Subject: Quote your WIP game
Author:
Posted on: 2018-08-22 17:12:00 UTC
Open the last writing project you worked on. Post the tenth paragraph from the last chapter you worked on. If it doesn't have chapters, go from the top or the bottom, your choice. If it doesn't have ten paragraphs, pick one. PPC, fanfic, original works, a paper for homework, a grocery list - it doesn't matter. Just find something you have written and have fun sharing!
This is from a word doc to help with developing a PPC agent character's personality:
Splat! A pie crashed into her face.
The last chapter I was working on was refining the prologue, and incidentally enough, the tenth paragraph is the last one, so here you go.
Meanwhile, the storm had cleared away, leaving a pale and lustrous white moon hanging in the sky. Meredith Hollaker was walking home, in no hurry at all and humming to herself. Suddenly, an infernal roar erupted from the turrets of the castle... and at this she smiled even wider.
So... anyone up for guessing what happened before and what will happen after?
-Twistey
The mask had no eye-holes.
That was impossible, though. How could the woman be looking at her without eye-holes in her mask? She blinked; oh, yes, the eye-holes were there. They simply had tiny veils covering them from the inside, colored to match the mask. The young woman relaxed marginally and looked at the glass again. The specks no longer seemed to be quite so evenly diffused among the thick liquid; rather, her swirling of the drink had brought them into the center of the glass. She was suddenly absolutely sure that whatever this drink was, she wanted none of it.
((Not actually a work-in-progress, but this was too good to pass up, at least in my eyes. I loved writing this dream sequence, and it was so, so hard to decide on a part to put in.
If anyone's interested in seeing the full dream, let me know! I'd love to share it, and it's probably safe to call it non-canon.))
A young woman spun in a circle, arms flung out to her sides, head tipped back to feel the rain on her face, long braid trailing in her wake. She laughed; the drops weren’t cold, stinging water, but pleasantly warm oil smelling of all sorts of lovely things - she thought she could pick out lavender, vanilla, rosemary, thyme… perhaps a hint of cinnamon, too? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; yes, something dark and rich and smooth, even if it made her nose itch terribly. But a bit too metallic to be cinnamon. So what…?
She slipped on the slick grass; a plume of stained-glass butterflies lifted her back to her feet. The tiny woman smiled and laughed again, reaching out to touch one in pink and purple; it dissolved into wisps of smoke that danced up her arm, leaving a pleasant tingle in its wake. She eagerly reached out to the other butterflies now swirling around her; reds, blues, greens, yellows, even one or two in black or white - all dissolved at a touch, leaving her wreathed in that pleasant, varicolored smoke, clinging to her like a familiar gown. Something long, with a train to be seen for miles - perhaps a bridal gown! She smiled and raised her hands again; some of the smoke around her fingers wove itself into a thin veil, obscuring her vision only slightly with its ever-shifting colors, but covering her face and neck and shoulders, completing the image.
Something tickled at the nape of her neck, she noticed; the young woman reached back to try brushing away stray, oil-slicked hairs, and found herself touching one last butterfly. This one did not break at her touch; it rode her finger, sitting obligingly still when she raised it to the sky in a vain attempt to catch it in the light, then spread its wings to reveal that even in the storm its red-and-purple wings glittered and gleamed impossibly brightly. She had to close her eyes at the sudden pinpoints of light.
When she opened them again, she found herself in a large, loud room, filled with people laughing and conversating over glasses of what she thought was wine. It seemed a little bright to be wine, a bit thick, perhaps, but none of them seemed to care - they raised the glasses to their lips, drank as easily as if it were clear water, and raised the glasses higher in a compliment to the establishment serving it. The young woman smiled and stepped over to a table with only one woman sitting at it, a tall, pale woman dressed in a grey gown that accented her figure wonderfully - the younger woman thought jealously of her own more-than-modest bust - and a beautiful mask, pink with golden vinework and a few inches of a lacy veil sewn into the bottom, drawing attention to her cheekbones and button nose. Hair so deeply black as to almost look blue hung loose around her shoulders; she tilted her head at her newfound company. The veiled woman raised a glass with a welcoming smile, extending it to the oil-soaked girl; she took it with a smile of her own, raising it to the light to admire the way the light caught on the tiny, glittering specks suspended in the deep red liquid.
The back of her neck tickled again at that. Glittering specks in red liquid. Had she seen such a thing before? Surely not; but some part of her shied away from the thought of having anything to do with the wine in that glass, particularly from the thought of getting it onto her skin, much less willingly drinking it. She looked at the veiled woman; she was watching her calmly, but the same part of her brain shying from the drink told her that she was waiting for something. But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She had offered a drink to a soaked stranger, that was all.
The young woman swirled the glass experimentally, and was delighted by the way the candle-light winked off the specks. The yellowy-orange light diffused through the drink, lending it a soft glow that left her feeling giddy, lighter than air. She blinked; the smoke of her veil wove itself into a hundred butterflies no larger than the nail on her little finger, and they fluttered their tiny ways to the veiled woman, settling into her hair, one particularly brave butterfly in green and orange perching directly onto her mask. The woman’s smile shrunk slightly, and she raised one hand to brush a bit of stray hair behind her ear; the oil-soaked girl noticed that something seemed off about the image that presented. A moment later, it hit her.
