In my writing I have been striving for description to move the story forward.
Here is my written two line contribution for today, from a current draft work:
"With scarcely any room to move, she managed to rise to her knees, coughing in the thick, acrid dust until her chest ached and she tasted blood. Struggling in the cramped darkness, she got her shirttail out of her jeans and over her mouth and nose; it strained enough dust that she could breathe."
From a book I recently read are two sentences from Dark Fire by C.J. Sansom:
“Joseph’s mother sat ramrod straight in her chair, snow-white hair gathered under a black cap, veiny hands folded over a stick. She was thin, the planes of her skull visible beneath pale skin that was a patchwork of lines and smallpox scars.”
The Lost Art of English Joinery
1 hour ago