Help pls with opening page of novel?

I've got about 30,000 words down but I must have spent half my time trying to get the opening page right, over and over again.
As a 4channer I have v few ppl in my life to show it to, so I thought I'd post a few lines here if anyone wants to throw some suggestions in?
BTW - I think it sucks - the rest of the book so far I'm really happy with but this first page is murdering me...

Is Gadaffi's green book worth reading?

Post the passages then. And the thing is that we should really know the context before trying to write the first page. At least explain the plot of the novel. It might be achievable then.

>Is Gadaffi's green book worth reading?
No.

>Post the passages then.
yep, 1 minute, started re-writing while i was cutting and pasting - thing is fucking killing me lol.

Plotwise - near future sci fi thriller set in London. Protagonists are a cyber security analyst and her best friend; a part time model and media maven.

posting now, fukn sux.

here ya go...
(I'mma greentexting it, sorry if thats ass)

>The bus mounted the pavement in front of her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was running late, struggling into a gale roaring off the Thames, and It took the drum crash of metal against the embankment wall to finally wake her to the accident.
The double decker was banging against the wall, as if trying to cast itself into the Thames. The tyres began to smoke then there was a low crack as the wall started to give way, granite tumbling into the water below. The bus looked set to follow: the engine gave a high pitched whine as it fought its way onto the broken masonry, then there was a bang and it shuddered to a dead stop, its angle dark and unnatural against the sky.
>Elle began to notice the victims.
>She approached the first one and her legs nearly collapsed from under her. The man’s camel hair coat - thrown open as if caught by a photo flash - began to darken as his ruptured midriff leaked onto the slabs. He looked up at her as she stumbled to her knees beside him, his eyes completely alert, then looking away as if embarrassed. Another bystander drew up then turned away instantly with a cry.

alright fuck green text, and fuck my neasty reddit fingers, going again...

The bus mounted the pavement in front of her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was running late, struggling into a gale roaring off the Thames, and It took the drum crash of metal against the embankment wall to finally wake her to the accident.
The double decker was banging against the wall, as if trying to cast itself into the Thames. The tyres began to smoke then there was a low crack as the wall started to give way, granite tumbling into the water below. The bus looked set to follow: the engine gave a high pitched whine as it fought its way onto the broken masonry, then there was a bang and it shuddered to a dead stop, its angle dark and unnatural against the sky.
Elle began to notice the victims.
She approached the first one and her legs nearly collapsed from under her. The man’s camel hair coat - thrown open as if caught by a photo flash - began to darken as his ruptured midriff leaked onto the slabs. He looked up at her as she stumbled to her knees beside him, his eyes completely alert, then looking away as if embarrassed. Another bystander drew up then turned away instantly with a cry.

She laid her palms around his left hand, feeling the gloved fingers struggle then curl into a gentle grip. She scanned the crowd swirling into place around them, praying for some sign of authority. His hand squeezed hers in acknowledgement but she couldn’t look back at him. She felt tears splash on her cheeks as sobs began to bounce through her shoulders.
She fixed her gaze firmly above his head but the edge of her vision was still crowded with blood and panic. His face had drained and the truth of his years was suddenly stark. She felt movement and saw the hand he had been using to shore up his injury was now gripped beneath his chin, the tan kid glove wiping blood across his collar as he fought to pull his hand free of the wet leather.
Her sight had diminished to a veil of pale jewels beneath the tears but despite the near blindness she leaned forwards to feel for his neck. She touched her index finger to his earlobe until a tiny shock of gyros tapped back.
The man laid his head back against the ground, eyes calculating calmly as he looked deep into the sky. He took a couple of deep breaths as if about to snap a heavy weight, then spoke.
“Rachel, it’s Philip…”
He lowered his voice beneath the commotion surrounding them, squeezing her hand firmly while he passed his last words on. Elle wiped her eyes clear again and looked up at the blackened finger of Big Ben dominating the sky to the south. The cordon around the Houses of Parliament was bristling in alert. A number of sirens wailed, and blue lights were forcing their way headlong into the traffic. There was a rattle of boots as two armed police ran past her into the crowd.
A man approached and knelt by the wound, using a suit jacket to stem it above the stream of lights. She noticed tattoos spilling from his cuffs and the hard posture of military training. He gave her a weak smile of encouragement but his eyes indicated no hope the man would live.

OP here.
I suppose the question is, how does one find a 'reading group' to check one's writing when one has literally not a single friend?

been wondering that myself OP, I have literally no friends never mind Veeky Forums friends

>been wondering that myself OP, I have literally no friends never mind Veeky Forums friends

yeah, it's a bit of a 'mare alright!....

bump

scribophile dot com

Why would you do this.
Remind me of the time before the murder of righteous Gaddafi and Libya.
>I hate you OP

any comment on style or anything constructive / destructive would be nice, but watevs.

>scribophile dot com

thnx m8.

