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yarroway. Post three whole paragraphs from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIP. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
From the Civil War sequel to Carry Me Home:
House was playing poker. Or maybe he was playing whist, and the men he was playing against were playing poker. It would certainly explain why he was losing so much.
I should walk away, he thought, but he had thought that during the last hand, and the hand before that, and all that had happened was that his pile of chips had gotten steadily smaller. He was certain that at least one of the men at the table was a card sharp, but he wasn't sure which one. It could be Cigar Stub, who, as his House-given name indicated, had a burned-down stump of tightly-rolled tobacco protruding from his mouth. It could be Full Cigar, who'd been puffing away at a new stogie all night. Or it could be No Cigar, who didn't seem to care to have anything in his mouth besides his teeth and tongue.
Maybe if he lost enough, one of the men would be inspired to kill him. Mrs. Blanchard didn't allow guns in her saloon, so it would probably happen in the street.
"Call," Full Cigar mumbled from around his cigar, and tossed some chips into the pot. The others followed suit.
House hesitated. He didn't have enough chips to call.
************
From a 17th-century historical AU; working title is Under Foreign Flag:
The section of Rotterdam where they lived was by a canal, but then it seemed to Wilson that everything in Rotterdam was by a canal. The rooming house was old, but they were on the ground floor, and so the flights of worm-eaten stairs were no hindrance to his recovering patient. Wilson had learned enough of the native language to make himself understood in small transactions, although privately he thought Dutch was most akin to the coughing of a goat. He was free to wander about the neighborhood; the people in the rooming house called him de Engelsman de chirurg, and were quick to greet him with a smile. It seemed to be assumed that his honor would prevent him fleeing, and as the Dutch Republic had outlawed impressment, he was free of the possibility of involuntary servitude.
If he hadn't known he was a captive of war, it would have all felt like a holiday in a pleasant-enough port town.
He tried to imagine what Captain House would have done if their situations had been reversed; most often his conjectures ended with House running someone through with his sword, so after a while he stopped.
************
An AU about Wilson's new girlfriend:
"Her name's Nikki," House says, slapping the sheaf of personnel-file papers on Wilson's desk. "Nikki Wolfgirl -- oh, wait. I mean Nikki Washington." He settles himself into Wilson's office chair and allows his cane a lazy twirl in the air. "Ortho, Jefferson Medical College, internship Bryn Mawr Hospital, residency Columbia Presbyterian, specializes in shoulders, knees, elbows, Tommy John surgery -- "
"House," Wilson says. House shuts up, but looks pointedly at the personnel papers. Wilson sighs. "I know all that," he says.
"How long were you in that elevator?"
Not long enough, is what Wilson wants to say, but he doesn't, so what he says instead is, "We're seeing each other."
"You're seeing a werewolf."
"I'm seeing my girlfriend."
"Who is someone you want to fix. Because she's a werewolf."
"Someone I want to ... House, I can't fix her. There's nothing to be fixed!"
"That's what you say now," House says. "Just wait till you have to buy your first package of doggie de-wormer."
************
yarroway. Post three whole paragraphs from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIP. With any luck, you'll get talking about writing, and the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!From the Civil War sequel to Carry Me Home:
House was playing poker. Or maybe he was playing whist, and the men he was playing against were playing poker. It would certainly explain why he was losing so much.
I should walk away, he thought, but he had thought that during the last hand, and the hand before that, and all that had happened was that his pile of chips had gotten steadily smaller. He was certain that at least one of the men at the table was a card sharp, but he wasn't sure which one. It could be Cigar Stub, who, as his House-given name indicated, had a burned-down stump of tightly-rolled tobacco protruding from his mouth. It could be Full Cigar, who'd been puffing away at a new stogie all night. Or it could be No Cigar, who didn't seem to care to have anything in his mouth besides his teeth and tongue.
Maybe if he lost enough, one of the men would be inspired to kill him. Mrs. Blanchard didn't allow guns in her saloon, so it would probably happen in the street.
"Call," Full Cigar mumbled from around his cigar, and tossed some chips into the pot. The others followed suit.
House hesitated. He didn't have enough chips to call.
From a 17th-century historical AU; working title is Under Foreign Flag:
The section of Rotterdam where they lived was by a canal, but then it seemed to Wilson that everything in Rotterdam was by a canal. The rooming house was old, but they were on the ground floor, and so the flights of worm-eaten stairs were no hindrance to his recovering patient. Wilson had learned enough of the native language to make himself understood in small transactions, although privately he thought Dutch was most akin to the coughing of a goat. He was free to wander about the neighborhood; the people in the rooming house called him de Engelsman de chirurg, and were quick to greet him with a smile. It seemed to be assumed that his honor would prevent him fleeing, and as the Dutch Republic had outlawed impressment, he was free of the possibility of involuntary servitude.
If he hadn't known he was a captive of war, it would have all felt like a holiday in a pleasant-enough port town.
He tried to imagine what Captain House would have done if their situations had been reversed; most often his conjectures ended with House running someone through with his sword, so after a while he stopped.
An AU about Wilson's new girlfriend:
"Her name's Nikki," House says, slapping the sheaf of personnel-file papers on Wilson's desk. "Nikki Wolfgirl -- oh, wait. I mean Nikki Washington." He settles himself into Wilson's office chair and allows his cane a lazy twirl in the air. "Ortho, Jefferson Medical College, internship Bryn Mawr Hospital, residency Columbia Presbyterian, specializes in shoulders, knees, elbows, Tommy John surgery -- "
"House," Wilson says. House shuts up, but looks pointedly at the personnel papers. Wilson sighs. "I know all that," he says.
"How long were you in that elevator?"
Not long enough, is what Wilson wants to say, but he doesn't, so what he says instead is, "We're seeing each other."
"You're seeing a werewolf."
"I'm seeing my girlfriend."
"Who is someone you want to fix. Because she's a werewolf."
"Someone I want to ... House, I can't fix her. There's nothing to be fixed!"
"That's what you say now," House says. "Just wait till you have to buy your first package of doggie de-wormer."