The idea for this post comes from Tracey’s here. I haven’t posted the first lines of the novels whose first chapters I have up here, or the Coventry Carol, which I also have on its own page. These will be from my old work or other works in progress.
“Ancestry,” Mrs Brown said. Lily scribbled down the word, a-n, an; cestry like chester, ancestry. Her mother took advantage of the moment to take a drink and look at the clock on the wall across the kitchen.
(Modern retelling of Lily’s story; outlined and just begun)
My bare feet ran across hay stubble as I returned from bearing my load of the cut grass to the heap. Three days ago, a fortnight after the ides of Haligmonath, the men had come out with scythes to reap the hay, cutting it down and spreading it out to dry beneath the sun. Later we had come out to turn it. Today we were stacking it.
(Unnamed story set during and just after the Norman Conquest; a few thousand words done; will probably need at least one of the points of view rewritten)
The new Mrs Abcott turned her back to the crowd of girls and young women gathered about her, raised her bouquet in both hands above her head, and threw it from her with all her might. It arched through the air above the eager upturned faces, seemed to hesitate, and fell.
(Wedding Story; a few thousand words done, scattered over various documents)
“I wish those stories Grandma told me were true,” Audra thought as she got ready for bed. She stood by the window behind her bed and looked out at the quiet yard and the moon. Its light lay in motionless bands across her pillow, framing her silhouette on the sheets. “Even with all the bad things that happened, I wish they had been real. I do wish.” She closed the blinds and lay down.
(Unnamed, unfinished I-don’t-know-what-genre-this-is story, vaguely modern, involves dragons and people with wings)
She was one of those American tourists, the young fair kind that come over now and then with a serious expression and a camera. Only she didn’t have the camera.
(Unnamed, unfinished story I really need to get back to, modern-ish; 2-3 thousand words so far)
Steely. I want to be steely, like my father’s sword and his voice, like the queen my mother is, like the queen I ought someday to be. But I am not.
(Unnamed, as-yet-unfinished fantasy with a Mediterranean sort of feel that wants to turn into a fairy-tale retelling in spite of me. Only I’m not sure which fairy tale. About 3k done)
Once upon a time there was an egg named Humpty Dumpty: Humpty because he had a humped back, and Dumpty because he was rather round. In his youth he developed a bad habit of sitting on walls, a habit of which his mother tried vainly to break him.
(“The History of Humpty Dumpty, in Prose (Not a bedtime story)”, short story, complete)
Lily’s knitting lay idle on her lap as she stared out the window of the train, but the novelty of riding one of the new-fangled beasts was lost in her loneliness.
(First line of the original version of Lily’s story, novel, 100,000 words, will never see the light of day)