"those people are communists. Columbus discovered America."
Since I'm so busy I can barely LJ with the amount of work I've let slide, and so busy with my Senior Project that I don't have much time for anything else, I thought this meme would be fun in the thirty minutes I have before Studio 60. The only thing I haven't included is my (embarrassingly late) tww_minis Josh!fic because it's in beta right now and will be posted relatively shortly.
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) 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).
First, of course...From story number one of my senior project:
"I can't date you," he said again, without looking up.
Impulsively, childishly, Alan immediately asked, "Why?" He regretted the word as soon as it escaped--what happened to throwing this infatutation behind him and trying to rekindle their friendship?--but he couldn't do anything to take it back. Instead, he leaned forward, biting his lip and waiting for Danny's response.
"Because I like you too much," Danny finally said.
Alan blinked at him and then drained his wine glass.
"I'm going to need signifigantly more liquor if I'm going to accept that as a logicial excuse," he said.
A post-"25" Sam/Will story I've literally been working on for a year:
"I did something stupid last night, and I'm sort of blaming it on you."
"Is this going to be anything like the time that you blamed me for some of the best foreign policy to come out of the White House in years?" his father asks, and Will has to smile, just a little.
"Actually, if you remember, I blamed it on Grandpa and Winston Churchill. Toby blamed it on you, but only when he wasn't blaming it on me. But, no, it's not like that." He pauses, glancing at Elsie out of the corner of his eye. She's looking far too interested in this.
"Well, spit it out, son."
"I went to see Sam Seaborn last night," he says very, very quietly.
"You went to see Sam?" Elsie nearly shouts. Will closes his eyes and takes his glasses off, covering his face with his hands. He can hear his father chuckling at the other end of the phone line.
"Could you say that a little louder, Elsie?" he asks, gesturing towards the door which is still open. Elsie scrambles to her feet almost comically and shuts it.
"You went to see Sam?" she repeats, a little softer.
"Yes," Will says. "And I'm talking to Dad right now, so if we could have this conversation later..."
"You went to see Sam?" his father says, and Will vaguely entertains ideas of selling his family's story as some kind of outrageous sitcom.
A story about Will and his Dad from the time his father married Elsie's mother to his time in the White House:
"So you're a homosexual?"
The way his father said it made it sound so matter-of-fact. So concise and normal. It sounded as casual as, 'So you wear glasses?'
"I... sort of. I mean..." Will suddenly felt immensely stupid. Here was his father, standing here having clearly figured the whole thing out, while he hemmed and hawwed and stuttered like a child. "Yes. Basically. I am."
"'Basically' is nothing but filler, William," his father said. "If you mean yes, just say yes. Stand firm in your beliefs. Don't huddle there with your shoulders slumped. Sit up straight, look me in the eye, and answer the question like a man."
Will's head was spinning. This was a game. It had to be. Some complex game his father was playing with him. Yes. This was definitely not the way that his coming out to his father, one of the most powerful military figures in the free world, was supposed to go.
"Yes, sir?" he said. The question was evident in his voice.
"You're going to have to be more firm in your beliefs than that, especially if you're going to go around being a homosexual. There are going to be a lot of people in the world trying to shout you down."
The prologue to the series of drabbles I'm eventually going to write about Alan and Danny's summer road trip:
"I wasn't talking about your mood," Danny said, joining him at the table, clad in a bathrobe. "I was talking about..." He motioned towards his own stomach and Alan rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm fine," he repeated off of Danny's dubious look. "I saw Dr. Marley today, you were there. I'm healing. I'm fine. I'm not in a lot of pain, my stitches will be out soon. I'm fine." He stared challengingly until Danny sighed and relented.
"Fine," he said. "I'll stop showing my obviously endearing concern for your severe medical condition." He stretched his arm across the table and tapped Alan's notebook. "What are you writing?"
