I’m feeling happy and giving tonight, so I thought I’d host a contest! My real-life buddy just ran an AWESOME one on finding inspiration and I would have entered if I hadn’t already owned the prize. ;-) BTW, if you don’t have The 3 A.M. Epiphany, check it out. Regan (the aforementioned friend) bought it for me when she first heard I was starting to write and it has awesome exercises in it. Yes, she’s an awesome friend, in case you were wondering.
Now, the contest.
I am sucker for novel beginnings, so I thought I’d cater to that since…well…it’s my contest and I’ll do what I want to.
WHAT DO YOU NEED TO DO?
- First: Follow me on twitter because I want followers, what can I say? Like I said…my contest…my rules! :D I say SUPER insightful stuff every day. Okay, not really, but I’m a nice girl! If you don’t have Twitter, don’t worry about it (or if you are super picky about who you follow, that’s fine, too – I won’t tar and feather your entry).
- Second: Enter the title and up to the first 250 words of a WIP into the comments section of this post. Please only enter once! You are welcome to give a small blurb about the plot after your entry if you want. It might help to mention the genre, too. Make sure you include a real e-mail address because that is how you will receive your prize!
You have until Saturday night (March 13, 2010) at 11:59 EST to enter. Entries after that not be entered.
WHAT DO YOU WIN?
I’ll have two winners.
- The first winner will be selected by some unbiased writerly friends whom I’ve asked to judge. That person will win a $25 gift card to Amazon*. This way it’s not just my opinion that counts.
- The second winner will come from a public poll. It will begin Sunday, March 14, 2010 at noon. It will close Tuesday, March 16, 2010 at noon. The winner of the public poll will win a $15 gift card to Amazon*.
Both winners will be announced Tuesday, March 16th. It will probably be in the evening.
Spread the word!
*If you are morally opposed to Amazon or something, I can do one to an online book store of your choice, just let me know.
This contest is approved by my cutie-patootie son in his Easter outfit:
I’m all over the contests these days and who wouldn’t enter a contest approved by such a cutie-patootie!
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My Fair Vampire (working title)
Dammit, he’d gotten away. They always got away. I sucked at this. I wish someone would just stake me already. I dropped heavily onto the park bench and contemplated yet another night pilfering from the blood bank.
My sire was the worst. I really don’t know why he bothered, why he hadn’t just killed me instead of leaving me this way. The last time I’d had fresh blood, he’d caught it for me then scolded me saying, “Dori, remember, use the element of surprise until you’ve mastered the art of persuasion and for God’s sake don’t let them see your canines. No wonder they sense something’s up and give you the slip.”
“Maybe if you spent a little more time training me, Donovan, instead of getting off with your harem, I wouldn’t be such a disappointment,” I grumbled to myself as I clapped my tennis shoes together. The mud fell to the ground in giant clumps. Donovan hated my athletic footwear.
“Maybe if you tried dressing a little sexier, you could lure better,” he’d said at the end of his last lecture.
“I lured you didn’t I,” I’d muttered before launching into my usual defense. “Screw you, Donovan. A girl’s gotta have proper footwear to sprint after prey if she’s not got the physical goods.”
He’d glared at me then stalked off, his long black coat cutting a wide fluttering swath behind him. I had to get Mr. GQ for a sire when I was so NOT Ms. Cosmopolitan.
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So that was a wee bit from a paranormal romance I’ve just started. Actually, it was an AW Sunday night flash fiction challenge piece that I’ve decided to novelize. I can hear the groans already…”Not another vampire novel!” This one is about a love story between an inept vampire, Dori, and an equally inept vampire hunter, Jude. Add a Pygmalion-esque love triangle with the heroine’s sire, Donovan, with some do or die vampire bureaucracy and deception and that’s where this puppy is going…for now…I think.
Yay Claire! :D Glad to see you in this one! :) I would enter, but I’m already following you and you’ve already read and seen my first 250. You’ve read over 100k of it, actually. ;)
Hi! Sent over here by your #1 comment. ;) I’m following and look forward to follow-ing!
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Mystic Therapy
The threat of death stood a foot from her. In the frame of the door, he waited, hidden within the shadow cast by the bright sunlight behind him. The hood over his head and the thick, black custom-made coat protected him from the burn of the rays. His face remained obscure, his features indistinct, his weapon, lethal.
“Come in.” Terror should have pervaded Morgan’s senses, instead she held the door and waved him in as if she’d welcomed a tiny kitten.
