That WIPs Meme....
I've been seeing this... well, everywhere, really. Most recently, in m_butterfly's LJ:
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favourite 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).
Like Milkshake Butterfly, I am deeply impressed by people who can manage to pick a single sentence. Clearly, I'm not one of them.
Fanfic WIPs:
Appearances: (HL/Mag7 crossover)
Matthew McCormick studied the jail cell with a careful eye for the details. Plank floor, with gaps that might let a blade through and might not, but a man shouldn't have leverage under the building for any blade long enough to threaten a sleeper. A stab in the foot was a possibility, but that would only be annoying, not fatal. The bars on the windows could be pulled out by a couple of horses at most, but with the telegraph office two doors to the left and the mercantile and the bank immediately to the right, it would be hard to go unnoticed. The lock on the cell door was decent. Nothing that couldn't be opened with a strong pick and a few uninterrupted minutes, but the sheriff's desk had a good line of sight to the lock and, for that matter, the bunk.
No matter how he looked at the matter, it didn't seem a cell a man would get out of without both help and luck.
Damn it.
Rich Ryan's diary, an entry somewhere well after the line war: (HL, my series of stories)
(And why does the Devil need an advocate? Aren't there plenty of lawyers in hell?)
Rumors Of My Death: (HL, prequel to the Kastagir resfic ...Greatly Exaggerated)
Kastagir ostentatiously looked himself up and down. "Boots ... I'm amazed they didn't steal them, come to think of it ... pants, shirt -- where exactly do you think I have a sword hidden? Up my ass?"
Storm Crow: (HL/XF crossover tarsh and I are slowly writing)
"Either I get answers, Mr. Krycek, or I close the case. One way or another, that is. I can't prove you've committed those murders; you're right about that. I can prove you have a laptop full of blackmail material, including the notations on who you've sent it to and when. And you are, most surely, a killer."
Krycek tensed, wishing now he'd drunk the coffee before they started this. "That's interesting. In this case, 'Agent' McCormick -- it takes one to know one. That is how the saying goes, isn't it?"
McCormick smiled slowly, confirming the accusation. "If you're expecting me to admit that was checkmate, I'm afraid you've mistaken the situation."
Untitled Ramirez corpse caper/comedy of errors fic: (HL, clearly, and probably solely)
Scottish Mummy A Fake?
Original fiction:
Labyrinth: (Origfic short story)
The maze didn't need guards: it already had craigs and cliffs, pits and rifts, chimneys, chasms, shadows, and echoes.
Paving Stones: (Origfic novel, hopefully finished by late winter/early spring)
All the trendy fantasy and horror novels talk about 'werewolf packs' and 'alpha males' and 'alpha females' in the latest sociologist/biologist/anthropologist terms. What they forget is the human inclination towards perversity. What they fail to take into account is the uncomfortable fit, within one lupine skull, of a predator's superbly honed instincts and a sapient omnivore's conditioned social reflexes and revulsions. So despite the fact that most wolves are pack animals, most werewolves are loners. At least, most of the ones I know.
Perspectives: (Origfic short story, going out this month, after I stop freaking that it'll never sell)
Odd, that one of the Peacock Angel's other names should be the Prince of Lies and yet his minion is nevertheless reliable.
Revolutions: (Origfic novel, hopefully for sale eventually)
"No, sir, the Rosato case is more properly the Bastien case, sir, for Violette Bastien, found dead in her own chapel on October 31st in New Orleans, and it is in my mind that we will find out she was not the first, but more likely the third. I have a dead woman in New Orleans; I have two dead transportation executives in Jacksonville, FL; I have three murdered energy researchers in NYC; and I have a one month gap between New Orleans and Jacksonville which contains at least two more bodies and probably four. I need your profiler now, before the death count goes any higher."
The Second Theft: (Origfic novel, for sale eventually, and up next after Paving Stones)
Without looking back, the solidly built man asked, "Were you going to stand there all afternoon?"