Sam/Will, with a side of exasperated Toby and a whole mess of long-distance phone calls:
Toby clears his throat from the doorway, catching Will's attention.
"Did someone take your chair? 'Cause that part of the hazing wasn't supposed to start until next week," he says. Will immediately sits up, nearly sending his laptop tumbling to the floor.
"Toby?" Sam asks, but he's breaking up again.
"No, I just needed to readjust my worldview," Will says. "I needed to... It was helping me think outside the box."
"How 'Philosophy 101' of you," Toby muttered. "I hope you're not using that same stunning approach on the inaugural."
Will managed to hold in his wince. "I was having trouble with the first paragraph of section seven," he explained. "I needed a different perspective."
"Right," Toby says. He pops a sliced carrot into his mouth and points at the phone.
"Um, Sam," Will says. "I thought it would be helpful to run what I had by someone else who's had to deal with this caliber of writing before." He hopes that Toby won't ask him why he's been on the phone for forty minutes, then. Toby doesn't ask, but he does give Will a peculiar look before leaving the room.
Alan has a little bit of a freak out:
It wasn't, Alan thought, like he had never been away from Danny before. He was away from Danny all the time. Sometimes Danny went on business trips and sometimes Alan went on field trips, and there was the little matter of the two and a half years that they spent apart, although Alan tried not to think about that if he could help it. Still, he had survived remarkably well during those years. He hadn't turned into the weeping, helpless basket case that he had feared he would become. Sure, he lost twenty-five pounds, was completely unable to have any interpersonal relationships and committed a felony, but he got through the time on his own and managed to come out all right on the other side of it.
But now here he was, sitting in Danny's crappy rented house in Centennial, ready to jump out of his skin at any moment. He had tried watching television, tried grading papers, and even tried reading a book, but he still felt queasy and uneasy. He still had a hard time figuring out why the hell he decided to stay the weekend in Centennial instead of in his nice apartment back in Field's End.
Elsie's going to kill her brother (only scrollgirl will care about this, because it's likely only she will see the result. It's in my Seaborn for America epic):
"Will!" she said, getting up from her chair almost violently and following him down the hall. "Will! Stop! It's not like I asked for this! He asked me out last month and I kept coming up with excuses so that you could make your move. You didn't, so don't blame this on me!"
Will stopped walking, shoulders slumped, and allowed Elsie to catch up to him.
"I'm not blaming this on you, Elsie," he finally said. "I'm blaming it on me. I should have said something before now and I didn't and... this is what I'm left with. Watching him date my little sister."
"There's still time," Elsie said. "Call him right now! Call him right now and tell him, if only because it will keep you from driving me crazy."
"I can't. I've lost my chance, if I ever really had a chance to begin with. But you go out with him. Have a great time. Give me all the details afterwards so I can drown myself in the bathtub in envy."
Elsie sighed and covered her face with her hands. "Sometimes I could strangle you, Willy."
Alan, Danny, and the great student teacher fiasco of 2006:
"Fetching?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Should you really be saying such lovely things to me now that you've been knocked up by another man?" Laura laughed shortly and pulled Alan into a long hug. It was good to see her again. As much as he enjoyed spending an entire summer catching up with Danny, he did miss his friends, especially considering the bits of news he managed to get at his various summer locales. "When are you due?" he asked, holding her at arm's length once the hug was finished.
"January," she said with a sigh. "I cannot believe the nerve of that man."
"Your husband?" Alan teased. "Ryan? For getting you pregnant?"
"He's not my husband," Laura snapped. "Not now that our gruesome charade is over."
"Not for lack of trying," Alan said. "Or so I've heard."
"I'm not marrying him." Her glare was sharp enough to pin him to the wall. Alan held his hands up defensively and backed away.
"Hey, don't blame me, Laura," he insisted. "I was busy getting into my own sexual soap opera."
That's everything I've worked on in the past month, save for "Felicity and Danny Bond" which I just started last night.
