Post your novel's first sentence. Discuss and rate others

Sounds like a cheesy, shity romance
1/10
Is this going to be a fast passed book?
If so 5/10
Caught my interest
7/10
Sounds like pseudo-intelligent bs
2/10
1/10
Pretensious bs
2/10

sir you got a call on line 1, pretty sure he might kill himself over the phone right here right now.

The crickets and the rust-beetles scuttled among the nettles of the sage thicket.

be gentle

I already told you... I just can't...
But why!? We really need you to do it, please, for the sake of our nation and the future of our children...

Suck your own dick

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine,
Y cladd in mightie armes and siluer shielde,
Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did remaine,
The cruell markes of many' a bloudy fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he neuer wield:
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

They say the human body is around 60 percent water, if that's so then I can without a doubt say that your mother is biggest body of water on Earth; in other words: she's fat.

CRASH was what I heard after my golden retriever slammed into the table that my pancakes made by mommy dearest were atop which made me realize that no matter what there was only one true enemy left unless of course, dear reader, we are to count God, in which it is clear to me that two enemies remain, obviously God being one of them; and so after my dog recovered from his tumble we set out to become the catchers in the rye.

A breeze blew in through the window and cooled his hands.

Only one enemy remained... Two if you counted God.

what are rust-beetles?

Satan rode with us.

pretty generic, 5/10
neat 7/10
1/10
no
could be neat 6/10
neato 8/10
no 2/10
made me think, 7/10

Last night's piss-soaked pubic hairs swirled down toilet with a mix of bile and assorted liquors following it.

It wasn't until he pulled over that he saw the legs dangling from the wreckage.

the*

The sunlight shone in his eyes and woke him up.

In the remains of the world, only a cold gale persists.

Fuck I knew this would happen. lemme just post a bit more.

"Vámonos, amigos," he whispered, and threw the busted leather flintcraw over the loose weave of the saddlecock, and they rode on in the friscalating dusklight.

oh I get it. It's like a mix of the joyce neologisms with mcarthy cowbo stories

awkward

A procession of twenty or so men made their journey from the yellow cabs of the city to the towering oaks in the near woods.

6/10 personally. Would have to read some more to dictate an opinion

yuck/10

all the pretty horses/10

pretty good.

Nobody tell you the thing you love most is going to be what kills you.

See the child.

Jokes on you. That's exactly how I wanted to react.

4d check-m8

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must not be in want of a wife.

To forget would be to say goodbye and I don't think I have the cruelty nor the courage to do such a thing.

holy... i want more...

seems like the only genuine effort itt, but a robot sidekick thats named ibark??????

holy... i want more

The rain brought with it the song of the frog.

I am seated in an office, surrounded by heads and bodies.

Better than a robot president named iBarack.

okay

no

I was born

Aye, my will is strong, he thought. But death can only be bent over so many times. And as I get slower, his pace stays the same.

Dès le matin, la tête encore tournée contre le mur et avant d'avoir u, au-dessus des grands rideaux de la fenêtre, de quelle nuance était la raie du jour, je savais déjà le temps qu'il faisait.

The man lowered the wide brim of his hat over his eyes, spat into the dirt, and sighed. "Here we go again", he murmured. His lips suddenly bent into a smirk.

merde

I’ll jump on 3.

Heilig... Ich möchte mehr

I would keep reading it desu

The chinks are squawking in their chicken language outside my window again.

去死吧,鬼佬

Remaining pieces of the canoe were strewn upon the shore while warmer bodies were clawing for the land, the colder ones were swallowed by the rapids into the lips of waterfalls and disappeared.

Hillary had lost, but this was only the beginning of the end.

SQUAWK SQUAWK

I was a happy and often sickly child, my blood smelling of asphalt, my eyes the sheen of linoleum.

There are at least four ways to be struck by shotgun fire that do not involve directly getting shot.

Holy shit, I'm too lazy to post a picture but I have a face of sad contempt seeing that no one recognizes what this is from.

You mean Madame Bovary ?
I only know the french version

Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum's Grand Gallery.

"Shit"

"slick mud" bish are you fucking kidding. Slick mud. "The slick mud" is the first fucking three words. The most boring description in the world? G T F O.

holy.... I want more!

An artist respects the silence, it serves as the foundation of creativity, he said in righteous anger.

Edit for superfluous adverbs and adjectives.

You don't want to dictate the emotion of "righteous" anger, you want the reader to infer the quality of the anger based on the circumstances and personality of the character. Otherwise you're story is less of an invitation to a reader and more like you're yelling it at them with less degree of interpretation.

Also, starting with a seemingly didactic message is perhaps not the best.

It's relatively fast passed, especially the prologue.

Thanks for the feedback. It's first draft so will be changed and an easy way to start the story for now.

Papabot 85261 aka "TriplePlatinum" gripped the cold pistol grip of the SPAS-12, his finger on the trigger, as it lay concealed in the delivery bag.

