Shows you how exhausted I am from mourning the election, that I can do nothing but repeat what others are doing . . . at least, this one gives me the chance to pretend that I am writing even though schoolwork leaves me about two hours a week to work on anything else. This one via E.L. Chen: "post just the opening lines of one's works-in-progress." Easy, too. However, I'm using the liberal interpretation of "opening lines."

From the untitled Bending Parlor story that Pam was interested in (I'm working on it, honestly):

When women told Martin they were not attracted to him--and they did so often, usually in an apologetic tone--he asked them to be specific. "Are my knuckles too hairy?" he would ask. "Is my chin weak?" Few women were comfortable with this line of questioning, but Martin was persistent. "Is it my shoes? Did I make too much eye contact? Do I exude restlessness and anxiety? Is there something in my teeth?"

From the story that used to be called "The Harriers" or "Five Hundred and Forty Doors," and which I'm hoping to finish for Susan and David's Short Epics anthology:

The second time I got shot, that was the one that done it. Killed me, ya know. That's how I got mixed up in all that Ragnarok garbage. But I guess before I tell that story I ought to tell you about the first time I got shot, and before I tell that one I ought to tell about the first time I saw someone get shot, if you want to know the whole story.

From the YA/children's novel I've only written a chapter of, tentatively titled Raymond, King of the Rats:

This story never happened, and you didn't hear it from me. It's a secret and a lie, except for the parts that are common knowledge and true. So be careful who you tell.

I have about a hundred beginnings somewhere on this hard drive, but these are the ones most likely to get finished.