Deanna Hoak

I haven’t talked about my own writing in a while. :-) The process of putting my own words on paper has very honestly made me a better copyeditor, though, and it’s something I enjoy.

Here are my current first lines:

“Mutual Feelings”: Tare trembled as John tangled his fingers in her hair and brushed his lips against the nape of her neck, as he teased her with tiny nips and caresses.

“Aubade”: Five months after the divorce, and Paul was still holed up in the ramshackle apartment he’d moved into after Linda asked for a separation.

“Visions of Faith”: Teres lay on her bed, staring sightless at the vigas and latillas she knew were there–that she’d had her papá lift her up to touch as a child.

“The Robidermist’s Steed”: Katya stared with rapt attention–one hand twirling her hair, the other holding tightly onto her daddy–at the robidermist’s shop across the way.

(In)Sane: I’ve heard people say, “Oh, my mom’s insane.”

Natchez, Naturally: Natchez stared glumly at the passing scenery–fences, goats, cows, cactus, and every variety of dead wild animal she could imagine–as the old Bronco bumped down the dirt road to her nana’s ranch.

Spirit Seer: Teres fought for calm as she quested along the narrow path with one hand, her other trailing the cliff face.