They say that the first sentence is the most important. It draws the reader in and sets the mood. With that in mind...

One morning [protagonist] woke up, and drew, from his dream, a strange thought.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT, GET THE FUCK OFF MY BOARD YOU GOD DAMN NORMAL FAG!" The autistic young lad bellowed at his fragile computer screen, plumes of dark smoke emanated from his temple as he slobbered all over his 700$ keyboard.

My editor told me it'd be a foolish idea for my first sentence to condemn the use of Chalula's hot sauce, but some risks are worth taking.

"I don't understand how eggs got stuck with breakfast; you can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out -- but the moment your sandwich has an egg, book, it's a breakfast sandwich."

Well fuck, I'm interested. Tell me more.

Holy...... I want more

Dirty art gallery pamphlets and crumbled plastic cups dragged in the wind along dead leaves on the street where James waited for the morning bus, coffee in hand, earphones singing Debussy and not another soul in sight.

Fascism is inherently silly.

I fuck the music. I make it cum.

I blew Juan Marcos Dominguez-Santoval II's dad last year after breaking up with him, and since he had been insisting, wrongly, that I had some kind of nerve.

Only one enemy remained; two, if we allowed for the possibility of God or a Godlike figure which got me into this mess, which you're probably wondering how I got into in the first place.

f on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave—What story down there awaits its end?

>Only one enemy remained; two, if we allowed for the possibility of God

I remember seeing this on /r/writingprompts a few months back.

Samefag. Sad!

I feel like this is a myth, rather, the first sentence is what people who don't know how to write focus on because it's what they spend four hours staring at a page trying to type.

Does anyone remember the first sentence of Huckleberry Finn? Nobody fucking does. Does it matter? It's only when it has a weird word, but I didn't read Moby Dick because some tool with a biblical sounding name told me what to call him, I read it because I wanted to read about sea-demons getting hit in the eyes with harpoons by boatniggers with funny accents.

Thems was good times.

It was a dark and stormy night when I told him I'm not into homosex, like, at all.

I touched his bulge while he was driving in the night.

The wind was blowing but my camarade kept following.

It was the beginning of the end.

>"My granda told it right -- not a bloke out there who doesnae want to get 'tween a dwarf wench's trotters!"

Johnny Retahd loved sucking a good feminine cock after a hard day of murder and shoe-shine.

The Salty Salamander was the only place left where no one judged you for flakey crust crumbling off your pants or for the leaky semen stuck to your hair.

The shadows of first four then fifty fireman passed over the sleeping beggar who gradually appeared out of the dark in the flare of the growing light.

Yeah, worrying about the first line is MFA as fuck. Don't do it.

"Wow, this first line is so mundane! I'm not reading another word!"

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came screaming across the sky, surrounded by heads and bodies.

Sometimes faces paint a picture, her’s had painted petulance.

P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p

kek, would read

>Listen kid, I think you'd be more comfortable at that place- the reality of it all sank in as Robert looked at where the staunch and scarred mount of a man was pointing. The building across the street was colorful and had an air of unrestrained flagrancy. The enormous sign read "Weenie Hut Jr's" and stood alone against the giant flowers of the ocean.

"she stepped aside and the pound dropped, fist exploded, oblivion faltered, fared an altered silk string negligee spilling milk screamed on scene on vertical screen in the baked bread he tapped around" was Jesse hallucinating in a fever-flu notion a rhythm of words within the state of half-sleep half-sick under 6 or 8 thin bed-sheets of varying colors.

>Robert
>Weenie Hut Jr's

hey whats up?

not much how about u?

Where's the stately and screamed across the sky from?
t. pleb

Gravity's Rainbow

Ulysse's Vice.

I wrote the original comment, FWIW neither of these were me.

The Bay is a lung.

He wasn't sure, but he could swear the night was glaring at him.

this is very very bad.

>a realist spongebob
p. good

She was the kind of chick with a gallon size jug of lube, with squeeze dispenser, on her nightstand.

Pounding on her lower back, I withdrew my penis from her anus then as it prolapsed, sucked it like a dick

Brilliant!

Robert was a simple man, he liked big ol' titties and could not lie, unfortunately, his parole officer did not know about his condition.