He took one step into the sanctuary of her home, and she moved behind him. The door closed with a soft click, and Morgan took care to flip the lock; she’d promised to prevent any interruption in their work.
With the blinds drawn, the room fell into darkness. From behind him, she noted his broad shoulders drooped and his head tilted forward. He towered over her, his six foot frame against her miniscule five. She couldn’t fight him. Wouldn’t even try. Instead, she’d accept whatever he brought to her, evil or otherwise.
“Have a seat.” She walked around the black-clad figure that stood in the middle of her room.
Morgan’s finger trailed over the back of the couch as she used it to pull Drake further inside. Art adorned the light-raspberry colored walls, a shade she’d chosen for its intrinsic properties to create warmth and happiness. Her walnut desk waited for her at the back of the room, but she knew she’d not step foot behind it this morning.
[snip]
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This is a paranormal romance … and trust me when I say … you want the last sentence to get the full effect … but alas that’s at word 1123. ;)
Thanks for a great contest!
Great Contest! Enter me please! Sorry I don’t have a personal twitter for now but when I will I will follow you! This is for a YA suspense novel called ‘Dark Horse’. Here is the begining at 220 words.
I always thought my sister would be by my side, until today. I clutched the bible in my hands, willing myself not to cry. Standing on an elaborate alter I could see my sister’s light blue coffin open and empty. Her body was too burned to present in the coffin. My mother forced me into this stupid service, when all I wanted was to mourn her alone. I tore my nails into Mathew 8:21 – 22, somehow thinking I would quiet the person up in the podium reading it.
My mother turned towards me and slapped my hand as if I was a mere child.
“Have a little respect for your sister, Anna,” she hissed. I turned back to see a young man with piercing blue eyes staring at me. He wore a black leather jacket, his midnight hair slightly tattered and long. He didn’t fit in. How did he know my sister? Why was he staring at me now? Perhaps it was because I was simply an uglier version of her. The same bright green eyes and long brown hair. He got up and left when the priest started his speech and I felt my feet itching to stand. I wanted to follow him, but I imagined my mom’s anger if I left, so I stayed in my spot.
I found you in Nathan Bransford’s forums.
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ARCHIE BUMBLE
MG fantasy
“Catching and eating you would be very entertaining,” said Safeeya, “You have less than a minute to give me a good reason not to.”
Archie Bumble felt oddly calm as a sense of fate fell over him. He’d live or die in the next few minutes, but that wasn’t up to him, so he might as well think about other things. In the half-light under the trees, Safeeya the giant leopard stretched more than 20 feet from her bewhiskered nose to the white-tufted tip of her elegant tail. One of the Primordial Beasts, she’d been created in a time when giants still roamed the earth. The fact that she spoke didn’t surprise him either; all sorts of unusual things existed beyond the Great Mountains. Besides, he’d been sent to speak to her.
Safeeya’s slunk into the clearing. The light caught her magnificent, dappled coat, and her hooded, emerald eyes fixed on him. He knew that she could spring onto him from where she crouched, and her shoulders see-sawed as she shifted her weight.
“Halifa the Great sends you greetings, Your Ladyship,” said Archie. “He told me great things of your beauty, but I see he still fell short of the mark, for your magnificence overwhelms me. Words cannot do justice to your countenance. I sincerely expect that your wisdom will prove as superior.”
Everyone knows that cats are suckers for flattery. The danger lies in overstating your case, leaving the cat disgusted with your sycophancy.
Excitement :~D
Ok, so I have never been convinced to take part in a contest before but I read your post and thought “What ho! I’ll give it a smash”. Please do make allowances for the fact this is my first ever entry :~)
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Burning Love
When we were young and the sands of time still relatively young, I had this dream. It wasn’t spectacular, and it certainly wasn’t vivid, but it was so persistent in its way that I began to regard it as more of a memory.
A memory yet to come.
Her name was Rachel, that much I knew, and as she glided through the familiar water I stood in, I could never completely stray from her fiery gaze. Her eyes were a shade of burgundy I’ve never come across whilst awake, deeper than the finest wine yet sharper than the gemstones I’d seen grown men kill for. Buried deep within them was something of a pitying note. It played forlornly as she approached, clearly wishing I was something more as I waited awkwardly amid the swelling tide. And despite the panic that shuddered through me I couldn’t bring myself to blame her, as she sank those aged teeth into my shoulder. I trusted her, even though it seemed I might die beneath the crushing waves.
