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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal May 31, 2015 - 2:18pm

The commander glances at them occasionally but seems more interested in fixing his com. Every time I move even slightly though, he looks my way. I sigh to myself, resigning. After Tessa’s little trick I won’t have an opportunity for escape any time soon. Maybe ever.

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rachel1121 from Colorado is reading anything I can get my hands on. May 31, 2015 - 7:16pm

“I don’t believe that.  Look at her.  She looks like an underwear model.”  Claire glanced down at his plate.  “I don’t think that’s a salad.  That’s a heart attack pretending to be a salad.”  Rocky felt his stomach do a strange little flip.  She was challenging him, daring for him to say that Chloe was beautiful.  To avoid her eyes he looked down at his lunch too and shrugged.  People like him died violent deaths at young ages.  He wasn’t too worried about heart disease.

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NeilRo1 from Wales is reading The First Fifty Pages Jeff Gerke May 31, 2015 - 7:39pm

Petra sees the truck before he does. The bright yellow Honda pick-up is pulled to the verge with it's hood up and steam billowing from the engine. Petra barks twice and wags her gray fettled tail.

"Good girl," Laz says, changing down a gear and hitting the brake softly, "I'm on it." He indicates and pulls the bus to a gradual, squeaking halt behind the Honda, creating a cloud of dust with the BlueBird's double-back wheels. He pats Petra on the head and the German Shepard twists herself down from the passenger seat and runs for the door. She barks again, eager to get out, and she scratches at the door with her paw. "Alright already!" Laz scolds, "I'm coming, dammit..." Laz reaches across the cockpit of the vintage camper-van and pulls a .45 from the glove compartment. He checks the magazine is full and the safety catch is on, then stuffs the pistol down the back of his jeans. Petra is watching him with an impatient stare from her one good eye. "We gotta' be careful Pet," Laz tells her and clambers out of the driver's seat, "we're in Nebraska. Bad things have been known to happen in Nebraska..."

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L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami June 2, 2015 - 7:20pm

From Sun Went Down, based on a dream sequence from the night before:

There is a world that is a room; it had six walls that were each portals to a different part of the world. A man in a black trench coat and a top hat carried a dark cane, his stare was quite profane. He visited a dead world, a desert with patches of forest. Between here and the sun, he orated a riddle:

     Am I the one that seeths day,

     A world whereth the dead do pray?

     Am I the nature's torment,

     Of the spirit of prey.

He twirls his cane, and flew up never to be seen again.

This is more reflective of my current writing style. I'm writing liking this long hand approach. The full story clock in at 500 words. Definitely stands in my chapter book, though not sure if that's a good thing sense I'm going for a children's book.

Edit: The title is now changed.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal June 6, 2015 - 12:09pm

Her foot carefully lowers to its previous step. I don’t dare look down, we’re so high the largest boulders look like pebbles. Gripping with both hands, she steps down with her other foot, probing for a foothold. The toe of her boot presses into a crevice on the wall and she lets go with one hand. Her foot slips.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal July 5, 2015 - 12:47pm

On paper I could download every file they have in seconds. The problem is their server’s security protocol would notice such a download and shut it down. My user ID would be flagged and booted, probably with an alarm going off at this location. The trick is being subtle.

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Brandon from KCMO is reading Made to Break July 5, 2015 - 6:01pm

From Perfect Girl, which will be appearing in an upcoming body horror anthology:

You never realize how ugly you are until a team of doctors shows you how beautiful you can be. First, they give you catalogues. Stacks and stacks of heavy three-ring binders with picture upon picture of your new potential features. This pop star’s nose could be your nose. This movie star’s chin—yeah, you can have that, too. Those porn star lips you wanted—you could have those by next weekend if you book now. These doctors, they make it sound so damn easy, too, using phrases like, “You’ll be in and out in no time.” They say, “This is a lot less invasive than breast augmentation.” After they get you hooked on the idea of obtaining your perfect you, they proceed to explain how close you are to making it a reality. Even the things you didn’t know needed fixing can be fixed: your chubby inner thighs and oblong ass. Your tummy pooch. They can take care of all that with a few cuts and tucks. A little time and a little money and you’ll be perfect. You’ll be who you should’ve been all along.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal July 6, 2015 - 6:27pm

^ I liked that one

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Jimothy Scott from Canada is reading The Anatomy of Story by John Truby July 11, 2015 - 9:03am

@ Brandon

"A little time and a little money and you'll be perfect. You'll be who you should've been all along."

