I'm having loads of fun writing Barnum's Revenge (the sequel to Fur-Face). Here's the (current ) opening paragraph:
Inside one of the metal garbage cans behind the Laughing Milkmaid pub, Snowy gripped the handle of the upturned lid above his head with both front paws.
If he gets in here, I’m dog food. Dense blackness closed in around
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It was seven-thirty on Friday night and I had a date with my girlfriend. Unluckily for me, she had a date with a mob of parents and school teachers, and I’d been banished to the bedroom to give Shannon and her prospective gang of clients some privacy. Not that “privacy” really meant much when you had werewolf hearing, but the mob hadn’t clicked onto that. So I had the bedroom door open just a crack, enough to let me hear most of what was going on in the living room. I probably should have felt bad about eavesdropping, but I’d been looking forward to our date all week and I was feeling just sulky enough to want some very petty revenge.
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Good one :)
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If I may say so,
that's a really good example of how to speak volumes
in a single succinct statement.
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I like the predicament you put Snowy in--how literal "I'll be dog meat" is.
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Opening paragraph of my current WIP, Winter Of AshFaint morning sunlight had begun to burn through the misty clouds left by night when Torben Thorskil passed the pine-crested ridge that marked the eastern boundary of his family’s land and stopped. The sudden lurch in his stomach betrayed his true feelings on coming home and he wished he could be certain of the welcome he would receive. The line of trees swept down in a curve on the rocky outcrop to where the river flowed rough and furious over vast boulders. At the dying of the year, the waters swelled with rain on the mountains, creating a roaring brown torrent that churned to white as it tumbled through the rocks. Even from here, looking down, the sound of rushing water came to Torben as he checked his horse and looked out across the frozen land. Hard snow crunched beneath Greta’s hooves and the black mare whinnied, seeming to recognise where she was once more. Her breath came in a cloud of steam that hung, unmoving, in ( ... )
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