So as my legs flailed out automatically, I would be gripped by a desperate concerned what lay above surface if my struggling won out; the jeopardy that waited for her. I should not have been, for her spindle-like hands gripped me firmly to my bed as the water flooded my lungs and I drowned amid the intertwined kelp.
And so, you see, on a regular basis with most details unchanged, Rachel would kill me in my mind.
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It gets better but that whole 250 word limit has to be obeyed I guess. *sighs*
So this is my most recent WiP. It’s also Paranormal/ Fantasy Fiction but don’t be put off by that cause it has everything you could wish for in it. Well, I plan to put everything you could wish for in it – soulmates, love triangles, chase scenes, death, re-animated corpses, mystery murders, magic and awkward embarassing moments…. Oh it’s going to be a blast as soon as I can get round to completing it.
:~D
Can’t wait to read the next entries because these two are very impressive.
Oooo I’ll play! :)
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I kicked my legs and propelled myself towards the light. Water splashed like a million glittering jewels when I broke to the surface. Sun shone on water, and nearly blinded me. I blinked several times until my eyes became accustomed to the light. The boat was several meters away, exactly where it should be.
I fought to contain my excitement while I swam with large strokes through the shimmering sapphire ocean towards our boat. It had seen better days, this floating home Papa and I have lived in since I was fourteen, but it was in better repair than most vessels found around here. Papa was handy, and since we were both Scroungers, we had better access to materials than most.
I pulled myself up on the rope ladder and jumped up into the boat. My hair was heavy with water, so I ran my fingers through the dreaded locks, and shook it out. I peeled off my wet suit, pulled on some shorts over my bikini bottom, and scurried towards the hatch.
“Papa?” I yelled down.
I could smell the snapper we had caught this morning grilling in one of his famous marinades. My mouth watered. We had traded for rice last month too, so we’d be eating like kings.
“Seahorse, is that you?” Papa had a rough voice, as if he had spent his day screaming. But he didn’t scream. He was always cool and collected. Well, except for two years ago when left the Continent.
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This is from THE CONTINENT, my YA Dystopian WIP. (Chose to enter with it since you can see PERSPECTIVE’s first 250 on Miss Snark’s First Victim. Not so repetitive that way! )
Thanks for these entries, guys! They are great. Fun!!
And I’m going to look into adding a plug-in, so you can respond to other people’s entries if you want. I’m going to have to bribe Regan into showing me how. :D
Yey, I’ll play!
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I lie.
I lie to them. It’s all right. No, it’s incredible. They all see it. Hell, it’s their reality. A picture, a dress, a smile. His hand in mine. I lie and say it feels natural. Everyone knows me.—Haden, the simple, practical girl-next-door. I look the part, don’t I? I feel the part.
I lie.
I spin my fork around on my plate, noodles sopping up spaghetti sauce in a whirlwind or red and white. The movements amaze me. Spinning, dancing.
A cold hand grabs onto my arm. I look away from the spaghetti. “Haden, what are you doing?” Lia asks me. She glances at the spaghetti, eyes questioning me. “You’re going to get spaghetti sauce on your dress.” Her thumb grazes over my arm as she lets go. She’s clearly worried about my sanity if I am willing to spin spaghetti that close to my dress. I like it. It’s a little dangerous.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. I lie.
“Here, try this.” Taylor rolls a piece of his steak around on his plate. I watch it absorb the sauce and drip, drip down as he pulls it up. He puts his hand, palm up, under the small bite and holds it out to me. I reach across, put my hand on his thigh, and take a bite. I close my eyes and enjoy it, savoring in the taste, the smell, the moment. I try to make myself love it.
“I love it.” It’s pretty obvious by now. I’m lying.
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First 250 of my YA Contemp MAGNOLIA. It’s about a girl who plans to have sex with her new boyfriend at the Winter Formal, but spends the night contemplating and making sense of her relationship with her ex. Lots of layers and twists and emotions…hopefully.
This sounds fun!
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The branches of the tree span out into the horizon, casting dark shadows on the ground. This is where my life changed forever. I press my hand against the aging bark, and remember all the things I have tried so hard to forget.
Back then, running away seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Especially when you had a car with a full tank of gas, like we did. With all of the things we didn’t want to leave behind, the four of us got in the car, and drove away, promising never to look back.