Once upon a time, dear reader, you read a book about a man, and that man was me: this is my book, dear reader, the one you now hold in your hands.

None of the witnesses, each of their teary eyes violated with a violence that raped their psyches beyond repair, could understand how the neck muscles tore before the hair roots, as Leutenent Sargent used a fistful of greasy ponytail to pull terrorist head from terrorist body, and then turned, with a look wilder than the eternally frozen fear of his victims, to face the crowd of shellschocked civilians and growl out, "not again," and then boot the bloody thing to fly rolling over the nearby steeple.

This is not the first time I've posted this, but would love some advice still after the edits.

The asylum did not loom, as he had been told, but instead drooped at all sides. Every stone, brick, and hall sagged like a summer squash left out far past its season. The doctor unpacked his bag of shaving kit and linen jumper. From a small window the he could see the peak of the slope where a weather vane span, pointing an accusatory iron finger towards him. That morning the nurse had left green oranges and fresh milk on the table that sat before the tiny dusted window. In the quiet moments preceding dawn, after the moans of the committed's night terrors, but before their morning exercise, he ate eaten the sour fruit. A finger rooted in his cheek, picking at a seed lodged into a molar. Accompanying the fruit had been a short letter, written to him by the nurse, explaining she had picked the fruit herself. It was during vigorous exercise when he entertained two notions, first the possibility if the nurse was sweet on him, and the second beings some kind of indirect spite pointed towards him over his sudden arrival and displacement of the chief physician. Sweat dripped from his scalp, and pooled in the small of his back to soak the over sized nightdress he wore. Afterward a cool towel pressed against his eyes soothed the dull headache the calisthenics brought on, and as he prepared to bathe a pounding knock disturbed his routine.

>I withdrew my penis from her anus then as it prolapsed, sucked it like a dick

Her anus sucked like a dick?

It's pretty good man! The only bits that niggled me were "summer squash" because I know you're trying to convey its transformation into a rotten mouldy old fruit (which I like contrasted with the fresh fruit from the nurse), but something about the phrase "summer squash" gives me a ride and fresh feeling that outweighs the "past it's season" so I think that second half of the sentence needs more. Maybe "to rot past its season" or something.

I also thought the last sentence could be broken into two, to speed up the reading at the end and make the knock feel more abrupt and interrupting, rather than flowing on from the rest of the content.

Perhaps change it from summer squash to just squash?

I see what you mean for the last sentence.

Yeah that could work, or even some other ambiguously negative adjective beforehand instead of summer, like swollen.

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."

dang, got any more of this?

i like the character's name a lot...

What I learned in boating school is _____ _____ _____.

"Are you sure this is what's best for you?"

"Three days ago I stripped nude and laid down on my kitchen floor, determined to stay there until I died."

Macaroni shoes for a complete fucking faggot named Barry Andre.

"You a good catch Wade, your a good guy...stay a good kid. You know you're not cut out for this. "

Call me Ischlemiel.

Haha, would read

Has anyone seen my keys?

Before I relate this spiritual episode of my life, it is urgent and of utmost importance to make one thing clear: there is a science as old and ancient as the existence of man on Earth; emphatically, I'm referring to the "Jina Science".

John woke up and got dressed.

But I sure know how to write a winning last sentence.
>and then he woke up

He Glanced at the ticking ounce of gold on his wrist and Moved nervously back and on his chair that it alarmed his counsellor

>They say that the first sentence is the most important
Actually most books have shitty first sentences. I think it's the first paragraph actually that makes or breaks a memorable "intro".

When Mike's heart attack struck he was forced to choose between dialing 911 and hiding his internet porn.

On balance, Dan thought, the uncontrolled forest fire burning its way towards his house was probably a good thing.

>some would call me cheecky, my friends would call me an absolute madman.

no pls

I'm sitting in a car right now that ain't mine. Don't worry where I got it from, you'll know soon enough. E. This thing needs gas almost as badly as I want it to have gas.

I've done this once more; I'll get my books... gonna actually name them this time instead of merely numbering them.

