My friend and fellow Emissary of the Strange, Jonathan (@crimnos) tagged me to participate in #luckyseven. The rules of the #luckyseven are simple:
- Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
- Go to line 7
- Post on your blog the next 7 lines or sentences – as they are!!
- Tag 7 other people to do the same
This is my first tag as a blogger and an awesome chance to show off seven sentences from some works. I selected from three works, all of them at different stages of editing. What I discovered is that the more I edit, the shorter and more coherent my sentences get. For my third selection, I’ll show you seven sentences before and after one round of editing. There be dragons in the unedited version! Bad sentences, with a hint of unintentional plagiarism. See if you can spot the phrase that rightfully belongs to another, very awesome author – and note that I get rid of it in the first pass revision!
As for my seven tagged individuals, many of these are folks from the #WIP500. I do not know all of them well, but they are actively writing and pursuing the perfect sentence. I’d love to see what they’re up to!
- Sandra Dehelen @dehelen
- J Aric Keith @sirkeystone
- Rob Sharkey Pruneda @sharkbaitwrites
- Mari Biella @maribiealla1
- Angie Richmond @write_me_happy
- Wakefield Mahon @wakefieldmahon
- Hunter Shea @huntershea1
Stolen Climates is a published work and in its final state.
They sat in silence, both of them looking at Linnae. She had wrapped her doll’s head with a blanket. One eye looked out, the lid drooped in sly knowledge.
“Are you feeling up to happy hour?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m already there,” Genny said.
“Maybe tomorrow we could ask Olivia to watch Laney for a little while, spend a little time just the two of us.”
“I’m not leaving my daughter with that creepy witch.”
Goat Song for a Joshua Tree
GSfaJT has been through several edits, but not formally sent to an editor (yet).
I crouch to relieve myself in the blue bin. Death has his hands on my ankles. His thumb joints rub my Achilles tendon.
My voice echoes around and around in my concrete box, ringing like chimes as it shatters my glass self. I am less than what I was. I am an animal, a caged animal.
Raw, Unedited WIP “Fluffy”
Fluffy is absolutely unedited. Here’s a glimpse of what I suffer through when I write the first draft:
She froze; from the room came the papery abuse of shopping bags being hurled onto the bed. The television was tuned to a dead channel, hissing and hissing at the ringing phone jangling from the nightstand. Cold air poured from around the seams of the door, tendrils of unnatural frigidity unrelated to the intense heat of the cranked-up heater. Kirin’s fingers found the cardkey. She clicked shut her purse. It coincided with the thump of a gunshot muffled by a pillow.
First Revision WIP “Fluffy”
She froze, one hand in her purse. From inside the room came the papery abuse of shopping bags being hurled onto the bed. Cold air poured from the seams of the door, tendrils of unnatural frigidity. There! In a side pocket she felt the smooth plastic of her card key, the one thing she couldn’t afford to leave behind. Kirin clicked shut her purse. It coincided with the thump of a gunshot muffled by a pillow.
Please follow my writing friends, and hop on over to Jonathan’s site, Shaggin’ the Muse to check out his #luckyseven!