I'll play
Wow, a meme on LJ... (no, that's not sarcasm). It's been ages since I've done one of these. But this is a good one.
1. Go to page 77 (or 7) of your current manuscript
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines--sentences, paragraphs, what have you--and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
Okay, then. We're going to go with paragraphs (mostly), and thank the muses this avoids the spoilers right after.
Here's mine, from The First Hour of Night:
Dame Lenath closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Very well. Let it not be said that the House of Narist does not honor its heritage nor its obligations,” she said, opening her eyes and cutting Dame Perasha a savage glance.
“What of Mr. Sinclehr?” Miss Clyte asked, her voice gone cold with the assimilation of so many surprises. “And myself?”
“My dear Ambassador--” Prince Feriz began.
“Don’t cozen me, my lord, or I’ll turn you into a newt.”
Feriz burst out laughing in delighted astonishment at the wizard woman’s vehemence. “I assure you, my lady, we need your help--and Mr. Sinclehr’s.” The dapper man spread his hands before them placatingly, charmingly. “What we mean to accomplish will be for the good of Sieneca as well as that of Langes and that of the Valeren line. Furthermore, Kex is the closest thing to a refuge the mageborn have in the Kingslands. They’re tolerated there. It isn’t in Sieneca’s interest that Kex falls, any more than it is in Langes’ that Hendrimar the Fair seizes total control of the Kingslander trade.”
“Are you familiar with the Witchhunters’ method of dealing with the mageborn in the Kingslands?” The wizard’s voice was ice and iron, all former amusement wiped away, gone. “They shackle us with maat chains and drug us with end-of-hope and whore’s mallow to strip us of our power, and then they burn us alive.” She went on, the once-charming tone of her voice now the sound of bones scraping, as unforgiving as a debt come due. “My teacher saw his grandmother burnt when he was a little boy. They used well-seasoned wood to make sure she didn’t suffocate from the smoke. She was an old woman, just a midwife with a scrap of magic, enough to help make easy births, and they burnt her. Langes’ greatest trading partners are the nations of the Kingslands, and Hendrimaran mercenaries patrol this City. Don’t speak to me of what’s in Sieneca’s interest, my lord prince. You have no idea.”
Feriz blinked rapidly, caution and surprise warring in his expression.
Ah, dinner parties.
1. Go to page 77 (or 7) of your current manuscript
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines--sentences, paragraphs, what have you--and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
Okay, then. We're going to go with paragraphs (mostly), and thank the muses this avoids the spoilers right after.
Here's mine, from The First Hour of Night:
Dame Lenath closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Very well. Let it not be said that the House of Narist does not honor its heritage nor its obligations,” she said, opening her eyes and cutting Dame Perasha a savage glance.
“What of Mr. Sinclehr?” Miss Clyte asked, her voice gone cold with the assimilation of so many surprises. “And myself?”
“My dear Ambassador--” Prince Feriz began.
“Don’t cozen me, my lord, or I’ll turn you into a newt.”
Feriz burst out laughing in delighted astonishment at the wizard woman’s vehemence. “I assure you, my lady, we need your help--and Mr. Sinclehr’s.” The dapper man spread his hands before them placatingly, charmingly. “What we mean to accomplish will be for the good of Sieneca as well as that of Langes and that of the Valeren line. Furthermore, Kex is the closest thing to a refuge the mageborn have in the Kingslands. They’re tolerated there. It isn’t in Sieneca’s interest that Kex falls, any more than it is in Langes’ that Hendrimar the Fair seizes total control of the Kingslander trade.”
“Are you familiar with the Witchhunters’ method of dealing with the mageborn in the Kingslands?” The wizard’s voice was ice and iron, all former amusement wiped away, gone. “They shackle us with maat chains and drug us with end-of-hope and whore’s mallow to strip us of our power, and then they burn us alive.” She went on, the once-charming tone of her voice now the sound of bones scraping, as unforgiving as a debt come due. “My teacher saw his grandmother burnt when he was a little boy. They used well-seasoned wood to make sure she didn’t suffocate from the smoke. She was an old woman, just a midwife with a scrap of magic, enough to help make easy births, and they burnt her. Langes’ greatest trading partners are the nations of the Kingslands, and Hendrimaran mercenaries patrol this City. Don’t speak to me of what’s in Sieneca’s interest, my lord prince. You have no idea.”
Feriz blinked rapidly, caution and surprise warring in his expression.
Ah, dinner parties.