And, of course, you are teasing my addiction for SMHC. ;)