The mask had no eye-holes.
That was impossible, though. How could the woman be looking at her without eye-holes in her mask? She blinked; oh, yes, the eye-holes were there. They simply had tiny veils covering them from the inside, colored to match the mask. The young woman relaxed marginally and looked at the glass again. The specks no longer seemed to be quite so evenly diffused among the thick liquid; rather, her swirling of the drink had brought them into the center of the glass. She was suddenly absolutely sure that whatever this drink was, she wanted none of it.
The veil-bound woman tilted her head slightly when her guest lowered the glass. “Would you prefer something to eat first, then?” she asked, voice floating into the young woman’s ears like a bit of the most beautiful music. She could almost see its passage, she noticed; like a trail of smoke, winding its way towards her like a ribbon rolling off its spool.
The young woman nodded and set her free hand on the back of what looked like the most comfortable chair in the room, upholstered in varying shades of pink and traced with golden vines, just like the woman’s mask. She blinked; a plate of roasted walnuts coated in thick golden honey sat in the center of the table, sending up plumes of scents so sweet they made the oil still clinging to her smell sour and rank.
She paused as she moved to set the glass on the table. She could feel something against her skin, beneath her dress of smoke. Something that scratched at her, chafing against her skin, all across her arms and back and chest and legs. The young woman took a step back; she heard not the muffled step of a smoke-booted foot, but the quiet slap of skin on stone, and beneath that the rattle of metal meeting metal. She closed her eyes, kept them closed, and breathed in--
"The unknown warrior leapt into the air, flipping over a strike from the middle Ringwraith; in the process, they twisted and slashed at the nearest foe, knocking the thing back. Even in the middle of all of that, Frodo saw them wrap their arm around the neck of the wraith who had attempted to stab them, and was treated to a glimpse of the thing's face - shocked at this feat of coordination and lack of respect for the proper rules of a swordfight, much less physics itself - before the leap's momentum caught up and knocked it off its feet. As the warrior landed on their own, they bodily tossed the Nazgûl into the nearest (and, until recently, the most stable) wall of the ruins."
I'm not sure you can do that to a Ringwraith. Someone correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think they really have physical bodies anymore? It's just the cloaks and hoods that give them shape?
If that's the point and it's supposed to be crackfic, though, it's pretty funny, so I hope that's the point. ^_^;
~Neshomeh
You are correct that the cloaks and hoods give them shape. Gandalf describes it as "Giving shape to their shapelessness." Which is a good explanation for why they fear fire. Destroy the cloaks and they become formless.
However, at the same time, the fact that the cloaks give them a physical form means that being tossed would apply. The warrior's arm did wrap around the cloak, but it wasn't described because the battle is being watched through 'Ring Vision' by Frodo. So he's seeing a bunch of shriveled corpses dueling with someone wearing armor, while the armored warrior sees a bunch of cloaks with swords.
No, the fic is not a crackfic, though that scene was meant to be funny. The image of someone just tossing a ringwraith was too funny to leave out.
Violet snickered and started combing his back. “Your fur’s just fine the way it is. Now hold still, I found a knot.” She sprayed it with the conditioner and pulled; the comb slid through with no trouble. “There we go. Thanks for letting me do this.”
And here's something from my FireRed Nuzlocke I need to get back to writing:
“You can’t Jedi mind trick people into helping us every time we don’t get our way!” Natalia scolded Julian once they’d passed the harbor entrance. “Someone’s probably going to call Officer Jenny on us next time, and then she’ll take my trainer card away!”
"Y’know," the boy mused, as if to himself, "I have you figured out now, I think."
The horned one remained silent, even as its fury smoldered, singing the earth beneath its clawed feet.
"You’re strong, yeah. And smarter than they think you are. So you could easily burn me up." He paused, feeling the chill spread outward from his core to his limbs. "But...you won’t. Because that’s not how you operate, is it? No, you want us to unmake ourselves; there’s no point to it otherwise. As far as you’re concerned, there’s no greater pleasure than watching us burn ourselves up from a single spark that you lit." He stopped to check the integrity of the spell-circle. The chalk was beginning to smolder. Normally, this would have alarmed him. But not here. Not now. Because…
"Because there’s always Timeheart."
The horned one cocked its head but said nothing.
"This is why you won’t kill me, Beast. Because if you do, then I still win. I die free of your grasp, unblemished by your fire. I die as myself, rather than what I would be if you won.And that, I think, you wouldn’t stand for. While I am a free being...while my mind is my own...you will not take me. The very fires of Hell will not break my spirit. And I will sing my song to the last, even as I pass on to whatever comes next.
"After all...there are other worlds than these.
