It’s “Lucky 7 Meme” time for me today! I’ve just been tagged by the uber fun and talented Sandra Bunino. If you’ve never been to her website / blog, be sure to pay her a visit, especially on Mondays or Sundays when she often posts her “All Things Girl” column or Six Sentences from her works.
What exactly is The Lucky 7 MEME? Here’s how it works:
▪ Go to p. 77 of current WIP
▪ go to line 7
▪ copy down next 7 lines/sentences & post them as they’re written
▪ Tag 7 other authors
▪ Let them know
Alrighty then. What’s my latest WIP? Hmm… I’m taking that to truly mean in process vs. nearly released, out on submission, etc.
OK, from My Fair Vampire, Dori is, yet again, receiving instruction from her grouchy vampire sire, Donovan, who speaks first.
“Midnight has large bathrooms. Get some cowboy to whisk you in there for a quickie–yours not his.” He smirked. “But stay away from the doormen.”
“Maybe if you could teach me a little bit of the hypnosis I’d–”
“Damn! You’re like a broken record.”
So…now to tag seven other authors, hopefully ones who haven’t been tagged already. I did check most of these to make sure they’re Lucky virgins. (Aw come on, you know what I meant!)
J Keller Ford
Below are the first 250 words of my novel My Fair Vampire for the “Show me the voice contest” sponsored by Brenda Drake. Click the picture at the left for details.
Dammit, he got away. They always get away. I suck 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.
I really didn’t know why my sire had bothered, why he hadn’t just killed me. The last time I’d had fresh blood, he’d caught it then scolded me saying, “Dori, remember, use surprise until you’ve mastered persuasion, so for God’s sake don’t let ‘em see your canines.”
“Well 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.”
“Maybe if you tried dressing a little more sexy, you could lure better. This,” he’d pointed to my feet, then my clothes, “…garbage you wear is utterly pointless.”
That had triggered my usual defense. “A girl’s gotta have the right shoes to chase ‘em down if she’s not blessed in other departments.”
He’d grunted with aggravation 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. A freckle-faced strawberry blonde in track pants and a “Save the Adobe Whales” t-shirt made me more likely to grace the cover of Natural Health–ironic since I was dead.
I clapped my tennis shoes together and mud fell to the ground in clumps. The clear Albuquerque skies peeked through the treetops and twinkled above my head.