dog days of summer
Two writing memes snagged from people on the flist: Despite the icon, there is pretty much no sexy bits in the following excerpts. Am definitely a more gen sort of writer. *g*
List the first lines of your last twenty stories. See if you find any patterns.
“You’re out of practice.” Dean’s grin was a mile long as his knee pressed uncomfortably against Sam’s neck. (SPN/ST: reboot ficlet)
Case Log #9788SD - Or, the day he realizes that despite the space diseases and getting shot at far too often for a medical officer on a supposed diplomatic mission, Jim, there are some days when he really loves his job. (Star Trek ficlet)
He’s used to waking up like this. (Friday Night Lights ficlet)
“Is it too ironic to say Superman?” Tyra leans back in her chair, grinning at Jason. (Friday Night Lights Ficlet)
He’s never been a daredevil, never really had a death wish, not like some of his compatriots. (Harry Potter Ficlet)
“Scotty.” (High School Musical/Harry Potter/Star Trek Ficlet)
“FIFTY-FIVE!” Zeke slaps the table, and lets out a small whoop. (High School Musical Ficlet)
"So, how much are we talking?” (SPN ficlet)
He watches the shuttles take off in clouds of dust, sub-atomic engines rumbling and vibrating across the cornfields and deep into his bones. (Star Trek drabble)
“Christ…” The word escaped out of Effy’s mum’s mouth before she had finished opening the door. (Skins: Leave Out All the Rest)
It wasn’t an easy life. (SPN: What Normal Isn't)
I have found that surviving five assassination attempts - two within the last year alone - leaves one keenly attuned to anything out of the ordinary. (Yuletide - Kushiel's Dart: Black Roses and Silver Daggers)
He shuffles to the kitchen, grabbing the phone, still not fully awake. (Friday Night Lights: Beautiful Rivalry)
It was time to face two fucking, depressing facts: they were dangerously low on ammo and supplies, and their gun-runner was two weeks late. (SPN: Atheists in a Foxhole)
Normally, Dean liked working in garages. (SPN: Shape of Things to Come)
The trouble with telling someone to stay away from you, Nate mused, is that on the Upper East Side, it’s a physical impossibility. (Gossip Girl: Hands Off)
Daddy doesn’t come in to kiss her good night anymore and Mommy won’t read her bedtime stories like she used to. (SPN: Good Girl)
He’s pinned under sharp, dark eyes as the door swings shut and the lock turns, letting the tinkling music turn into a distant hum. (Gossip Girl: Take the Edge Off)
Jo pulled her bandana down and wiped the gunk off her face. (SPN: Not Like the Movies)
Dad showed up three days after Christmas, limping when he walked in and his hand wrapped in a bloody bandage. (Step Out of the Ordinary)
Ummm, patterns... short, declarative sentences? Some grammar abuse? I tend to use the past and present equally in my stories... and I don't always start with dialogue.
WIP meme: List some lines from your works-in-progress.
“So… do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I want to talk about how I was Spock for two whole days, and no one even noticed? Not particularly.”
*
See, pilots had the reputation of being reckless, adrenaline-junkies who wouldn’t know subtle if it was coming at their face faster than a Cardassian spitball. But Sulu had been the Enterprise’s helmsman for more than five years now, and he knew bridge crew dynamics were a tricky balance to keep. Even though most of the original crew had all signed back on, it wasn’t a guarantee things wouldn’t ever go south. Like they were about to if the captain didn’t make his damn decision.
*
“Come on, Merlin. Once in a lifetime opportunity,” Arthur teased. “The prince of Camelot doesn’t tell his own tales very often.”
Merlin raised his gaze, and there was a spark of some emotion that Arthur hadn’t seen he had seen before. Bitterness. “What, do you want to tell a tale of some great exploit? Like we had? Go ahead.”
