As if everybody knows what I'm talking about, I mean everybody knows exactly what I'm talking about
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around.
Ganked from oddsbobs! When I saw this I went on a mad hunt that lasted all of about three seconds. The truth is, I just haven't been writing all that much lately (okay, fine - the past couple years, if we're being honest). >.< Most of my WIPs were destroyed with the computer we had at Dad's old house and that was Kevin's until he got his wonderful new machine. Also, some are at Mom's house.
Fortunately, I rather like what I could find.
Talking About Diamonds
I’m actually ACTIVELY WORKING ON IT. Le gasp. Rather more dialogue-heavy than most of what I write.
The very moment fog begins to creep in through the shutters, his eyelids move.
“I dreamed about you,” he murmurs to the ceiling.
“Guess you slept well.”
“Maybe I did.” My hand finds his shoulder, kneads the sleepy tenderness until I feel brave.
“I didn’t dream anything. I watched you all night.” He tenses. Opens his eyes heavily and catches my hand, searching my face with cool gray.
“Oh.” He lets go and sits up, putting miles between us. “I meant the night before we met. I dreamed about you, then there you were at the bar. I bought you a drink.” He stops, stares at the wall. “I knew your face.” He turns back to me and I want to look at the bedclothes.
“Funny,” he continues, closing the distance between us and stretching over me languidly. He rumbles against my neck as I make a small noise in the back of my throat, “forgettable face, really. Don’t know why I’d remember it.”
Untitled
This was my NaNo way back in ’05. I really liked it at first, but then my inner editor took over and it started to drive me crazy. So I abandoned it. After reading it again today, I decided it’s worth revision and continuation. So there! Warning for fade-to-black o’ doom.
He likes to meet the sleepwalkers on the sidewalk in front of his apartment. I call them, I make them come. I know. But they call me first, he excuses himself to the God he knows does not exist. He wishes the floor weren’t so manufactured and sterile, but there’s nothing he can do. Tonight she’s pretty and so full of need. One of those who can’t even relax in her sleep. Her eyes are wide open and she’s searching with clouded eyes, all around. She has no idea what is happening.
Michael wishes it didn’t have to be so. He wishes he could meet these people who need him, wishes he could talk to them. He especially wants to meet her. He’s never seen anybody so restless or full of promise. And then he feels it, his need straining, he needs someone. Tonight he needs her.
“I’m here to help you,” he whispers huskily to her mouth and then to her sex, in the shadows, on the ground.
That One Fic Hannah and I Started and Really Should Rename - LotR; Glorfindel/Erestor, among others
Eheheh, this WIP has been floating around for aaaages. We should finish it. We were not-so-experienced when we started it, but ::counts:: four years should count for something, right? Right?
“Father! Father!” Elrohir, Elrohir was there, sending his panic through the air in wave after relentless wave, and it was more than Elrond’s sore fëa felt like handling. He moaned and the agony receded as Elrohir drew his emotions under his own skin and calmed his voice. When next he spoke, it was quiet and serious as his warm, moist hands smoothed his father’s brow and compressed his aching skin with herb-scented water.
“What has happened? What do you know? What has befallen you?”
The door crashed open, and Elrond heard someone say all too loudly, “Lord Elrohir, the infirmary is prepared.”
“My thanks. I cannot handle his weight on my own, Faerlin. You must help me carry him.”
Too many hands touched Elrond, lifting him, and he thrashed a little, but gave up as he was too weak to move. He found his head cradled gently to his son’s chest, right against his heartbeat. Calm, calm, Elrohir seemed to say inside his head, help me lift some of your pain.
The Burden is Heavy - LotR; NO PAIRINGS ::shock::
Welcome to my first fic EVAR. I kind of abandoned it heartlessly. Sometimes I think about picking it up again, but the basic premise (Boromir got the Ring at Amon Hen) just seems like too much of a project. I just couldn't give it the attention it deserves! This bit is posted at my ff.net account, so I'm not quite sure if it counts. It's certainly a WIP though! Oh yeah, though this should be obvious by now, I wrote this here thingy almost four years ago.
Eventually the others turned to debate, and setting his activity aside, Boromir got up as quietly as he knew how, and followed the path Frodo had made into the trees. And he wondered why indeed he was forced to speak kind words to one whom he did love, and then betray him in a backhanded way. Duty calls, the presence at the back of his head told him. You cannot let it slide past you forever.
Then he moved past a tree and saw Frodo on the ground with his head in his hand, his back bent as if weighted by some burden to heavy to think of. Boromir’s heart was wrenched, and he stood there motionless for several moments, until the hobbit turned suddenly and looked the Man in the eye.