Jem, mio fratello, aveva quasi tredici anni all'epoca in cui si ruppe malamente il gomito sinistro

NO! You get out! This one of the most important places in North America and who the fuck are you! WHO ARE YOU?! You miserable presumptuous no-talent! You're no artist. You OBVIOUSLY don't have the talent. You don't have enough respect for yourself or other people, OR what it is to express yourself. In literature, or any other form of creativity. I'm an NYU film school graduate, SUCKA! And the school of visual arts, and the Academy of Arts San Francisco... YOU SUCK! You're a no-talent! If you really had talent, go practice! Get yourself a GIG, instead of ruining the day for everybody down here, you're a DISGRACE! You're everything that is gone wrong in this world, you're a self-consumed, no-talent mediocre piece of shit! And I've earned my right to say it!

I died in the gutter, alone and bleeding out like a stuck pig, memories fading into the night like those final puffs of cigarette smoke, I had it all once, the job, the home, the family, The American Dream ... I gambled it all for a dame, and as lady Fortune had it ... snake eyes.

>sacer.... voglio di più, mamma li turchi!

as the white knight approached, the sound of his galloping abs reverberated, and when he stopped, he said, "halt, matriarch! did i hear you blacksplaining? i must stand for this injustice."

The Rev. Reginald Gumby, sometime pastor of Glum-Pudding-on-Welkshire Abby, reflecting upon the trouncing of his youthful predilections by the recent enfeeblement of his body (due to the waistcoat sewing-contest accident with claimed his left leg), determined himself to a revenging malevolence, and began to hobble down the cobblestone path, fully intent upon betraying his ministerial dignity and causing a ruckus among the unsuspecting townsfolk below.

>which claimed*

hahahaha I just showed that video to my friends an hour ago. I love how he thinks the Academy of Arts SF is an accomplishment to gloat over. It's a prime example of an opportunistic, worthless education.

OK, you have potential as demonstrated by your use of syntax, vocab, the rhythm of the sentence and also the subtle comedy you created in just one sentence, how you've already created an exposition in just that one sentence, but who are you trying to impress?

This isn't the 18th century. It's good prose, but artificial. I don't usually respond to these threads or even look at them but this caught my eye because it's well-written, funny, and sad because it shows potential being wasted. Again, I'm not going to lie, it's a great opening sentence, but you have to determine whether the archaism of it is deliberate or not.

Good writing.

Nice.

Thanks for the response. To be honest I just made it up for this thread. When I wrote it I was thinking of The Unstrung Harp by Edward Gorey, which uses archaism for comedic effect. I used to write when I was younger, but not so much recently. I may have to pick it back up. Thanks again.

what's the origin of this meme?

>I was just pretending

kek'd.

thats one pretty funny pham

These were annoying niggers.

Her giant member was on my mind, but how could I ever get her to show me its girth.

The day my head was amputated will forever linger in my memory banks.

The silence of the schoolyard was broken by Nylian's scream as the spell caught her square in the chest and sent her tumbling backwards.

In a certain village in La Mancha, which I do not wish to name, there lived not long ago a gentleman—one of those who have always a lance in the rack, an ancient shield, a lean hack and a greyhound for coursing.

The two halves of this sentence imply a contradiction. "Her giant member was on my mind" implies that the narrator has already seen her penis while "how could I ever get her to show me its girth" implies that he's never seen it.

Are you sure the word "ever" should be in there? If yes, how does the narrator know the size of her member?

Tom was clanging to a beat only he could hear.

im going for a sort of bukowski vibe here pls be constructive:

Meanwhile, on the other side of the tracks, Flip and Slappy lit their pot cigarettes. They were sitting in their crack house, where roaches and termites crawled among piles of dirty needles. “Hot damn!” said Slappy. “That horse is kicking my butt!”
Flip laughed and picked up the bag of white powders from the floor. “You got that right, soul brother!” he exclaimed. “This is the hardest drug I ever toked!”

Now that he had finally reached Paris, Chip understood why they called it the City of Lights. It was the lights! There was something special about Paris that was indescribable. It was so different than being back home in Terre Haute. There was something he couldn’t put his finger on, a certain…je ne sais quoi.

Late capitalism is .mhy76bgtvfs—hold on, my pesky cat, Bartok Finkelstein, just walked across the keyboard, ironically disrupting yet again the suspension of disbelief.

This is pretty bad man. The whole first sentence is unnecessary and the rest is shit

my name is ishmael

"It was the third of July, the day when they finally completed the system of German Idealism, and the bananas were polycurdling."

It was the largest hamburger he had ever seen -- the largest one made out of people, at least.

He was dangerously relaxed in a situation that required at least a little bit of urgency.

i like it

Look, a new day arrives and here I am lying, awaiting death as each breath passes pampered without any care or obligations.

muh Spenser