The 777 Meme
I’ve been tagged by Albert Wendland for the 777 meme!
The rules:
Go to the 7th line of the 7th page of your work in progress.
Post the first full 7 lines.
Then tag 7 friends.
My work in progress is my second title contracted with Simon and Schuster Books For Young Readers. I was absent the day tagline-writing genes were handed out, so think generous thoughts when you read the below. Here is my stab at a one-sentence summary of the plot:
Six former playmates, now grown apart as seniors in high school, discover that the chest of jewelry they found and kept secret as children is an infamous collection with a profound purpose, and wearing the jewelry has come at a price for each of them.
My first complete novel draft came in 50,000 words too large, so I’m not sure if there will be six or four main characters in the next draft. Such is the revision process!
Anyway, one of the characters, call him Brett, is struggling with abuse at home. His own “Consequences” have grown less scary as he’s grown larger than his mother, but he watches helplessly as his sweet, six-year-old brother endures some of the same things he once did. Brett’s particular upbringing has left him with some confused ideas about the nature of his power with respect to women/girls.
This passage is part of his introduction in chapter one. To all the line-counters out there: yes, I cheated, and this is more than seven. You can stop reading after seven if you like!
He’d never set out to be a bad boy. Somehow it just happened.
He and Julie had fallen behind on the getting drunk part of the night, and Julie was racing to catch back up with the group. Festivities moved on from I Never when Jade and Oscar finally came downstairs and suggested a dice game. Julie swallowed half a can each time it was her turn.
“Hey,” Brett whispered. He turned his face to her ear so no one but Julie would be able to hear him. “Slow down, there, chugger. You okay?”
“Yeah.” She nodded and forced out a grin. It was the I’m not alright but I’m trying to pretend I am face. He hated that face. It meant she was going to cry later. It meant he was a jerk.
Well, he was, wasn’t he? He’d asked her to go down the hall, even though she was the one who’d said yes. He’d kissed her first, but she’d kissed back. He’d taken the lead from there, and she’d followed right back. They’d both had some beer, but like some girls did when they wanted to fool around, and wanted their forwardness blamed on the alcohol, she’d been pretending to be more drunk than she possibly could have been. Hadn’t she?
Hadn’t she?
(And, yes, Brett’s piece from the collection is a ring based off the one you see above.)
So there you have it. Next up are seven wonderful writers I’ve had the pleasure of working with:
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