The journey begins with the first step.
I’ve typed THE END in Unkept Promises. I’ve also written the first paragaphs in To Mend the Broken Recluse, so I’m thinking about ends and beginnings. This week, how about putting seven sentences in the comments. You choose what they begin: the book, a chapter, a new scene.
Here’s mine.
The crows rose in a flock over the tower on the borders of Ashbury land, a cacophany on wings. Val straightened and peered in that direction, shading his eyes to see if he could tell what had spooked them. It was unlikely to be a traveller on the lane that branched towards the manor from the road that passed the tower. After three years of repulsing visitors, the only people he ever saw were his tenant farmers and the few servants he had retained to keep the crumbling monstrosity he lived in marginally fit for human habitation.
He bent back to the plough, but called the team to a halt again when a bird shot up from almost under their hooves. Sure enough, a lapwing nest lay right in the path of the plough. Val carefully steered around it. He knew his concern for the pretty things set his tenants laughing behind his back, but they didn’t take up much room, and they’d soon hatch their chicks and be off to better cover
Okay. That’s eight sentences, but I won’t count if you don’t.
Mine’s also, oddly, about someone in jail, or rather being taken out of jail. It’s from “Army of the Gifted”. It’s nine lines rather than seven, but I rather like the last two lines, so left them in. This is the beginning of Chapter 2, because I’m still not happy with the first couple of paras of Chapter 1.
“It was dark and raining when they dragged me out onto Newgate Street; a handful of flickering oil lamps were reflected in the puddles scattered across the thoroughfare. Instead of a gallows waiting for me, I saw the faint light glittering off the rain-streaked panels of a carriage harnessed to two black horses. The side panels bore no crest that I could see, but the glossy paint and slim, elegant wheels reeked of the kind of wealth I had only ever glimpsed from afar (probably showering me with mud as it rattled by).
A servant wrapped in an oilskin coat got off the back of the vehicle and pulled down some steps. Her Ladyship got in; I was pushed in after and fell against a leather-upholstered bench, my back to the horses. The dark-haired redcoat sat next to me but did not return my scrutiny, his profile with its slightly hooked nose silhouetted against the window. His colleague, whom Her Ladyship had called Captain Walsh, took a seat on the other side of me. The three of us were squeezed in like penitents in a pew, while opposite, Her Ladyship had the bench all to herself. It was an intimidating arrangement, as though I were back in the dock at the Old Bailey.”
Oooh. I can see why. I’m glad you left them in. Only eight sentences, though, same as me. 🙂
This is a very evocative piece. Thanks for sharing.
One of the earlier writers I admired, when he spoke about his writing, always phrased it that the story was about getting your hero’s fanny out of the bear trap. Prison sure IS a very big bear trap. I had a fantasy that combined a modified greco-roman culture, but the bear trap for that era has gotten far more hot button again in the last decade here. So it stays in the trunk.
This is also nicely rich in period detail. A lot of historicals I’ve seen in the last decade have no feel fot cultural differences…
Yes, the past is a different country, as the quote goes. Books that have grafted 19th century gowns and swords onto a story about a bunch of modern people with modern motivations don’t do it for me.
The lift ship shuddered as it locked into the world’s capital jail for the last prisoner from this two-credit world. Murmurs echoed through the compartments, unhindered by the lockdown.
The hulking guards dragged the new prisoner into the launch bench without courtesy, simple clothing snagging on the deck and hatch as she struggled to stand. They locked the manacles into the ring above the launch bench with final punches and kicks that were barely disguised as necessary. The last escort to depart ‘accidentally’ shoved the heel of his hand against her face and spat on her before leaving.
All their actions came without saying a word, grunts of subduing a prisoner would not be prosecuted, after all.
The woman looked washed out in the bright light and bruises didn’t stand out as much as the bloody nose. As soon as she tried to move her arms, a chime echoed in the bare metal and the ship launched hard enough to twist and break the unprepared.
Nano holiday exhaustion and new year flu kept me away from this story though others are in process at last. There’s a nasty virus now ouncing through everyone I know ATM. A friend’s two-year olds are in the ER to get fluids. I really want winter to end.
We’re coming into winter, Marie, and I can’t believe summer has passed so quickly. Love the excerpt. It left me wanting more.