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Story meme ...
Nov. 5th, 2004 07:07 pmThe idea is to pick your favorite sentence from every creative endeavor you currently have going (stories, fanfiction, etc.) and post it in your journal. (I actually took a liberty with two of these, because if you don't read the first sentence, you don't know what the hell the second is about.)
Will lifted his tin cup and inhaled, then sipped, shuddering at the strength of the brew. “Damn, Jack; I mean, this stuff could get up and walk out of here on its own.”
He and Lizzie were the same age, and she’d introduced him to the doughy confections almost immediately; having no siblings of her own, she’d latched onto Will like a spider monkey guarding a piece of fruit.
Two absolutes I live by are: Fortunes are a private thing between a man and his prognosticator. And nobody truly wants to know anything about who they’ll really end up loving.
Madame Leta rolled her eyes but her hands didn’t stop as she muttered, “College girls spend a couple of months shuffling tarot cards they bought at a bookstore, and suddenly think they’re Jeanne Dixon.”
The cockatiel and cat were not at all in harmony, and unless one or both were asleep, the house was a cacophony of shrill twerps and offended meows.
“If ye miss Hector so much,” Jack’s voice calmly spoke somewhere behind Will to the cock of a gun’s hammer, “I’ll gladly oblige ye to go to hell and see ‘im again.”
Will lifted his tin cup and inhaled, then sipped, shuddering at the strength of the brew. “Damn, Jack; I mean, this stuff could get up and walk out of here on its own.”
He and Lizzie were the same age, and she’d introduced him to the doughy confections almost immediately; having no siblings of her own, she’d latched onto Will like a spider monkey guarding a piece of fruit.
Two absolutes I live by are: Fortunes are a private thing between a man and his prognosticator. And nobody truly wants to know anything about who they’ll really end up loving.
Madame Leta rolled her eyes but her hands didn’t stop as she muttered, “College girls spend a couple of months shuffling tarot cards they bought at a bookstore, and suddenly think they’re Jeanne Dixon.”
The cockatiel and cat were not at all in harmony, and unless one or both were asleep, the house was a cacophony of shrill twerps and offended meows.
“If ye miss Hector so much,” Jack’s voice calmly spoke somewhere behind Will to the cock of a gun’s hammer, “I’ll gladly oblige ye to go to hell and see ‘im again.”
