Here are the rules:
1. Go to page 77 (or 7th) of your current ms
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines – sentences or paragraphs – and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
4. Tag 7 other authors. (many authors participate voluntarily)
I've seen this Meme going around and it looked like fun. Especially since I could use a little breather. I've chosen to use 2 stories. One from an upcoming release: The Auspicious Troubles of Chance which is due this summer. And for my last story submission, which may or may not be contracted. (fingers crossed!)
Also, I realize there's pretty much nothing up on my site about The Auspicious Troubles of Chance, but that's because it's yet to enter the editing process and I don't really like putting up work that hasn't been looked over by someone, so you'll have to pardon any missing commas and such.This is from page 77 from line 7 and it's 7 paragraphs.
A little background info. This scene takes place not far from a fishing village in Agadir (a city in southwest Morocco) where the boys are awaiting their next orders. It's 1925 and our main protagonist- Chance (Chauncey) Irving, is a legionnaire in the French Foreign Legion. Alongside him is the handsome and heroic Commandant Vaillant (Jacky Valentine), and his troublesome trio of teenage misfits: Johnnie, Bobby, and Alexander. Johnnie and Chance don't exactly see eye to eye and Johnnie's had enough of Chance's bad attitude.
“You strut around here like the world owes you a goddamn favor, like you’re the only mug who’s been through hell,” Johnnie growled, his lanky body quaking with anger, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes jet-black. “Well, guess what. You ain’t so special. Look around you. Every other Joe here has trudged through his own personal river of shit just to end up here. So excuse me if I don’t get down on my knees and kiss the ground you walk on, Chauncey.
I was on my feet with a fistful of his greatcoat before he even blinked. The look on his young face, the rage and pain coming off him in waves was too raw, too familiar. I couldn’t stand to see that look anymore.
“You cocky little shit. Who the hell do you think you are? So you’ve managed not to pull the Dutch act, good for you. You don’t know from nothing, so why don’t you just fuck off and go play with your building blocks.”
Johnnie flinched before a cold look of disdain came onto his reddened face and he shoved me away, running off and leaving me rather disappointed. If the kid had pushed me into a fight, I would have been more than happy to give him one. I was riled up, my own anger flaring. What the hell did that scrawny little scrub know about pain? I ran my fingers through my hair just for the need to do something with my hands. I was worried they were shaking. Damn kid knew how to push all my buttons and I was dumb enough to let him. When I sat down, I noticed Bobby was still there, piercing me with those big blue eyes.
“What?” I barked. “You got something you wanna say?”
Bobby seemed to think about it for a second before he shook his head and started to walk after his friend.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Goddamn mimes say more than you do.”
Here's the second story, which was recently submitted. It's called Lost In My Waking Dream, and when I followed the instructions to the meme, you get just enough of a teaser. Mwuahaha!Of course with this one I had to choose page 7, as it's a short story and doesn't have a 77! The rest still applies. This stories a teeny bit different from the others, even though it's Historical. More to come soon, but for now, the set up is 1934, Bryant Park, Manhattan. Enjoy!
Oh shit, George. I’m close.
All I could manage was a grunt in response. Sweat dripped down the side of my face and my shirt was sticking to me under my vest. My tie felt too tight and I felt as though I was burning from the inside out. I caught a fistful of that light brown hair and pulled his head to one side, exposing his neck. I kissed, licked, and bit him, hearing his pants and moans.
George, I’m going to come! Please, say it. Tell me what I want to hear.
I heard him cry out and I snapped my hips one last time, hard. “Noah!” His name escaped me alongside my release. Collapsing onto his back, I knew what it was he wanted to hear most. As my breathing slowed, I gently rubbed my cheek against his back, refusing to open my eyes. “I believe you,” I whispered, “and… I love you.” Soft breaths caressed me as I heard him tell me he loved me, too.
After a moment, he stirred beneath me, and I reluctantly pulled away, wincing when I pulled out of him. He set his clothes to right and I did the same with mine. When he turned around—a sad smile on his face—for the slightest instant, it was Noah, and I couldn’t help but touch his cheek.
“Where is he?” Teddy asked softly, his voice shattering the last remnants of my illusion. His was a kind voice, but it wasn’t my Noah’s.
“Somewhere I can’t reach,” I replied, getting a hold of myself before I started to feel any more miserable. I had enough troubles without adding melancholia to my list of ailments.
x Charlie x