That's scary

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami July 12, 2015 - 8:52pm

My new writing definitely has a different feel than it used to.

From Simple Night:

The time was midnight. All the stores in the city were closed, and it was quiet enough to here a pin drop. Becca would sit on the ledge of the flowing fountain, watching the little coins shimmer in the lunar light. She enjoyed the solace of silence, always wondering why a cop never taps her shoulder to tell her to leave. She twirled the leaves with her finger tips, then splashed the water as she left for her flat climbing over the fence.

From:Someday Soon:

She had once been to the lake, yet there was no desire to go back to the forest from whence she had first left. Her memory was faint, though there was still some glimmers of the past. There was the tree that always seemed to smile, as if she had not been to visit in a while. It was as if she was there now just as then, yet only a taste of this heaven.

Still not quite how I want it, but both are drafts. And yes, as always flash fiction. I just can't work with 3,000 words and up efficiently.

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bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann July 17, 2015 - 5:11pm

Up past the ascending row of obligatory Catholic iconography on the wall. Gotta have the Italian saints. Saint Cecilia, Saint Albina, Saint Cajetan. Angels everywhere. Michael the archangel stepping on Lucifer. Mary stepping on Lucifer the serpent. Everybody stepping on Lucifer, the family fuck up. Then up at the top of the steps, the professional family portrait I'm absent from. Dad decided they absolutely needed a portrait done during my six month stint at the Groveland Correctional Facility. He's in black and pinstripes. One of his perfectly pressed white shirts and a red tie to match mom's dress. Mom is totally dazed, out of place, looking like a Hollywood pin-up on too much medication. Drita's got her braces still. She's smiling, but somewhere in her eyes you can tell she doesn't want her picture taken.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal July 17, 2015 - 6:37pm

She's smiling, but somewhere in her eyes you can tell she doesn't want her picture taken.

 

This reminds me of my wife.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal July 17, 2015 - 7:01pm

Her eyes narrow. “What makes you think I value my life so much anyway?”

“The fact that you’re still alive.”

She glares defiantly.

I push her into the wall, bending her head to her shoulder and inserting the needle. She inhales sharply with her eyes shut. After a second they open, realizing I haven’t injected.

“Looks like you value it a little.” I keep the needle in her neck, thumb on the plunger. “But my patience is gone. Talk, or I push.”

She freezes, afraid to move. “Alright! ...

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Vonnegut Check from Baltimore July 18, 2015 - 4:10pm

@bethwenn:

That's one handsome paragraph. I'd say it could even stand alone.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal August 22, 2015 - 1:34pm

Isn't anyone else writing out there?

 

“Where is he?”

Her eyes drop. “He’s dead. I…” She swallows. “I shot him. Before he could… you know.”

“No, I don’t know, what?”

“He tried to kill you!” She exhales loudly, jaw trembling. “But I killed him. I never thought I’d kill anyone.”

“Thank you,” I say, hoping it’s the right thing.

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Kacie Cunningham from Indiana is reading too much to keep this updated August 22, 2015 - 4:57pm

Chloe went to the bathroom doorway. Lorelai was blocking her view of the pregnancy tests lined up on the tank of the toilet, the only flat surface Chloe had been able to find, since the floor didn’t seem like a good idea.


“What?” Chloe asked.


Lorelai moved aside, her back still to Chloe. Chloe leaned in to see the tests. Then her eyes met Lorelai’s.


“Oh, fuck,” they said at the exact same time.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal September 5, 2015 - 9:36pm

I have a suspicion people don't like to post here unless they have the most perfect ultimate catchy paragraph. Well I don't, but at least I'm writing.

 

It takes over a minute to come to a stop. She tries to apologize again but one glare shuts her down. The doors slide open to reveal a small, plain white room with a security door and thick glass windows. Behind them is a much larger room with rows of the adult-sized tubes, just like she said.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 6, 2015 - 8:18pm

From my flash fiction The Vet Who Loved A Cat:

She had just broken in her new clogs, when a giant cat hopped onto the ledge of the fountain. He drank some of the water, and hopped down from the ledge, then plopped on his belly brushing his tail against her. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have a home for you. You’re a cute kitty.’ Gently she leaned over, and pet the cat’s ears. ‘My parents do not want any more pets.’ It was always like this. It had been a few months, sense she had her first cat put down. Even after all these months, she still has dreams of speaking with her old furry friend. ‘But someday.’