“Never look back,” I whispered, falling to my knees. Leaves danced around me in hopeless abandon, as the wind tugged at the ends of my hair. I could feel the cold, wet earth through my jeans.
For the first time in what seemed like a thousand years, I looked into their eyes, and I said what Wes said before my life faded to black: I’m sorry.
Deep down I knew that there was more I could have said, but those words were the only ones that felt right to say.
“Reese.” A hand fell on my shoulder. It was the same hand that held mine during the funeral. The same hand that gave me back the world, when I really didn’t want it. My mother was annoying at times, but she was what kept me alive.
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This is from my YA Paranormal Contemp novel called SHATTERED. It’s about a girl who because of Wes, escaped death, and now has to pay the price for living.
Here’s mine! It’s the second book in my Fatewinder series (light paranormal romance). The MC, Ania, was cursed by one of the Salem witches. Her soul must reincarnate life after life until she can bear a child with her true love (soul originally belonged to Ann Putnam, Jr.). Problem is, every man who proclaims his love to her dies.
Oh, and Twitter and I are not friends. Hee hee. But I check your tweets often. :)
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Heaven’s Mercy
“Anna Sobieski,” called the loudspeaker. “Anna Sobieski, please come to the nurse’s station.”
Ania threw the three-month old Family Circle onto the overflowing pile of magazines and rushed to the desk, eyes wide.
She blurted out, “I’m Ania Sobieska.”
A woman with graying hair pulled into a bun looked up at her. “The doctor says you can go in now. The patient’s awake.” She pointed to the right. “He’s in room 224, right down that hall.”
“Thank you.” Ania sucked in her breath and moved down the hall, trying to hold the tears back. “He’s awake,” she thought. “Maybe this time, he’ll live.”
She shoved the door open and almost fell into the room. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed, wires surrounding him like ensnaring serpents, brought back vivid memories. The past rushed forward and Ania tried blinking the terrible visions out of her head. . . Steve, Darren, and Josh — all dead. . .all because of her.
Tears formed in her eyes as she ran to Bryan’s bedside. “I’m so sorry, Bryan. I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? You weren’t even there.”
“You wouldn’t have stopped at the store if it weren’t for me.”
“Well, that’s true.” He shifted his weight and grimaced with pain.
“Are you alright?” she asked, touching his arm.
“Would you be alright if you were hit by a truck?”
She withdrew her hand and put it in her lap, looking down at the floor.
“Sorry I snapped. I’m more pissed about my legs than anything.”
Hi Amanda! Waves!! I decided I’d be supportive and join in the contest! Here’s my less than 250 words from my YA Literary Fiction, I’m tenatively titling Beyond the Road to Damascus.
The sweltering summer of 64’ changed us. Forged in the fiery inferno that almost consumed us, that threatened to squelch our voice and even snuff out our very lives, we were molded into the women we became. I turned fifteen that summer. The tomboy, the baby, the sheltered child of antiquated privilege made off the backs of cotton mill workers. Until then, all I knew was how much I admired the delicate, lady-like gentility of my oldest sister, Caroline, and how I coveted the rebellious, free-spirit of my middle sister, Julianne, or Jules as she was called. I guess Jules and I were more the archetypes of what Southern girls shouldn’t be. My mother’s mouth turned down everytime she saw a cigarette dangling out of Jules heavily painted lips or my stringly hair stuffed into a dirty ball cap.
But that summer we didn’t need black and white scenes on the TV of bloodied brutality coupled with cries for freedom and the anthem of “We Shall Overcome” from places like Selma, Birmingham, or even Atlanta because the drums of war raged all around us. The sins of our father, long submerged in the river of time, floated to the surface like a body weighed down with rocks—bloated, putrid, and hideously distorted. From society ladies frenzied fanning, the wind brought fragments of the truth about a place I only thought existed in the Bible and of man I thought was only a ghost. Damascus
What the who? I’ll give it a shot. Don’t have a twitter account so I hope you’ll forgive me, but I do follow your blog. :)
This is the beginning of Nikki’s Wish, my YA paranormal romance. I cut this off a little short of 250 words because it seemed a better place to end.
All I was trying to do was return a wallet.
I picked it up out of a crater-sized pothole and flicked the mud off. I could see its owner already halfway down the block from where I stood. He looked tame enough – leather jacket, faded jeans, dark hair that seemed to play freeze tag with the wind. He jaywalked across Nicollet Avenue, moving amongst the traffic like a porpoise fighting the surf. He skipped up to the curb and made his way down the street without even a sideways glance at the people around him. You could tell he had a purpose, a goal. A mission.
