First lines in your fic ...
Feb. 26th, 2009 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
primsongI picked this memeish concept up from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jjpor, who got it from our dear clocketpatch:
1. What are the first lines of the fics you've written?
2. What do they say about you?
Unnecessary Vector:
"Come along, Victoria," the Doctor was saying as Jamie went ahead of them and gratefully climbed back into the TARDIS, "What are you looking at?"
Vital Equipment:
"What do you mean, you've lost them?" the Doctor's tone was light, but there was a fierceness in his blue eyes that gave even the hard-boiled Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart pause.
Snowbound:
"What is the reading on that primitive chronometer?" the Master put just the right amount of sneering superiority into the request, a not-so-subtle reminder to his fellow Time Lord of the low lot he'd chosen to spend his days with and a snub to the small human across the kitchen.
The Benefits of Being Monochromatic:
The grinding wheeze of the TARDIS finally faded away.
Brazilian Morning:
Jo awoke to the sound of parrots crying out somewhere in the trees outside their hotel.
Little Things:
"Cliff, these bugs are driving me crazy."
Parts:
The Doctor pulled on a knob and it came off in his hand.
Too Long in a Cage:
He slid along the quiet corridors, the clean, calming corridors with their perfectly balanced and spaced décor.
Scream:
"Where are we?" Victoria wondered.
Like Clockwork:
The Earth ticked.
Just a Little One:
"Shall we de-stroy?" asked the little robotic voice as it waddled after its master.
A Custom Vehicle:
It was a relatively quiet day at UNIT.
A Custom Design:
Beneath a September sky that threatened rain, Corsham's mostly-forgotten Cold War era 'city' of tunnels was quiet.
A Custom Order:
"Thank you, gentlemen, just set it down over there by my TARDIS," the Doctor directed as four burly UNIT men slowly worked their way into the lab, a large metal contraption between them in a sling.
Monk-in-the-Box:
Gathering his robes up about his knees, the Monk panted almost as loudly as the hunting hounds that surrounded him, kicking them away as he frantically forced himself back into his tiny TARDIS, now one of a row of doghouses in the royal kennels.
The Shining Furrow:
The night was growing old, the early spring sky dotted by the few stars that shone through the scattered cloud cover.
Some Like it Sweet:
"Good heavens, what is that, Doctor?" Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart leaned over the corner of his desk, reaching past his Scientific Advisor for a biscuit.
The Annual UNIT Picnic:
The summer air was inviting and warm, better weather than they had hoped for this weekend in June.
--
Only a Bit of a Song:
Winter was beginning to make itself known with the turning of the seasons; the sun had become milder and lower with each passing day.
A Bit More:
A bit more snow swirls down, settling on my master's hair, and Mr. Merry's also.
Rivendell International Airport:
"Welcome to Rivendell International Airport."
Stone of Erebor:
It was the middle of Spring already, Bilbo noted, and along the slopes of the Mountain the trees had all filled out with leaves, those that were not already evergreen.
Bombur's Diet:
"You know," said Bilbo charitably, "You could stand to lose a bit of weight."
The Passing of Fire:
Cirdan looked down at the coils of smooth, wet rope that lay across his graceful hands.
Inheritance:
The judge’s gavel fell with a final thump.
Pumpkin Night:
"Ee-yup," the Gaffer said, lighting his pipe with an ember and sitting back in his chair, "Them pumpkins will be ready to bring in this week, I reckon."
Nothing of Note:
It was Spring again.
Plus, from my one (Only one? Is that pathetic?) story that is neither Tolkien nor Who...
Boo, Rats!:
It had been an unusual beginning to winter this year, in Skary; an early November blizzard having swept through to bog down the Thanksgiving holiday week, now an unusually warm wind had melted almost all of it away again.
My first thought was I haven't a clue what this says about me other than there seem to be a lot of seasons. Hm. I don't really concentrate on how something starts, I think I'm too focused on where it's going.
My second thought is nearly every opening line really sums up a key point in the story to follow, like headlines in a newspaper.
jjpor, who got it from our dear clocketpatch:1. What are the first lines of the fics you've written?
