first lines, part one
Here's what's on my hard drive on Computer Number 1:
Fanfic
“It’s ugly.”
Lex twitched a fold into place. “It’s traditional.”
“It’s pink.”
--Dressed, a Smallville/Harry Potter crossover drabble written for thamiris to a color challenge. Let us never speak of it again.
The furniture had been covered; the doors had been locked with more than one spell; three years this flat had stayed untouched. The owner was studying Taoist magic somewhere in China and was quite content to stay there for the time being. Had he known who -- or how many -- were breaking into his flat at that moment, he might have changed his mind.
--Hello Dorothy, How Are You?, part one of three parts, which gathered together would, according to my copious notes, be one overall chapter to the eight chapter story called A Study of Interaction, 1350 Edition, Translated from the Original Neapolitan. It was a Queer Eye/Harry Potter crossover. The third part is written -- nearly the entirely thing is intricately outlined -- it has nonetheless languished. Possibly because it is silly. Getting those notes in here may be a future project, though -- sketching that stuff out was loads more fun than actually writing. (Note to self: Important lesson here.)
He was a beautiful man.
--O'Bedlam, working title, Harry Potter. Based on the bare paragraph I have here, it looks like I was attempting the whole "no really, Voldemort was a total babe" story I threatened ages ago.
It had been many years since Jane, Michael, and the twins had seen Mary Poppins.
--No title. Less than five hundred words of a Mary Poppins story I tried my hand at after reading the original novel. (Note: CREEPY.) I was also thinking about making it a sort of weird follow-up to A Hundred Years Ago, but, much like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, it left something to be desired. Though the second paragraph isn't bad, and I did have Mary staring at a grown-up Jane out of a Nuremberg photograph -- that was pretty cool.
It was raining in London. There was a window that faced the street intermittently - the wall would open and close like a sleeping eye when the houses to either side stretched apart to allow someone though the door to Number 12. Harry sat on the floor where the window appeared, waiting for glimpses of black streets and washes of streetlight-orange. The view would only last for a moment before the buildings came together again, and Harry was left in darkness, waiting for the next opening.
--No title. A little over a thousand words to a sequel of In the Shade of Quiet, set after the bar, from Harry's POV. Actually, rereading it, I might salvage it -- it derailed into a different story about halfway through, but if I murder that darling...
The evening had rather died down, and Ginny was no where to be found. Not so bad, that -- Neville was just grateful to have had a date at all, and one who liked to dance. Now it was just him at a table, listening to the old Warbeck classics McGonagall had put on as "go home" music, and watching the band clear up and the remaining students clear out.
--Sex with the entire band, working title (I SHOULD HOPE), based on a bunny from mistful's review of one of the Harry Potter movies. Neville for the win! Never got very far, since I couldn't actually manage to image Neville having sex with, you know, the entire band, but I did have a good time coming up with Celestina Warbeck lyrics.
Orig. fic
The mountains pressed up against the house.
--Dragon Land, working title. Bunny came from a children's cartoon show wherein the children regularly leave their room with the aid of magical devices and spend time in "Dragon Land". My thought? How creeped out a parent might be to find their young children intermittently, and mysteriously, missing. (Note to self: A parent thing, much?) Also bears some relation to The White People in my head.
The road was dark; there wasn't even a moon tonight to help light the way. Paige gripped the wheel and stayed slow. It was the wrong time of year for deer or moose to be a really big problem, but there was always the possibility.
--Well, this is embarrassing. This is me starting a very rough rewrite of--
His skin was damp. He was nervous.
There was a river, a wide city river, that flowed down through the country land until it reached the West Sea and left its spendings there. Near that river there were mountains, and between those two a train traveled from Seoul, down and down, to a little train depot where there lived nearby the girl Han Sang-Min was to marry.
--Demons, previously titled Kumiho, previously existing in Western consciousness as, um, Little Red Riding Hood. This story is actually complete, but... it lacks. So I'm trying it from another angle (hence the previous "first line"). Still has the "don't trust the countryside" lesson, which is what I was going for anyway, and hopefully still has the folkloric angle. What it does not have: Any good writing whatsoever. Whoops. Might be waiting in the wings for octette, depending on how it evolves.