"So go on. Kill me. But I will die on my terms, not yours. And I defy you as is my birthright. Not by fighting back...but by refusing to break. And that will hurt you more than any spell of mine ever could."
Trent’s back arched and he coughed again, his whole body twisting with release and pain. Again and again he felt the rush come, break over him like waves or a collapsing dune. His face screwed up in shame at feeling any pain at all.
This is a story about a man who goes to a doctor and subsequently has an amazing psychic vision quest through his own spine.
It's a bit odd.
That paragraph is a little disturbing, and the context sounds fascinating. Good combination for generating interest!
~Neshomeh
That was good. I just have no idea what was going on.
First because it was rude of me.
Second because wow, that is so cool! I have no idea what is actually going on, because I'm pretty sure this guy has silicosis from all the dust and I am quite sure no science known to me can cure it just like that, but I'm also pretty sure that's the point. That ending! Between that and the almost casual reference to the Hiroshima bomb, I deduce that the Bone Man is an osteopath with superpowers. ^_^
I love his first paragraph of dialogue. "I will see you now" gave me a bit of a shiver. It's clever, and creepy.
And the descriptions are just beautiful. I think I'll need another reading to figure out what's what, but hey, that is no problem!
Thanks very much for sharing, and I apologize again for taking so long to respond.
~Neshomeh
That reward was truly well deserved.
And the part that describes the pain as acting out of spite, and everything just drifting as the Bone Man does his work... absolutely wonderful.
That sounds weird in just the right way, and that bloody paragraph you dropped on doesn't even reveal it - just the build-up!
Let's do it, I think. So I open up the latest chapter of my current project and count down ten paragraphs and what do I get but:
“What’s your name? What are you doing here?”
This is probably the least interesting paragraph in the chapter, unfortunately, and isn't particularly entertaining out of context. So instead I popped open the last project I was working on before this. Ten paragraphs in and:
“What brings you to the Valley?” Estel asked.
At least in this one you can tell what fandom it's fanfic for. That's better, I suppose. So I opened the project I'd been working on before that and finally:
A ripple of surprise swept through the crowd and vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The rabbits glanced at each other and at Svedig and at Edmund, but after only another moment and another two breaths had passed, Roha stepped forward, beckoning the others to follow her. As they approached, Edmund turned away and walked several paces into the wood, where they could converse privately. Once there, he went down on one knee, and the rabbits gathered before him, looking up at him expectantly.
Words! That aren't dialogue! It's a miracle!
This was an interesting exercise, though. I looked at the tenth paragraph on all of my WIPs and usually it's dialogue. This last example was taken from a fanfic where I was pushing for a style different from what I normally do. That probably says something about me as a writer, though I'm not sure what, exactly.
The most interesting tenth paragraph I found was from a more essay-style work:
However, magic is not exclusively reserved for those people. In The Hobbit it’s explicitly stated that the Dwarves know magical spells, according to their needs: “Then they brought up their ponies, and carried away the pots of gold, and buried them very secretly not far from the track by the river, putting a great many spells over them, just in case they ever had the chance to come back and recover them.” Later it’s also implied that both the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Dale could enchant objects and often used this ability to enchant toys and musical instruments. The description of Hobbits offered at the beginning of the book also suggests that they have some inherent magical ability: “There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off.”
Do you discuss what Tolkien actually means when he says 'magic'? There's some very telling quotes in the Lothlorien chapters, starting with this from Galadriel:
"[The Mirror] is what your folk would call magic. I believe; though I do not understand clearly what they mean; and they seem also to use the same word of the deceits of the Enemy. But this, if you will, is the magic of Galadriel."
But even more this exchange:
`Are these magic cloaks? ' asked Pippin, looking at them with wonder.
`I do not know what you mean by that,' answered the leader of the Elves. `They are fair garments, and the web is good, for it was made in this land. They are elvish robes certainly, if that is what you mean. Leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make. Yet they are garments, not armour, and they will not turn shaft or blade. But they should serve you well: they are light to wear, and warm enough or cool enough at need. And you will find them a great aid in keeping out of the sight of unfriendly eyes, whether you walk among the stones or the trees. You are indeed high in the favour of the Lady! For she herself and her maidens wove this stuff; and never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people.'
Is it magic to weave so much of your environment into a cloak that it can render someone nearly invisible? Is it magic to forge an unbreakable shirt of mithril? Is it magic to make instruments which sound sweeter than a hand-carved pipe, or fireworks which explode gloriously in the sky? How much magic is there in the outer wall of Minas Tirith, built from unbreakable stone, or in Elrond's healing abilities? And how much in a securely locked and hidden treasure-hoard, or the ability to move in silence and keep out of sight of clumsier folk?
The only flashy, swords-and-sorcery magic in LotR comes either from 'the deceits of the Enemy' as Galadriel says (and even here it is usually 'innate abilities' rather than spells and sorcery), or from the Ringbearers: Gandalf's various tricks with fire, Galadriel's Mirror, Elrond's flooding of the river (with Gandalf's assistance), and the invisibility conferred by the One.
