Ah, bah, as the Duchess of Avon would say
I think lie/lay is a lost cause. I'm inclined to blame Bob Dylan. Even my stern and upright Collins English admits that lay is used intransitively, though it specifies that this is dialect or not standard. The way things are going, it may well be standard in a decade or five.
But teachers will probably still say "i before e except after c," and people will probably still take this to heart and write "wierd" and "diety" as a result.
Posting the first lines of WIPs seems like a nice way to try out the lj-cut tag, so
working title: Antic disposition (Eroica)
Silence ruled in the large corner bedroom where Dorian sprawled diagonally across most of a large four-poster bed, but despite the relatively early hour, he was awake and engaged in one of his favorite pursuits.
It is, perhaps, not a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a bad temper needs a gentleman thief for a lover, but Dorian was an optimist by nature, and never more so than when contemplating the subject of a certain German NATO officer. Almost every morning, he wondered to himself if this would be the day when he would finally capture Major Eberbach's heart. Sadly, the Major's heart had proved quite elusive, and the Major's clenched fist had on more than one occasion proved to be very, very hard.
Dorian was not discouraged. This morning, he flung his arms up over his head, kicked the covers down around his ankles, and let his imagination have free rein in a game of strip-the-Major.
Untitled (Harry Potter):
The door had warped in the rain and stuck wetly to the frame. Sirius yanked it open and went in, tracking mud onto the floor. Outside, it was sunset, with a few pale stars beginning to show. Inside the house, it was nearly dark. He walked into a small table and something crashed to the floor.
"Sorry!" he yelled as he stepped on the shards of whateveritwas, grinding it into even smaller pieces. "Dammit..." Sirius strode down the hallway until he could yank open the kitchen door. "I knew I should have come in round the back."
working title: Poetic (Phantom Menace)
There was a rustle from the heavy braided drapery over the door opening, and Qui-Gon turned in time to see Obi-Wan come in. His apprentice was wearing a flowing red silk shirt, rather too large for him, badly stained, and his regulation boots. As far as Qui-Gon could tell, he wasn't wearing anything else, though he did clutch his utility belt and lightsaber in one hand. Qui-Gon got to his feet. "Padawan--"
"Food," Obi-Wan said, heading for the table where Qui-Gon had been sitting. There was a plate of fruit slices that Qui-Gon had been eating one by one in a leisurely fashion. Obi-Wan dropped the belt to the floor, put the 'saber down carefully on the table and grabbed up a double handful of fruit, wolfing it down, fruit juice running down his face, finding a natural riverbed in the cleft of his chin.
Qui-Gon picked up the belt and hung it over the back of the chair. "Would it be presumptuous to ask," he said in the mild voice that had always, over the years, made Obi-Wan jump to attention, "where your clothes are?"
Now, with any luck, someone else will finish these for me.
But teachers will probably still say "i before e except after c," and people will probably still take this to heart and write "wierd" and "diety" as a result.
Posting the first lines of WIPs seems like a nice way to try out the lj-cut tag, so
working title: Antic disposition (Eroica)
Silence ruled in the large corner bedroom where Dorian sprawled diagonally across most of a large four-poster bed, but despite the relatively early hour, he was awake and engaged in one of his favorite pursuits.
It is, perhaps, not a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a bad temper needs a gentleman thief for a lover, but Dorian was an optimist by nature, and never more so than when contemplating the subject of a certain German NATO officer. Almost every morning, he wondered to himself if this would be the day when he would finally capture Major Eberbach's heart. Sadly, the Major's heart had proved quite elusive, and the Major's clenched fist had on more than one occasion proved to be very, very hard.
Dorian was not discouraged. This morning, he flung his arms up over his head, kicked the covers down around his ankles, and let his imagination have free rein in a game of strip-the-Major.
Untitled (Harry Potter):
The door had warped in the rain and stuck wetly to the frame. Sirius yanked it open and went in, tracking mud onto the floor. Outside, it was sunset, with a few pale stars beginning to show. Inside the house, it was nearly dark. He walked into a small table and something crashed to the floor.
"Sorry!" he yelled as he stepped on the shards of whateveritwas, grinding it into even smaller pieces. "Dammit..." Sirius strode down the hallway until he could yank open the kitchen door. "I knew I should have come in round the back."
working title: Poetic (Phantom Menace)
There was a rustle from the heavy braided drapery over the door opening, and Qui-Gon turned in time to see Obi-Wan come in. His apprentice was wearing a flowing red silk shirt, rather too large for him, badly stained, and his regulation boots. As far as Qui-Gon could tell, he wasn't wearing anything else, though he did clutch his utility belt and lightsaber in one hand. Qui-Gon got to his feet. "Padawan--"
"Food," Obi-Wan said, heading for the table where Qui-Gon had been sitting. There was a plate of fruit slices that Qui-Gon had been eating one by one in a leisurely fashion. Obi-Wan dropped the belt to the floor, put the 'saber down carefully on the table and grabbed up a double handful of fruit, wolfing it down, fruit juice running down his face, finding a natural riverbed in the cleft of his chin.
Qui-Gon picked up the belt and hung it over the back of the chair. "Would it be presumptuous to ask," he said in the mild voice that had always, over the years, made Obi-Wan jump to attention, "where your clothes are?"
Now, with any luck, someone else will finish these for me.