>Living amongst the Dead (1st book, 1st in LatD series, giving 2 sentences since the 1st is rather short)
The stench was the worst part, he had thought. That God awful smell of decay occasionally mingled with that which came from the loss of bowel control brought by death.

>When her 'No' means 'Yes (2nd book, very likely my worst, but the title melts snowflakes and I like that)
Leaning back on the rolled up blankets tucked into the corner of his dorm room’s bed, thereby propping up his body to be in a more comfortable position to work at his laptop, he went about typing.

>Firearm Valhalla (3rd book, planning to write a sequel sometime, most popular non-LatD book)
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.

>Another One Please, to Dull the Pain (4th book, title too melodramatic I think, genuinely believe it's well-written in spite of the novella being done in about 5 days, needs a little editing though)
“Oh just one more…” he stammered as he rested against the bar, figures whirling around him as he looked up at the bartender.

>Living amongst the Dead: Dark Days (5th book, 2nd in LatD series)
She couldn’t quite stomach the process of him skinning the gutted deer, but was more than favourable of the outcome.

>Living amongst the Dead: On the Road Again (6th book, 3rd in LatD series)
The smoke continued to rise on the horizon, the house that had become Richard and Tiffany’s home lost to flames and the undead.

>Living amongst the Dead: Struggles New and Old (7th book, 4th in the LatD series, three sentences since the first two are very short)
“Da-” a small voice whispered, but was cut off.
“Shhhhhhh…” deep patience. Young eyes looked over from where the lad knelt, brilliant blue, observant as the man trained his rifle.

>Living amongst the Dead: ??? (8th book not yet released, 5th in the LatD series, title not yet fully decided on)
A final look back was given at the face-down corpse, a bullet through its head, and a cloth covering the exit wound on the back of the skull.

That 8th book should be finished by the 20th I think, just today I wrote over 5400 words, damn good stuff.

It's a meme, but it can be made fact.

>Only one enemy remained; two, if we included the ever-present threat of Allah and His minions.

Y-you too...

>dont this once more
I mean I've done this one before. I fucking hate this weird sort of dyslexia I seem to be developing, replacing words with ones that sound vaguely similar. Before and more, how foolish, not even the same number of syllables! Been on the go a lot today and also, as mentioned, wrote for fucking hours. My mind and body are exhausted, but at least the hummus turned out alright.

Not true, putting a fried egg on a burger is fairly common

I hadnt talked to any of them in years, and when I knew I finally had their attention, i said: dance, dance (:

Cheers on the beach party n say hi to reeeeerydon for me

Johnson only had a knack for catching two things: petty shoplifters and the common cold.

You were a bad boy Billy, you were one of the worst, four years sixteen corpses - that's is your legacy.

What part of the world? I'm not the guy you're responding to, and that Jeff Green guy or whatever his name is is a complete meme, but that doesn't mean he's entirely wrong. Eggs seem to be inherently tied with breakfast. To have eggs during some other part of the day just seems weird unless it's egg noodles (I hear those are popular in Asia), bits of egg in Asian dishes, perhaps chopped hardboiled egg in some macaroni salads, or... um... using egg to make burger patties stick together... see how this is so difficult? As for a normal fried egg or hardboiled egg, which is probably the most common ways to have eggs, it's weird to have it at any part of the day other than breakfast. It's a silly and trivial thing to think about, but none the less, I can't really fault him on his logic. the only time it would seem that eggs are used in meals other than breakfast are when it's merely an ingredient in the process of making something else.

When you were young, you were the king of carrot flowers

schindler's list ranks among the great comedies of the 20th century

kek'd

first sentence doesnt mean fucking shit

Holy...

>Thems was good times.
That's a good opener.

Buggs..

The cosmonauts were transfixed with wonderment as the sun set — over the Earth — there lucklessly, untethered Comrade Todd on fire.

Its 100 Year of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's my favorite book desu, even though its exactly the type of book I'm normally really against. (i.e. multi-generational family thing)

It's freaking awesome though, you should check it out. I got it for Christmas from a /co/ gift thread.

Other cool names are Aureliano's father Jose Arcadio Buendía, Aureliano Segundo, the wise man Melquíades, Petra Cotes, and Remedios the Beauty, among others.

Time for a biblical story

>I sure hope you paid for this book