And now, I'm going to go wait for Caitlin and Steven so we can watch Studio 60, immediately followed by the total breakdown I'm going to have writing a paper later tonight. Fun for all, I swear!
If you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence (or more) 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).
First, of course...From story number one of my senior project:
"I can't date you," he said again, without looking up.
Impulsively, childishly, Alan immediately asked, "Why?" He regretted the word as soon as it escaped--what happened to throwing this infatutation behind him and trying to rekindle their friendship?--but he couldn't do anything to take it back. Instead, he leaned forward, biting his lip and waiting for Danny's response.
"Because I like you too much," Danny finally said.
Alan blinked at him and then drained his wine glass.
"I'm going to need signifigantly more liquor if I'm going to accept that as a logicial excuse," he said.
A post-"25" Sam/Will story I've literally been working on for a year:
"I did something stupid last night, and I'm sort of blaming it on you."
"Is this going to be anything like the time that you blamed me for some of the best foreign policy to come out of the White House in years?" his father asks, and Will has to smile, just a little.
"Actually, if you remember, I blamed it on Grandpa and Winston Churchill. Toby blamed it on you, but only when he wasn't blaming it on me. But, no, it's not like that." He pauses, glancing at Elsie out of the corner of his eye. She's looking far too interested in this.
"Well, spit it out, son."
"I went to see Sam Seaborn last night," he says very, very quietly.
"You went to see Sam?" Elsie nearly shouts. Will closes his eyes and takes his glasses off, covering his face with his hands. He can hear his father chuckling at the other end of the phone line.
"Could you say that a little louder, Elsie?" he asks, gesturing towards the door which is still open. Elsie scrambles to her feet almost comically and shuts it.
"You went to see Sam?" she repeats, a little softer.
"Yes," Will says. "And I'm talking to Dad right now, so if we could have this conversation later..."
"You went to see Sam?" his father says, and Will vaguely entertains ideas of selling his family's story as some kind of outrageous sitcom.
A story about Will and his Dad from the time his father married Elsie's mother to his time in the White House:
"So you're a homosexual?"
The way his father said it made it sound so matter-of-fact. So concise and normal. It sounded as casual as, 'So you wear glasses?'
"I... sort of. I mean..." Will suddenly felt immensely stupid. Here was his father, standing here having clearly figured the whole thing out, while he hemmed and hawwed and stuttered like a child. "Yes. Basically. I am."
"'Basically' is nothing but filler, William," his father said. "If you mean yes, just say yes. Stand firm in your beliefs. Don't huddle there with your shoulders slumped. Sit up straight, look me in the eye, and answer the question like a man."
Will's head was spinning. This was a game. It had to be. Some complex game his father was playing with him. Yes. This was definitely not the way that his coming out to his father, one of the most powerful military figures in the free world, was supposed to go.
"Yes, sir?" he said. The question was evident in his voice.
"You're going to have to be more firm in your beliefs than that, especially if you're going to go around being a homosexual. There are going to be a lot of people in the world trying to shout you down."
The prologue to the series of drabbles I'm eventually going to write about Alan and Danny's summer road trip:
"I wasn't talking about your mood," Danny said, joining him at the table, clad in a bathrobe. "I was talking about..." He motioned towards his own stomach and Alan rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm fine," he repeated off of Danny's dubious look. "I saw Dr. Marley today, you were there. I'm healing. I'm fine. I'm not in a lot of pain, my stitches will be out soon. I'm fine." He stared challengingly until Danny sighed and relented.
"Fine," he said. "I'll stop showing my obviously endearing concern for your severe medical condition." He stretched his arm across the table and tapped Alan's notebook. "What are you writing?"
Sam/Will, with a side of exasperated Toby and a whole mess of long-distance phone calls:
Toby clears his throat from the doorway, catching Will's attention.
