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eldabeMeme!
1. Go to page 77 (or 7) 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.
4. Tag 7 other authors. You. You, you you. You and you and you.
I don't write very long fic, generally, so here's a bit from the story I started fortw_unpaired that is probably going to have to be finished for a big bang if I want to make it as long as it needs to be. Hilariously, the 7, 7, 7 thing worked out fairly well.
*
They developed a pattern quickly. Ianto was in charge of personnel and Lisa was in charge of weaponry, and Ianto kept track of the cross references and hunches while Lisa hunted through every suspicious mechanical failure in Torchwood in the past decade.
It was slow, tiresome work, and on Friday, Lisa asked if Ianto would mind coming in on Saturday. Neither Yvonne nor Simon had contacted her, but Lisa was aware that they were waiting her results. Speed was important, but they had to be right.
Torchwood never closed, of course, so working on the weekends was only different in that it was quieter. Lisa told Ianto to leave early, but he stayed with her until six, when she forced them both out and told him he was forbidden from the entire Canary Wharf area until Monday at nine.
When Lisa came in at half-eight, Ianto was already there, cradling a mug of coffee, frowning at a file.
"Mr. Jones," Lisa said, "I believe you are early."
"I had an idea." Ianto said. "But I don't think it's going to work, Ms. Hallett." Both of them had been informal from the start, although Ianto still avoided saying her name at all if he could help it. Yvonne insisted on informality in the workplace, as part of her theory on successful 21st century corporations. Lisa was just glad that they weren't being run by a group of teenagers in jeans, like all of those internet start-ups. The dress code wasn't codified as such, but Ianto didn't look out of place in his well-tailored suits, even though he wore them stiffly.
"Fine, Ianto. What won't work out?"
1. Go to page 77 (or 7) 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.
4. Tag 7 other authors. You. You, you you. You and you and you.
I don't write very long fic, generally, so here's a bit from the story I started for
tw_unpaired that is probably going to have to be finished for a big bang if I want to make it as long as it needs to be. Hilariously, the 7, 7, 7 thing worked out fairly well.*
They developed a pattern quickly. Ianto was in charge of personnel and Lisa was in charge of weaponry, and Ianto kept track of the cross references and hunches while Lisa hunted through every suspicious mechanical failure in Torchwood in the past decade.
It was slow, tiresome work, and on Friday, Lisa asked if Ianto would mind coming in on Saturday. Neither Yvonne nor Simon had contacted her, but Lisa was aware that they were waiting her results. Speed was important, but they had to be right.
Torchwood never closed, of course, so working on the weekends was only different in that it was quieter. Lisa told Ianto to leave early, but he stayed with her until six, when she forced them both out and told him he was forbidden from the entire Canary Wharf area until Monday at nine.
When Lisa came in at half-eight, Ianto was already there, cradling a mug of coffee, frowning at a file.
"Mr. Jones," Lisa said, "I believe you are early."
"I had an idea." Ianto said. "But I don't think it's going to work, Ms. Hallett." Both of them had been informal from the start, although Ianto still avoided saying her name at all if he could help it. Yvonne insisted on informality in the workplace, as part of her theory on successful 21st century corporations. Lisa was just glad that they weren't being run by a group of teenagers in jeans, like all of those internet start-ups. The dress code wasn't codified as such, but Ianto didn't look out of place in his well-tailored suits, even though he wore them stiffly.
"Fine, Ianto. What won't work out?"
