Story Openings You're Proud Of

[AsylumSeeker]

Hey all.

Just wondering if you'd be willing to share the few opening paragraphs of a story you happen to be particularly proud of. I'd be interested in seeing others.

Okay, here's mine:

The town was dying. It was no secret, everyone sensed its approaching demise. Torrance could see it in their frightened eyes. The place was bleeding out, like a man with a gut shot. It just took a while before death embraced its victim.

The allure of Mexico was the bullet. Cheap labor and higher profits lured the biggest employer south. Its previous home was now nothing but a silent steel shell, its windows smashed by an angry populace that felt betrayed. Its loss had a damaging ripple effect. Many small businesses failed. Jobs had grown scarce.

There was a panic in the air. Desperate citizens scrambled for a way out, hoping for a fresh start. But that took money, and with the local economy plummeting, hard cash was a commodity difficult to come by. But Torrance wasn't scared. Hell, he wasn't even nervous. In these, the worst of times, there was always someone that managed to find a silver lining. And this time, that someone was him.

 

[Darkniciad]

I'm dead.

The worms crawl in. The worms crawl out. The worms play pinochle on my snout.

Well, I assume they do. I'm dead, I wouldn't really know -- you know? Actually, I'm a ghost. I thought about peeking in on my body, but decided it was just a bit too morbid and creepy. Pretty strange, coming from a ghost, don't you think?

How did I die? You might ask. Then again, you might not. It doesn't really matter, because I'm going to tell you anyway.

================

Always loved that story -- especially the opening and closing.

 

[AsylumSeeker]

I'm dead.

The worms crawl in. The worms crawl out. The worms play pinochle on my snout.

Well, I assume they do. I'm dead, I wouldn't really know -- you know? Actually, I'm a ghost. I thought about peeking in on my body, but decided it was just a bit too morbid and creepy. Pretty strange, coming from a ghost, don't you think?

How did I die? You might ask. Then again, you might not. It doesn't really matter, because I'm going to tell you anyway.

================

Always loved that story -- especially the opening and closing.

LOL, there's another verse I can't quite remeber. DAMN!

 

[Darkniciad]

LOL, there's another verse I can't quite remeber. DAMN!

There's more than one version. The one I remember comes from Howling Mad Murdoch from the A-Team *laugh* It's a trunchated version of one that I read at the library once, and I've seen several versions of it in print.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

The flickering embers in the fireplace warmed the hearth. I sat in the corner of the room hoping not to draw attention to myself. I was tired, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open as I watched the others in the room around me. I did not want to deal with anyone just now but I did not want to be alone. I just wanted to sleep—sweet, peaceful sleep. Rudy lay next to me, his heavy head on my thigh.

I closed my eyes as the crowd settled down. Susan sat at the table closest to me as she ate and drank. From experience, I knew the food was cold and the ale warm; a poor combination, but when you are hungry almost anything is palatable. Susan was now my guardian, as I had been hers earlier in the day. She would stay awake and make sure nobody bothered me while I slept.

These thoughts crowded my mind as the blackness of sleep floated me away from the harsh and tumultuous times in which we now lived.
___________________

If it's not familiar that's because its part of my anthology for sale at Fido.

 

[john-the-author]

I'm dead.

The worms crawl in. The worms crawl out. The worms play pinochle on my snout.

Well, I assume they do. I'm dead, I wouldn't really know -- you know? Actually, I'm a ghost. I thought about peeking in on my body, but decided it was just a bit too morbid and creepy. Pretty strange, coming from a ghost, don't you think?

How did I die? You might ask. Then again, you might not. It doesn't really matter, because I'm going to tell you anyway.

================

Always loved that story -- especially the opening and closing.

Like it!!

 

[ArsAmatori]

Hey all.

Just wondering if you'd be willing to share the few opening paragraphs of a story you happen to be particularly proud of. I'd be interested in seeing others.