I don't really have a coherent point - just the idea that 'magic', as used by Tolkien, is a term rife with deliberate ambiguity.
As to your other quotes: as a fellow sufferer of alwaysdialogitis, I absolutely sympathise. :)
hS
The scope of the essay I was writing was bigger than that, so I touched on it only briefly.
You make some good points, but I would like to add an additional observation: "magic" in The Lord of the Rings is almost exclusively a Hobbit word. Hobbits throw it around like cheap birthday presents, but almost no one else uses it, except for Gandalf and Aragorn occasionally when talking to Hobbits. The only non-Hobbits who seem to use the word are the Men of Bree, and that's only vaguely conferred in the collective sense: "[Pippin and Sam] found themselves left alone in a corner, and eyed darkly and doubtfully from a distance. It was plain that many people regarded them as the companions of a travelling magician of unknown powers and purpose" (emphasis mine).
Even very superstitious men who distrust what they don't understand use different words; consider Boromir's doubts about Lothlorien and Galadriel. "But of that perilous land we have heard in Gondor, and it is said that few come out who once go in; and of that few none have escaped unscathed." And later: "I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes." Magic, obviously, is what Boromir is afraid of; power he doesn't understand and can't control. But he never uses that word, and this, I think is an intentional choice on Tolkien's part.
What is this choice? Maybe that "magic" as a catch-all phrase for supernatural power is a phrase only used by people who are separated from it and have little to no experience with it and don't want experience with it? (Though some magic in Tolkien's work is arguably not really supernatural.) Or maybe not. I don't know for sure, but I am sure a point is being made.
On a tangentially related note, it's worth considering that Tolkien once stated that he had doubts about using the word "wizard" to describe Gandalf and Saruman. He said he preferred the word "Istari", which is, of course, a word that he made up. This isn't really relevant, besides "wizard" being a word usually closely related to "magic".
It seems to me that Tolkien has a very West African attitude towards magic, wherein magic is created by making things rather than saying words. So the answer to your obviously-rhetorical question about whether elven cloaks or mithril armour or sweet-sounding instruments constitute magic is, frankly, yes. They do. Magic-as-magic words is very much a European thing, and does not have the universality that Western fiction ascribes to it.
Also, your comment about whether or not fireworks are magic reminds me that I really, really have to write finish that story plan I wrote up ages ago about Moria and Erebor dwarfs reinventing gunpowder, because those are some excellent parallels and I think it'd make for a more interesting and well-rounded fic. =]
Pippin definitely considers the cloaks of Lorien magic; just as definitely, the elves of that wood don't. So the question 'are they magic' has a very Elvish answer - 'both yes and no'. To the elves, they're just craft.
I absolutely agree that Tolkien considered magic to mostly be making things, but the people in his world often didn't. No hobbit would say that being able to walk quietly was magical - but Big Folk certainly would! It's one of Tolkien's subtler messages that he snuck in: that magic, to the people who actually practice it, is just normal skill.
(This probably doesn't extend to Luthien pulling a Rapunzel; that's a bit different. Probably. But who knows? Maybe it was all the rage in Doriath back in the day.)
hS
...is that, for a short story with no chapters, 10 paragraphs in is still pretty much setting the scene:
"
Elentur weaved his way through the crowd on the bridge, his friend keeping close behind him. Elentur had not asked him to come – couldn’t have – but Bob had offered, and Elentur would not refuse.
"
...and 10 paragraphs from the end makes no sense out of context:
"
That shut her up for a moment. Then, ‘How dare you?’
"
So here's a couple from in the middle:
"
‘Well, Thia, it turned out that I had more important business here, with my family,’ Elentur said. ‘Allow me to introduce myself more formally: I am Elentur, of House Melaurë; Archmage and Dragon-friend.’
Thia was momentarily taken aback. ‘So you’re the one Mum said came back from the dead,’ she said.
"
"A Potterverse Suethor handed Dumbledore and Pomfrey the idiot ball, and Lupin ran loose on the grounds. Agent Fuji [Apple] was in human disguise and is now an eewolf."
That sounds like it is going to be one wild mission.
