Stolen from spikendruIf you happen to be working on some creative writing project, fanfiction or NaNoWriMo or what have you, post exactly one sentence from each of your current work(s) in progress in your journal. It should probably be your favourite or most intriguing sentence so far, but what you choose is entirely your discretion. Mention the title (and genre) if you like, but don't mention anything else -- this is merely to whet the general appetite for your forthcoming work(s).
Okay, not even vaguely nuts enough to do NaNo in November of all insane months. Hmm. Stuff I'm working on.
The Bass: Liam (fair warning... rather R-ish, hence under ( here )
“We’re talking about a vampire who once tried to drain a parking meter because she wanted to hear the coins clinking in her belly."
It was barely a word, more like the primitive call of a beast defending its mate.
“Hey, how’s my favorite Yuletide cookie?” he’d asked, radiating the ridiculously high level of energy he always did.
She quickly took a deep breath, waved her hands around frantically, and then slapped her index and middle fingers to her carotid artery, immediately finding a perfectly normal pulse.
The Soprano: Drusilla
Suddenly, a rent appeared between the clouds, low against the distant horizon, and there lay the moon, red as blood.
Essay: Drusilla's View of Family
Purely evil, she is also capable of a fierce, protective, fanatical love for those she considers to be her family, whether her own biological family or the vampires in her bloodline.
Torturing people generally wasn’t a great way to win friends and influence people.
She laughed, a laugh filled with whiskey and smoke, then hopped on top of the dryer.
She never actually saw him move, but the next thing she knew, Angel had hauled her over his shoulder and was carrying her, head downwards, back into the lobby like a sack of potatoes.
The Peaches Groom (Yes, I haven't forgotten this one)
Uh, well Sweet Bit, the Slayer and he, um… she was doing some of Peaches’s laundry and forgot to take his soul out of his pocket, and it shrunk really teeny-tiny in the wash and got stuck under the agitator.
As though he were diving into a swollen river, he allowed himself to be swept in the direction the crowd was surging, propelled onward by the ever-increasing torrent of humanity.
Nobody looks at the groom anyways,” she said, whisking the white piece of cardstock into an envelope, slapping a return address label in the upper corner, scrawling its destination in black ink, thumping a stamp in place, sealing the flap, and plopping it atop a tipsy pile of similar envelopes.
The Three Little Scoobies
He’d spent the last several nights casing the neighborhood and had come to the conclusion that anybody who would build his home out of fabric softener sheets might just possibly be an easy mark.
What's sad is I have another 4 I need to do yet. Eek.