Okay, here's mine:

The town was dying. It was no secret, everyone sensed its approaching demise. Torrance could see it in their frightened eyes. The place was bleeding out, like a man with a gut shot. It just took a while before death embraced its victim.

The allure of Mexico was the bullet. Cheap labor and higher profits lured the biggest employer south. Its previous home was now nothing but a silent steel shell, its windows smashed by an angry populace that felt betrayed. Its loss had a damaging ripple effect. Many small businesses failed. Jobs had grown scarce.

There was a panic in the air. Desperate citizens scrambled for a way out, hoping for a fresh start. But that took money, and with the local economy plummeting, hard cash was a commodity difficult to come by. But Torrance wasn't scared. Hell, he wasn't even nervous. In these, the worst of times, there was always someone that managed to find a silver lining. And this time, that someone was him.

Very intriguing. I like "The place was bleeding out, like a man with a gut shot."

 

[ArsAmatori]

The flickering embers in the fireplace warmed the hearth. I sat in the corner of the room hoping not to draw attention to myself. I was tired, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open as I watched the others in the room around me. I did not want to deal with anyone just now but I did not want to be alone. I just wanted to sleep—sweet, peaceful sleep. Rudy lay next to me, his heavy head on my thigh.

I closed my eyes as the crowd settled down. Susan sat at the table closest to me as she ate and drank. From experience, I knew the food was cold and the ale warm; a poor combination, but when you are hungry almost anything is palatable. Susan was now my guardian, as I had been hers earlier in the day. She would stay awake and make sure nobody bothered me while I slept.

These thoughts crowded my mind as the blackness of sleep floated me away from the harsh and tumultuous times in which we now lived.
___________________

Yawn. No offense. The descriptions seem general and cliche, the voice too idiomatic, the setting confusing and dull.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

Yawn. No offense. The descriptions seem general and cliche, the voice too idiomatic, the setting confusing and dull.

You must be that anon guy everyone complains about.

 

[ArsAmatori]

You must be that anon guy everyone complains about.

Nah, I liked AsylumSeeker's opening. I like saying nice things. I didn't say your story sucked. I've never read it.

But the opening is a drag. Most people take one or two paragraphs to decide if they will read the book or close it and forget about it. Three characters plus a faceless crowd, internal thoughts, plus random description...just too much going on.

 

[Edward Teach]

Wouldn't say that I'm particularly proud of this, but it's a story I'm working on and I wouldn't mind some feedback.

When the dark green Tahoe pulled into the dirt drive, down the hill from the rickety, old house, Eb motioned for Jenny to go inside, but she didn’t pay him no never mind and just sat there on the unpainted porch railing, watching. She wasn’t about to change clothes just because Eb didn’t like other men seeing her in cutoffs. His aging ass needed to get over it. He got out of his chair and slowly walked over to the bare plank steps so he could look down at the SUV. It looked like something the law might drive, but he didn’t think it was the law, it had a sun roof and, besides, the law would have come in faster. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his worn bib overalls, and spat a rope of tobacco juice out onto the grassless, dusty yard.

 

[ArsAmatori]

Wouldn't say that I'm particularly proud of this, but it's a story I'm working on and I wouldn't mind some feedback.

When the dark green Tahoe pulled into the dirt drive, down the hill from the rickety, old house, Eb motioned for Jenny to go inside, but she didn’t pay him no never mind and just sat there on the unpainted porch railing, watching. She wasn’t about to change clothes just because Eb didn’t like other men seeing her in cutoffs. His aging ass needed to get over it. He got out of his chair and slowly walked over to the bare plank steps so he could look down at the SUV. It looked like something the law might drive, but he didn’t think it was the law, it had a sun roof and, besides, the law would have come in faster. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his worn bib overalls, and spat a rope of tobacco juice out onto the grassless, dusty yard.

I'd pick a single perspective... especially within a single paragraph. Otherwise the narrative voice seems too intrusive.

 

[smallncute]

My little contribution...