>op here, bamping. I'm doing a quick reformat:

The bus mounted the pavement in front of her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was running late, struggling into a gale roaring off the Thames, and It took the drum crash of metal against the embankment wall to finally wake her to the accident.
The double decker was banging against the wall, as if trying to cast itself into the Thames.
The tyres began to smoke then there was a low crack as the wall started to give way, granite tumbling into the water below. The bus looked set to follow: the engine gave a high pitched whine as it fought its way onto the broken masonry, then there was a bang and it shuddered to a dead stop, its angle dark and unnatural against the sky.
Elle began to notice the victims.
She approached the first one and her legs nearly collapsed from under her. The man’s camel hair coat - thrown open as if caught by a photo flash - began to darken as his ruptured midriff leaked onto the slabs. He looked up at her as she stumbled to her knees beside him, his eyes completely alert, then looking away as if embarrassed. Another bystander drew up then turned away instantly with a cry.
She laid her palms around his left hand, feeling the gloved fingers struggle then curl into a gentle grip. She scanned the crowd swirling into place around them, praying for some sign of authority. His hand squeezed hers in acknowledgement but she couldn’t look back at him. She felt tears splash on her cheeks as sobs began to bounce through her shoulders.
She fixed her gaze firmly above his head but the edge of her vision was still crowded with blood and panic. His face had drained and the truth of his years was suddenly stark. She felt movement and saw the hand he had been using to shore up his injury was now gripped beneath his chin, the tan kid glove wiping blood across his collar as he fought to pull his hand free of the wet leather.
Her sight had diminished to a veil of pale jewels beneath the tears but despite the near blindness she leaned forwards to feel for his neck. She touched her index finger to his earlobe until a tiny shock of gyros tapped back.
The man laid his head back against the ground, eyes calculating calmly as he looked deep into the sky. He took a couple of deep breaths as if about to snap a heavy weight, then spoke.
“Rachel, it’s Philip…”
He lowered his voice beneath the commotion surrounding them, squeezing her hand firmly while he passed his last words on. Elle wiped her eyes clear again and looked up at the blackened finger of Big Ben dominating the sky to the south. The cordon around the Houses of Parliament was bristling in alert. A number of sirens wailed, and blue lights were forcing their way headlong into the traffic. There was a rattle of boots as two armed police ran past her into the crowd.

>Fag OP here again.
>I'll pick a random passage from further on (page 23 why not) and post it now as well to see if the rest of it sucks as hard (I've been pretty convinced it doesnt but I'm going kinda blind)

Most of their clients were banks and she was the only one with government security clearance. When she had opened her mouth to say as much he held his hand up to stop her.
“It’s not your usual. It’s a seven day job, I’m down for all of it but I’ve managed to get you two, although if you’re lucky you’ll probably only do half a day or a day and a half at most. The extra days are support after the fact, we’ll probably end up cashing them and that’ll be that.”
“How did you hear about it?” All he’d told her as they took the lift down to the street was that they were going to the Houses of Parliament the following day.
He’d sipped at his coffee, weighing something up, then simply replied “Minister for Education.”
“OK…”
He lowered his voice.
“They want a bug sweep done. His office, which is in the Houses of Parliament itself, apparently.”
She had been to the Houses of Parliament once, not long after leaving school. She’d spent a couple of lonely hours on some anonymous afternoon watching the MP’s from the public gallery. The architecture, stained glass and statuary were memorable, but not as memorable as the sagging MP’s scattered among the benches. They were discussing the country's nuclear defence but the chamber had been empty and the participants seemingly bored into agony. It was an interesting contrast with the fireworks on television during Prime Minister's question time.
Paul had sketched out the bare minimum; red team exercise, assumed identities. He had raced through it all and before she knew it he had left her with the fake petition and a one pager with the assumed identity.

> I'm no writer but that seems better. But I hate everything about the first page. Help me, caring anons! Why does the opening prose suck balls so fucking hard????

Damn, the rest of your book sounds like shit too

Too much simile, you said "as if" like 4 times, plus moretimes just the word "as" which isn't simile, but becomes repetitious.

>Damn, the rest of your book sounds like shit too
haha thanks man, I was expecting worse!

>Too much simile, you said "as if" like 4 times, plus moretimes just the word "as" which isn't simile, but becomes repetitious.

Thanks thats helpful. (I added an as if a minute before I posted it by changing the opening line thats how fucked up i am getting with it)

What else? It does read like shit, the second passage is fucking garbage too but nowhere near as offensive and I think it has some narrative pull, the first scene is a blizzard of poor prose, ive pecked the fucking thing to death - first page is fucking hard as FUCK)

The opening scene btw - what I am trying to do is as follows plot wise (((as if))) anyone in their right mind would give a shit)

>bus crash and man dying, total chaos - Big Ben is a wreck - massive police cordon around parliament, unnaturally high winds treated as normal - its all focused on scene setting)
>I have her walk to the Thames wall and collect her thoughts as she watches river taxi passengers below, all terrified
>is called by her boss told to get to parliament as it's being shut down in case of terror attack
blah blah, 100 pages on and I'm much happier, I know the main character well, the prose is much more relaxed, she has a super best friend, and there's been a couple of decent capers and sinister characters introduced.
Plus, I have like fucking three books worth of plot, and its run on tramlines for the first hundred pages so far.

Anyway, any help much appreciated, not kidding, I will sign up for scribophile as well, but I know Veeky Forums best (I think)