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tadorna at 10:43pm on 18/02/2011 under ha ha i used to write things
tadorna at 10:43pm on 18/02/2011 under ha ha i used to write thingsOh hi, hello, I've had some wine. (Blah blah, sorry I never post or communicate etc, cool, that's got that out of the way).
Ok, so. Here is that meme with the thing and the stuff. Hang on, let me find it.
Oh, here we are:
Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Upon request, I will post a random line from any of these. Assuming that the file adds up to a full line, that is.
Many of these are a) dead as a doornail, b) containers of very few words, and c) ancient.
Waiting for Bob
maps
mcgregor
The Least Important Man
Civil Ceremonies
Coldhaven
Commercial Road
cruel
DIR WIP
dom is water
dom@farmersguide
DYSTOPIA
janeaustenparody
madbrit
meaningless
Neville
nippy
old orlando
Paperboys
Rejuvenation
Reynolds and Barber
rose
rushes
Scale
Someone
superheroes
taxidermy
The Many Trials of Carson Beckett
The Two of Us
time
xmasfic
undead
remaking the world
Before I Wake
coffee
***
a long time dead
easter street
Angela in Wonderland
Anglo Saxon story
aphids 3
cat o nine tales
explaining time
Felix
Fighting
Gloves
graeme the vampire
H2O
house dream
Inviting the Witch
Ipswich Passion
jeff and his spaceship
K
lake koona
Least Haunted
Looking Back
Magpie
Memoirs
On Not Being Dylan Thomas
On the Roof
random voices
school
Sixpence
Sugar Monster
Summer, by the Sea
The Centre
The End of the Ice
The Frost fair
The Garden of Dead Princes
the laws of physics
The Night
The Post Office
The Reviewer
The Things You Remember
The Trouble With Ghosts
Wrong Sarah
Well, it amused my drunken self, anyway.
Ok, so. Here is that meme with the thing and the stuff. Hang on, let me find it.
Oh, here we are:
Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Upon request, I will post a random line from any of these. Assuming that the file adds up to a full line, that is.
Many of these are a) dead as a doornail, b) containers of very few words, and c) ancient.
Waiting for Bob
maps
mcgregor
The Least Important Man
Civil Ceremonies
Coldhaven
Commercial Road
cruel
DIR WIP
dom is water
dom@farmersguide
DYSTOPIA
janeaustenparody
madbrit
meaningless
Neville
nippy
old orlando
Paperboys
Rejuvenation
Reynolds and Barber
rose
rushes
Scale
Someone
superheroes
taxidermy
The Many Trials of Carson Beckett
The Two of Us
time
xmasfic
undead
remaking the world
Before I Wake
coffee
***
a long time dead
easter street
Angela in Wonderland
Anglo Saxon story
aphids 3
cat o nine tales
explaining time
Felix
Fighting
Gloves
graeme the vampire
H2O
house dream
Inviting the Witch
Ipswich Passion
jeff and his spaceship
K
lake koona
Least Haunted
Looking Back
Magpie
Memoirs
On Not Being Dylan Thomas
On the Roof
random voices
school
Sixpence
Sugar Monster
Summer, by the Sea
The Centre
The End of the Ice
The Frost fair
The Garden of Dead Princes
the laws of physics
The Night
The Post Office
The Reviewer
The Things You Remember
The Trouble With Ghosts
Wrong Sarah
Well, it amused my drunken self, anyway.
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Also... HI! I am all itchy, Ducks. 'Tis tragic!
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Having lived all her existence in such a favoured position that all the pleasant things in life: wealth, good looks, accomplishment and cheerful companions, were within her easy grasp, perhaps it was not so very wonderful that Miss Liv Tyler considered love (followed in due course by a long-lived and blessed union) would be quite as easily come by for her friends’ happiness as well as for her own.
This is from The Garden of Dead Princes. Stretching the definition of 'line' because there doesn't seem much point posting one sentence.
I am a dead man. Oh yes, I know I state the obvious. My body lies in the church, as stiff as ancient leather, cracked and blackened by the years. As cold and as miserable as the briney ocean, washing over your feet, sucking the soft sand out from under you as it recedes. All must know, at least any who care to notice, that I am a dead man.
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I am always interested in maps, if you have anything to say about them, and like
my wip file consists of a lot of sparkly bracelets that haven't quite had the fastenings sorted out, and a needlepoint pencil case with one corner still blank, so I will not be posting anything about them.