She was sitting nervously on the plastic bucket shaped chair, her eyes flicking back and forth to the door; the office door; the office door with 'her' name on. It was a quiet Friday afternoon, the clock on the wall read almost 4:30 pm, the school unnaturally quiet, all but deserted, the majority of the staff, and all of the pupils having escaped for the weekend.

Apprehensively she sat outside Ms Gardiner's office, feeling agitated, uncomfortable, twitching, and fiddling with her fingers. She chewed her lip, biting down slightly too hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood on the tip of her tongue. Finally she summoned the determination, and, slipping the envelope out of her bag, she knocked on the office door.

 

[JAMESBJOHNSON]

Wouldn't say that I'm particularly proud of this, but it's a story I'm working on and I wouldn't mind some feedback.

When the dark green Tahoe pulled into the dirt drive, down the hill from the rickety, old house, Eb motioned for Jenny to go inside, but she didn’t pay him no never mind and just sat there on the unpainted porch railing, watching. She wasn’t about to change clothes just because Eb didn’t like other men seeing her in cutoffs. His aging ass needed to get over it. He got out of his chair and slowly walked over to the bare plank steps so he could look down at the SUV. It looked like something the law might drive, but he didn’t think it was the law, it had a sun roof and, besides, the law would have come in faster. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his worn bib overalls, and spat a rope of tobacco juice out onto the grassless, dusty yard.

George V. Higgins published a short how-to-write book, ON WRITING, and it features a chapter about how to capture the flavor of vernacular speech. The chapter is illustrated with samples of how famous writers mastered or botched the problem.

 

[PennLady]

It's funny reading these, because going back over my own stories, I find I nearly always open with dialogue. Not always, but it seems 9 times out of ten.

Like this, from Light and the Darkness:
"William, what have you done now?" Erica watched her brother as he paced the kitchen with jerky movements.

"You always blame me." He glared at her. "You never ask for my side, ask if anyone might have done something to me."

A rare, non-dialogue opening from Nothing Gets Through:
Thonk. Pahk. Clack.

Dom moved smoothly from shot to shot, deflecting pucks with his blocker pad, his glove, his leg pads, his stick -- whatever was in the right place. He ignored the ones that got through. He just gritted his teeth and tried harder to stop them all. The bars of his facemask disappeared, and his teammates were blurs out by the blue line.

 

[lovecraft68]

Well you said proud of so I suppose that and what I think technically might be the "best" are two different things. This is my favorite opening sequence of a story that I have written. I have 40 stories written and 36 are incest. This opening sequence is from one of my 3 BDSM stories called The Breaking of Allison ( a 2 part story) I think it's my fav because it was written in answer to a challenge that I couldn't write BDSM. The story received pretty good votes and stands at a 4.69. For the record I already am well aware that grammar is not the greatest it was written last summer before I picked up an editor.

*******

Laying there in the oppressive heat of the room, her arms chained to the massive four poster bed, Allison let out a low moan as she felt the silver bullet pressed against her clit begin to start vibrating again. As soon as it did she tried to squeezing her legs together even tighter and pushed her hips off the bed desperately straining to cum.

"Oh Please," She whimpered knowing she sounded pathetic but unable to help herself at this point.

Allison tried to work her thighs up and down but to no avail. Her legs were tied together at the knees so tightly she couldn't budge them at all. Allison gasped however, as she began to feel the first welcome twinges of orgasm flow through her loins, her thighs started to quiver and she arched her back, wincing as this caused the chains attached to the nipple clamps to pull tighter. Oh, yes! She thought despite the added pain the vibrator was lasting longer and she was going to...

The vibrator stopped.

"Oh, nooo!" Allison moaned pumping her hips in vain.

Finally she gave up, slumping back into the bed. How long had she been left alone like this? That was at least the fifth time the vibrator had gone off. How long in between, fifteen minutes each? Allison had lost all track of time she swallowed hard; her throat was dry as a bone unlike the sweat soaked sheets she was lying on. The temperature in the room was close to a hundred degrees.

