The orange hydraulic door shut. Clara realized she was the only passenger.
The dog had lost its sense of smell and blamed Diego.
Okay, your turn. Give us as many first lines as you can
c_hawkthorne -per our discussion.
It was a wintry day, but not the enjoyable sort with sparkling-white snow and a minty chill to the air; rather it was slightly damp and fucking cold, as though God had woken up angry and said to hell with it before getting back in bed. -- I am not a fan of those trite "let's introduce a character with a first name and it'll be a superfun mystery" who they are beginnings that are all over every single one of these threads whenever we do them. I do not automatically care about John because he has a human first name and just did something slightly unusual. That's not how a 'hook' works. Go back to creative writing 101 and I will go back to trying not to be an asshole. I like a little background in my first sentences, and a little substance, but nothing with too much commitment. I want my story to still be able to go anywhere after the opening, but also have a little something in it to keep the reader entertained. EDIT: except refugee's, because refugee's is amazing.
That's because "memorable first lines" can't help but be trite. We don't remember "first lines" in literature, we remember stories. Thinking about this as if it's an "exercise" that has anything to do with "writing" is misleading and wrong-headed. I mean, seriously. "Call me Ishmael." "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Probably the most famous opening lines in the history of English literature and they accomplish exactly jack shit - Dickens' is a straight up platitude with absolutely nothing to add. It strikes me as odd that wanna-be singers don't go "perfect first note" and painters don't do "perfect first stroke" but writers are all about "hey, let's put some stuff together that has nothing to do with narrative." First line of East of Eden? Writing isn't the act of coming up with one line or one paragraph or one page or one chapter any more than guitar playing is about coming up with one chord or one riff or one lick. And while it can be a fun exercise (for some... I guess...) you do yourself a grave disservice by taking this shit seriously. I don't. Fuck, I don't even remember what the first line of my novel is and I only wrote it like four months ago. For the longest time it was "That little witch was back again" but then I added a prologue. The last line? The last line I remember quite well. A lot of the lines in the middle? Even them I don't remember so well. It's the gestalt of the thing that matters, and serious writers know that without having to be reactive about it. (he told himself.... teeth gritted....) So I just looked it up. I chose to start my novel with "Put it away, asshole." And if anyone were to judge my book based on "put it away asshole" they'd be getting exactly what they deserve.I am not a fan of those trite "let's introduce a character with a first name and it'll be a superfun mystery" who they are beginnings that are all over every single one of these threads whenever we do them.
"The Salinas Valley is in Northern California."
Put it away, asshole!I like a little background in my first sentences, and a little substance, but nothing with too much commitment. I want my story to still be able to go anywhere after the opening, but also have a little something in it to keep the reader entertained.
I would absolutely agree that this post has zero to do with good story telling and everything to do with having some quick creative fun. Nothing wrong with that, right? That said, in the context of music, musicians often talk of "best opening songs on an album" or even the "best first lyric of an album." I've always enjoyed Becks "Put your hand on the wheel, let the golden age begin." but yeah, it's not as prevalent as analyzing a first line of novels. Which is like judging and ice rug (gonna leave that typo -cuz why not) by the small bit you can see above the water.
It's really a matter of scale, though. A first verse is going to be rhymed, at least, and it's going to have something to do with the chorus, which repeats. An opening song on an album, likewise, is like 10% of the content. By this point I've already typed four sentences and we're a long, long way from being a novel or a story. Know much about ragas? So there are three notes there (which are optional) followed by a strum. That strum does define pretty much half the raga - it's the key the piece is going to be in. An opening sentence, though, does nothing more than give you a taste of what you're about to hear. It's like one note on a piano which is enough to let you know you're likely going to hear some piano in whatever comes next. The "rug" comment is better. It's like looking at a thread from a tassel and saying "I think the rug is likely to be red."
There is no doubt that judging a book by its first line is even more ridiculous than judging it by its cover. Since this is about having fun and challenging oneself creatively, it may be a more interesting exercise to say, "tell a story in less than 5 lines."Know much about ragas?
Yes, actually I do know a bit. A friend of mine is a tabla player and I've heard him play (with others) many ragas. -Sort of a "theme" within a formula.
Your advice is valid and it's something I'll remember, but it's much harder to accept when presented arrogantly. I had to spend a minute or two resisting from defending some my attempts, even though I knew you were correct. I was tempted to ignore it at first. And I still felt the need to make this pointless response.
