First line of your novel GO

(Its in spanish so im translating here)
It'd be swallowing a raspberry milky biscuit in a wooden depot, while the german shepherd was biting the midwife's skirt, that, not fully laying on his deathbed with a leg outside the sheet, Martin Gonzo would remember a stroll of 2076.

Buttholes swirled all around the dr's head as he ran through the night air.

Mesmerizing. Amazing.

>your
Get off Veeky Forums

It's hot. Terribly, disgustingly, shamefully, excessively, hot.

Correct.
The ambiguity alone is enough reason to change it to "dripping." Or "painted."

Planning a novel by some platonic first line is such shite. The beginning must remain in becoming
My first scene, for example, remains vague and within 'sci-fi' genre, yet vaguely in a much older tradition. Nothing is clarified without process.
>an roundish object, visibly lit lavender, falls from the sky in a path crossing under a crescent moon. The object falls to earth and is embedded deep beneath the surface, and remains there
There are signifies which may tie-in later, but nothing more. I doubt anybody here could guess the contents of the novel.

>colorblind
>not noticing the gentle transition from blue to red as oxygen reacts with the blood

Brainlit

I hated it my first read through, I was intrigued by my second, and now I would read the entire novel.

“You shouldn’t open scenes with dialogue,” Luchok said.
Peter raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“You shouldn’t open scenes with dialogue. It’s a transparent device used to hide the fact that you can’t write an interesting hook.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Luchok insisted. He spun Peter’s manuscript around on the surface of the plastic trestle table and began pointing to paragraphs. “You do it here, here, here…”

Brainlet. He can just use a semi-colon and keep it exactly as it is

If you were an artist, you'd be that guy who only draws cute girls and a lot of that would be girls with swords/guns/robots.

In other words, we can tell that you're a virgin.

Nice. Where can I read the rest?

Good stuff. What is it about? Does it manage to go on being smart in this way till the end?

Can you show us the original Spanish text?

Kek’d. Good stuff

Even though Andy Westwood did not exist, I knew with all my being that I loved him.

Ty my man.

Atm in my laptop. It was meant to be 400 pages but its going longer. It's about a dandy and a wizard living adventures separately and together. It was meant to be an excercise on style desu but at the end I grew fond on them.

The excursionist wasn't particularly educated when it comes to modern art, but as far as he could tell, actual knowledge seemed only a minor advantage

If the narrator is a girl it's nice, if he's a faggot, it's bad.

Seeing as you asked, have some more.

As for being smart, I'd call it smart-ass rather than smart. It's not actually about anything, it's just some doggerel I ended up writing because I literally couldn't think of anything to write. I cut out some exposition that goes between the first excerpt and this later bit (about 200 words). It introduces Kaz, who is the perspective character, and the setting - a university common room - but it's workmanlike and not very entertaining.

“See,” Luchok was saying. He poked a blunt fingernail at some scrap of text significant apparently only to him. “If you’d started there it would have been far more interesting. You’d have to rewrite it, but-”
“Yeah, okay,” Peter sniffed. “Whatever. Anything else?”
Luchok frowned. “Well, why’d you give it to me if you didn’t want my feedback.”
“'I don’t like it when you open with characters speaking' isn’t feedback, it’s just an opinion.”
“It’s not an opinion, opening with dialogue is objectively shit,” Luchok insisted. “Hey, leave it alone.”
“Give it back,” Peter demanded, gripping the bundle of paper around the bulldog clip holding it all together. “Oi! Careful.”
“I haven’t finished reading it.”
“I don’t want you to,” Peter shot back.
“What are you two nerds fighting about?” a new voice chimed in. Deep, rough, and slightly condescending - Kaz recognised it, and it could only be one guy.
He whirled in place, seat scraping over lino brittle with age. “Connor!”
It was indeed Connor, the tall rugby star looming over Peter’s back and looking around the table with an open-faced smile.
Peter craned his head back to look directly up at Connor’s jaw. “Hey hey,” he added.
Luchok rounded it off with a “G’day.”
“What’s this?” Connor asked, reaching for the manuscript.
“Don’t touch that,” Peter hissed. “I don’t want your stupid all over it.”
Connor batted away the manlet's grip easily, and took it from Luchok’s proffered hand. Peter glowered at Luchok. Luchok smirked at Connor. Connor peered at the manuscript.
“What is this?” he repeated, face absorbed in the loosely-bound document. “Is this a book?”
“I wrote it,” Peter said. “It’s my novel.”
Connor lowered the bundle and looked directly at Peter. “So it’s a book right? Like a story book?”
“It’s a novel,” Peter repeated.
“It’s a story book,” Luchok confirmed. “Like Harry Potter.
“That’s gay,” Connor said. “Harry Potter is gay. Fucking nerd shit.” He handed the manuscript back to Peter without a care. Peter snapped it up and sequestered it back into his manbag while Luchok laughed.

