Sunday, February 27, 2011

Sunday Snapshot

Okay, it's time again for a Sunday Snapshot. Post one paragraph (or up to 5 lines of dialogue) that represents the very last thing you wrote.

Seriously. Just cut and paste it.

It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be YOURS!

Here's mine:

She was covered with dirt from head to toe, dressed in a grey garment of what looked like goat’s hair, and seemed strangely thinner for having been gone less than a fortnight. Deep smudges of fatigue shadowed her eyes. But her eyes themselves burned with an intensity he had never seen before. Even here, in the half-light, s

Yeah, that's where I stopped last night.


  1. Here comes my contribution to your post.

    He downed the last of the brandy and placed the glass carefully onto the table beside him. He’d had a strong urge to throw it against the wall, but he needed to stay in control. He looked at the clock. It was time to leave.

  2. here's mine from the middle of chapter 6, not corrected for no-caps or punctuation. This is in Tiana's POV and Trysta is Tiana's older sister.

    ‘I am glad you put away your childish fancies and married Devan,’ Trysta said. ‘being married to a king would have made you miserable.’

    ‘but now that I’m not a king, maybe she wouldn’t be.’

    Arathor’s timing was horrible. And why would he tease her about marrying him, especially in front of Trysta? certainly he wasn’t considering it.

    ‘barging in uninvited,’ Trysta said. ‘boorish as ever.”

    ‘my apologies,’ Arathor said, ‘but I need Tiana’s help.’

  3. Hi,
    Great idea for a post, here is my paragraph...

    I read the note over again and then look up to the ceiling, not sure if I am looking for divine inspiration, hoping to look through the plaster to have another lustful look at Ben or just adding to the drama of the situation. It is times like this that I wish I sat behind a desk in an office. I could get on the phone to Steph, look as though I'm was working and not having a mid morning breakdown and then she would tell me what to do, and I would do it. But I don't. My desk is covered with glitter, homemade Christmas cards and enough pens to open a stationary shop. Roll on ciggie time.

  4. What a great idea! I'm posting seven sentences on my blog - Sunday Seven! Pop over if you like.
    This is from my upper MG STARRED

    He hoped he did well enough he’d be allowed to keep his memories. The students who underperformed had already been told their experiences this far would be wiped. They’d been told it was so they could learn without the fear of failure. Lucas knew it had been done to him after the end of the first assessment. He’d known it in the oiled eye movements of the others who’d made good progress. Lucas pushed a fist into his stomach, leaning against the table he kept pushing. He had to do something to save himself from the slow evolving realisation that he had already learned the lessons and failed.

  5. She glanced up at him, gave him a small smile and nodded toward the kitchen. They both got up and went into the kitchen. Sam turned to him as soon as the dining room door closed.
    “Are you okay? I didn't want to disturb anyone in there.”
    He shrugged. “Im okay. I'm still not sure what happened but I feel alright.”
    She was looking up at him, eyes wide, and he could feel him getting warm and wishing he could hold her. She looked worried still and he wanted to see her smile. “Who wants to live forever anyway?”
    She didn't smile but she did smack his arm. Hard.

  6. Krista ~ I love the way you show the push/pull between those two characters.

    Elaine ~ Your excerpt gave me chills.It's like some kind of twisted Harry Potter scenario. I love the "oiled eye movements" line.

    Holly ~ You've got a great voice in that piece!

    Michelle ~ The plot thickens. :o)

    Glynis ~ I love your brevity. You say so much about the character in those few lines. I can tell you're a poet.

  7. Cool idea! Here goes:

    “Now, your majesty, no harm was done,” the High Priest said, making calming gestures that did little good. The king swayed and was visibly struggling to breathe. He put out his right hand to stop himself from falling. The palm hit the Stone, and a blinding light appeared, startling a scream from one of the priestlings.

    He’d hit me with that hand, made me bleed.

    “No,” I said, but I don’t think they heard me. Cal was staring at me. The King was staring at me. The monks were staring at me. Only the High Priest was staring at Cal, not me.

    Cal, who’s blood turned the Stone pale blue when mine got white.

  8. sorry copied a little more than a paragraph by mistake!

  9. Cool idea! And some great writing here! Definitely some interesting stories by some talented people!

    Here's what I managed this afternoon--sorry, cheated a bit by posting two paragraphs, but the last one was just a wee short:

    "King Minos' temper was legendary--and for good reason. If she returned, he would most certainly have her executed, daughter or no. It would not surprise if he chose to strike the death blow himself.

    Perhaps death was preferable to living with the memory of rejection."

    Care to guess at the kind of story I'm working on? ;)

  10. “No, I’m still not sure who it is,” Walt said of his sculpture, for perhaps the fifth time, this time to a middle-aged woman cradling an absolutely grotesque clay figure in her arms. He wanted to say something about it, perhaps ask for an explanation, but, deep down, he didn’t really give a shit, so he just continued to smile at the woman and her companion, another woman carrying a carton that contained two or three turned bowls or vases. As the second woman went on and on about how delighted she was with the way the glaze had “brought the pieces to life”, Walt could only nod and smile, finally casting a conspicuous glance at his watch. The gesture earned him a withering glare from the women, but it did the trick by sending the two biddies out the door. That was the last of them, he realized, leaving just the teacher who was shrugging his way into his coat. Walt grabbed his sculpture, declining once more the teacher’s offer of something to wrap it in for protection.
    “It’ll be fine,” Walt told the man, “I don’t have far to go.” Another glance at his watch. Walt’s timetable did not allow for a lot of glad-handing as the class departed. He was confident that the students would be gone from the building by now, and the teacher seemed as eager as Walt to depart, so he began to relax a bit, paradoxically, he noted to himself, since the most harrowing part of his plan still lay ahead. There was a momentum to his movements at this stage, however, as the elements of his scheme fell into place, each step propelling him to the next with an energy and a confidence that was strangely comforting.

  11. I'd post something, but I'm at a point in this short story where every paragraph is pretty much inappropriate for a PG-rated blog. *shifty*

    Also, I've left off mid-word before. Sometimes the brain just up and quits on you, y'know? :)

  12. Hi Bill! Thanks for posting. Your excerpt gives me the distinct impression that there is something sinister afoot.

    Simon, I appreciate your discretion. Regarding breaking off in mid-word, it's rather hard to get a full word (let alone a sentence) in edgewise around here. Between family and dogs and the phone and laundry...oh my! I know you can relate.

    J.C. - very intriguing little snippet there. I'm going to take a wild stab and say you're writing historical fiction (or epic fantasy)?

  13. Christine: it's just a short story, but anyone who is a Greek mythology fan would recognise the name Minos as the King of Crete who owns the labyrinth and the Minotaur...that's all I'll say for now! ;)

  14. Hey JC ~ That's why I said historical fiction/fantasy. I was trying to think of what category it would fall into.


I apologize for the word verification. I hate it, but the spammers made me do it.