"At that precise moment, there was a brilliant flash of light over the horizon, the entire world seeming to tremble. The Kraken's coincidental timing made him swell with selfish pride at being "validated", seemingly knowing that this was in fact what the warning he'd claimed to have received had been about. The sky turning to fire was due to a mountain-sized rock from the depths of space, guided by not but the whims of fate, slamming into the planet just off the coast of what would one day become the land bridge between the Nearctic and Neotropical realms. The blast front of the asteroid impact was now traveling across the world at hundreds of miles an hour, stirring up the oceans into tidal waves capable of leveling entire nations and obliterating everything in its path. Thanks to the vibration-sensing cells in his snout, the Caiman realized what was happening well before the Kraken did, and having inadvertently absorbed much of the light that had bathed him when the asteroid hit, he seized one of his opponent's remaining tentacles in one of his taloned hands before driving the claws of the other into the spot between his eyes and unleashing a solar flare from his palms at point-blank range. The resulting mortal agony caused the Kraken to rocket up towards the surface out of instinct, carrying his envenomed captive with him... straight into the path of an oncoming tsunami. The result was nothing short of awe-inspiring, the two monsters locked in mortal combat even as the wall of water carried them with increasing speed towards the nearest island... whereupon they were smashed into the unforgiving soil and rock like salami shot from a mortar. The Caiman's jaws had been freed during their struggle and were now locked on one of the Kraken's remaining arms, their relentless crushing grip and the inertia of the monsters' separation being enough to rip the tentacle away from its owner, who sailed through the air before hitting the side of the island mountain and actually cracking his shell to pieces upon impact. Disgusting white ink and dark blue blood sprayed in all directions before the Kraken slumped down listlessly, his one remaining tentacle twitching feebly but nonetheless with a glazed-over look of smug satisfaction in his colorful eyeballs. The "prophecy" he had told the Caiman of really had come true after all and with it, so had the reptile's "ignominious downfall." To this the Caiman's yellow-green eyes widened in disbelieving contempt before he hissed that he'd warned the Kraken that there'd be squid guts everywhere if he messed with his mate, but he didn't listen. The Kraken responded with a wave of his tentacle corresponding to the rudest gestures among modern civilization before using it to drag himself back into the sea, declaring that the Sea Turtle was living on borrowed time and that once he finally came for her, the Caiman would no longer be around to save her."
This is part of a work of worldbuilding lore from one of my original writing projects, which is very focused on fantasy creatures, speculative fiction, and future evolution under the influence of magic. Since it isn't actual finished scenes with dialogue and such, I went with a more summary-ish approach with much more exposition; I'm sure the stuff that'll be seen in the actual chapters will be much more novel-like.
And yes, the "mountain-sized rock from the depths of space" is exactly what you think it is. ;)
So, this hits the tone to be a type of creation myth, and that seems to have been the aim. The Kraken certainly seems to be of the malevolent archetype for the world. I was surprised he survived. I first thought it was indicating he was dying. I think the Caiman did die? Or least didn't move much more in this paragraph. This was a very descriptive phrase "like salami shot from a mortar"
While it follows Earth's natural history much more accurately than most such legends do, the elements of deities and chthonic monsters doing battle and changing the course of history worldwide are still there.
Since this takes place long before the main story - which is more character-focused with said deities being external allied forces they communicate with - I guess it's safe to spoil how the ending goes: the Caiman is mortally wounded, but instead of being outright killed he dies peacefully in the company of the Sea Turtle (who is his mate, best not to think about the biology of that 'cuz it's kaiju lore stuff XD). Said Sea Turtle absorbs the Caiman's strength and aspects, and many millions of years later, she becomes the first confirmed deity of the magical world after she gets all the other sea monsters on the planet to help her kill the Kraken for good. There's several other legends I'm currently working on, and I've in fact finished one, but I'm probably gonna have to set up all six myths in order to define the full roster of deity monsters in this setting (at least 22, maximum 24, all of which follow a sort of tarot motif because yay occult and divination!).
And this goes to everybody: I'm also open to beta readers and general feedback from people who are fond of science fantasy, creature design, worldbuilding, speculative fiction, and monsters and kaiju, all of which feature prominently in this project. Hopefully, your feedback may also be helpful in getting me to develop character ideas and plot threads for the actual story, too! Just shoot me an email if you guys are interested in giving it a look. :)
"'Correct. The drainage of energy into Thirty Hs occurs at regular intervals. Since no spies or action agents have returned from the story, we have no evidence pointing to the cause.'"
That's a DMSE&R researcher speaking, since the mission takes place before the DAS was formed. Probably. I've completely wonked the timeline up by being such a slow writer.
—doctorlit, reminding everyone that a fistful of Hs is very different from a fistful of hS
It did take me a minute to remember Thirty Hs was a badfic! That is funny.
The cause of that energy drainage will be interesting to read about when the report comes out.
Oh, yes, that'll work:
"Arr!" Daphne piped up, and giggled. "Arr! It be fire lizards, though."
Yep, the Illian kids are out for another spin. ^_^ Daphne's like six now, it's ridiculous.
hS
Pirates! With fire lizards! Lucky kids.
Currently, my only WIP is updating the Plort wiki, so here is the last edit that actually added a paragraph rather than just changed a few words:
Since Cassie lost her Barony due to being absent too long, Sir Ekyl and his men-at-arms have not been seen outside of his fief; he is probably just minding his own business, hoping to be left alone by both Barons Eshakhar and Huinesoron.
And – not counting lines in new infoboxes – the tenth-to-last paragraph:
Although there is a landing, the fort is not easily accessed by boat, since the upper Kattekri-tri is difficult to navigate. Most knights trained at Los Taelis prefer the journey on the Vaybek Road to sail against the Marizu from Mei'n Payj.
HG
I understood a few of those! It's an improvement over my referemce getting skills a few months ago. The second paragraph paints a good picture even if I didn't catch a couple of words.