Sería al tragar un biscuit de frambuesa y leche en una cabina de madera, mientras el pastor alemán le mordía la falda a la comadrona, que, medio estirado en su lecho de muerte y con una pierna fuera de la sábana, Martín Gonzo recordaría un paseo del 2076.

Nice. It's a good way to start a book. I'm intrigued already.

He was a large man; he'd be hard to kill.

>He was a large man.

So he's dead now, right? We already know he's dead, now we're going to find out how he's killed by narrator.

Grammar seems a bit off but I could see it working both ways. Either he was hard to kill because he was a large men, so now the narrator is going to explain how it happened, or it should be more "he IS a big man; he would be hard to kill," which would invite us to watch the scene unfold.

*BRAAAAAAAAAAAAP*
Mmm yes, quite pungent indeed.

When they found Anna’s body, few failed to recognize her face, but fewer still were unaffected by the hideous transformation it had undergone; her cheeks, formerly bright and full of youthful shine, had become bloated and pallid, like the soft underbelly of a fish, and her lustrous, deep blue eyes stared to the heavens with shocked indignation, seeming to ask what kind of god could allow a creature so filled with life to have it all stolen from her by the grasping hands of death so suddenly and so cruelly.

First paragraph:

Absurdity of absurdities; all is absurdity.
And cold grey skies will bleed from the sea, wrapping themselves amid the city, insulating sound, and time, and space. Reflective windows simulate the world in an inversion of itself. A few half figures move about on the streets; some bundled in grey wrappings, that they may ignore the cold, others in costume and color, that they may ignore the cold. Machines, autonomous, oblivious, dance around them. Silent arbiters of logic and logistics, paragons of necessity. They carry the world on their backs.

"To say that our main character is entirely absolved from blame regarding his unfortunate
situation would be a lie."

>Crouching spider-rape in the Oval Office, eating lost tapes in agonizing pedophilia; red lining on female circuits.

for you

Purple Prose

It's bold.

>They carry the world on their backs.
Ends disjointedly b/c you start your first paragraph talking about one thing and end it by making a proclamation about something completely unrelated.

Absurdity of absurdities; all is absurdity.
Machines, autonomous, oblivious, silent arbiters of logic and logistics, paragons of necessity, dance around a few half figures moving about on the streets; some of them bundled in grey wrappings, that they may ignore the cold, others in costume and color. And cold grey skies will bleed from the sea, wrapping themselves amid the city, insulating sound, and time, and space. Reflective windows simulate the world in an inversion of itself. It is the machines that carry all this, on their backs, and in the cold.

While you have a point, there is a lot of power derived from the opening and closing sentences of a piece of writing.
>It was love at first sight.
>It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
>He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.
>All this happened, more or less.

>And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore
>The offing was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky – seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness
>He loved Big Brother

Anyway, it can be a wasteful experience trying to come up with something brilliant to open your story with, but the first sentence of the story should undoubtedly make a large brushstroke for telling your story.

People can die without having the luxury of seeing the gun pointing between their eyes.

Honestly this would do better work as a screenplay or theatrical play. You have a knack for dialogue, but everything else is lags behind a bit.

It's very violent and poetic imagery. The contrast between menstrual blood and the snow.

Thanks, and I agree. I usually get compliments on my dialogue but I just can't get the knack of writing the rest of a novel. Dialogue just flows out of my fingertips really easily but as soon as I try and write anything else every word or sentence can take minutes to drag out, and they feel really limp and forced when I read them back.

I'm jealous. For dialogue I can only come up with cool lines, but no coherent conversation to intersperse them with.

Do you guys use any specific software to write? Or just open up a google docs?

It's funny since I find dialogue the hardest thing to write.