Allison pulled against the manacles that were holding her wrists hoping the sweat would give her enough play to possibly slide up a little. All this did was cause her shoulders to hurt more, at this point the aching in her shoulders was almost in perfect time to the throbbing sensation in her ass. Allison had been spanked so badly that she could still feel the stinging.

Opening her eyes, well as far as they would anyways, between the sweat dripping into both of them and what had been squirted into her right one, she was lucky to be able to squint. Looking up into the mirrored ceiling Allison saw herself lying there, and let out a groan, she was naked of course, her normally ivory complexion flushed red from the heat and her black hair plastered to her forehead and parts of her cheeks.

Even in the reflection Allison could see the bruising around her pink nipples from the clamps, as well as the twisting of them. She was chained with her arms as far out to the side as they would go and her legs wrapped together with a belt. Everything hurt including her pussy which had endured the hardest fucking she could have ever imagined; it had been more like an attack than a sexual encounter.

Allison knew this wasn't the end, not by a long shot, at some point when he felt her will was worn down even further Mark would come back and the games would begin anew. As if that thought had cued it the vibrator started to hum against her over stimulated clit. Allison moaned loudly, despite the pain and humiliation as she had endured her body was being forced to want to cum.

Allison closed her eyes trying not to push to cum it would do no good. What the hell was she doing here? More importantly why hadn't she quit yet? It would be so simple. All she had to do was say one word and it would be over, she would be untied and could go home. Go back to being the one in control. Who the hell needed this? This wasn't fun it was sadistic; trying to get Allison to break as she herself had broken so many boys. But she hadn't done it like this she...

"Ohhhhh," Allison whined as her orgasm once again approached just in time for the vibrating to stop. Slumping back panting once again, her parched throat burning Allison turned her head thinking she saw something move but realized it was a trick caused by the flickering of the half dozen or so candles that were lit on each side of the bed. It was still early afternoon or at least she thought it was but the one window in the room had been painted black. Allison jerked her head as she realized she was starting to sink into a daze of sorts and forced to herself to concentrate. To remember why she was here and what was on the line. Why she would not quit.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

Maybe...

Have you ever wanted to go back in time, with all the knowledge and experience you have now. You know you have, so don't lie to me. Go back and do things just a little differently, with what you know about the future. I have and the opportunity to do just that became a possibility for me. I don't know why they picked me, I was no one special. Maybe it was…no, it couldn't have been that.

 

[MagicaPractica]

Well, this was rather difficult. I just went through every story I thought I actually liked and found very little of any particular note in the opening paragraphs. I focused on the actual first paragraph. This was the best I could offer. The good thing is that I can see now where these could be tightened up. I'm currently working on deleting stories here so that I can pare down to a core of stories that I really like.

A Murder of Crows
Tessa should have known better than to let a friend set her up on a blind date. Either Erica didn't know her as well as she thought or Erica had never really gotten over that time Tessa put jello in her bed as a joke.


Essay
Sex on the Rocks or Neat?
Women have been devouring romance novels and chocolate bon-bons in lieu of satisfying their sexual desires for a long time. Sometimes the partner isn't willing. Sometimes there isn't a partner and going out to pick someone up at the local bar seems a little unsafe, at best. What's a girl to do? We turn to stories to stir our imagination and sate our appetites.


Surrealism Outside the Frame
George pushed through the glass doors at the front of the office building and pulled his coat tighter as the cold bit at him. He hurried down the steps, skidded on a patch of ice and righted himself. He followed the stone retaining wall fifty feet from the entrance of the building. All just to get a cigarette in, on one of the coldest evenings of the year. He only got fifteen minutes and it took five minutes just to get down from the third floor and out of the building.


Sweet Italian Rain
He is a Roman God. All he requires is a wreath of olive leaves instead of the cap that covers his glossy curls. She watches him for several minutes before winding her way through carts, to the one where he is replenishing the grapes. Her hands move over the rough texture of sweetly ripe melons. She considers the dark purple grapes. They do smell seductively juicy.

