The pills that lay in Paul’s hand now were blue - little sky colored tablets, powdery, promising bitterness.
With some disrespect to the others, your opening line was the only one that made me wonder what came next. Hell, even mine did not make me want more.
I want to read you novel, and it may be one that gets read twice.
Now I guess I have to finish it. At this moment, it’s not even a full page. It’s literally just begun.
Thank you again. I’m a fair beginner of stories, but often they trail off into nothing. I have plans for a multigenerational series, but that bit is from something meant to stand alone.
Please finish it, and if you need a set of fresh eyes…I’ll be here. I can edit with the nastiest of 'em. But in a constructive way.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Sorry! Hey, somebody had to do it.
OK - how about these:
They say that time flies, and that’s mostly true – except for when it crawls, like a slug, leaving a slime trail of pain behind.
It was one of those mornings when you awake before the alarm, and the dawn light has an ethereal quality to it that makes you believe the song outside the window is the work of creatures more heavenly than birds.
Go with number 1. I’d keep reading that.
Make way for the inevitable turning of the worms.
“Morin Tag was the most handsome man that Kyleigh had ever seen.”
Though my best opening line was “I knew something was wrong when I woke up inside the coffin.”
Gordon angrily snatched the tarp off of the 1920’s style deathray mounted on the back of his battered Toyota pickup, primed the accumulator, gave the wobulator a spin, and pointed the phasor coils at his neighbors basset hound.
Gordon pressed the firing stud, and was surrounded briefly by brilliant actinic light. There was a loud ripping noise as the fabric of time and space was wrenched and rended, and then his dick fell off.
Kelli gazed at the objects laid out on the bed: a pistol, a 1964 issue of Vanity Fair, a garlic press and a vibrating dildo. She knew what she had to do with them, she just wasn’t sure she could do it in what little time remained.
One of several versions of the opening sentence of a novel that I gave up on a long time ago:
It was raining as I came out of the Circle Theater, the night I met Laura, one of those dramatic storms that occur on significant nights of one’s life only in bad movies and real life.
“Toast!”
Interesting. Makes me think of Michael Swanwick.
I’d never heard of him, so off I went to Amazon to look him up. Sounds like his work might be my kind of thing.
Come to think of it, I am also working on a science fiction/fantasy hybrid thing with elves and mind-control microchips and such, which the description of The Iron Dragon’s Daughter puts me in mind of.
But the opening sentence is very dull.
“On average, I spent my entire day wandering, while everyone else went to work, school, played with their kids, or did whatever it was they did.”
It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times?
“Since the world began the village of Kishkun has produced only four sorcerers.”
I often wonder if my knowing that I’m such a cynical bastard makes me any less cynical.
She had decided that these were good clothes for a beheading.
or, depending on the story
I shivered internally as the cold metal touched my neck. I tilted my head back and took a deep, long breath. I couldn’t go back, once I made this choice. It was a sin in the Church of the State and a Crime against the Empire.
It started, before anything had actually happened, with nothing but the sickening betrayal of my intention. I had been imagining this moment for months, but as I observed the situation happening around me, I came to the realization that for the first time in my life, reality was making my paranoid, imaginary worst-case scenarios seem utterly mundane.
(IANAWriter, as you can see. In case you’re wondering, it’s a pulpy thriller about a nerdy college girl who saves money by not buying car insurance but gets into an accident and ends up running drugs for organized crime lords. HAH!)