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reynardoAs snurched from so many other people I read,
When you see this (and if you want to), post threelines paragraphs from three different WIPS.
1) Oaken Hearts (Just starting to re-work this one. It's my Nano piece from 2010, and it really does deserve to be finished).
Background - old man dies in a one-patient asylum in the north of England in 1929, there are sections back and forth which explain his background and the connections with Australia. This is London 1889.
"Oh, but you do not know the life of a Royal Prince, do you?" Edward sighed, and cuddled closer. "My days are arranged with military precision, here the opening of a new church or sewerage pumping station, there a reception or a parade to be reviewed. Every few weeks it's off to Scotland or down to Norfolk, and then there's the State Tours of countries that go on for months. I swear, if I wanted to sneak off and marry a shopgirl or something, I would have had to book the elopement in with a year to spare. This moment is so delicious, just in the freedom, that I wish it would last forever."
2) Cross fic for Sherlock, the Rivers of London series and the Laundry series. Background, and the story that Sherlock will tell. Mycroft and Thomas Nightingale were lovers many years before, but Mycroft accidentally broke an esoteric rule, and Angleton had to broker the deal with the world of Faery. The price was the relationship.
"He's dead."
John whipped his head around to look at Mycroft. The venom that had come out with those two words was (still looking for the right word here). Sherlock did not seem surprised by the news at all. But then Sherlock was rarely fazed.
"If, indeed, he was alive at all."
Mycroft's bitter laugh was a relief to the tension. "Or if what he is now is truly dead. But he won't be coming out in a hurry."
"But ..."
"No. It's too late. The agreement must be maintained, despite this." Mycroft swept out of the room again, leaving behind a slight odour of cigarette smoke and an air of finality.
It was almost a minute before John spoke. "Why do I have the feeling an entire story just played out here in under forty words?"
"For once you are accurate, John. There were exactly thirty-nine." Sherlock continued separating the sand grains, a slight smile betraying that he knew exactly what John would do next.
3) From The Lady Winifred letters. Because there's one member of the Peter Wimsey family who only ever gets mentioned in passing, and never in a positive light. So I made her a bit more real. It's a series of letters from 1935 (in a very stilted schoolgirl style) to 1944, trying to show her growing up and changing (and getting out from under her mother's thumb)
August 13th, 1940
Dear Aunt Helen,
You'll notice the lack of a return address. I can't say where I am, except that I amsafely in England, down near Kent. I have been moved to a new position that involves not needing to drive Officers any more. Hurrah! I'm learning a lot of new skills: Morse Code and electronics, as well as This section has been cut out by the censor. I don't see a lot of sunlight, which is a nuisance, but then it has been a hot summer, and the cool of my "office" is very welcome. If only it didn't have so many bugs! I am boarding with a horrid old lady at the back end of a little village not far from the main town. She is inquisitive to the point of rude, and always makes barbed comments about my accent, but she has a lovely back garden full of vegetables, and her own hens. I have a feeling that could be rather useful in the near future.
I am so worried about Jerry. He takes a lot of risks, and I cannot think that that is a good idea, even if he does shoot down a lot of Germans. I can't stop looking in the sky every time I'm outside, looking for dogfights, even though he's not even in this part of England. The chaps down at the local pub are from the airfield nearby, and they are endlessly cheerful and dismissive of the risks, but then each day there are less and less of them. I am glad the cousins are safe with you at Tallboys. Would you hug them all from me, please?
I must go. I'm due on shift in half an hour. Love to all there,
Winifred.
I will finish them, I promise!
When you see this (and if you want to), post three
1) Oaken Hearts (Just starting to re-work this one. It's my Nano piece from 2010, and it really does deserve to be finished).
Background - old man dies in a one-patient asylum in the north of England in 1929, there are sections back and forth which explain his background and the connections with Australia. This is London 1889.
"Oh, but you do not know the life of a Royal Prince, do you?" Edward sighed, and cuddled closer. "My days are arranged with military precision, here the opening of a new church or sewerage pumping station, there a reception or a parade to be reviewed. Every few weeks it's off to Scotland or down to Norfolk, and then there's the State Tours of countries that go on for months. I swear, if I wanted to sneak off and marry a shopgirl or something, I would have had to book the elopement in with a year to spare. This moment is so delicious, just in the freedom, that I wish it would last forever."
2) Cross fic for Sherlock, the Rivers of London series and the Laundry series. Background, and the story that Sherlock will tell. Mycroft and Thomas Nightingale were lovers many years before, but Mycroft accidentally broke an esoteric rule, and Angleton had to broker the deal with the world of Faery. The price was the relationship.
"He's dead."
John whipped his head around to look at Mycroft. The venom that had come out with those two words was (still looking for the right word here). Sherlock did not seem surprised by the news at all. But then Sherlock was rarely fazed.
"If, indeed, he was alive at all."
Mycroft's bitter laugh was a relief to the tension. "Or if what he is now is truly dead. But he won't be coming out in a hurry."
"But ..."
"No. It's too late. The agreement must be maintained, despite this." Mycroft swept out of the room again, leaving behind a slight odour of cigarette smoke and an air of finality.
It was almost a minute before John spoke. "Why do I have the feeling an entire story just played out here in under forty words?"
"For once you are accurate, John. There were exactly thirty-nine." Sherlock continued separating the sand grains, a slight smile betraying that he knew exactly what John would do next.
3) From The Lady Winifred letters. Because there's one member of the Peter Wimsey family who only ever gets mentioned in passing, and never in a positive light. So I made her a bit more real. It's a series of letters from 1935 (in a very stilted schoolgirl style) to 1944, trying to show her growing up and changing (and getting out from under her mother's thumb)
August 13th, 1940
Dear Aunt Helen,
You'll notice the lack of a return address. I can't say where I am, except that I am
I am so worried about Jerry. He takes a lot of risks, and I cannot think that that is a good idea, even if he does shoot down a lot of Germans. I can't stop looking in the sky every time I'm outside, looking for dogfights, even though he's not even in this part of England. The chaps down at the local pub are from the airfield nearby, and they are endlessly cheerful and dismissive of the risks, but then each day there are less and less of them. I am glad the cousins are safe with you at Tallboys. Would you hug them all from me, please?
I must go. I'm due on shift in half an hour. Love to all there,
Winifred.
I will finish them, I promise!
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Date: 2015-01-25 03:54 pm (UTC)Go you!