*
He wanted to speak a defiant line, to spit in her face in the few remaining moments of his life, but his mouth was dry and the dominant thought running through his mind was ‘I want to live.’ He wouldn’t beg though. He clapped his lips together and attempted to steady his breathing. He would die with a prince’s dignity. With a king’s courage, like his father. He shook his head.
“No,” she answered. A slow smile spread across Nimueh's face, as if she were pleased with his answer. She answered the Mercian captain. “No, I have other plans for Arthur.” Her hand, stained with his father’s blood, reached out and traced across his cheekbones and jaw.
*
“You know we’re going to get out of this. All of us.”
And as much as she might never admit it out loud, the tightly focused anger radiating from his blue eyes was another talisman she drew on.
*
Hey there Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here. It’s been a long, steamy summer here in the city, both on the streets and inside the cool, air-conditioned penthouses of Manhattan’s elite. Who can forget the news that H arrived home from London to find her boyfriend and mother doing lines on her vanity table? Or that D came home from Yale with bf in tow… that argument won’t be forgotten by anyone within ten blocks of -------. Or my personal favorite, that B and C were cheating on each other after only a week of officially being a couple- C with one of stepmother’s decorating interns and B being slightly classier as she bagged a minor European royal in the jump-seat of C’s father’s private jet.
But sadly, every summer must end, and as the dreaded Labor Day approaches, the UES is celebrating the only way they know how… by heading out to the Hamptons for one last weekend.
Who’s hosting this year’s biggest and most exclusive bash? According to my inside sources, the crown goes to J and his sister N. That’s right, St. Cecilia’s wins this year- better luck next time, Unity boys.
With golden boy J going into senior year, insiders are claiming this will be a party to remember. And rumor has it that his dalliance with Constance Billiard’s M was just that, a rumor. Start your engines ladies- J’s always been the slippery kind, you better act fast if you want to catch him.
Party hard, girls and boys. After the weekend the rest of us will be heading back to Manhattan and civilization, but we have a feeling you won’t find this kind of fun back at Catholic boarding school…
xoxo
Gossip Girl
*
In the dim light he could spot movement among the bushes. About twenty yards from the cabin, a dark shape burst from the woods, crouched over, hands held out in front, as if reaching for sanctuary. A second figure limped along after, garbled sounds erupting from its mouth in a steady stream of mushed syllables and moans.
“What are they?” Sam asked, horrified.
“Charlie’s family,” Peter answered.
“Those… those aren’t humans,” Dean said, finally tearing his eyes away from the shambling creatures.
Peter slammed the door shut. “They were once,” he said. “Here, help me hold it against them. And check the windows.”
*
Dearborn, Washington State
[It’s serenely peaceful in this remote area, the torn-up road twisting and turning in the mountain valleys before I get to my destination. The only building within 5o miles is a log cabin, completely self-sufficient and modernized with the latest tech equipment, including a satellite monitoring system that detects for the undead. Twenty men have gathered here this weekend, veterans who served in a unit known for its military service even before the first zack attack. First Recon suffered over 80% casualties during five years of fighting, and yet it was consistently one of the most requested units to serve in during the war.]
Former Sergeant Josh Ray Persons is sitting on the deck, surrounded by a group of younger guys, and he’s smoking and gesturing wildly with his hands. A small, wiry man, his eyes light up and he takes on a lecturing tone as I approach.
You know, we picked up the name ‘First Suicide Battalion’ long before any Zacks showed up. It was when I was first in the Marines, during OIF when we bumped our way across Iraq in open Humvees. Retarded to the thousandth degree, but I tell you, those were the fuckin’ days, man. At least then we knew what kind of fucking idiots we were dealing with. Saddam fuckin’ Hussein, misguided youth with guns, fundamental Islamic terrorists who wanted to blow America off the face of the map… almost makes me nostalgic. Give me the whole clash of the civilizations any day.
Hmmm, going through these makes me want to finish at least one of them this summer. *makes note to do so* Not tonight though. Too hot, and no air conditioning to be had.
