Post the opening sentence of your novel. It's not like it's going to get published anyway

Post the opening sentence of your novel. It's not like it's going to get published anyway.

>The rope is pulled taut and the last thing I can hear is the pop of my larynx collapsing under the weight of my body, a sound that bursts from within my throat straight back to my inner ear as a deep red heat blossoms in the back of my skull.

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amazon.com/dp/B06XK5P6QV
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>It rained gayly.

It rained in a very faggotly way, as if each raindrop were a penis falling from heaven, a basket of penises overflowing from a bountiful penis harvest. If one were to stare up at the sky and stick out their tongue, they'd feel the soft warm flesh of each penis melding into their taste buds, a gift from whatever creator resides above. Enjoy the penises, my children, he'd be saying, as he sprinkled more upon the little concrete city. Flood warnings, horrendous traffic, schoolchildren drenched from rogue drivers running too quickly through penis puddles. The world is a wet vagina.

The opening sentence of my diary desu is either:

I made a post on XKCD

or

Recently, I believed I would die, so after a period of attempting to re assimilate into a society that, to my limited understanding, was attempting to kill me, I gathered up such things as seemed relevant to the continued examination of my life and the present zeitgeist, and ran to europe, so that I might experience a broader range of things and perhaps in so doing, better consolidate my life into something I could part with, without feeling as though every good possibility that had ever been portended for me had withered and died within reach of me by the fact of my own cowardice in refusing to actually reach out and take it.

YUMMY! YUMMY! i want those penises in my tummmy :3

Take the cummy and soon you'll be a mummy >:3

I love it

>>The rope is pulled taut and the last thing I can hear is the pop of my larynx collapsing under the weight of my body, a sound that bursts from within my throat straight back to my inner ear as a deep red heat blossoms in the back of my skull.

tried it, did you?

masterful

>mispelling your 3rd word

>Have you ever had that feeling that everything around you is unreal? Not like it doesn't exist, but rather that people are occupied with something completly irrelevant and all the buildings and passing cars look strange, have unwonted shapes and confuse you? It's like you are precepting a world which isn't yet defined and colorized, something completely alien to your senses. And you ask yourself: has it always been that way? Have I changed or the world changed? Well, you are lucky if your doubt is only fleeting for I have lived with this feeling through all my life

>You are not real.

You gotta help an old lady cross the street or work some menial job not for the pay but for the fraternity with coworkers and the kindness you can show customers. Do anything just to help, and suddenly you see things differently. Not the same as you once did, but fairly close.

I like this, keep writing man

My idea of the novel is that some guy who lives in Eastern Europe in the 60s is heavily drugged by some CIA covert agent who wants to use this guy to carry out an assassination plot. But the drug is not potent enough to brainwash him. So instead of just ridding off that guy the agent tries a more potent version of the drug on him — something that makes this guy think that assassinating a certain political figure is a command of God and he had a vision like of Jeanne d'Arc.

pouring out another drink i muse about how life has plateaued, if existence where to be a graph, my peak would be 1976, then level indefinitely.

Ok
Godawful
Kek
Bad
Preddy good, would keep reading
Awful

Do it, sounds interesting

...

With a grunt of annoyance, he lay himself down on the ridge of a cliff, left arm reaching forward for the smooth wooden stock of his decades-old rifle to rest on.

'Decades-old' reads a bit awkwardly, but I'd like that sentence if you replaced that word. Maybe 'ancient' or 'rustic'.

I'm pretty sure someone could fit something bigger in their ass with out tearing the asshole, but I'm not sure how.

I like the word 'decade' (10 years), and also I'm pretty sure 'ancient' is specifically for something 100+ years old which the rifle isn't and I don't think that rifle is exactly 'rustic'. The rifle in that part of the book is a specific design that a firearm aficionado can figure out upon hearing the details of it. Anyhow, the book is pic related if you're interested in giving it a look. Also, here's a hint; the rifle in question is one of the three on the cover, which just so happens to be a picture I myself had taken of three rifles that I've personally owned. Paperback $5.99 USD ebook $1 USD. The shillster strikes again!

amazon.com/dp/B06XK5P6QV

you could just use 'old' instead of 'decades-old' rifle. it gives more a sense of familiarity to it

Hi! My name is Clara and I'm 15 years old!

It was September I think when I first noticed the thing in the sky.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Throw mother from the train?

thank you guys for motivating, I'll try

>Though I am the creator of the what I have written, I am not the master of what I wrote.

in res media?

You write decently but rework that cover

>It was on a windy morning in March, just after the final orgiastic exhalation of Carnival, that we bore the Maestro’s sepulcher up the bald mountainside to be buried beneath the Adriatic sky.

I want to post the kurt cobain "pancakes/crash" copypasta, but I don't have it.

kill all literati and intelligentsia, day zero now comrades.

>It was a day just like any other.

ORAAAA MANKO MISETE KURE BOKE