I started to write, of all things, a story about werewolves.
The first line, which oh-so-helpfully came to mind while at a Christmas party an hour away from home when I didn't think to bring any sort of notebook-type thing, is as follows:
I woke up on the Waningmorn naked, deeply scratched up, lying in a pool of sticky blood too large to be all
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First lines are often the very hardest to write. Once it gets written however, then the rest seems to flow.
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Yeah, I got this thing going where EVERYBODY is a were of some sort, and society has adapted around that little detail. So there's social divides between canines and felines, a religion of moon worship, and everything compensates for that once a month everybody spends three days out of commission and comes out of it with no memories, even though they occasionally kill each other.
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