|
Server : Apache/2.4.62 System : FreeBSD fbsdweb2.web.rcn.net 14.1-RELEASE FreeBSD 14.1-RELEASE releng/14.1-n267679-10e31f0946d8 GENERIC amd64 User : www ( 80) PHP Version : 8.3.8 Disable Function : NONE Directory : /domains/markrose/ |
Upload File : |
<HTML>
<HEAD>
<TITLE>ST(O) : Am I NaNoWriMo or not?</TITLE>
<style>
@font-face
{font-family:"Arial";}
p
{font-family:"Arial";}
li
{font-family:"Arial";
padding: 0px 0px 16px 0px;}
h1
{color:#A73B16;
font-family:"Arial";}
h2
{color:#A73B16;
font-family:"Arial";}
h3
{color:#A73B16;
font-family:"Arial";}
</style>
</HEAD>
<BODY BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF">
<table> <!-- just for margins -->
<tr>
<td width="5%">
<td>
<a href="index.html"><img border=0 alt="ST(O) main page" title="ST(O) main page" src="sublogo.gif" width="234" height="58"></a>
<td width="5%">
<tr><td>
<td bgcolor="#A73B16">
<tr><td><td>
<Table width="100%">
<tr>
<td valign="bottom"><h2>Am I NaNoWriMo or not?<br></H2>
<td align="right"><img src="writing.gif" height="33" width="33" align="right" alt="Enjoy this Frank Paul painting" title="Enjoy this Frank Paul painting">
</table>
<p>1. 'oh fuck', was charitably the only thing going through XXXXXX's head as he watched the body of his girlfriend drop to the pavement, as the rain mixed with the blood, a single bolt of lightning howled it's mournfull wail
across a dark and cloudy sky.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>2.
When he first laid eyes on her, a thousand memories sprang from the depths of his soul; dying in her arms, killing her, watching her dance in the arms of so many other men who were somehow all the same--but above all, he recalled the curse, and the fact that though her face and hair and height and hands changed, her eyes were always blue, and they never recognized him.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>3.
I was not always the sad, pathetic, bitter, horrid wreck of a human being that you now see before you-- oh no, I was once one who you would not believe, in my present state, that I once was.
<br> <i>fake</i>
<p>4.
The light from the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling stabbed him awake.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>5.
"You will understand now that I am serious," said the fine young warrior woman, striking her sharp etched sword on the pavement for emphasis, but the old queen didn't answer, being dead.
<br> <i>fake</i>
<p>6.
Imagine that you have to break someone's arm. Right or left, it doesn't matter. The point is that you have to break it, because if you don't... well, that doesn't matter either.
<br> <i>The Gun Seller</i>, Hugh Laurie
<p>7.
Rain awoke to the usual morning sounds - specifically, the kettle
shrieking and Nieva shrieking just as loudly.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>8.
The town of Daelnao was a town of happenings that could not be explained, a area of a higher death rate than most, and a place that seemed to find fear in every dark shadow once the night came.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>9.
The long tapers flickered, sending the black shadows wavering along the walls, and the velvet tapestries rippled. Yet there was no wind in the chamber.
<br> <i>The Hour of the Dragon</i>, Robert Howard
<p>10.
Richard Black threw down the letter he had been holding, and swore loudly. "Damn!"
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>11.
"The queen dies!!" the ancient midwife shouted, and Irguth, king and a bear
of a man burst into the bed chambers, knocking a maid to the floor in his
effort to make it to the bed, his slender wife's hands knotted in the
sheets with pain.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>12.
Four cardinals, a rabbi, a Masonic admiral, and a trio of insignificant politicians acting for an Anglo-Saxon corporation brought word to our population, by radio and by billboards, that starvation was a solid possibility.
<br> <i>La Disparition</i>, Georges Perec
<p>13.
The forest is silent, waiting, hushed beneath the illuminating orb of a full silver moon and the scudding gray of clouds across the panorama of star-studded sky. Silent, and motionless, except for the occasional sonar squeal of swooping bats safe in the breezy air, except for the shadowed forms of wolves ghosting silent over the leaf-carpeted earth.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>14.
From the way her buttocks looked under the black silk dress, I knew she'd be good in bed.
<br> <i>Solomon's Vineyard</i>, Jonathan Latimer
<p>15.
Silence. Not the heavy silence that causes those within it to think they are absolutely alone, but the kind that is filled with sounds, with the rustling of leaves, with the sound of the wind.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>16.
Even in the dark, blood had a completely different feel to it than anything else.
<br> <i>NaNoWriMo</i>
<p>
<td width="5%">
<tr><td>
<td bgcolor="#A73B16">
</td>
<tr><td><td>
<a href="index.html"><img align="right" border=0 alt="ST(O) main page" title="ST(O) main page" src="sublogo.gif" width="234" height="58"></a>
</table>
<font size=-1><i>Nov. '03 / mark, chris </i></font>
</BODY></HTML>