Eight Sentence Sunday: The First Eight Sentences of “Seven Are They”

Earlier this month my rough draft of Seven Are They was sent back by my two betas (and friends!), Malissa and Laura. Both published writers in their own right, they had a lot of great things to say.

Malissa focuses mostly on epic fantasy, but she’s had a Steampunk story published in Tor’s Steampunk III Anthology, alongside authors like Cherie Priest, Bruce Sterling, and Garth Nix. This Tor review mentions how awesome her story was! She’s also written a number of short stories that you can find here on Amazon, including a wonderful guide to self-publishing e-books that she created while getting her MFA. Laura’s written a lot about weird Chicago history, vampires, and is currently working on a modern-day vampire series set in Chicago which features a slightly unusual protagonist: an Indian man fighting for the British who was bitten in the chaotic trenches of WWI. Her first book in the series, To Touch the Sun from Dadga Publishing, can be found here. The second book in the series, Ujaali, is due out next month. You can also read a recent interview with her about her writing process here, at J. S. Collyer’s sci-fi author blog.

I can’t wait to dive into all of their comments and feedback. Thanks so much to both of you! 🙂 Beta readers really are amazing people.


As for today’s eight sentences, I thought I’d focus on the beginning of my draft, as that’s what I spent most of last night staring at while looking at feedback, hehe ;).  Here are the first eight sentences of my novel. It introduces Lefty right off the bat:

I shoulda known something was wrong the second Pierce showed up at our corner with another fella in tow.

“What’s with the new fish?” I asked through the window as I nosed my Packard up to the curb real careful-like.  “Thought it was just gonna be us on this job.”

Pierce shrugged.  “Plans changed.  This here’s Lefty,” he said, shoving the new guy towards the car door.  “He’s gonna be our wheelman tonight.”


About lupachi1927

My name's Megan, and I'm a writer with an interest in history. While I might not be a real historian, I'm a very thorough researcher. This blog is my place to post about all the interesting historical tidbits I find that can't use in the novel I'm working on, which takes place in Chicago in 1927. If you're looking for research help, writing feedback, or just want to say hi, feel free to drop me a line! :)
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3 Responses to Eight Sentence Sunday: The First Eight Sentences of “Seven Are They”

  1. jazzfeathers says:

    Oh, Lupaci, why didn’t you post on the forum too? Nobody did yesterda 😦

    But let me tell you that I like the opening. I know what it means working on a hook, I’ve rewritten mine some 30 times. No kidding.
    I like that I imediately get a sense of the protagonist, of the action, I get a sense of what these guys are up to and what to expect (to an extend). I like that right off, I get a sense that something may go wrong.
    Really like it ^_^


    • lupachi1927 says:

      Thanks! I’m happy with the opening too. I don’t suspect I’ll change it when I start to really edit. I’ve been struggling with the intro to my second book whoever. What did you end up going with? Care to post your first eight sentences here? 🙂 And yeah I’m sorry I didn’t post yesterday—I tried but all my internet browsers told me the site had been compromised and wouldn’t let me access it. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen that message…it was really strange! I assume you had no problems accessing it?


      • jazzfeathers says:

        No, no problem at all. Have you tried later on? CW also posted (though not a 8 Sentece) so I think everythign should be fine.

        Post my first 8 senteces here?
        Mhm… why not?

        “Michael felt it as a hand on his shoulder, a gentle tug that stayed him.
        When he turned, he saw Blood standing still on the busy street many steps away, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast, brows creased. He always knew when something was up with Blood, as Blood did with him. When Blood snapped his head up and whirled to face the straight throughway cutting away from Lake Michigan, Michael looked too.

        He saw cars zig-zagging in the street to avoid the few horse-drawn carts and people hastening on the sidewalks to get those few things on the way home before shops closed for the night. As usual.
        So he listened. The whistle of the “L” came to him from the station, muffled by the distance but still sharp enough to cut its way through blocks of tenements and the city’s noise.”

        What do you think?
        I’m getting frustrated with agents. More than one told me, “Good idea, but…” and I can’t see what that but means.
        That’s why I want to take a break with the short story. Let’s see if after that I can figure out what’s wrong.


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