*flops*
List the first lines of your last twenty stories. See if you find any patterns.
“You’re out of practice.” Dean’s grin was a mile long as his knee pressed uncomfortably against Sam’s neck. (SPN/ST: reboot ficlet)
Case Log #9788SD - Or, the day he realizes that despite the space diseases and getting shot at far too often for a medical officer on a supposed diplomatic mission, Jim, there are some days when he really loves his job. (Star Trek ficlet)
He’s used to waking up like this. (Friday Night Lights ficlet)
“Is it too ironic to say Superman?” Tyra leans back in her chair, grinning at Jason. (Friday Night Lights Ficlet)
He’s never been a daredevil, never really had a death wish, not like some of his compatriots. (Harry Potter Ficlet)
“Scotty.” (High School Musical/Harry Potter/Star Trek Ficlet)
“FIFTY-FIVE!” Zeke slaps the table, and lets out a small whoop. (High School Musical Ficlet)
"So, how much are we talking?” (SPN ficlet)
He watches the shuttles take off in clouds of dust, sub-atomic engines rumbling and vibrating across the cornfields and deep into his bones. (Star Trek drabble)
“Christ…” The word escaped out of Effy’s mum’s mouth before she had finished opening the door. (Skins: Leave Out All the Rest)
It wasn’t an easy life. (SPN: What Normal Isn't)
I have found that surviving five assassination attempts - two within the last year alone - leaves one keenly attuned to anything out of the ordinary. (Yuletide - Kushiel's Dart: Black Roses and Silver Daggers)
He shuffles to the kitchen, grabbing the phone, still not fully awake. (Friday Night Lights: Beautiful Rivalry)
It was time to face two fucking, depressing facts: they were dangerously low on ammo and supplies, and their gun-runner was two weeks late. (SPN: Atheists in a Foxhole)
Normally, Dean liked working in garages. (SPN: Shape of Things to Come)
The trouble with telling someone to stay away from you, Nate mused, is that on the Upper East Side, it’s a physical impossibility. (Gossip Girl: Hands Off)
Daddy doesn’t come in to kiss her good night anymore and Mommy won’t read her bedtime stories like she used to. (SPN: Good Girl)
He’s pinned under sharp, dark eyes as the door swings shut and the lock turns, letting the tinkling music turn into a distant hum. (Gossip Girl: Take the Edge Off)
Jo pulled her bandana down and wiped the gunk off her face. (SPN: Not Like the Movies)
Dad showed up three days after Christmas, limping when he walked in and his hand wrapped in a bloody bandage. (Step Out of the Ordinary)
Ummm, patterns... short, declarative sentences? Some grammar abuse? I tend to use the past and present equally in my stories... and I don't always start with dialogue.
WIP meme: List some lines from your works-in-progress.
“So… do you want to talk about it?”
“Do I want to talk about how I was Spock for two whole days, and no one even noticed? Not particularly.”
*
See, pilots had the reputation of being reckless, adrenaline-junkies who wouldn’t know subtle if it was coming at their face faster than a Cardassian spitball. But Sulu had been the Enterprise’s helmsman for more than five years now, and he knew bridge crew dynamics were a tricky balance to keep. Even though most of the original crew had all signed back on, it wasn’t a guarantee things wouldn’t ever go south. Like they were about to if the captain didn’t make his damn decision.
*
“Come on, Merlin. Once in a lifetime opportunity,” Arthur teased. “The prince of Camelot doesn’t tell his own tales very often.”
Merlin raised his gaze, and there was a spark of some emotion that Arthur hadn’t seen he had seen before. Bitterness. “What, do you want to tell a tale of some great exploit? Like we had? Go ahead.”