That decided him. The halfling did not deserve the burden of carrying. Let it move to somebody stronger, and let Frodo have a much-deserved respite from the pain.
If at the back of his mind, a certain force withdrew gloatingly, Boromir did not pay any heed.
Had another wonderful day of being a woman. LOL IT SUCKED LIEK WOAH. And I missed another day of school.
My right index finger feels really weird. Like it might be a bit swollen, but isn't, exactly. It's hard to move. I don't like it all that much.
I'm on the path to understanding Calculus, finally! ::weeps in relief:: This is all thanks to lunartick1989, who is amazing and tutored me last night in between watching episodes of Kurosagi (which I very much like).
Ahahaha, I can see my feet on the other side of my desk. XD
There is a distinct possibility that I may FINALLY MEET THE ELUSIVE UNCLE BRUCE. I have heard about this man for nearly eighteen years, but never once have I actually seen him. My only (somewhat-disputable) proof of his existence is the one time I answered the phone at Grandma's and he asked to talk to Dad, wherepon the telephone was passed on. This Christmas is going to be ROCKIN'. Toby, Alex, Leo, and Tristan are all coming too. I can only imagine Tristan meeting Bruce, who, according to Dad, is very formal and stiff. This is what I'm guessing it will be like:
Bruce: Why hello, little child.
Tristan: Are you my Uncle Bruce? I LOVE YOU. ::approaches with hug-ready arms::
Bruce: Well, technically -- OOF.
Tristan: So how do you feel about the Lord of the Rings? I like that one guy, Are -- Era -- Eragron -- ::snaps fingers repeatedly:: you know, the king guy --
Bruce: O_o
Of course, Tristan might not actually ask Bruce about LotR. He does with me, though. EVERY SINGLE TIME WE SEE EACH OTHER. It's always the same conversation. I should be able to copy it out verbatim by now. This is how it always begins:
Tristan: So, do you still like the Lord of the Rings? I like that one guy, Are -- Era -- Eragron -- ::snaps fingers repeatedly:: you know, the king guy --
Ellen: Aragorn.
And this is how it always ends:
Ellen: ::flees::
I do it nicely, of course. He can't help it, and he is a very nice kid. I can only go through the same conversation so many times without contemplating evil things, however.
/END PREVIEW OF COMING ATTRACTIONS
I should write more. :-D
(MANY NINJA EDITS FOR HTML AND FORMATTING XDDDD)
Ganked from oddsbobs! When I saw this I went on a mad hunt that lasted all of about three seconds. The truth is, I just haven't been writing all that much lately (okay, fine - the past couple years, if we're being honest). >.< Most of my WIPs were destroyed with the computer we had at Dad's old house and that was Kevin's until he got his wonderful new machine. Also, some are at Mom's house.
Fortunately, I rather like what I could find.
Talking About Diamonds
I’m actually ACTIVELY WORKING ON IT. Le gasp. Rather more dialogue-heavy than most of what I write.
The very moment fog begins to creep in through the shutters, his eyelids move.
“I dreamed about you,” he murmurs to the ceiling.
“Guess you slept well.”
“Maybe I did.” My hand finds his shoulder, kneads the sleepy tenderness until I feel brave.
“I didn’t dream anything. I watched you all night.” He tenses. Opens his eyes heavily and catches my hand, searching my face with cool gray.
“Oh.” He lets go and sits up, putting miles between us. “I meant the night before we met. I dreamed about you, then there you were at the bar. I bought you a drink.” He stops, stares at the wall. “I knew your face.” He turns back to me and I want to look at the bedclothes.
“Funny,” he continues, closing the distance between us and stretching over me languidly. He rumbles against my neck as I make a small noise in the back of my throat, “forgettable face, really. Don’t know why I’d remember it.”
Untitled
This was my NaNo way back in ’05. I really liked it at first, but then my inner editor took over and it started to drive me crazy. So I abandoned it. After reading it again today, I decided it’s worth revision and continuation. So there! Warning for fade-to-black o’ doom.
He likes to meet the sleepwalkers on the sidewalk in front of his apartment. I call them, I make them come. I know. But they call me first, he excuses himself to the God he knows does not exist. He wishes the floor weren’t so manufactured and sterile, but there’s nothing he can do. Tonight she’s pretty and so full of need. One of those who can’t even relax in her sleep. Her eyes are wide open and she’s searching with clouded eyes, all around. She has no idea what is happening.
Michael wishes it didn’t have to be so. He wishes he could meet these people who need him, wishes he could talk to them. He especially wants to meet her. He’s never seen anybody so restless or full of promise. And then he feels it, his need straining, he needs someone. Tonight he needs her.
