work in progress meme
Swiped from truepenny:
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).
Forthcoming strikes me as an inappropriately optimistic designation, but...
I'm not sure these count as "in progress," since they're fiction and I haven't worked on fiction in years, but the files are still on the hard drive, so. Two untitled bits of fiction:When I left, I left them both.
###
But on her birthday she asked us to stop calling her Juju, which had been her nickname since before I was born; and the next day, or maybe the day after, she stopped eating.
And one called "Killing the Rattlesnake":It's almost a mile to the bridge and sometimes Paul carries me partway.
And a whole bunch of poems without titles. I'm not sure whether I should use lines or sentences here, so I'm sort of winging it, but using no more than one stanza of each. None of these have titles yet. I have trouble with titles.You tell me the sky's going to fall
soon, every gold leaf testing gravity
on its way down.
###
I'd put a lamp behind your words to see
which ones glow, which stay
dark, hiding something unguessable:
###
On the other side of the country,
someone is speaking to me.
###
...my body like a letter never sent
and you opened it anyway, carefully,
###
You walked into the burning
house of my life as if you didn't know
it was on fire,
###
Hours after midnight,
after coffee and more cigarettes, she'll let him
lift her tiara, unbuckle her shoes, unbutton
every button.
###
...everything
is different in this light: look, your street
seems longer.
###
...we set the clocks at contradicting times
and put the spoons away in different drawers.
And then several essays without titles:
John Steinbeck, who was only passing through, observed that "once you are in Texas it seems to take forever to get out, and some people never make it."
My mother has been nervous about her own appearance for most of her life, as far as I can tell.
I was shocked and delighted by the discovery that kissing is as easy as running into a brick wall as long as you don't care about finesse.
Distance swimming, which I hated on principle because my coach made me do it, was my secret favorite once I got over the sheer torture of it.
And one called "Killing Clarissa," which is the closest to done of anything listed here:Metaphors of violence are the easy way to talk about illness; the body becomes the darkling plain where sickness and determination clash by night.
Wow. If I had the follow-through god gave a jelly doughnut, I would be doing an awful lot of writing. And yet here I sit, tra la, getting ready to play a round of spider solitaire and listen to my new Floetry CD.
I'm better at vidding anyway. Well, except maybe for the nonfiction, which I am fairly good at, but which doesn't have the shiny moving pictures.
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).
Forthcoming strikes me as an inappropriately optimistic designation, but...
I'm not sure these count as "in progress," since they're fiction and I haven't worked on fiction in years, but the files are still on the hard drive, so. Two untitled bits of fiction:When I left, I left them both.
###
But on her birthday she asked us to stop calling her Juju, which had been her nickname since before I was born; and the next day, or maybe the day after, she stopped eating.
And one called "Killing the Rattlesnake":It's almost a mile to the bridge and sometimes Paul carries me partway.
And a whole bunch of poems without titles. I'm not sure whether I should use lines or sentences here, so I'm sort of winging it, but using no more than one stanza of each. None of these have titles yet. I have trouble with titles.You tell me the sky's going to fall
soon, every gold leaf testing gravity
on its way down.
###
I'd put a lamp behind your words to see
which ones glow, which stay
dark, hiding something unguessable:
###
On the other side of the country,
someone is speaking to me.
###
...my body like a letter never sent
and you opened it anyway, carefully,
###
You walked into the burning
house of my life as if you didn't know
it was on fire,
###
Hours after midnight,
after coffee and more cigarettes, she'll let him
lift her tiara, unbuckle her shoes, unbutton
every button.
###
...everything
is different in this light: look, your street
seems longer.
###
...we set the clocks at contradicting times
and put the spoons away in different drawers.
And then several essays without titles:
John Steinbeck, who was only passing through, observed that "once you are in Texas it seems to take forever to get out, and some people never make it."
My mother has been nervous about her own appearance for most of her life, as far as I can tell.
I was shocked and delighted by the discovery that kissing is as easy as running into a brick wall as long as you don't care about finesse.
Distance swimming, which I hated on principle because my coach made me do it, was my secret favorite once I got over the sheer torture of it.
And one called "Killing Clarissa," which is the closest to done of anything listed here:Metaphors of violence are the easy way to talk about illness; the body becomes the darkling plain where sickness and determination clash by night.
Wow. If I had the follow-through god gave a jelly doughnut, I would be doing an awful lot of writing. And yet here I sit, tra la, getting ready to play a round of spider solitaire and listen to my new Floetry CD.
I'm better at vidding anyway. Well, except maybe for the nonfiction, which I am fairly good at, but which doesn't have the shiny moving pictures.