Forget about meeting dad at his office and catching a safe ride home. There were more important things to do. Like chasing a stranger through downtown Minneapolis. On a Wednesday night. At a quarter past nine. Alone.
I could imagine what my sister would have said: You have no common sense, Nikki. He could be a drug dealer or…or a murderer. I mean, come on. Where’s your head?
Ok, so maybe it was stupid, but I could feel something propelling me forward. I was like a wind-up toy springing back to life, and after so many months of feeling like shit, it was a welcome change. Besides, he looked pretty good in those jeans.
You are forgiven, Angie. :D
Oh! I want to play, too!!!
My working title for this is THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS (YA fantasy/paranormal…but no vampires)
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My heart sinks further and further until it reaches the bottom of my feet. The closer we get to my new home, the farther we are from my old life—one that I never wanted to leave in the first place. I heave out a low, tortured sigh, and I wonder for maybe the thousandth time why we are moving to a town that I’d never heard of…a town so small, I couldn’t even find it on the map.
The car slows and then comes to a stop altogether. Dad turns in his seat to bestow a brilliant smile on me and Jacob. “We’re here, kids. Home sweet home.”
I can’t keep the grimace from forming on my face. I quickly try to recall myself, but there’s no need. He’s already climbing out of the car. Mom hasn’t yet and swivels around to face me, a reassuring smile firmly settled into place on her worried face. She reaches over the seat and catches up my hand.
“It’ll be alright, Jacks. You’ll see.”
Why doesn’t that reassure me? Oh yeah, probably because she doesn’t look reassured at all. I cast my gaze out through the window and frown. This old building is going to be our new home? It looks like it’s was going to fall down at any given moment.
****
This is the story of Jacki Jones and how she moves (with her family of course) into a crumbling old house where she inadvertantly unleashes an ancient evil that feeds off the souls of the innocent. When kids start disapearing, it’s up to Jacki (with the help of a garden gnome, a set of twins that are seriously spooky, and the resident hottie) to bring down this evil before anyone else gets hurt.
OK, so these are the first 128 words of “That Boy in the Shed” (my WIP). Not even close to 250, but this bit ties together well and is slightly complete on its own, so I’m leaving it. ( :
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You’ve got to pee before you can zip up your pants.
That’s what my Nanna used to tell my mom when her family went camping and she couldn’t manage to pee in the wild. It’s a totally different experience out there, but one thing’s consistent – you’ve got to pee and even you can’t stop you.
The deal is: do it. You have to pee before you can go back to the campfire and the marshmallows. It’s all common sense in the long run.
Nanna’s advice is more priceless than it seems. It’s just a more relatable version of “get ‘er done.” Make it happen. Do your duty. Then, you can return to life.
I never had a duty. I never had to pee so badly. Until that summer.
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And there you have it! I can’t pinpoint a genre (I hate them), but I CAN say that it probably falls within YA (“it” being the novel).
Thanks for the awesome contest!
Yay! Thanks for hosting a contest! Here’s the first 250 of my Literary Young Adult 365 Days Until I Disappear.
When you’re diagnosed with a terminal illness, everyone treats you like a ghost from the minute they find out. Like Dr. Abbot, he’s been treating me like I’m already dead since he first began treating me five years ago.
“Lindsay,” he begins softly, as if I haven’t been on the receiving end of bad news my entire life, scrubbing his big hands over worn, brown skin covered in grey stubble. He drops his wire framed glasses on the desk and adjusts his white coat nervously.
“Yeah?” I ask, maybe a little too harshly but I’m tired and cranky and would really rather be home. That’s a lie, I’d really just rather be anywhere but here. Mom clucks from beside me, she’s always thought I was too brash, but slides a warm hand over mine. Dr. Abbot sighs slowly then begins speaking again but it’s muffled and hard to make out. Just smooth, rounded vowels that it’s flared up again, come out of remission like we were expecting. Then it’s a litany of, “I’m so sorry,” and time expectancies. One year at the best. Better than nothing. He mutters something about five years being the average survival rate, how lucky we were to get this far. We? When was he diagnosed with leukemia?
Mom’s arms come around me and she’s sucking in deep breaths as she sobs, asking how this could happen and what we can do now. There’s nothing we can do and I know that, this is a terminal illness, emphasis on the terminal.