From my most current flash fiction The Cat And The Spider:

This is not your typical story, but rather a kind of anecdote. Not one of any particular person, but a particular feeling and place. It had been many weeks sense I had been back at my families house, and although I liked it here at this new place, it was nothing like being home. It was a cold and dark night. I was resting on what you may call a bed, but was so worn that one may not label it such. At least for what it was worth, it was not a spring matress.

With my newest stuff, I'm starting to wonder why I didn't see the foreshadowing of my fantasy and sf elements becoming less overt.

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann September 17, 2015 - 7:11pm

School is eating up all my writing time. Grr. Something unfinished and out of context:

The crackhouse is full of kids and tattooed reptiles. Front door wide open. They curl dying in the hallways, nodding and dozing with belts and rubber tubing tying one arm, crouching while they cook, flickering their eyes under waxy, melting skin—melting and scaly, decayed at injection sights, black, mold green, bloody muscle pink and white. Krokodil. All greasy and gangrene with poverty and the sweats and shakes, moaning agony or drooling comatose. Missing pieces of themselves. Chunks of themselves. Krokodil, krokodil. Another piece gone. A lost place, lost pieces, broken, paved and dirtied with desperation. Roads to hell. That's the first floor.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal September 17, 2015 - 8:08pm

The general turns his head to me, eyeing my knees. “I recall you having trouble walking the last time I saw you.”

I shrug. “It comes and goes.”

“You said you made a deal with her.”

“I did.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “What was it?”

I take a long breath. “I said if she helped me I’d take her home.”

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 17, 2015 - 8:13pm

Is this for a new story?^^ I'd read it.

Just finished a new draft of my YA, then I don't want to think of my old work anymore. I already hate it :/:

The cold outside was the only comfort, as the snowflakes fell. There was something I could relate to about them, how they fell from their home, and then disappeared. There was a lamp light, for me to turn off and say goodnight. I had just finished the only dinner that I could scrounge, a little bit of bread that my father had saved from the left overs. My education that was barely anything, was no more than mere homeschooling and thus no escape from the torment. He would have me take classes online, and never really pay attention to me. The last time dad checked my grades, he had just given up on me and made peace with what he must have assumed was a doomed future.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal September 17, 2015 - 10:42pm

^

Same one

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami September 21, 2015 - 10:48am

From a slightly newer novella, middle grade:

"We need to take out the pale?" Fina said, crouching down as if to complain about the task at hand. Though she knew she needed to do it, she did not want to deal with the moldy stink that was the bucket full of fecal matter. "Why should not Nina have to do it, she didn't have to take it out last time."

More recently, this is from Come Home:

I had just gotten used to the silence, when there was a knock on the door. But who would be knocking, knocking at the door? The man that always irritated me, when he talked over the fence and was quite a bore? Or that long tall shadow that would always come and visit me when the time was full. I slowly got out of my chair, and then walked over to the door over there by the window light lit by the lamp lit under the moon light. I stared through the peephole. There was a tall figure, who had never told me his name. And beside him was his pet cat whose name was also not known. Slowly I opened the door, and the old shadow spoke. 'It has been a month, dear Clove.' said he.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal September 24, 2015 - 7:45am

I'm still tinkering with this one...

 

Gradually her attack slows and her arm falls to her side. She stands, breathing hard, and stumbles backward to the wall. The blood spattered on her face runs as tears stream down her cheeks. Her hand trembles and the knife falls to the floor.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami November 16, 2015 - 4:40pm

An acrostic I finished called Understand:

Under the glow of the halogen light,

Never fear the darkness, sleep tonight.

Desire of the unread pages, fills one with joy.

Everyone wants to read a bed time story.

 

Reading through the ancient pages,

Stories can only end with you.

Together let’s read this old book,

A book of slightly bent and withered pages,

 

Never forgetting to come up for air,

Don’t forget the love of the storybook.