*
He wanted to speak a defiant line, to spit in her face in the few remaining moments of his life, but his mouth was dry and the dominant thought running through his mind was ‘I want to live.’ He wouldn’t beg though. He clapped his lips together and attempted to steady his breathing. He would die with a prince’s dignity. With a king’s courage, like his father. He shook his head.
“No,” she answered. A slow smile spread across Nimueh's face, as if she were pleased with his answer. She answered the Mercian captain. “No, I have other plans for Arthur.” Her hand, stained with his father’s blood, reached out and traced across his cheekbones and jaw.
*
“You know we’re going to get out of this. All of us.”
And as much as she might never admit it out loud, the tightly focused anger radiating from his blue eyes was another talisman she drew on.
*
Hey there Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here. It’s been a long, steamy summer here in the city, both on the streets and inside the cool, air-conditioned penthouses of Manhattan’s elite. Who can forget the news that H arrived home from London to find her boyfriend and mother doing lines on her vanity table? Or that D came home from Yale with bf in tow… that argument won’t be forgotten by anyone within ten blocks of -------. Or my personal favorite, that B and C were cheating on each other after only a week of officially being a couple- C with one of stepmother’s decorating interns and B being slightly classier as she bagged a minor European royal in the jump-seat of C’s father’s private jet.
But sadly, every summer must end, and as the dreaded Labor Day approaches, the UES is celebrating the only way they know how… by heading out to the Hamptons for one last weekend.
Who’s hosting this year’s biggest and most exclusive bash? According to my inside sources, the crown goes to J and his sister N. That’s right, St. Cecilia’s wins this year- better luck next time, Unity boys.
With golden boy J going into senior year, insiders are claiming this will be a party to remember. And rumor has it that his dalliance with Constance Billiard’s M was just that, a rumor. Start your engines ladies- J’s always been the slippery kind, you better act fast if you want to catch him.
Party hard, girls and boys. After the weekend the rest of us will be heading back to Manhattan and civilization, but we have a feeling you won’t find this kind of fun back at Catholic boarding school…
xoxo
Gossip Girl
*
In the dim light he could spot movement among the bushes. About twenty yards from the cabin, a dark shape burst from the woods, crouched over, hands held out in front, as if reaching for sanctuary. A second figure limped along after, garbled sounds erupting from its mouth in a steady stream of mushed syllables and moans.
“What are they?” Sam asked, horrified.
“Charlie’s family,” Peter answered.
“Those… those aren’t humans,” Dean said, finally tearing his eyes away from the shambling creatures.
Peter slammed the door shut. “They were once,” he said. “Here, help me hold it against them. And check the windows.”
*
Dearborn, Washington State
[It’s serenely peaceful in this remote area, the torn-up road twisting and turning in the mountain valleys before I get to my destination. The only building within 5o miles is a log cabin, completely self-sufficient and modernized with the latest tech equipment, including a satellite monitoring system that detects for the undead. Twenty men have gathered here this weekend, veterans who served in a unit known for its military service even before the first zack attack. First Recon suffered over 80% casualties during five years of fighting, and yet it was consistently one of the most requested units to serve in during the war.]
Former Sergeant Josh Ray Persons is sitting on the deck, surrounded by a group of younger guys, and he’s smoking and gesturing wildly with his hands. A small, wiry man, his eyes light up and he takes on a lecturing tone as I approach.
You know, we picked up the name ‘First Suicide Battalion’ long before any Zacks showed up. It was when I was first in the Marines, during OIF when we bumped our way across Iraq in open Humvees. Retarded to the thousandth degree, but I tell you, those were the fuckin’ days, man. At least then we knew what kind of fucking idiots we were dealing with. Saddam fuckin’ Hussein, misguided youth with guns, fundamental Islamic terrorists who wanted to blow America off the face of the map… almost makes me nostalgic. Give me the whole clash of the civilizations any day.
Hmmm, going through these makes me want to finish at least one of them this summer. *makes note to do so* Not tonight though. Too hot, and no air conditioning to be had.
*flops*