One day Nala became a step-mother, though she hadn't realized what that would really mean. Her husband was older, more than she thought at first, and she had just quit college. He had a wife eight years dead and a child turned just fourteen. He'd said things like, "You remind me of my wife," "You remind me of my daughter," before he'd touched her in a way she didn't mind too much.
--Little Ash Girl, or, alternatively, Aschenputtel. Let us ignore for the moment my inability to name characters with any finesse whatsoever. This came out of one of the many Cinderella-variants that exist out there (sidebar: incestous versions of Cinderella do not get made into Disney films. Discuss.). Slated to be revised and put lovingly aside for octette.
"Are you the investigator?"
The guy who opened the door was about an inch short of six foot -- if Kelly hadn't been wearing boots, she probably would've been able to look him in the eye. As it was, he had to look up at her, and he didn't seem to like it.
--No title, except possibly what I labeled the folder: Magic lesbian. Mystery short story with lesbians and magicians, around 1600 unconnected words. What comes of reading submission calls immediately after finishing The Prestige. Would be worth actually finishing if I could make it to the end scene.
On the fourth evening, there was a rattling of spoons in the cellar pantry.
--Saint Jamie of the Ordinary Revelations, short story I've been keeping for the title alone. Weird, sort of miraculous things start happening around this guy, but all the messages are really mundane (like, "Maybe you should visit your mother more often" and "Butter isn't really that healthy for you"). Recently discovered while showering (prime accidental plotting time) that it was actually a story about coming out, and now it's percolating happily in my backbrain.
Lu took the long way home, passing through every streetlamp and holding tight to her skin. She'd been holding tight for two weeks now, barely sleeping, moving like a rock through the water of the world.
--The folder says Superhero sex!, but the title I came up with for this story -- long after I discarded this beginning -- is How Lady Luck and Glass-girl Got Started on Their Life of Crime. The outline after this sort-of draft was set in a business convention being held at a casino, but recent (shower) thinking has led me to believe that octette's suggestion of a Victorian steampunk milieu might be an extremely awesome idea. So, percolating.
The Chinatown bus was hauling ass in the fast lane toward the city. The New York skyline was curving into view just an hour and fifteen after leaving Philly, and that meant Dan would be arriving at Canal Street at about two-thirty, over an hour before he was supposed to get picked up by his client. Good. He could get a bite to eat and stock up on some magics he didn't have.
--Original title was Ash and Oak Man, but that's probably going to fall to the wayside. Started out as a short story, attempted to morph into a novel, and now I'm wrestling it back down to the short story it really ought to be. Seriously, though, this is a fucking awesome story, to the point where I'm seriously wondering why I'm the one writing it. Related: Has the only good character name of any of my original fics, and only because my wife came up with it. (Note to self: Wives = awesome.)
When they pulled up the carpet Christian and Leyla found a key between the ugly red-green weave and the decomposing carpet pad.
--File labeled The Future Tastes Like Jellies. I have no idea.
The answering machine was a dismal thing. There was one message on it.
--Word for My Lord. I vaguely recall that this was supposed to be some sort of religious mystery short story, but I haven't the faintest idea what was supposed to happen. Perhaps a note exists in one of my notebooks? Somewhere? (Note to self: Transcribe notebooks. In a private entry, god help us all.)
Okay. She'd figured out north ages ago. A candle went there, and then another two at her left and right for west and east, and then she had to twist around back to stick the last candle into the southern holder and--
Crap. Wax on the carpet.
--YA fantasy novel, take 1! Discarded for being too "Wiccans are kind of silly"!
Webster's was a used bookstore that catered to college kids and hippies, full of home improvement books from the 1970s and soggy children's books and knee-high piles of stuff by local authors that looked like it'd been done up at Kinkos the night before. It was wonderful.
--Same YA novel, take 2! Discarded for being filled with boringness!
The funeral was at 4 PM. It began to rain at 2.
--Same YA novel, take 3! Not as yet discarded, but might be for killing off main character's family members before the opening credits!
Have you no heart to confess?
--They Laughed While in a Position of Prayer, completed, being sent around. Has been in the Land of Revision for... um... ten years? A couple of you might remember the very earliest versions of this one, from when I was Young and Foolish. Still not convinced I've nailed it, though -- wondering if I should meld it with the rewrite of Demons, above. (Note to self: Ten years...)