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann December 2, 2015 - 6:39am

I shoot him in the knee just to see the color of his blood. That wakes him up. When I toss his empty wallet on his stomach to leave him there, wailing, he starts thrashing under the covers and roaring out with this hellish crying, roaring and holding himself, testing the touch of his hands on his shattered kneecap. The blankets twist as he thrashes and they seep red around the tent of his knee, seeping red, running red out more down the tan and green striped blankets like tree sap. They run until he throws them off. Until he thrashes off the bed—a rolling log—and he hits the snares and traps of broken glass and spent needles all on the ground. I go slow toward the stairs, hugging the package in one arm, listening intently to his fading wails like a piece of opera, unsure if I'm pleased with myself or horrified when, down the hall, some lights shut off and a door slams.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 3, 2015 - 3:31pm

“Did you break it off when you found out?” I ask.

He frowns in admission that he didn’t.

“You pay her?”

He gives me another guilty look. “I was sixteen, she was hot. And I liked her.”

I fold my arms. “You liked the fact that she was forbidden.”

“That too. But even before I knew.” He sighs. “I didn’t know she was making video until she asked for money.”

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami December 4, 2015 - 3:05pm

From my short story Trip To The City Desert Bizarre:

It was a slightly quiet Thursday six days before the maids had to come and clean. Though I was slightly assured of the fact that they could technically not pick up personal items to clean, there was still that lurking fear that I would be the lucky one that would have the incompetent one that violated her duty. Though I suppose it was a silly fear, after all when I had stayed at a previous hotel in a different city I never had any trouble there. But the first time is always the one time. I checked the clock, then sent a text to a friend. It turned out that she would arrive later than usual. Fine by me, I guess. Though the hotel room technically didn’t allow pets, for whatever reason I never seemed to get caught. ‘So you don’t think they’ll find you?’ asked the cat.

From a dream the night before last inspiring Swarm Of The Cyclops' Men:

Among endless cellars of the house,
There is no noise except a mouse.
Yet inside the darkness of the mind,
There beyond are centaurs and cyclops.

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tesswritestoo from Nashville, TN is reading Midnight's Children December 11, 2015 - 11:31am

From my short series, most likely going to turn into a novel - River Boys

 

Aaron hunched over the bar, grease-streaked hands wrapped loosely around the cold beer. "I tried, I think. I'm pretty sure I tried hard. I don't know what she wanted fro me, other than all my damn time," he glared hard, taking a rough swig. "Women just demand so much fucking attention." He exhaled, his chest heaving against his dirty cotton t-shirt. "The worst part is that she always wanted to talk about shit I don't know nothin' about, like she always had to prove how smart she was or how much she fucking cared. I never did care about the world or politics - it's all goin' to shit anyway. Or she always wanted to talk about how she felt, like I had any control over her bein' lonely. It's not my job to be part of that shit, they ain't mine." A dirty finger shot in the air, he needed another beer.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 12, 2015 - 7:44am

I go back to the workstation next to the pod and open a program called Regimen. The help menu is typically unhelpful, containing nothing but a long list of commands in a programming language I’ve never seen. I close it and poke around, eventually finding a more user-friendly window.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami December 13, 2015 - 12:03am

I present my most current poem:

O the candle light / burning all twilight,

Burn all night, candle tonight glowing with the candle light.

Crows are a scouting, angel cries shouting.

Headstones are far reaching / as they scrape along sky.

The time is a closing / the dawn is inching near.

And no not Goth, not sure who makes that standard though.

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann December 13, 2015 - 3:29pm

The product of procrastinating doing edits on my final paper for Philosophy of Science.

The sun rises, the radio plays, the summer heat's ending, and we're finally driving down I-278 E in dad's Cadillac on our way to pick up my big brother from prison. I still mostly feel excited even though mom won't stop crying. It's hard not to laugh when the Botox keeps her face from moving, but if I do she'll go on again about how my heart is dead and cold and I need to get confirmed in the church. I peel my thighs from the leather seats and curl up against the window. If I sit just right and press my forehead to the glass, all there is in the world are the Manhattan sunrise skyline and bits of green grass between all these long shadows from crowded headstones marking like a billion dead dudes as we pass the Calvary cemeteries. I wonder how many different places they were all from, how many countries, how many languages are in the dirt there. What would it sound like if they all jumped up and started singing different national anthems at once? The sun's a little fireball peeking out between buildings, burning up the clouds above red hot and gold. It disappears behind a Coca-Cola billboard when we get stuck behind backed up traffic. Dad says Rikers isn't prison, it's jail, but I don't get what the difference is. Erik's been gone and I'm stuck with them.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 13, 2015 - 4:25pm

^ I think there's probably three paragraphs in there. Maybe more? But I like it!