“I’m here to help you,” he whispers huskily to her mouth and then to her sex, in the shadows, on the ground.
That One Fic Hannah and I Started and Really Should Rename - LotR; Glorfindel/Erestor, among others
Eheheh, this WIP has been floating around for aaaages. We should finish it. We were not-so-experienced when we started it, but ::counts:: four years should count for something, right? Right?
“Father! Father!” Elrohir, Elrohir was there, sending his panic through the air in wave after relentless wave, and it was more than Elrond’s sore fëa felt like handling. He moaned and the agony receded as Elrohir drew his emotions under his own skin and calmed his voice. When next he spoke, it was quiet and serious as his warm, moist hands smoothed his father’s brow and compressed his aching skin with herb-scented water.
“What has happened? What do you know? What has befallen you?”
The door crashed open, and Elrond heard someone say all too loudly, “Lord Elrohir, the infirmary is prepared.”
“My thanks. I cannot handle his weight on my own, Faerlin. You must help me carry him.”
Too many hands touched Elrond, lifting him, and he thrashed a little, but gave up as he was too weak to move. He found his head cradled gently to his son’s chest, right against his heartbeat. Calm, calm, Elrohir seemed to say inside his head, help me lift some of your pain.
The Burden is Heavy - LotR; NO PAIRINGS ::shock::
Welcome to my first fic EVAR. I kind of abandoned it heartlessly. Sometimes I think about picking it up again, but the basic premise (Boromir got the Ring at Amon Hen) just seems like too much of a project. I just couldn't give it the attention it deserves! This bit is posted at my ff.net account, so I'm not quite sure if it counts. It's certainly a WIP though! Oh yeah, though this should be obvious by now, I wrote this here thingy almost four years ago.
Eventually the others turned to debate, and setting his activity aside, Boromir got up as quietly as he knew how, and followed the path Frodo had made into the trees. And he wondered why indeed he was forced to speak kind words to one whom he did love, and then betray him in a backhanded way. Duty calls, the presence at the back of his head told him. You cannot let it slide past you forever.
Then he moved past a tree and saw Frodo on the ground with his head in his hand, his back bent as if weighted by some burden to heavy to think of. Boromir’s heart was wrenched, and he stood there motionless for several moments, until the hobbit turned suddenly and looked the Man in the eye.
That decided him. The halfling did not deserve the burden of carrying. Let it move to somebody stronger, and let Frodo have a much-deserved respite from the pain.
If at the back of his mind, a certain force withdrew gloatingly, Boromir did not pay any heed.
Had another wonderful day of being a woman. LOL IT SUCKED LIEK WOAH. And I missed another day of school.
My right index finger feels really weird. Like it might be a bit swollen, but isn't, exactly. It's hard to move. I don't like it all that much.
I'm on the path to understanding Calculus, finally! ::weeps in relief:: This is all thanks to lunartick1989, who is amazing and tutored me last night in between watching episodes of Kurosagi (which I very much like).
Ahahaha, I can see my feet on the other side of my desk. XD
There is a distinct possibility that I may FINALLY MEET THE ELUSIVE UNCLE BRUCE. I have heard about this man for nearly eighteen years, but never once have I actually seen him. My only (somewhat-disputable) proof of his existence is the one time I answered the phone at Grandma's and he asked to talk to Dad, wherepon the telephone was passed on. This Christmas is going to be ROCKIN'. Toby, Alex, Leo, and Tristan are all coming too. I can only imagine Tristan meeting Bruce, who, according to Dad, is very formal and stiff. This is what I'm guessing it will be like:
Bruce: Why hello, little child.
Tristan: Are you my Uncle Bruce? I LOVE YOU. ::approaches with hug-ready arms::
Bruce: Well, technically -- OOF.
Tristan: So how do you feel about the Lord of the Rings? I like that one guy, Are -- Era -- Eragron -- ::snaps fingers repeatedly:: you know, the king guy --
Bruce: O_o
Of course, Tristan might not actually ask Bruce about LotR. He does with me, though. EVERY SINGLE TIME WE SEE EACH OTHER. It's always the same conversation. I should be able to copy it out verbatim by now. This is how it always begins:
Tristan: So, do you still like the Lord of the Rings? I like that one guy, Are -- Era -- Eragron -- ::snaps fingers repeatedly:: you know, the king guy --
Ellen: Aragorn.
And this is how it always ends:
Ellen: ::flees::
I do it nicely, of course. He can't help it, and he is a very nice kid. I can only go through the same conversation so many times without contemplating evil things, however.
/END PREVIEW OF COMING ATTRACTIONS
I should write more. :-D
(MANY NINJA EDITS FOR HTML AND FORMATTING XDDDD)