Here's that writer meme, in which writers post the first sentence(s) of current works-in-progress:
The Light of a Better World (AKA the Bridge novel)
The night before Bridget walked out of Darrin's life, fully six months before he watched her climb over the railing of the Golden Gate Bridge and dive head-first into the water 200 feet below, six months and four seconds before she struck the surface of the bay with a force of 15,000 pounds per square inch, dying instantly from the resulting full-body blunt-force trauma, they had their last conversation:
"Remember when you said you wanted to drink wine out of the small of my back?" Bridget asked.
Blood Engines (AKA the Frog novel)
Marla Mason crouched in the alley beside City Lights bookstore, a square of royal-purple velvet spread before her on the ground, covered by a scattering of objects -- a garlic clove, a withered cigarette butt, a two-headed novelty quarter, some fingernail cuttings, and the stone from the head of a toad. She surveyed the pattern the objects made for a long time, then sighed. "It's no good," she said. "I don't know where the lines of force are in this city, so I can't accurately interpret the scatter. I'm going to have to do a wet divination."
"The Crawlspace of the World"
Three days into our hike, Morgan ditched me. I woke in the nest I'd made of socks and child-sized winter coats and sat up in the gray-skied non-morning, groping for my water bottle, calling her name.
Martin Stillwell found the stilts half-in the creek down by Dobbler Road, and his first thought on seeing them, gold and red and lacquered, was that they looked like chopsticks for some Jade Dragon Buffet from the land of giants.
I think that's pretty much it. The expected wedding entry will follow! For now, I'll only say it went off wonderfully, was the greatest party that I ever attended, and that this morning I have full-on laryngitis, which was well-earned.