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann December 13, 2015 - 6:06pm

Thanks. :) I don't think it's especially long but then people like James Joyce and Thomas Mann are some of my models for paragraph structure.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 13, 2015 - 8:18pm

Ah. I think my models for pararaphs are IMs. Easier to read.

Redd Tramp's picture
Redd Tramp from Los Angeles, CA is reading Mongrels by SGJ; Sacred and Immoral: On the Writings of Chuck Palahniuk; The History of Sexuality by Michel Foucault December 15, 2015 - 7:56am

The beginning of something I've been trying to write for over a year now. I recently rewrote the beginning in third person. There's a little more than this, but I haven't been able to get past this scene yet. 

The plastic flavored smoke takes thirty seconds to fill the shop to the point Jason can’t see the far wall. He sits cross-legged in the middle of what was the shoes/belts section, wearing the biggest pair of cowboy boots he could find that weren’t full of spider webs and wriggling legs. The chalky taste of dry-swallowed Percocet in his throat, he counts as he waits. Eyes squeezed shut but still streaming tears.

Flames crawl the walls, eating vintage leather jackets and signed posters, eating the thick webs and flexing tarantulas nested all over the Computers/Electronics section. At three hundred seconds the tower of old monitors in the corner topples, smashes to the floor somewhere to Jason’s right.

He coughs, the neck of his shirt over his mouth and nose. Even with his nostrils oozing down onto his belly, his sinuses remember the line of blow from before the fire started. Before coming back to find his brother, and finding him.

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann December 15, 2015 - 10:05am

Redd Tramp: That's excellent. I'd read the rest. Very nicely paced to make you keep turning the page/scrolling down. Maybe do some freewriting to try to get past the writer's block? It sounds like it'd be a great read when/if you finish it.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 15, 2015 - 10:07am

Intriguing...

Redd Tramp's picture
Redd Tramp from Los Angeles, CA is reading Mongrels by SGJ; Sacred and Immoral: On the Writings of Chuck Palahniuk; The History of Sexuality by Michel Foucault December 15, 2015 - 11:35am

beth: thank you! That's really encouraging. Before, when it was in first person, I wanted to drop back in time and have the story be the catch-up to this fire. But every time I've tried, it starts falling apart. So now I'm thinking maybe I should move forward from this point, try to build it up and reveal the cause of the fire by salting in backstory? I don't know. The idea's still fuzzy. I think you're right; I should freewrite.

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Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 15, 2015 - 7:45pm

Someone talking about her dad...

She shrugs her eyebrows “Maybe. But my dad, he had this, presence, you know? When he was there everything was okay. You couldn’t not feel safe with him, no matter what. He was strong, but like a big teddy bear at the same time. I miss feeling that way.”

SConley's picture
SConley from Texas is reading Coin Locker Babies December 17, 2015 - 11:03am

If these are beginnings, they need more hooks. Except for the one about the store on fire.

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 17, 2015 - 3:45pm

^

I can say mine aren't, but I think a far too large portion in this thread are. 

Neil Burke's picture
Neil Burke December 18, 2015 - 3:19am

Bertie Maguire. Bertie Maguire back in Heywood after all these years. Cecil still couldn’t believe it. When he had left she had thought for sure that he would never be back. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged him back. Army tanks and one of those superheroes he used to rave about couldn’t have gotten him to come back and yet now here he was. Then again, she thought, he and Craig had always been thick as thieves, had literally been thieves as well come to think of it. Little fuckers those two back in the day. “Bertie fucking Maguire,” she said to herself, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lifting her E-Cig to her lips. It was a stupid looking device and she was tiring rapidly of the Doctor Who jokes and Sonic Screwdriver remarks but it was working for her. She takes a hit and tosses it to the passenger seat, turns up the radio. She watches through the rear-view mirror Bertie watching her driving away and then she joins the main road and he’s lost from sight. She rubs at her eyes.
“What the fuck am I going to do now?” she asks herself as a Christmas song comes on the radio—in November!