And now, the next computer...
Fanfic
“It’s ugly.”
Lex twitched a fold into place. “It’s traditional.”
“It’s pink.”
--Dressed, a Smallville/Harry Potter crossover drabble written for thamiris to a color challenge. Let us never speak of it again.
The furniture had been covered; the doors had been locked with more than one spell; three years this flat had stayed untouched. The owner was studying Taoist magic somewhere in China and was quite content to stay there for the time being. Had he known who -- or how many -- were breaking into his flat at that moment, he might have changed his mind.
--Hello Dorothy, How Are You?, part one of three parts, which gathered together would, according to my copious notes, be one overall chapter to the eight chapter story called A Study of Interaction, 1350 Edition, Translated from the Original Neapolitan. It was a Queer Eye/Harry Potter crossover. The third part is written -- nearly the entirely thing is intricately outlined -- it has nonetheless languished. Possibly because it is silly. Getting those notes in here may be a future project, though -- sketching that stuff out was loads more fun than actually writing. (Note to self: Important lesson here.)
He was a beautiful man.
--O'Bedlam, working title, Harry Potter. Based on the bare paragraph I have here, it looks like I was attempting the whole "no really, Voldemort was a total babe" story I threatened ages ago.
It had been many years since Jane, Michael, and the twins had seen Mary Poppins.
--No title. Less than five hundred words of a Mary Poppins story I tried my hand at after reading the original novel. (Note: CREEPY.) I was also thinking about making it a sort of weird follow-up to A Hundred Years Ago, but, much like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, it left something to be desired. Though the second paragraph isn't bad, and I did have Mary staring at a grown-up Jane out of a Nuremberg photograph -- that was pretty cool.
It was raining in London. There was a window that faced the street intermittently - the wall would open and close like a sleeping eye when the houses to either side stretched apart to allow someone though the door to Number 12. Harry sat on the floor where the window appeared, waiting for glimpses of black streets and washes of streetlight-orange. The view would only last for a moment before the buildings came together again, and Harry was left in darkness, waiting for the next opening.
--No title. A little over a thousand words to a sequel of In the Shade of Quiet, set after the bar, from Harry's POV. Actually, rereading it, I might salvage it -- it derailed into a different story about halfway through, but if I murder that darling...
The evening had rather died down, and Ginny was no where to be found. Not so bad, that -- Neville was just grateful to have had a date at all, and one who liked to dance. Now it was just him at a table, listening to the old Warbeck classics McGonagall had put on as "go home" music, and watching the band clear up and the remaining students clear out.
--Sex with the entire band, working title (I SHOULD HOPE), based on a bunny from mistful's review of one of the Harry Potter movies. Neville for the win! Never got very far, since I couldn't actually manage to image Neville having sex with, you know, the entire band, but I did have a good time coming up with Celestina Warbeck lyrics.
Orig. fic
The mountains pressed up against the house.
--Dragon Land, working title. Bunny came from a children's cartoon show wherein the children regularly leave their room with the aid of magical devices and spend time in "Dragon Land". My thought? How creeped out a parent might be to find their young children intermittently, and mysteriously, missing. (Note to self: A parent thing, much?) Also bears some relation to The White People in my head.
The road was dark; there wasn't even a moon tonight to help light the way. Paige gripped the wheel and stayed slow. It was the wrong time of year for deer or moose to be a really big problem, but there was always the possibility.
--Well, this is embarrassing. This is me starting a very rough rewrite of--
His skin was damp. He was nervous.
There was a river, a wide city river, that flowed down through the country land until it reached the West Sea and left its spendings there. Near that river there were mountains, and between those two a train traveled from Seoul, down and down, to a little train depot where there lived nearby the girl Han Sang-Min was to marry.
--Demons, previously titled Kumiho, previously existing in Western consciousness as, um, Little Red Riding Hood. This story is actually complete, but... it lacks. So I'm trying it from another angle (hence the previous "first line"). Still has the "don't trust the countryside" lesson, which is what I was going for anyway, and hopefully still has the folkloric angle. What it does not have: Any good writing whatsoever. Whoops. Might be waiting in the wings for octette, depending on how it evolves.