What are kattekri-tri and Los Taelis?
The Kattekri-tri is a river referencing a "category tree".
The second paragraph is actually from Los Taelis, a military center referencing Neshomeh's collection of "Lost Tales".
Part of the current WIP is putting a reference line in wherever possible.
HG
These are all from my original story.
Here's the first paragraph:
Rosie sighed as she stared at the beginnings of her English homework. Miss Lewis had set her class a thousand-word essay on “Why Magic Does Not Exist” to test their spelling, grammar, punctuation and skills at structuring and writing persuasive articles.
This one's just because it's weird:
“No, we’re sitting in the headquarters of the top-secret battle against purple cheese.”
And finally, from the most recent chapter:
Clara nodded. “Scarlet… that was brilliant. I want to go and give that girl a bunch of flowers… except if her father’s anything to go by, she’s not exactly… nice…”
The first one makes me wonder what kind of school this person goes to. It is an oddly specific thing to assign, but I can come up several scenarios for it.
The second one definitely hits the weird note.
The third one, the character is kind of cute. In a good way.
For the first one, magic does actually exist, not that either Rosie or her teacher know at the time. That particular piece of homework won’t be turned in, because the plot gets in the way.
And for the third, the person Clara’s talking to is not Scarlet, or the girl mentioned.
The chaplain has been frozen in glassbrick. Long and transparent and clear as air. The medbay (actually just an unused storeroom in the hold) lights are icy bright and gleam off it in lines. Though the chaplain furled within is a smaller woman, the block itself is huge. A great hefty rectangle, glaring down at him. The trolley they had used to bring it had damaged a wheel in the procedure. There are thin cracks scrawled along its top corner. They shudder and grow, ever slightly, with every swing of the pick Yoyo brings onto it.
This is from an original fic thingo. This paragraph, unfortunately, does not quite capture just how weird I wanted the thing to be. Oh well!
I have in fact not touched PPC fiction since I released my last story. Probably should, ay?
It is a pretty weird scenario even in this paragraph. The medbay tbat is a storage room, the details of the lines gleaming, and the small chaplain trapped within, the cracks growing are all very atmospheric, then you find out that a guy named Yoyo is hammering away at it with a pick axe.
She has fifty eyes but keeps all but two of them inside her mouth.
The chaplain is a chaplain of The Church of Saint Chromatophore, from the town of St Chromatophore, both of which don't exist, and neither did she until shortly earlier.
Their ship's thrusters are being clogged up with liquid nighttime, which is the only reason they've had the time to check the hold in the first place.
I pretty much got least interesting parts of the story and setting here! :P
Seriously, the description is great! Might not be very weird, but it's sorta unnerving somehow.
I'm always trying to write some epic fantasy thing or another, and they usually just fizzle out, so I doubt the thing this is from will go anywhere, but it's the tenth paragraph from the last thing I've written! Have at it!
She rounded on him, hissing quietly, “Well maybe that’s true, but don’t you suppose that – and I’m taking a wild guess here – don't you suppose that enough money to set us up for years is worth getting a little water down your pants for?”
So, the characters sound like they may be a bit of scoundrels or con men with the talk of a bug score that could set them up for life, but the last line turns it around to pretty funny. Not that I think the characters will find it funny, but I do.
Yay, thank you! All that is literally exactly correct and how it's supposed to make you feel.
It's nice dialogue, though, and real solid description of sort of, their actions.
Just wishing you luck with this particular epic fantasy thing!
Don't fizzle it mate!
Centuries, and he still had difficulty getting the measure of his own feelings. Much less analyzing and choosing how to act. But feelings could come later. Right now, he need only be an instructor.
Yes, it's Thoth doing stuff. Fun?
I like it. It has tension and character building and makes me want to know more.
"One attempted murder not enough for you? How many more vendettas do you have?"
That's an intense line. It makes me wonder who's speaking and who's on the receiving end. And of course, "attempted" murder means they didn't succeed, so what happened?
~Neshomeh
The character being spoken about did survive.
That line was Nathan Wuornos speaking to the antagonist of the story.
It's from a Haven AU fanfic. The fourth in a series (pretty far down the rabbit hole now) that started off with a 'What if a certain character (The Rev) had been interrupted in his attempt to murder a teenage girl by a different character than in the episode?' If it had been anyone else The Rev would have survived the encounter and been free to wreak much more havoc than he did when he returned as a ghost.
The first story revolves around that. The second two much shorter ones are a continuation of the AU world, and the one I haven't finished brings in a new bad guy and group.
The new bad guy essentially started a cult made up mostly of people who are still angry over things that happened in the first one, but some from canon events. His cult has a goal of 'reconciling' various people and groups with the town in a misguided attempt to make everyone get along. Their idea of reconciliation tends toward eye for an eye and the leader doesn't have the level of control he thinks he does of some of his followers who are really just out for revenge.
I could totally go on and on, but maybe cutting it off here keeps it from being too much.
