Lucky Seven Meme


I’ve been tagged again by the amazing Susan Rocan, but there won’t be any number of questions I have to answer this time around.  This is a new kind of game and I saw it a few weeks ago circling around on the blogosphere and I secretly hoped it would come my way because it’s just so much fun!

Here is the scoop:

1.  Go to page 77 of your current manuscript or WIP

2.  Go to line 7.  Copy down the next seven lines, sentences or paragraphs as they are written.  No Cheating!

3.  tag 7 authors and pass on the Lucky Seven Meme

Here goes my excerpt from In the Shadow of the Dragon King:

Charlotte hugged her drawn-up knees. “Hmm, let me see. I’m in a heavy sweater sitting in a forest that’s as warm as Florida in July, surrounded by insects and birds that could carry me away.  My cell phone is in my coat back at your house, not that it would do me any good in this God-forsaken place, and I have welt marks on  my arm from where I’ve pinched myself so many times to convince myself all this is real.  Does that answer your question?”

David smiled and nudged her with his elbow. “Well, at least you aren’t plastered to a wall anymore.” 

And, my seven lucky authors are:

Jennifer Eaton

Julie Reece

Emi Gayle

Cara Olsen

Hannah Bullimore

L.A. Freeland

Kevin Hiatt

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15 thoughts on “Lucky Seven Meme

  1. HA! Yes, so funny we both tagged Jennifer! She is awesome:) Love your line about a sweater as warm as FL in July . . . know what that feels like since I live in SWFL. R u a Floridian, too?

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  2. Were I you I’d play Lucky 7s in Vegas–unless you abhor gambling.

    If you do, let know. I’ll email my address for those quarters hanging about waiting to be turned into thousands.

    Lucky page 77 starting at line7. What a great excerpt. KUDOS!

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  3. Fun idea, Jenny! Love your excerpt. Even out of context it’s funny and interesting.

    Here goes:

    She had more tenacity than an old lady determined to use expired coupons. The movie, I later realized, was only the beginning. Bright and early the following day, Emily was on front-porch, clad in am itty-bitty, metallic-silver bikini. She’d come over insisting the beach was calling. Maybe it was, I reasoned, but I was just going to let it go to voicemail. Unable to sway her—many, many excuses later—I did the unbelievable. Atrocity barely begun to describe the ruffled and tie dye swimwear.

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