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Mr. Beauregard Does Something Different
Aug. 17th, 2008 08:51 amThis is in response to one of the August Writing challenges.
( Mr. Beauregard Does Something Different )
( Mr. Beauregard Does Something Different )
August Writing: Day 1
Aug. 2nd, 2008 11:02 pmHere I am, a day late, but with over 1,000 words to my name. So, yay! This is in response to [info]curtana's recommendation that I write something based on Incarnate (a RPG), but I think it stands on its own without needing too much explanation. I could be mistaken, of course. Her suggestion reminded me of this scene (unrelated to our game) that was rattling around in my head for a while. I finally decided to write it down.
( The baby was crying. )
( The baby was crying. )
Save the last dance
Aug. 4th, 2006 03:13 amAn exercise in concision for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
august_writing. The challenge was to take the title of a song taken at random from a playlist and use it as the first sentence. I added the difficulty of making it exactly 100 words. Not entirely satisfied with the result, but playing with it hasn't improved it yet.
***
“Save the last dance for me?” her fingers brush against my arm, linger against my wrist.
I find myself gazing down at her. “You can write me down in your dance book, if you’d like.”
She shakes her head and returns my smile. My heart skips. It always does, whenever she smiles like that. She has a mesmerising smile, a little crooked, a hint of white teeth.
“I trust you,” she says simply, folding her hands in her lap. Her eyes shine with anticipation. Sometimes I wish she didn’t trust me quite so much.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
august_writing. The challenge was to take the title of a song taken at random from a playlist and use it as the first sentence. I added the difficulty of making it exactly 100 words. Not entirely satisfied with the result, but playing with it hasn't improved it yet.***
“Save the last dance for me?” her fingers brush against my arm, linger against my wrist.
I find myself gazing down at her. “You can write me down in your dance book, if you’d like.”
She shakes her head and returns my smile. My heart skips. It always does, whenever she smiles like that. She has a mesmerising smile, a little crooked, a hint of white teeth.
“I trust you,” she says simply, folding her hands in her lap. Her eyes shine with anticipation. Sometimes I wish she didn’t trust me quite so much.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