Good guess, I suppose. Though I also thought it might've been Nathan talking to Duke, so only half-right. {= )
I'm gonna have to check this out at some point. I stopped watching Haven (don't recall exactly when, but I think it exceeded its shelf life after a few seasons), but it was fun, and it would be interesting to see a different take on it.
I also noticed it seems to be set in the same universe as The X-Files, since Audrey's FBI mentor non-coincidentally shares a name with Fox Mulder's? There have to be some interesting crossovers out there.
~Neshomeh
It definitely went bad in the later seasons. I have never written anything set after mid-season 2, except maybe a few elements pulled in on character backstory from later seasons.
Now I don't feel bad about never making it past mid-season 2 and yet still considering myself a Haven fan despite that. :P
DO YOU WANT THE POOR TO HAVE MOLDY PLUMBING?!
It may only be a srntence, but it is one heck of a sentence to catch someone shouting. I'd read more just because now I need to see what prompted it!
The agent’s mild curiosity had turned into severe confusion. “You do realize no government has jurisdiction here, right? There’s no one who can tax goods.”
Bradbury took this curve-ball and, to mix a metaphor, ran with it. “Exactly. I can buy and sell anything here totally duty-free. Why do impede me in my quest? Do you hate the poor? Are you some kind of Communist? Are you some kind of Capitalist?! DO YOU WANT THE POOR TO HAVE MOLDY PLUMBING?!”
It just gets better.
From an original story which is definitely my most recent bit of fiction writing:
Jake rolled his eyes. “We had to go to my cousin’s, alright? It wasn’t anything like this. There was, like, a meal and a lot of sudden bits of singing, and people kept congratulating her or teasing them about how they were finally ‘sealing the deal.’” He put the final three words in air quotes. “It was kind of fun, I guess.”
And from a PPC interlude in betaing stages which will hopefully be out soon:
"It's handy, and you know it," the Reader said, and bit into her first piece of toast.
~Z
So I'm guessing a wedding is being referenced in the first selection, but the one the characters are currently dealing with is odd or bad in some way. I liked the description of the cousin's. The 'sudden bits of singing' line made me smile.
It's actually an engagement party. The current one is...odd would be the right term: it's based on someone's idea of an engagement party, and thus doesn't really resemble reality.
Glad you (and Nesh!) liked the 'sudden bits of singing' line! It's based on reality--when our...counselor is probably the equivalent term (except as a year-long thing for a sort of post-high school one-year boarding school kind of context) got engaged, in certain contexts we'd suddenly start singing certain songs that are apparently traditional for upcoming weddings. It kept happening to the point where I decided that, in her shoes, I'd be sick of it by a month or so in, but it was rather fun and she didn't seem to mind.
~Z
I read "Jake" as "Jack" and thought you were writing fanfiction. ^^;
I can now see how to very easily spin something from that that *would* be fanfic, but no, it's nothing to do with Jack beyond the fact that I do have that same double-take myself here and there.
~Z
Plato’s Cave describes a group of individuals who’s entire world is nothing but an alit cave wall and the shadows that play on it. What they don’t know (until one does) that behind them is a group of people playing some sick practical joke, probably across several generations. The sly dogs! So some… guy? Really his motives weren’t really talked about in our play, and I’m just lazy enough to not read the actual passage. Anywho, this guy releases The One That Does and he goes on a magical journey of discovering things like Light, Outside, and the Sun. Then he goes back to the cave (Question: Why?). So The One That Does tells his friends about this magical new world and all the knowledge he knows, but his friends consider knowledge as “Can You Name This [Shadow] Fast enough?” but because The One That Does has, sadly, discovered Adaptation (eye), he can’t do it (one wonders why The One That Does doesn’t collude with the Shadow Jokers so he can say that he can predict what appears, but that’s neither here nor there). So, because The One That Does a.) Cannot win the game and b.) Keeps talking about the outside, his friends kill him. Jerk move friends, jerk move.
((From a bit of Philosophy homework))
This is an interesting paragraph. I am wondering what kind of assignment brought it about, because that sounds like a fun class.
The child listens closely, and takes her words to heart. Just before his parents return, he hides the rock and keeps it safe. This, he won’t brag to his friends about; it is his secret. He knows that the symbols on it are wave-script, so he decides that when next the wave-folk come he’ll have to ask them what they mean, but that’s it. He will be keeping it a secret otherwise, between him and the lady who tells amazing stories.
This is a great hook paragraph. It really makes me want to read more.
Peregrin, meanwhile, was chasing down the pen he had dropped when the console had startled him. “You could pack the book,” he suggested. “You may have time to read on the mission.”
(( Who knows when this'll actually get done. Yay real life. ))
Why am I betting that Peregrin is being overly optimistic here?
As the party moved forward, Kur'nak could tell that many were shaken by the scene. He didn't realize that he was shaken until he felt a small hand gripping his own. He looked down to see that Luxury, tears in her eyes and a look of determination on her face, had taken his hand. For his reassurance or her own he didn't know. He squeezed gently, in a way that he hoped said "I've got you. We're in this together."