"Did someone take your chair? 'Cause that part of the hazing wasn't supposed to start until next week," he says. Will immediately sits up, nearly sending his laptop tumbling to the floor.
"Toby?" Sam asks, but he's breaking up again.
"No, I just needed to readjust my worldview," Will says. "I needed to... It was helping me think outside the box."
"How 'Philosophy 101' of you," Toby muttered. "I hope you're not using that same stunning approach on the inaugural."
Will managed to hold in his wince. "I was having trouble with the first paragraph of section seven," he explained. "I needed a different perspective."
"Right," Toby says. He pops a sliced carrot into his mouth and points at the phone.
"Um, Sam," Will says. "I thought it would be helpful to run what I had by someone else who's had to deal with this caliber of writing before." He hopes that Toby won't ask him why he's been on the phone for forty minutes, then. Toby doesn't ask, but he does give Will a peculiar look before leaving the room.
Alan has a little bit of a freak out:
It wasn't, Alan thought, like he had never been away from Danny before. He was away from Danny all the time. Sometimes Danny went on business trips and sometimes Alan went on field trips, and there was the little matter of the two and a half years that they spent apart, although Alan tried not to think about that if he could help it. Still, he had survived remarkably well during those years. He hadn't turned into the weeping, helpless basket case that he had feared he would become. Sure, he lost twenty-five pounds, was completely unable to have any interpersonal relationships and committed a felony, but he got through the time on his own and managed to come out all right on the other side of it.
But now here he was, sitting in Danny's crappy rented house in Centennial, ready to jump out of his skin at any moment. He had tried watching television, tried grading papers, and even tried reading a book, but he still felt queasy and uneasy. He still had a hard time figuring out why the hell he decided to stay the weekend in Centennial instead of in his nice apartment back in Field's End.
Elsie's going to kill her brother (only scrollgirl will care about this, because it's likely only she will see the result. It's in my Seaborn for America epic):
"Will!" she said, getting up from her chair almost violently and following him down the hall. "Will! Stop! It's not like I asked for this! He asked me out last month and I kept coming up with excuses so that you could make your move. You didn't, so don't blame this on me!"
Will stopped walking, shoulders slumped, and allowed Elsie to catch up to him.
"I'm not blaming this on you, Elsie," he finally said. "I'm blaming it on me. I should have said something before now and I didn't and... this is what I'm left with. Watching him date my little sister."
"There's still time," Elsie said. "Call him right now! Call him right now and tell him, if only because it will keep you from driving me crazy."
"I can't. I've lost my chance, if I ever really had a chance to begin with. But you go out with him. Have a great time. Give me all the details afterwards so I can drown myself in the bathtub in envy."
Elsie sighed and covered her face with her hands. "Sometimes I could strangle you, Willy."
Alan, Danny, and the great student teacher fiasco of 2006:
"Fetching?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Should you really be saying such lovely things to me now that you've been knocked up by another man?" Laura laughed shortly and pulled Alan into a long hug. It was good to see her again. As much as he enjoyed spending an entire summer catching up with Danny, he did miss his friends, especially considering the bits of news he managed to get at his various summer locales. "When are you due?" he asked, holding her at arm's length once the hug was finished.
"January," she said with a sigh. "I cannot believe the nerve of that man."
"Your husband?" Alan teased. "Ryan? For getting you pregnant?"
"He's not my husband," Laura snapped. "Not now that our gruesome charade is over."
"Not for lack of trying," Alan said. "Or so I've heard."
"I'm not marrying him." Her glare was sharp enough to pin him to the wall. Alan held his hands up defensively and backed away.
"Hey, don't blame me, Laura," he insisted. "I was busy getting into my own sexual soap opera."
That's everything I've worked on in the past month, save for "Felicity and Danny Bond" which I just started last night.
And now, I'm going to go wait for Caitlin and Steven so we can watch Studio 60, immediately followed by the total breakdown I'm going to have writing a paper later tonight. Fun for all, I swear!