Too Hot for Sex
I lay spread eagle on the bed, arms thrown up over my head. I am lax and stripped of any motivation just as the bed is stripped of everything except it's plain white fitted sheet, lying smooth beneath me. The sweat beads on my moist bare skin are, at most, tickled by the air from the window. They are with me for the duration. The heat is oppressive and the humidity suffocating.

 

[TxRad]

Maybe not the best but one that intrigues me.

"Just what is your fucking problem?" The old man growled without turning around from where he sat slumped against the bar. He rested on his elbows, shoulders hunched, staring at the bars surface, as if it held all the secrets of the world.

The two men, who had been arguing behind him, looked around sharply. The taller of the two asked, loudly, "Are you talking to me, Grandpa? Because if you are...”

The rest of the sentence remained unspoken as the old man slowly stood and removed his glasses and battered cowboy hat. He took a step to his right and turned left. A big right hand flashed up and caught the man talking right on the chin. His feet came an inch off the floor as he arched backward and slammed onto the floor.

The other man took two or three hurried steps back, putting his hands up, palms outward. "Daddy Jack, I got no quarrel with you. I've known you too long. Johnny there, is just plain dumb. You know that."

The old man just stood looking at the kid for several long seconds. "Get this ass hole out of my bar. You're both barred for a month."

With that the old man sat back down on his stool, replacing the hat and glasses. He took a long pull on the beer next to his elbow before slumping back against the bar.

 

[squarejohn]

I'm not sure if I could point to any of my own as something to brag about.

The opening paragraph of Kafka's "Metamorphosis" is hard to beat. Here it is.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa awoke from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.

 

[Firebrain]

I like this one, which is from a young adult story of mine:


Seven different websites told me that if I got the right haircut and laughed in the school corridor at just the right time, William would notice me.

But he didn’t, and he went to uni. That sucked.

Then, I died. That sucked more.

None of those websites suggested I should turn into the instrument of his mortal corruption and materialise on his ceiling, but because I’m sharp like that, I’m about to try it out.

This could go one of two ways; I'm a special kind of dead, so I've seen them.

Both of them suck.

 

[Weird Harold]

Hey all.

Just wondering if you'd be willing to share the few opening paragraphs of a story you happen to be particularly proud of. I'd be interested in seeing others.

From How I met My Wife:

The dingy little beachfront bar darkened suddenly as the light from the open door was suddenly blocked. Every eye in the place turned instinctively towards the door, then stayed in awe of the man shaped shadow filling the doorway. The newcomer stood in the door for a few moments to let his eyes adjust before tipping his head clear of the lintel to come inside. He made his way to the bar and settled onto the end stool. A casual wave at the bartender produced a mug of draft beer that slid to a stop in front of the big man in the best movie western tradition.

"How much is my tab, Clancy?" The big man's voice rumbled effortlessly over the background conversation.

"Take me a while to figure the interest, O'Malley, what with you being gone these last six months. Would ye be planning on paying it, for a change?"

"Yeah, I'm going to pay it just as soon as you put a round for the house on it."

"I'll be seein' the color of yer money before I do that, O'Malley. I'm poor enough from supporting yer own capacity, without giving away drinks on yer worthless promises."

"Ah, Clancy, Ye wound me heart." O'Malley's imitation of Clancy's brogue was overdone, but the bill he waved had enough zeros on it to sooth any insult Clancy may have felt. "I won the big one, Clancy, and I'm celebrating with all my old friends now that I'm back home where I belong."​

That opening actually happened because I didn't like the opening of the original version and decided to frame the story as a Bar Tale and I needed a bar to frame it with. I may use O'Malley's beachfron bar again some time to frame another weak story. As it turns out, framing the story seems to have worked because it is currently carrying a 'red H' as well as a "green E."

 

[Verdad]

Wouldn't say that I'm particularly proud of this, but it's a story I'm working on and I wouldn't mind some feedback.

