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Tipper Jones carried within her a tiny seed of hope.
Hope that change was possible. That broken systems could at least be altered if not fixed. She was brave enough to ask questions, but she’d lived a lie protecting that seed. Now, as she crept outside in the middle of the night, she was offering proof of its existence and threatening everyone she loved.
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Tipper should’ve turned around, but she couldn’t. Hope needed action to exist and she was desperate. She would never find the dream boy without flying.
Her linen tunic clung to her body. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She was a fool for taking such risks. A fool with hope buried deep inside…
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I’m a fool to fall in love with a dream.
I glance at my hand lit by sage-green moonlight, imagining your fingers entwined in mine. How many nights have I clutched yours, wishing you were real? A dozen? More?
Too many times to be left aching, as you are ripped away.
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I curse you.
I curse you, my nameless boy, for haunting me over and over in a dream, leaving me aching for something I can never have, and proving everyone right. There is something wrong with Tipper Jones.
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All those versions, and I still don't have it right. I like some more than others, but in the end not one of them are correct for the story. Let me explain.
I like to write cleanly. I like to polish chapters before moving on to the next. The problem with this particular approach lies in my inability to pre-plot a novel. Editing a chapter before the big picture is complete is like putting details on an image drawn in the sand on a windy day.
I finally realized this on a windy day. The story's climactic ending hit me and with that revelation, the opening sequence became blindingly clear. So, it's back to writing, but I won't be touching those opening lines until the final scene is complete. I'm done wasting time.
What about you? In love with your first few lines? Care to share?
Happy writing!
Sue