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami December 18, 2015 - 7:34am

Nope definitely not a beginning. Not sure how I conveyed it was.

bethwenn's picture
bethwenn from Milwaukee is reading The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann December 18, 2015 - 8:26am

I think this thread is mainly for encouraging each other to write, not for making sweeping generalizations that are unhelpfully critical. We're all posting drafts. :p If you have critiques, I'm sure the authors here would appreciate if they were individualized in a helpful way. L.W. Flouisa, I liked yours and didn't get the impression that it was a beginning paragraph. If it were, there is a hook there, so still not sure how that criticism applies.

Writing beginning paragraphs with hooks isn't the only way to write.  "On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge." & “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." Dostoyesvky and Tolkien did okay for themselves.

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami December 18, 2015 - 9:03am

I do have a beginning paragraph:

When the early morning hours greets you hello, you can find long strands of wheat and ears of corn for miles along the Spring road. This is the road of Anna Frinkley and Derry Frinkley. In this small house, the only thing that breaks the silence is the sound of the mother reading them their favorite stories in a book. A very big book indeed, so big that when Anna Frinkley brought it for show and tell, she had to carry it with her wheel barrow in order to have the energy to carry it class. Of course it would be her, Darry simply never had an interest in reading. You couldn’t exactly blame him, as his dad would always fuss at him when he tried, instead of working on the farm. Thus it only makes sense that it would be dear Anna he read stories to class, until finally her teacher had to shut her up. But this isn’t the story about Anna or Derry, though indeed they are part of the family of their pet cat, who sits on his throne all morning till evening waiting for a mouse to try to run him by. But today he had other things on his mind. It had been many a month sense Anna had rubbed his Tummy. It was rum for the cat. The feeling of human touch being of an intoxicating existence. The cat visited Anna Frinkley one evening, and said ‘Meow, where is my tummy rub?’

Also yay it seems to work fine in GNU Icecat!^^

Thuggish's picture
Thuggish from Vegas is reading Day of the Jackal December 18, 2015 - 9:41am

I think this thread is mainly for encouraging each other to write, not for making sweeping generalizations that are unhelpfully critical. We're all posting drafts. :p If you have critiques, I'm sure the authors here would appreciate if they were individualized in a helpful way. L.W. Flouisa, I liked yours and didn't get the impression that it was a beginning paragraph. If it were, there is a hook there, so still not sure how that criticism applies.

Writing beginning paragraphs with hooks isn't the only way to write.  "On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge." & “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." Dostoyesvky and Tolkien did okay for themselves.

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! 

My point in saying a disporportionate # of paragraphs posted here are openings is that there are, what would you guess? A thousand paragraphs in a novel minimum? Far more than .01% of hte paragraphs here are openers. I suspect that people only want to post their really really good ones. I say just post what you're working on, because like Bethwen you said, it's about encouraging people to write.

And you never know... When one of us publishes the next Hunger Games, the rest of us can say we knew about it when.

 

L.W. Flouisa's picture
L.W. Flouisa from Tennessee is reading More Murakami December 18, 2015 - 11:14am

Trying to resist the:

A freakish clown came out of the shower with a rabbit in a hat.

Gag.

Redd Tramp's picture
Redd Tramp from Los Angeles, CA is reading Mongrels by SGJ; Sacred and Immoral: On the Writings of Chuck Palahniuk; The History of Sexuality by Michel Foucault December 18, 2015 - 5:05pm

In the interest of not just posting a new beginning again (which I have done several times), here's the next few bits of that scene.

The perc/coke combo keeps his heart from giving up just yet, and at five hundred seconds he opens his eyes.

The shop is too smoky to see anything past his hands, crackling all around him. The front counter shatters under the weight of some poor sap’s bought and sold memory, a record player or a radio or a cinderblock of an old PC. Everything can burn. Nothing is safe.

Jason stands, shirt still masking his nose. He steps forward, almost slips on a singed sombrero. The heel of his cowboy boot comes down hard on something. It crunches, a wet sort of pop he feels more than hears. Something else races up his other leg, skitters up the sleeve of his shirt.

Maybe painkillerless, with a normal heartbeat reacting at animal-level instinct, Jason could have swatted the purple ball of legs before it reached his neck and sunk its fangs into the hollow under his Adam’s apple. But Jason’s grown accustomed to moving in slow motion and has to pry the exotic tarantula from his chest by the time his hands can get there.