2. What do they say about you?
Unnecessary Vector:
"Come along, Victoria," the Doctor was saying as Jamie went ahead of them and gratefully climbed back into the TARDIS, "What are you looking at?"
Vital Equipment:
"What do you mean, you've lost them?" the Doctor's tone was light, but there was a fierceness in his blue eyes that gave even the hard-boiled Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart pause.
Snowbound:
"What is the reading on that primitive chronometer?" the Master put just the right amount of sneering superiority into the request, a not-so-subtle reminder to his fellow Time Lord of the low lot he'd chosen to spend his days with and a snub to the small human across the kitchen.
The Benefits of Being Monochromatic:
The grinding wheeze of the TARDIS finally faded away.
Brazilian Morning:
Jo awoke to the sound of parrots crying out somewhere in the trees outside their hotel.
Little Things:
"Cliff, these bugs are driving me crazy."
Parts:
The Doctor pulled on a knob and it came off in his hand.
Too Long in a Cage:
He slid along the quiet corridors, the clean, calming corridors with their perfectly balanced and spaced décor.
Scream:
"Where are we?" Victoria wondered.
Like Clockwork:
The Earth ticked.
Just a Little One:
"Shall we de-stroy?" asked the little robotic voice as it waddled after its master.
A Custom Vehicle:
It was a relatively quiet day at UNIT.
A Custom Design:
Beneath a September sky that threatened rain, Corsham's mostly-forgotten Cold War era 'city' of tunnels was quiet.
A Custom Order:
"Thank you, gentlemen, just set it down over there by my TARDIS," the Doctor directed as four burly UNIT men slowly worked their way into the lab, a large metal contraption between them in a sling.
Monk-in-the-Box:
Gathering his robes up about his knees, the Monk panted almost as loudly as the hunting hounds that surrounded him, kicking them away as he frantically forced himself back into his tiny TARDIS, now one of a row of doghouses in the royal kennels.
The Shining Furrow:
The night was growing old, the early spring sky dotted by the few stars that shone through the scattered cloud cover.
Some Like it Sweet:
"Good heavens, what is that, Doctor?" Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart leaned over the corner of his desk, reaching past his Scientific Advisor for a biscuit.
The Annual UNIT Picnic:
The summer air was inviting and warm, better weather than they had hoped for this weekend in June.
--
Only a Bit of a Song:
Winter was beginning to make itself known with the turning of the seasons; the sun had become milder and lower with each passing day.
A Bit More:
A bit more snow swirls down, settling on my master's hair, and Mr. Merry's also.
Rivendell International Airport:
"Welcome to Rivendell International Airport."
Stone of Erebor:
It was the middle of Spring already, Bilbo noted, and along the slopes of the Mountain the trees had all filled out with leaves, those that were not already evergreen.
Bombur's Diet:
"You know," said Bilbo charitably, "You could stand to lose a bit of weight."
The Passing of Fire:
Cirdan looked down at the coils of smooth, wet rope that lay across his graceful hands.
Inheritance:
The judge’s gavel fell with a final thump.
Pumpkin Night:
"Ee-yup," the Gaffer said, lighting his pipe with an ember and sitting back in his chair, "Them pumpkins will be ready to bring in this week, I reckon."
Nothing of Note:
It was Spring again.
Plus, from my one (Only one? Is that pathetic?) story that is neither Tolkien nor Who...
Boo, Rats!:
It had been an unusual beginning to winter this year, in Skary; an early November blizzard having swept through to bog down the Thanksgiving holiday week, now an unusually warm wind had melted almost all of it away again.
My first thought was I haven't a clue what this says about me other than there seem to be a lot of seasons. Hm. I don't really concentrate on how something starts, I think I'm too focused on where it's going.
My second thought is nearly every opening line really sums up a key point in the story to follow, like headlines in a newspaper.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-02-28 05:40 pm (UTC)And, thanks. I have nothing against Elves, per se, but my fantasy rule is: Leave elves to Tolkien. (excepting scary faries/ elves. They're much less inclined to burst into song). They looked very hobbity - exactly the sort of thing a friend of mine would like as well! I shall check them out if the plot bunnies let go of me and stop forcing me to write. ;-)