Monday, March 12, 2007
Work in Progress meme
I thought I'd trot out that "work in progress" meme that everybody is doing.
Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven’t gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven’t gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.
As I haven't yet shuffled the three threads together, there are actually three page 123s in the current w.i.p., End of the Century (well, two and a half...). Here they are.
From "Twilight":
“Nothing,” Gwrol finished for him. “It was as though we passed through nothing.”
From "Jubilee":
“You’ll have to forgive our rude manners,” Blank said, and presented one of his calling cards. “My name is Sandford Blank, and this is my companion Miss Bonaventure. We are consulting detectives, assisting the police on a matter most grave.” The barely audible thrum pulsed beneath his words, to no apparent effect.
From "Millennium" (though actually page 23, as I'm not yet to 123):
No choir of angels. No pink light striking her forehead and imparting holy wisdom. No flock of ravens and no gem and no mysterious guy with the ice-chip blue eyes. No fate, no destiny, no message, no meaning.
Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven’t gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven’t gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.
As I haven't yet shuffled the three threads together, there are actually three page 123s in the current w.i.p., End of the Century (well, two and a half...). Here they are.
From "Twilight":
“Nothing,” Gwrol finished for him. “It was as though we passed through nothing.”
From "Jubilee":
“You’ll have to forgive our rude manners,” Blank said, and presented one of his calling cards. “My name is Sandford Blank, and this is my companion Miss Bonaventure. We are consulting detectives, assisting the police on a matter most grave.” The barely audible thrum pulsed beneath his words, to no apparent effect.
From "Millennium" (though actually page 23, as I'm not yet to 123):
No choir of angels. No pink light striking her forehead and imparting holy wisdom. No flock of ravens and no gem and no mysterious guy with the ice-chip blue eyes. No fate, no destiny, no message, no meaning.