I was coming off a baseball argument with someone else and it leaked over. I knew it was happening but I couldn't really control ittttt it was terrible. Sorry. You were much fairer with me than I with you (though I wasn't talking about you specifically). That will definitely influence the dots. The dots are already beginning to speak... EDIT: I remembered there was an apology button.
Like this one, from one of the greatest books ever written?I am not a fan of those trite "let's introduce a character with a first name and it'll be a superfun mystery" who they are beginnings that are all over every single one of these threads whenever we do them
Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice. —Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
That's a good book and a decent first sentence in my opinion. Couple things, though. One, that sentence is almost too famous -- a lot of people know it but not the book. Two, it set the standard for the stuff I was talking about above. If you can't beat that, don't even try, because you're just riffing. Three, it's got some depth and -- most importantly in my opinion -- it establishes the passage of time. Tells the reader a lot of things about the character's life that "John did something weird and I, the author, am temporarily passing it off as completely normal" doesn't. I'm not a fan of the ol' clocks striking 13, either, in case you were going to ask. It's much more effective on a reread.
With enough commas we can turn it into a first paragraph :) -I would agree with some of your stipulations for what makes a good first sentence, but I would suppose that it depends on the story, the medium etc. Note that in the title of the post it says novel/story -pretty broad.
At first, I thought I'd shit my pants. As the train rocked back and forth on the untended tracks I caught snatches of it and pulled my jacket closer around me. The man next to me burst out laughing at something someone on the other end of the line said somewhere off in the electric distance. Then it hit me and I sighed in relief as I realized it was only his halitosis after all. I glanced across the aisle, wondering if I'd make eye contact with the dark-eyed English girl drumming her fingers on her knee. ---------- There are many ways to get stitches. Sometimes you remember, most times you don't. Doesn't matter: your skin remembers everything. ---------- By day, he played trumpet while walking around the block. By night, he smoked whatever he could cook in scavenged light bulbs. No one cared to understand that each day was a big breath and that breathing was the root of everything good and everything bad.
Oh no. Oh no no no. If we are doing multiple sentences then I have another one: _________ He really liked her. You know, that's what happens. You really like someone and the next thing you know, you're driving your car into a house at 90 miles per hour.
In the last quarter of the twentieth century, many a fair maiden fell victim to the throes of growing hopelessly in love with a man named Robert Ackley. He wasn't much to look at; Ackley was a plain-looking man, though scarred by acne of years past. Some may even call Ackley a loser, a loner, a chump. Each woman fell in love with a different facet of great Ackley's personality. Here are their stories.
Done. I have made you and a few others editors on this post.
The black swipe of bathroom graffiti announced, "Albert Fowler bites the heads off birds." -- I am sitting on steps that lead to Blessed St. Mary of the Benediction's south entrance, beyond a chained-up gate that I scaled an hour ago. -- A gritty, salty cold descended from the frosty clouds, enveloping people, cars, animals and trees with an intensity none of them were accustomed to in the past few years.
The dewy sounds of dawn trickled into Jacob's ear. He struggled against wakefulness--sleep had been so hard to come by--but the lines from his parachute had been cutting into his back all night, and his aching leg pulsed with a deep, thrumming bass rhythm that demanded to be heard. His petulant bladder was louder still, threatening immediate mutiny if ignored a moment longer. The day had begun, ready or not.
I know that neither of us will forget that day, but I can't help to wonder if she still remembers me.
For amusement and perhaps inspiration here is the American book reviews top 101st lines of a novel:
I awoke, dehydration tinging the back of my mouth, and felt a pang in my stomach. Not many people appreciate Winter's cold embrace, less realise its true significance. Nathan rarely committed himself to anything nowadays. As I looked out the train window I caught a glimpse of the inner carriage's hollow reflection reaching out into the twilight. To mean something, that's all he had ever wanted, to have his name endure through but one artist's passion. "I can't believe you thought that would be possible!" Sarah has always wondered if there was any point to this tedium. A knock at the door clenched the air in his throat.
The bright sun crested over the green hills, outlining a shadowy figure all too familiar to Bobby. Sitting in my kitchen I watched the house burn across the street. A sense of relief swept over me, knowing she was dead, or at least out of my life for a while. The creaky submarine groaned at the depths, but I felt safe in what was sure to be my large metal casket. But then light started to filter in. Light at a depth too deep for light. Light that was all too bright. I was sure this was the end, but it was only just the beginning.