Title:Sign of the Star
Genre: YA Fantasy
Someone approaches, the winds tell me. A rider.
They have been with me my whole life, and they swirl about in greeting the moment I leave Porden on my seventeenth birthday, the first day of my Journey. They flow past me, gentle summer breezes that tease my hair and whip at my clothing. Had I a skirt, they might gust that about, but land-kin are practical women, and not even Mother wears anything but trousers, except when there’s cause.
The road is empty this afternoon. The mines are a day’s ride from town: anyone passing through Porden did so earlier, if they traveled at all. This I doubt, for last night was the rite of Midsummer’s Eve. Mother and I, who led the townsfolk in sacred celebration, did not sleep until dawn—and we were hardly the last to retire.
I know not how long I’ll be at the mines, or where I’ll go next, but it is a place to start. A place not Anem, I admit to myself, and perhaps I might ponder that more, but this new wind greets me with news to distract even a thinker from her thoughts.
“Janni, take care,” Pix tells me. “Someone comes.”
I nod to my cat-kin, and move aside. It wouldn’t do to be trampled the very first day of my Journey.
The rider flies past us at a gallop; I barely have time to glimpse his chestnut horse, it moves so fast. As for the rider himself—
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Ooops, that’s 248 words! Guess I’ll stop there. ;)
A bit about the plot: Seventeen-year-old Janni is a land-kin, a healer and acolyte of the Land. As her rite of passage, she must travel the land for a year and a day, sharing her gifts. Unfortunately for Janni, she has another, deeper secret, and when it comes back to haunt her, her journey takes a much different path …
Thanks for the contest opportunity!
I left the Roman road while the sun was still low in the east and warming my back.
It had served me well.
Flat and smooth, it had allowed me to put distance between myself and my pursuers. Its sightlines gave me time to hide at the first sign of another traveler, so that I could sink into a ditch or shelter beneath a bush and watch as they passed, ignorant of my presence. Whether or not they were the men seeking me did not matter. An innocent question to a wagon driver would be all that was needed to reveal my direction of travel, for there was not enough traffic to cover the passage of a limping, disfigured man.
Two days of such movement, however, and two nights without a fire were taking their toll. My left arm and leg were only recently healed enough for an extended journey and I cursed again the Saxon bastard that had cost me the full use of my limbs without cutting the feeling from them too. They throbbed and ached and I knew I would need a fire and some time to rest. Perhaps I could find a small stream from which to take a fish, or some roots or tubers to cook. There was not much bread left in my pack and this early in the spring, with the trees just beginning to attain a halo of the lightest green, the pickings to be had in the forest would be slim.
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I followed you over from the Nathan Bransford forums and thought you needed at least one guy to enter your contest:) These are the first two paragraphs of my “completed” novel of historical fiction.
I don’t have a Twitter but I’m going to steal your adorable son and raise him as my own. Thanks for hosting this! All the entries look fantastic.
Title: The Messiah Notebooks
Genre: YA historical fantasy
It was an average theater, a dusky atmosphere cloaked in velvet and studded with oil lamps. A curious audience filled just enough rows to keep a show running. Before, them, on the stage, strode a man.
A cautious set of eyes watched the man’s back. He was a broad-shouldered, overly confident sort of person, decided Miss Trey. Her pale face, obscured by a large set of mirrors, peered out from the wings of the stage. Something pressed against her shoulder, and she jumped.
“Not very good, is he?” asked a second man, who had appeared behind her. He was tall, and had to have to bend forward to reach her ear.
“No, he’s good,” Miss Trey said. She looked about twenty years his junior. “It’s the audience that doesn’t like him. I wouldn’t think him to be the sort of person you would want to be fooled by.”
“Ah,” the man replied, straightening up to reposition his cravat. He twirled a top hat idly through two gloved hands. “A tough crowd in store for me, then?”
“I think you’d manage,” Miss Trey said.
“Of course. Now, who am I looking out for?”
Miss Trey looked a little further around the folds of the curtain.
“That man, there,” she said, pointing. “Beard-face, two from the right in the fourth aisle. He thinks he’s got this one figured out.”
“Well, has he?”
Nevermind, I just checked the updated blog and saw the contest ended. Heh. Silly me, faulty link I stumbled upon…
Congratulations to the winners!
Haha! It’s ok, I liked reading your beginning anyway! :-P
And I had to laugh at your stealing comment! He’s a grumpy bugger right now because of an ear infection. :(