When the dark green Tahoe pulled into the dirt drive, down the hill from the rickety, old house, Eb motioned for Jenny to go inside, but she didn’t pay him no never mind and just sat there on the unpainted porch railing, watching. She wasn’t about to change clothes just because Eb didn’t like other men seeing her in cutoffs. His aging ass needed to get over it. He got out of his chair and slowly walked over to the bare plank steps so he could look down at the SUV. It looked like something the law might drive, but he didn’t think it was the law, it had a sun roof and, besides, the law would have come in faster. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his worn bib overalls, and spat a rope of tobacco juice out onto the grassless, dusty yard.

IMO, Teach, it wouldn’t hurt if you chopped in parts that monster of an opening sentence and perhaps lost a few modifiers. Are dark and green really necessary here? Not saying you should never use them; obviously there are times when you wish to convey that exact information, but from what I see here, dark and green don't make the picture more vivid but they do they make the sentence more florid and clunky. This seems to me just fine as the first sentence:

When the Tahoe pulled into the dirt drive, down the hill from the rickety old house, Eb motioned for Jenny to go inside.

Further, and this is the most important thing, I agree with Ars about POV. Do not switch. Rework Jenny's part from Eb's perspective. Express the information you expressed in "Jenny's" sentences from Eb's POV. He's annoyed she won't go cover herself? Narrate that as he sees it.

The rest (from the place you return to his POV) is fine, and in fact, I quite like it. Your opening does a good (and with a few changes, graceful) job of introducing everything it needs to, the hook, the setting, the characters, the conflict. Based on it, I'd want to keep reading. Best of luck completing the story!

 

[RoyceConnors]

The drenching rains fell heavy, as they often do in March, in the Western Highlands of Scotland. Through the early morning grey haze, a small army of clansmen made their way into the small village of Ballachulish, the thrumming of rain covering their sound. Claymores, dirks and battle axes at the ready, the filthy, sodden men in poor Highland garb, entered one dwelling after another, slaughtering all who were inside, no one to be spared, save a few young women for the men to enjoy later, the spoils of their one-sided war. Men and women who lay in their beds, had their dreams and lives smashed from their skulls, staining the skins with lifeblood, the results of man's greed. Before the wan, morning sun had made an attempt to brighten the gloom, only eight souls of Ballachulish were alive. Those eight would soon wish their lives hadn't been spared.
Mary McKinnon, a season left to be eighteen years, lived with her parents in the small village and made bread. They lived a good life, as much as poverty would allow and kept to their good traditions. Standing now in a strange room, of a strange house, with four vile men, had left her paralyzed with fear and apprehension. In the dim light, she saw the flash come up to her face, the glint off sharp steel running along the edge, catching her attention and quickening her breath. The soaking stench of the man filled her with disgust, but the hand catching her nightdress brought about great dread. It took only a few seconds of keen slicing and Mary felt all the shame she had ever known, yet it wasn't close to how she would feel, by the end of her ordeal. Her rounded femininity flushed fast and hard, as her embarrassment soared further, her unknown body about to be plundered for its wealth.

This is the original opening to my saga, Blood of the Clans.

 

[AsylumSeeker]

The flickering embers in the fireplace warmed the hearth. I sat in the corner of the room hoping not to draw attention to myself. I was tired, so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open as I watched the others in the room around me. I did not want to deal with anyone just now but I did not want to be alone. I just wanted to sleep—sweet, peaceful sleep. Rudy lay next to me, his heavy head on my thigh.

I closed my eyes as the crowd settled down. Susan sat at the table closest to me as she ate and drank. From experience, I knew the food was cold and the ale warm; a poor combination, but when you are hungry almost anything is palatable. Susan was now my guardian, as I had been hers earlier in the day. She would stay awake and make sure nobody bothered me while I slept.

These thoughts crowded my mind as the blackness of sleep floated me away from the harsh and tumultuous times in which we now lived.
___________________

If it's not familiar that's because its part of my anthology for sale at Fido.

Nice, very nice, I love it!