A writing meme
I borrowed this from janni and have seen a couple of other ljers do it, so here goes:
The opening of the oldest story I still have a copy of:
I hadn't read this in awhile, and that rewrite I've been thinking about for ages... it looks a lot better now. :) (This dates back to eighth grade.)
"Lift, people, lift!"
A man in his late 30's issued orders to a small archeological crew. He stood in a large ditch facing a boulder his team tried to lift off the ground. They stood nearly five feet above him, pulling at ropes which tugged at the huge boulder, inching it off the ground. The crew consisted of some adults, several of his students, and his fourteen year old daughter. They pulled with all their might, using only a few small pulleys to help them. The huge rock lifted--and slid back into place.
The opening of the first story I sold:
(From Into the Reach)
The cavern was dark with the exception of a small point of light being lowered slowly from the ceiling. Down an inch, then a stop, then down another inch it traveled, descending slowly until it stopped several feet up from the ground. With a flare, it brightened, revealing itself as a lantern at the waist of a grey-clad figure, hanging with only the barest swing from a hole in the ceiling of the cavern above. The flame within the lantern offered precious little light, brightening only the small area around it, though hints of golden statuettes and bejeweled furniture sparkled from the light through the shadows. The cavern extended far beyond the pool of light, its rough earthen ceiling disappearing into darkness before it revealed its descent into walls.
The opening of my current work in progress:
Some of you saw this in a teaser not long ago. (There's a minor bit of swearing here, disguised by accent, just as a warning for those of you who prefer "network" safe writing.)
The rumbling shook the ground overhead. Moira gritted her teeth and slammed her book down on the table. Her father rumbled, a noise that could have meant disapproval for the sounds above them or could have been irritation and the noise she'd made. It was hard to tell.
"They're doing it," she complained for the eighteenth time. She'd been counting. "They're building their fecking highway right through Tara. Tara!"
The opening of the oldest story I still have a copy of:
I hadn't read this in awhile, and that rewrite I've been thinking about for ages... it looks a lot better now. :) (This dates back to eighth grade.)
"Lift, people, lift!"
A man in his late 30's issued orders to a small archeological crew. He stood in a large ditch facing a boulder his team tried to lift off the ground. They stood nearly five feet above him, pulling at ropes which tugged at the huge boulder, inching it off the ground. The crew consisted of some adults, several of his students, and his fourteen year old daughter. They pulled with all their might, using only a few small pulleys to help them. The huge rock lifted--and slid back into place.
The opening of the first story I sold:
(From Into the Reach)
The cavern was dark with the exception of a small point of light being lowered slowly from the ceiling. Down an inch, then a stop, then down another inch it traveled, descending slowly until it stopped several feet up from the ground. With a flare, it brightened, revealing itself as a lantern at the waist of a grey-clad figure, hanging with only the barest swing from a hole in the ceiling of the cavern above. The flame within the lantern offered precious little light, brightening only the small area around it, though hints of golden statuettes and bejeweled furniture sparkled from the light through the shadows. The cavern extended far beyond the pool of light, its rough earthen ceiling disappearing into darkness before it revealed its descent into walls.
The opening of my current work in progress:
Some of you saw this in a teaser not long ago. (There's a minor bit of swearing here, disguised by accent, just as a warning for those of you who prefer "network" safe writing.)
The rumbling shook the ground overhead. Moira gritted her teeth and slammed her book down on the table. Her father rumbled, a noise that could have meant disapproval for the sounds above them or could have been irritation and the noise she'd made. It was hard to tell.
"They're doing it," she complained for the eighteenth time. She'd been counting. "They're building their fecking highway right through Tara. Tara!"