My epic writing fail... let me show you it.
Post a sentence or two extracted from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations.
BULLETS!
♥ He is just closing his eyes to snooze a little longer when it happens; The loud, "God damn fucking shit. DAMMIT!" being shrieked from the kitchen.
♥ He strikes a match, gripped in thumb and middle finger, shielded from drafts of bitter air by the rest of his hand. The flame flairs white and fast then fizzles to yellow, and Dean's silver ring becomes a band of fire around his finger. He blinks slowly, turns in slow-motion in the doorway and tosses the match into the house. Sam watches frame by frame as Dean walks to the car and the burning match falls to the floor.
♥ And when they hit, water flies up all around them washing the dust and blood from their skin.
♥ Dean dreams of winter. He dreams of cold, white snow and bare trees and black birds scratching at the ground. He dreams of driving from town to town. Fitting in everywhere and nowhere.
♥ She swirls colors into one another creating stars and planets and entire universes with her fingers.
♥ The water drips off the roof in shades of red and orange and yellow.
♥ "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up."
♥ "That's not the point, Beckett. I don't want to watch this anymore. Every time. Every time, she messes it up," Rodney made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, "I am done with Rachel Ray and her Muppet mouth."
♥ Dean hums softly as the warm spray of water washes over him. He lets the notes drift, echo off the walls of the green tile bathroom. He's tired, bone weary, and all he wants to do is be warm.
♥ “Sam? Sammy? Dude, I’m sweating like a whore in church. Untangle your lanky ass and let me up.”
♥ Of course there's something he needs to get off his chest. There are so many god damn things he needs to get off his chest. Sometimes he thinks he can't breathe. Sometimes he thinks he'll go bat shit crazy just keeping all these things locked up.
♥ And in another town, in another room, watching as their petals fell one by one like drops of flame onto another old, dead, used up table.
♥ The punch came out of nowhere. It was like getting hit by Mike Tyson without the fear of having parts of your face bitten off.
♥ Hey, Dean, I can kill you with my brain. Shut the fuck up.
♥ Dean and that fucking mouth of his.
♥ Dean slides his hand along the passenger side of the Impala.
♥ That uncomfortable, sticky feeling deep in his gut.
So. There you have it. My epic writing fail. Some day... Some day they shall be completed.
BULLETS!
♥ He is just closing his eyes to snooze a little longer when it happens; The loud, "God damn fucking shit. DAMMIT!" being shrieked from the kitchen.
♥ He strikes a match, gripped in thumb and middle finger, shielded from drafts of bitter air by the rest of his hand. The flame flairs white and fast then fizzles to yellow, and Dean's silver ring becomes a band of fire around his finger. He blinks slowly, turns in slow-motion in the doorway and tosses the match into the house. Sam watches frame by frame as Dean walks to the car and the burning match falls to the floor.
♥ And when they hit, water flies up all around them washing the dust and blood from their skin.
♥ Dean dreams of winter. He dreams of cold, white snow and bare trees and black birds scratching at the ground. He dreams of driving from town to town. Fitting in everywhere and nowhere.
♥ She swirls colors into one another creating stars and planets and entire universes with her fingers.
♥ The water drips off the roof in shades of red and orange and yellow.
♥ "Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up."
♥ "That's not the point, Beckett. I don't want to watch this anymore. Every time. Every time, she messes it up," Rodney made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, "I am done with Rachel Ray and her Muppet mouth."
♥ Dean hums softly as the warm spray of water washes over him. He lets the notes drift, echo off the walls of the green tile bathroom. He's tired, bone weary, and all he wants to do is be warm.
♥ “Sam? Sammy? Dude, I’m sweating like a whore in church. Untangle your lanky ass and let me up.”
♥ Of course there's something he needs to get off his chest. There are so many god damn things he needs to get off his chest. Sometimes he thinks he can't breathe. Sometimes he thinks he'll go bat shit crazy just keeping all these things locked up.
♥ And in another town, in another room, watching as their petals fell one by one like drops of flame onto another old, dead, used up table.
♥ The punch came out of nowhere. It was like getting hit by Mike Tyson without the fear of having parts of your face bitten off.
♥ Hey, Dean, I can kill you with my brain. Shut the fuck up.
♥ Dean and that fucking mouth of his.
♥ Dean slides his hand along the passenger side of the Impala.
♥ That uncomfortable, sticky feeling deep in his gut.
So. There you have it. My epic writing fail. Some day... Some day they shall be completed.