"That depends on whether you're going to shoot at me," Thea answered dryly. "If so, I'm afraid I'm going to duck."
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favourite 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).
Like Milkshake Butterfly, I am deeply impressed by people who can manage to pick a single sentence. Clearly, I'm not one of them.
Fanfic WIPs:
Appearances: (HL/Mag7 crossover)
Matthew McCormick studied the jail cell with a careful eye for the details. Plank floor, with gaps that might let a blade through and might not, but a man shouldn't have leverage under the building for any blade long enough to threaten a sleeper. A stab in the foot was a possibility, but that would only be annoying, not fatal. The bars on the windows could be pulled out by a couple of horses at most, but with the telegraph office two doors to the left and the mercantile and the bank immediately to the right, it would be hard to go unnoticed. The lock on the cell door was decent. Nothing that couldn't be opened with a strong pick and a few uninterrupted minutes, but the sheriff's desk had a good line of sight to the lock and, for that matter, the bunk.
No matter how he looked at the matter, it didn't seem a cell a man would get out of without both help and luck.
Damn it.
Rich Ryan's diary, an entry somewhere well after the line war: (HL, my series of stories)
(And why does the Devil need an advocate? Aren't there plenty of lawyers in hell?)
Rumors Of My Death: (HL, prequel to the Kastagir resfic ...Greatly Exaggerated)
Kastagir ostentatiously looked himself up and down. "Boots ... I'm amazed they didn't steal them, come to think of it ... pants, shirt -- where exactly do you think I have a sword hidden? Up my ass?"
Storm Crow: (HL/XF crossover tarsh and I are slowly writing)
"Either I get answers, Mr. Krycek, or I close the case. One way or another, that is. I can't prove you've committed those murders; you're right about that. I can prove you have a laptop full of blackmail material, including the notations on who you've sent it to and when. And you are, most surely, a killer."
Krycek tensed, wishing now he'd drunk the coffee before they started this. "That's interesting. In this case, 'Agent' McCormick -- it takes one to know one. That is how the saying goes, isn't it?"
McCormick smiled slowly, confirming the accusation. "If you're expecting me to admit that was checkmate, I'm afraid you've mistaken the situation."
Untitled Ramirez corpse caper/comedy of errors fic: (HL, clearly, and probably solely)
Scottish Mummy A Fake?
Original fiction:
Labyrinth: (Origfic short story)
The maze didn't need guards: it already had craigs and cliffs, pits and rifts, chimneys, chasms, shadows, and echoes.
Paving Stones: (Origfic novel, hopefully finished by late winter/early spring)
All the trendy fantasy and horror novels talk about 'werewolf packs' and 'alpha males' and 'alpha females' in the latest sociologist/biologist/anthropologist terms. What they forget is the human inclination towards perversity. What they fail to take into account is the uncomfortable fit, within one lupine skull, of a predator's superbly honed instincts and a sapient omnivore's conditioned social reflexes and revulsions. So despite the fact that most wolves are pack animals, most werewolves are loners. At least, most of the ones I know.
Perspectives: (Origfic short story, going out this month, after I stop freaking that it'll never sell)
Odd, that one of the Peacock Angel's other names should be the Prince of Lies and yet his minion is nevertheless reliable.
Revolutions: (Origfic novel, hopefully for sale eventually)
"No, sir, the Rosato case is more properly the Bastien case, sir, for Violette Bastien, found dead in her own chapel on October 31st in New Orleans, and it is in my mind that we will find out she was not the first, but more likely the third. I have a dead woman in New Orleans; I have two dead transportation executives in Jacksonville, FL; I have three murdered energy researchers in NYC; and I have a one month gap between New Orleans and Jacksonville which contains at least two more bodies and probably four. I need your profiler now, before the death count goes any higher."
The Second Theft: (Origfic novel, for sale eventually, and up next after Paving Stones)
Without looking back, the solidly built man asked, "Were you going to stand there all afternoon?"
"That depends on whether you're going to shoot at me," Thea answered dryly. "If so, I'm afraid I'm going to duck."