Alright lads, time to post the first sentence of your novel/novella/whatever

Alright lads, time to post the first sentence of your novel/novella/whatever.

I'll start:

After his sixth beer, Robert realized he was actually a she.

das pretty good

heres mine

Right then, it dawned on Johnathan that his professor's writing had no discernible talent.

where the fuck's /pol/ when you need em? If this is /pol/ then fuck-off back to /pol/

After reading the third submission, Cassandra decided to toss it, and the remaining six, into the garbage.

Magnus realized, with a sort of laugh, that every joke he had recently heard had been told by himself, to himself, and at his own expense.

These are cute.

i just finished orlando by vwoolf and you got beat to the punch my man

Isn't it strange to say that a writing has no talent?

Asuka Langley-Soryu kept only one family picture in her trunk after that first year as an Eva pilot: a grainy Polaroid of her grandfather, Tyrone Slothrop.

"No."

is the joke that everyone's shit stories start with someone realizing something?

newfag

brainlet

Who gives a shit whether it's copy pasta.

Holy... I want more

"Yes!" shouted the petite, dusky-skinned, Jewish whore in ecstacy as the muscular, Aryan, Gentile, devote Christian conservative mounted her, his massive penis flopping like the clew of a slave ship. "Rape me! Please rape me! Oh, yes!"

Fuck let me revise that

"Yes!" shouted the petite, dusky-skinned, Jewish whore in ecstacy as the muscular, Aryan, Gentile, devot Christian conservative mounted her, his massive penis flopping like the unsailed boom of a slave ship. "Rape me! Please rape me! Oh, yes!"

I can't keep making these mistakes if I intend to be published.

>race traitor propaganda
Fuck off, Rosenberg.

I've been ask to post my writing, and I first I thought, well I don't really have anything that I'd like to post here. Yet, I've been cordially asked. Invited really. So why not? Here I am, and here's my writing. I precede my writing, so my writing is an extension of me. Okay, drab. All drab. Hmm, I've once been called a "perceptible motherfucker." I've once been called "uncannily wise," by a septuagenarian, and an "enigma," by an English teacher. But despite what I've been told, I cannot seem to pin myself. I can't seem to look at myself without a mirror. Yet, I look at myself too often. I wince at my thoughts. I cringe as I walk, and impinge when I talk. I circumvent my whole existence with sleigh-of-hand and tomfoolery. I crave the icing on a cake that I've eaten far too long ago.

"Mom, i want to race mix with Jamal Tyronestein Schlomo Berg, the bum down the street." said Anne a day before her marriage.

The first sight of the American continent he saw was a scene out of Ancient Egypt.

White men spreading their seed to the inferior races is uplifting for the cursed ones. White women bearing children from inferior men is a degradation for her and the child.

Could be the next Turner Diaries, keep writing.

Both are disgusting race mixing, stop justifying one over the other because it's not as bad.

The fact that you said one isn't as bad as the other is a justification.

I wish this was real, from what I remember other anons saying this wasn't suppose to be the first line from the nonexistent novel.