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Haha, I've just realised that 'maps' was something I was posting to an anon meme quite recently. Oh well. *blows anonymity*
The lines -- the roads -- had become very clear in front of him, now. It was a relief to be able to stop trying to look past them -- as though he'd been given permission to stop fighting. "There's a thicker curving one in the middle -- going up. Vertical. That one's yellow. And then two more verticals to the left... snakey. Green dashes."
And more from The Garden of Dead Princes:
Flowers. She makes flowers out of her threads of silk and silver and gold. She cuts the threads with her teeth, and dampens the ends of them with the spit in her mouth. She always does flowers, because she always liked flowers, even when she was wicked.
(Seems appropriate, given your wip file).
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Hi! :D
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Graeme, well... perhaps they weren't very nice to Graeme. But he was very embarrassing. They sat in Carson's room (they were collaborating on a space invaders game for his Commodore 64), and Paul rolled his eyes.
"I don't know what he was thinking! Tracey MacAllister? I don't think so."
and...
A community of ten or twelve ghosts can subsist quite happily for a month on one Big Mac meal. Longer if they go large. They cut the burger and fries into tiny fragments that they keep in the freezer, defrosting them by microwave as needed.
Ghost dinner parties are never a great success.
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MOAR MOAR MOAR), I have to admit to some interest in Waiting for Bob just based on the title.(no subject)
I have to admit to some interest in Waiting for Bob just based on the title.
I couldn't remember for the life of me what this was until I opened a file, and then I realised it was a cheery fic about death. Here is most of it:
The floral tributes attract insects, spread out on the paving stones in their bright yellows, their purples and blues.
"Ah," somebody says. "He would have liked the bees."
"I'm pretty sure they're hoverflies, actually."
Charlie is looking at the flowers, but he knew David was going to say that. The words existed, and they needed to come out, to be in the air.
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Maps is, um, yeah. *wants*
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Maps, er... I have written a handful more words, but you can see from the lateness of this reply how great I am at getting round to things right now...
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But really, I also want 'Ipswich Passion'. And 'Frost Faire'. Um. And some of everything, but I'll stop.
;)
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Anglo Saxon story:
The boy has been down at the smiths’ workshop every day for a week now. The women of the house cluck softly like hen-birds when they see him slip out and away into the village, dark and quiet as a shadow. Gunhild winds a piece of fine gold thread around and around her forefinger, hovers distractedly at the un-shuttered window.
“It worries me, Emma,” she says, and crosses the floor, back to her stool and her work. “He seems to me neither a child, nor yet a man. He is like some wraith haunting us all.”
cat o nine tales
"Did you enjoy that story, Medley?" asks Hieronymous. His eyes gleam greenly as he stares with a wisful air into the corner. Not the same corner as before. A different corner.
"Yes, sir," says Medley. "May I say that I found it both haunting and instructive?"
"You may," says Hieronymous generously.
"Then, sir, I found it both haunting and instructive."
Ipswich Passion
So there was twelve of us, right, there was me (I'm Andy), there was Simon (my bruv, we call him Pete cos we get him confused with other Simon), there was Jamie, John, Phil, Bart, Tom, other James, Matt, other Simon, and the one they call Judy, heh. And him of course. So thirteen, altogether. Big group, I s'pose. We didn't always get into pubs. Bouncers tend to think you're gonna cause trouble. Which we weren't! Not like they thought, anyway.
The Frost Fair
The cold was bitter and it had teeth. It wasn’t snowing any longer, but the remains of the last fall still lay heavily about, furring windowsills and heaping in drifts against the walls of houses. It had mixed with the dirt and mire of the roads and frozen darkly into the ruts left behind by carts and carriages. Horses slipped on it and stumbled, blowing white steam into air that felt sharp enough to cut. On the south side of the river, the people of Southwark and the Borough, those who had a bit of coal, hurried home to thaw numb feet in front of fires, while on the north side, in Billingsgate, the fish-scales lay glittering like diamonds, like a thousand icy stars, on the ground.
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Ipswich Passion cracks me up.
And Frost Faire is suitably atmospheric. You won my heart with Billingsgate and the icy fish-scales! I'd love to see more of that one.
And the Anglo Saxon story--haunting boys like wraiths!!
I couldn't place the cat o nine tails story, though. Is it original or based on something I should know. It made me think of Jeanette Winterson a bit, but I like it better.
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Thank you! :)
The cat o nine tails thing was an attempt at doing NaNo one year. It's the story of a cat who lives in a cage, plays the saxophone, and is friends with an ex-military rat. They tell each other stories. It was basically me trying to use the frame story device to get through the month. Didn't work.