We've got our first submission from someone who used one of the Daily First Lines! Tim Steffen is a writer and illustrator who writes children's and young adult books. Check out his website for info on everything. His newest, Sailboat In A Cellar, is available to buy or borrow through amazon.com.
Below is what Tim wrote from last Wednesday's first line, "The fog hung around the morning," exactly as he wrote it, in the ten minutes he wrote.
Please submit your own quicksies! I love reading them.
Lisa
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by Tim Steffen
The fog hung around this morning. It’d been a long night with friends and everyone was still sleeping by the time I woke with my dog, Gio, by my side. Gio is a dog of habit, much like humans are in our own ways, and the first thing he wants in the morning is his breakfast. After a tasty meal he barks and let me know that it’s time to go out and shore up the property while doing his duty, or doody, if you prefer.
It was on this particular misty morning that I let Gio out in the fog that had rolled in over the Berks County hills of Pennsylvania. His usual routine is to romp around for a half and hour, come back to the door and bark for me to let him in, wipe his feet, and then throw his ball for him to play with for another ten minutes. After that, it’s shut-down time on the sofa for a few hours.
As the guests slept, I made coffee and waited for the dark brew. I poured my first cup of the day and waited for Gio’s bark at the door. Nothing. I had another cup. Still nothing.
I opened the door to the patio and looked out, but couldn’t see any farther than a few trees. The fog lay heavy across the upper meadow. I can usually hear the jingle of Gio’s pendant on his collar, but again, nothing. Silence. Almost creepy silence on that Sunday morning.
I called out, “Gio!” I called once more, but there was no jingling and no Gio in sight.
I put on my Docksides and walked outside, up the meadow, and there in the highest point of the expansive field was Gio, standing nose to nose with a doe. They regarded each other. The doe looked up, saw me and then trotted off into the woods.
It was on this particular misty morning that I let Gio out in the fog that had rolled in over the Berks County hills of Pennsylvania. His usual routine is to romp around for a half and hour, come back to the door and bark for me to let him in, wipe his feet, and then throw his ball for him to play with for another ten minutes. After that, it’s shut-down time on the sofa for a few hours.
As the guests slept, I made coffee and waited for the dark brew. I poured my first cup of the day and waited for Gio’s bark at the door. Nothing. I had another cup. Still nothing.
I opened the door to the patio and looked out, but couldn’t see any farther than a few trees. The fog lay heavy across the upper meadow. I can usually hear the jingle of Gio’s pendant on his collar, but again, nothing. Silence. Almost creepy silence on that Sunday morning.
I called out, “Gio!” I called once more, but there was no jingling and no Gio in sight.
I put on my Docksides and walked outside, up the meadow, and there in the highest point of the expansive field was Gio, standing nose to nose with a doe. They regarded each other. The doe looked up, saw me and then trotted off into the woods.
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