This is from "Catastrophe Theory: Return to Sender". It's a side story that focuses on Kur'nak during the Invasion. It isn't the last thing I was writing, but it is the most recent that doesn't contain massive spoilers that I don't want getting out at the moment.
-Phobos
I think the fact that Lux is crying really sells the gravity of the situation.
Very much looking forward to this when it comes out.
Being that this story takes place almost entirely during the Invasion, I wanted to make sure that it had appropriate levels of Pathos. One way to do that is to take a usually comedic character and cast them in a realistically serious light. Lux seemed a good choice in this case, and I like that she's a physical foil for Kur'nak.
-Phobos
That is a great quote.
I was counting back from an unfinished paragraph, and didn't know if that counted as paragraph 1 or not. I could have gone back one more paragraph, but this one seemed better.
-Phobos
Ankur Ket arrived from the inner reaches of his garden without fanfare, but no Astartes could help but draw attention to himself with his sheer presence. He stepped into position in the focal point of the bench, and every eye turned inexorably to him.
40k fanfic! Well, 30k, really. This was going to be for the "secret" prompt, but then I got sick, and I haven't written anything for about two weeks, so yeah. I'll finish it at some point.
And, just cuz, the tenth paragraph from the mission I'm working on:
“What nonsense!”
{; P
~Neshomeh
I don't know 40k, but I love the picture painted in this quote. Also, I love the word inexorably. It's a cool word.
And What nonsense is a good place to have it land, too.
You're actually doing the 40k fic!
*Is excited*
...*Very excited.*
Of course, I still need to do my writing. But I'm in a car heading toward Pittsburgh. Forgive me.
Also need to work on badfic games content. And cowrite stuff. And that other idea I had... Jeez, I have too many writing projects. I think that's a common affliction 'round here.
Didn't I say I was? I couldn't leave poor Ket hanging out there as a hypothetical figment. {= )
Too many projects indeed. I thought about dropping quotes from my Skyrim fic and my Badfic Games piece, too, but there's no good tenth paragraph in the former (which tells me I probably need to do a fair bit of rewriting) and I just don't want to spoil the latter. And you went with the cowrite, which happened to land in a cool place, so that's all good. ^_^
But here's another thing still technically sort of in progress with more than ten "paragraphs," and this one works pretty well!
’Neath pyroclastic clouds begrayed,
on volatile Nikaea bayed
the brutish Wolves, and Guards inveighed
against their brothers; thus waylaid
were Magnus’ Sons of Prospero,
who true to faithless summons came,
and bore the burden of the name
of “sorcerer” in wretched shame
home to the Spires of Prospero.
~Neshomeh
Jeez, we have too many projects going. And I still have a mission. Which... I will put a paragraph from up here when I'm not in the middle of touring a university.
Fun fact: The University of Pittsburgh's Cathedral of Learning is one of the inspirations for Hogwarts's architecture in the films. According to them, anyways, but I'd buy it.
Oh, and it's in Mr Rogers' Neighborhood. If I chose schools on pop culture references, I'd be sold.
Ix yelped and fell off the sofa, landing with a whump. She tripped over her skirts as she stood, then hiked them up as she hurried to silence the console. Her face contorted. “We were supposed to get time off, not a mission!”
...And, because I'm feeling particularly sadistic, this one's from the entry I'll be posting for next month's Badfic Games. (They come in just nine days, I have to be ready!)
"You smell delicious," Lord Faolan purred, one hand cupping the back of Charlus' head as he sniffed his neck. The Omega smelled like fragrance and honeysuckle and moondew and desire. "Oh, my little wolf, you've been eager for me, haven't you?"
...
...
...
Yeah, I'm gonna regret this. :P
... That wasn't intended as a joke, but since my comment was going to be that it took me a second to get "Charlus," until I remembered that duh, everyone is male in ABO cuz girls have cooties or something... {= P
(Has anyone ever seen an all-female ABO fic? Disclaimer: I do not advocate going looking for or creating one.)
And the other one is even better by contrast with Ix being female and wearing a skirt at the time. ^_^
~Neshomeh
On AO3 there are about 600 f/f alpha/omega fics, but I think the exclusion criteria could definitely be stricter. After seeing a few tags I had not imagined existed, though I suppose I should have known they did given what ABO fics do to male anatomy, I decided to leave it at about 600. That leaves just over 40,000 in the other categories,mostly m/m at about 35,500. So...mostly a m/m focused kink.
...the first passage picks up right after her wedding, so it kinda jars horribly when compared to the Not Okay relationships you find in ABO.
I haven’t found any all-female ABO before, but GMA might have? Bad smutfics are kind of his thing.
That first one sure sounds like the PPC I know and love!
The badfic one, are sure that isn't a quote from a real fic? Just kidding. You've definitely captured the flavor of ABO fics though!
And now I have to feel bad, because I sorta helped by shooting off all the awful ABO tropes I could think of in your presence.
This BFG will be... entertaining.
