WIP meme - a goat following the flock

[elingregory]

This is all over the place today, posted mostly by proper writers with followings. But I'm posting this as a cautionary tale to anyone who thinks "oh hey, I have a shiny idea, I'll write a book about it!"

Shiny ideas can be evil. Shiny ideas can take over you life and your hard drive. Shiny ideas are truculent and aggressive ratbags who interfere with each other. And the worst thing about them - they travel in herds!

Solitary shiny ideas that can be properly attended to are lovely things but when does that ever happen.

Meme:

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.



Alike As Two Bees
Anatolios
Applejack
Blighs Ferry
Eleventh Hour
Emrys
A Fierce Reaping
A Gleam of Splendour
Henry Vance
The Imperial Ideal
Keladra
The Language of Flowers
Moonlight Shadow
Norton Wood
Old Stories
On a Lee Shore
Regency Rubbish
Short in the Saddle
Spices to Belhaven
Tears of Heaven
Town Mouse
The Wanderer

Name one of them and I'll give you a snippet from it and/or tell you something about it.

In other news, I find I am required to write a guide book for work, during my normal working hours in addition to my normal tasks, and it needs to be print run ready by the end of January. OMG so much fact checking!!!!

Comments

[elin-gregory.livejournal.com]

No money and it will have the museum's name on it - but hey, it'll be a book that my mother can talk about!

The Imperial Ideal - oh God that's so old. I wrote it in the late 90s. It's a bit like a fantasy version of 'The African Queen' only set in an eastern European milieu with an Imperial army chasing murderous rebels at the direction of sinister 'political' officers. It's also one of the last things I wrote that was het.

Snippet:

If Trooper Krieg was aware of Sisson’s scrutiny, he showed no sign of it. He limped on towards them, halting at a respectful distance and saluting left-handed.
“You wanted me, sir?” he asked.
Sisson had considered his reply carefully.
“I need a reliable man, with a certain combination of skills,” he said, “and you, Krieg, are my only possible choice. I do not expect you to let me down.”
The assignment was soon explained. Krieg leaned on his crutch and glared at Sisson with no trace of his former respect. Sisson merely smiled and continued.
“The medics inform me that your injuries are being exacerbated by the jolting of the transports and that rest should work wonders. The repair to the firing unit in the All Purpose is well within your capabilities, even one handed. Take your time. Take Mistress Yannis home to Koulaibik. Stay there until she is settled then either rendezvous with us at the coordinates marked on the map, it’s a small town called Pecharov or we will come to find you. If there’s a change of plan we’ll get word to you. Use your initiative, Krieg.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Krieg’s salute was perfunctory as he turned and hobbled back to Bledso who was leaning against the damaged ape.
“S’teeth,” Krieg swore and leaned alongside of him. “Why me, why bloody me, eh?”
“Yes, why you?” Bledso wanted to know. “There are plenty of men in this unit who’d be pleased to get off on their own for a day or two. A.P. with full power cells. Food packs, a little female company,” he leered and nudged Krieg, who winced and swore.
“Why didn’t you volunteer, then?” he demanded.
“Not me, mate, I’ve seen her. She's fifty if she’s a day,” Bledso said with a chuckle. “Look, there she is now.”
Krieg watched the bulky figure stomp down through the trees. She was dressed in the usual garb for the region, a heavy scarf or shawl swathing head and shoulders over a thick quilted jacket and voluminous woollen skirts all in shades of mud. Large felt lined boots that looked like they could kick the treads off a tank completed the ensemble and Krieg swore again.
“You’ll be all right there,” Bledso told him. “If the ape strips a tyre, she’ll be able to pick it up with one hand and undo the wheel nuts with the other. And do the same to you if you get fresh.”
Krieg ignored him. He was watching the woman as she spoke to the major. Once she glanced in his direction and, from her gestures, was asking whom the major expected to look after whom. He sighed and glanced across at Bledso.
“Looks like there’s no hope for it, then,” he said. “Give us a hand to get this so and so off the track?”
“Sure,” Bledso grinned at him and held the driver’s door open with a mocking bow.

[yakalskovich]

Oh, it sounds a little steampunk-y!