One day Nala became a step-mother, though she hadn't realized what that would really mean. Her husband was older, more than she thought at first, and she had just quit college. He had a wife eight years dead and a child turned just fourteen. He'd said things like, "You remind me of my wife," "You remind me of my daughter," before he'd touched her in a way she didn't mind too much.
--Little Ash Girl, or, alternatively, Aschenputtel. Let us ignore for the moment my inability to name characters with any finesse whatsoever. This came out of one of the many Cinderella-variants that exist out there (sidebar: incestous versions of Cinderella do not get made into Disney films. Discuss.). Slated to be revised and put lovingly aside for octette.
"Are you the investigator?"
The guy who opened the door was about an inch short of six foot -- if Kelly hadn't been wearing boots, she probably would've been able to look him in the eye. As it was, he had to look up at her, and he didn't seem to like it.
--No title, except possibly what I labeled the folder: Magic lesbian. Mystery short story with lesbians and magicians, around 1600 unconnected words. What comes of reading submission calls immediately after finishing The Prestige. Would be worth actually finishing if I could make it to the end scene.
On the fourth evening, there was a rattling of spoons in the cellar pantry.
--Saint Jamie of the Ordinary Revelations, short story I've been keeping for the title alone. Weird, sort of miraculous things start happening around this guy, but all the messages are really mundane (like, "Maybe you should visit your mother more often" and "Butter isn't really that healthy for you"). Recently discovered while showering (prime accidental plotting time) that it was actually a story about coming out, and now it's percolating happily in my backbrain.
Lu took the long way home, passing through every streetlamp and holding tight to her skin. She'd been holding tight for two weeks now, barely sleeping, moving like a rock through the water of the world.
--The folder says Superhero sex!, but the title I came up with for this story -- long after I discarded this beginning -- is How Lady Luck and Glass-girl Got Started on Their Life of Crime. The outline after this sort-of draft was set in a business convention being held at a casino, but recent (shower) thinking has led me to believe that octette's suggestion of a Victorian steampunk milieu might be an extremely awesome idea. So, percolating.
The Chinatown bus was hauling ass in the fast lane toward the city. The New York skyline was curving into view just an hour and fifteen after leaving Philly, and that meant Dan would be arriving at Canal Street at about two-thirty, over an hour before he was supposed to get picked up by his client. Good. He could get a bite to eat and stock up on some magics he didn't have.
--Original title was Ash and Oak Man, but that's probably going to fall to the wayside. Started out as a short story, attempted to morph into a novel, and now I'm wrestling it back down to the short story it really ought to be. Seriously, though, this is a fucking awesome story, to the point where I'm seriously wondering why I'm the one writing it. Related: Has the only good character name of any of my original fics, and only because my wife came up with it. (Note to self: Wives = awesome.)
When they pulled up the carpet Christian and Leyla found a key between the ugly red-green weave and the decomposing carpet pad.
--File labeled The Future Tastes Like Jellies. I have no idea.
The answering machine was a dismal thing. There was one message on it.
--Word for My Lord. I vaguely recall that this was supposed to be some sort of religious mystery short story, but I haven't the faintest idea what was supposed to happen. Perhaps a note exists in one of my notebooks? Somewhere? (Note to self: Transcribe notebooks. In a private entry, god help us all.)
Okay. She'd figured out north ages ago. A candle went there, and then another two at her left and right for west and east, and then she had to twist around back to stick the last candle into the southern holder and--
Crap. Wax on the carpet.
--YA fantasy novel, take 1! Discarded for being too "Wiccans are kind of silly"!
Webster's was a used bookstore that catered to college kids and hippies, full of home improvement books from the 1970s and soggy children's books and knee-high piles of stuff by local authors that looked like it'd been done up at Kinkos the night before. It was wonderful.
--Same YA novel, take 2! Discarded for being filled with boringness!
The funeral was at 4 PM. It began to rain at 2.
--Same YA novel, take 3! Not as yet discarded, but might be for killing off main character's family members before the opening credits!
Have you no heart to confess?
--They Laughed While in a Position of Prayer, completed, being sent around. Has been in the Land of Revision for... um... ten years? A couple of you might remember the very earliest versions of this one, from when I was Young and Foolish. Still not convinced I've nailed it, though -- wondering if I should meld it with the rewrite of Demons, above. (Note to self: Ten years...)
And now, the next computer...