Post the first 3 sentences of your WIP!

Ok, I'll be brave! (It's rough, since it's NaNoWrimo and I've avoided editing ANYTHING... so typos galore!)

“Do you, Ginnifer Rebekkah Morgan take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Before the Reverend could get to ‘in sickness and in health?’, Ginnie had gathered up her skirt, dashed back down the aisle and out the stained glass doors. Leaving 174 wedding guests in awe.

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.

Saul walked through far reaches of the yard that stretched far beyond its fences. Earth so tough there as to break mattock on first strike. Mostly untouched.

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[FONT=Courier New, monospace]Falling is not so bad anymore. I wouldn't go so far as to say I like it, but I can think of things I dislike more. Vegetables. Wearing dresses. Listening to Rush.[/FONT]

Going to cheat and use four:

One pair of eyes stares out at me from my locker.
Familiar eyes: round, brown, once sharp. Now dull.
My best friend’s head is in my locker.

(Lil rough still, since it's unedited.)

Aiden met the blood red eyes of the approaching sewer demon as it smashed a car aside like it was nothing more than a toy. He spat out the butt of his cigarette and slid two new rounds into his sawn-off.
"How the f*ck do you fit in a sewer?"

I just re-wrote the beginning of my WIP, so here are the first three of BAPTISM FOR THE DEAD:

[FONT=&quot]The first thing is the setting. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]None of this will make any sense to you at all if you don’t understand where. A place is a hammer and an anvil, and a forge fire that heats the steel.

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[/FONT]

This is from a novel I am currently in the middle of writing. It's called The Bridge to Heaven.

"My apartment burned down several weeks ago.
I had fallen asleep in the pleather recliner in my living room with a burning cigarette in my hand. When I awoke, there were white flames lapping at my pant leg."

I was people-watching on the bus when I first saw him.
They mean it when people put “Keep Portland Strange” on their bumper stickers, and I love that about where I live. Every form of human being lives in Portland, and they all come and go on the buses. It’s like a free sample of the city.

The_Ink_Goddess said:

Going to cheat and use four:

One pair of eyes stares out at me from my locker.
Familiar eyes: round, brown, once sharp. Now dull.
My best friend’s head is in my locker.

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That was creepy and also darkly humorous. Love it.

Jennasis said:

[FONT=Courier New, monospace]Falling is not so bad anymore. I wouldn't go so far as to say I like it, but I can think of things I dislike more. Vegetables. Wearing dresses. Listening to Rush.[/FONT]

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So stark. Sharp diction, but the story behind the words is blurry with ambiguity. This is really, really good.

Quote:
[FONT=&quot]The first thing is the setting. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]None of this will make any sense to you at all if you don’t understand where. A place is a hammer and an anvil, and a forge fire that heats the steel.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Nice!
[/FONT]

From my new WIP, Suicide Cookie:


Voices.

There were voices in the dark.

Footsteps like the clatter of cracking porcelain, rolling down a hall not far from here; murky daylight gushing into what appeared to be a room. And shadows, thick and pouncing towards me --

Hedgetrimmer said:

Quote:
[FONT=&quot]The first thing is the setting. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]None of this will make any sense to you at all if you don’t understand where. A place is a hammer and an anvil, and a forge fire that heats the steel.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Nice!
[/FONT]

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glad you like it! I'm finally happy with the beginning of this book, too.

Two hours before the lunch rush, and the pub’s tables were full. Customers excused their waiter’s inattention. Those forced to eat outside peered into the windows like children. Cleaning a glass the bartender leans towards a customer at the bar. “Ever seen her before?”

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I'm cheating. It's more than 3 sentences .

"My heart throbbed.
What was I getting myself into?
I asked myself over and over as I stared at the dead bodies."

All right, I'll play. I'm a long-time lurker. Venturing out of the shadows, will try to provide useful feedback when I can.

From my WIP, working title "The Gatherer":

[FONT=&quot]The water would break her bones. Tessa studied the river as it slunk beneath the bridge, and she envisioned her long descent downward, the shroud of hair over her face, and the water catching light like the underbelly of a mussel shell before impact. She deluded herself that the river would yawn open to receive her.[/FONT]

One I'm currently querying.

Before the horror began, my existence was fundamentally cookie-cutter. It did not feel all that straightforward at the time, but when compared to now, I had much less of an albatross over my neck. Sure, we all have the basic trials that we must face. I had not spoken to my mother in nearly eight years, as she lived on the East Coast with my father. Both of them retired and moved away from the Midwest, escaping the harsh winters and occasionally blistering summers.

I'm querying this one...I think my first chapter is my weakest...

"Our will is not our own. It is merely the reaction to the stimuli we are presented with.
The words were carved over a plaque at the base of a statue standing in the middle of a desolated city square."

I'm really not sure what to think of it so far. I think the third sentence might be too long.

[FONT=&quot] As the man walked down the dim streets of Siobhan, he heard a crow call. It was strange to hear a bird calling in the evening – actually, it was strange to hear birdsong at all in the city – but he had heavier things weighing on his mind. He continued his way downtown, ignoring the whistles and propositions coming from the shadows of the buildings lining the street.

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]There we are! It's so exciting to read everyone's first sentences and wonder how the rest of the story goes.
[/FONT]

I just reworked my opening. Here goes ...


Poised yet pale, Emily Hennas couldn’t decide whether her tightly-wound bun, or Elliott Lewis was causing the not-so-subtle throb in her temples. She sat back against the butter-soft leather and wondered if it were possible to feel any less significant. Or to be this damn tired.

Gerald scrunched his chair towards her until his corduroy elbow touched her rayon blouse, unaware that his button flies were hanging open and that he'd forgotten to wear underpants. It was a Friday, and Friday meant bingo for the post-Alzheimers. Bloody hell.

From my Nano novel, which I didn't finish (yet):

Lucas wished for some magic on his twelfth birthday. Unfortunately, his wish was about to come true.
On the center stage at the county fair, the magician wearing a red cape was mesmerizing everyone with his unusual tricks: the disappearing miniature horses, the transfiguring black swans, the crystal ball that grew into seven knotted trees.

Here's mine:

Zakri tapped his wristwatch and sighed. It was the third time this week his watch had died on him. He took a peek from behind the lamp post and leaned back on the wall behind him.

Just registered and decided this was a good place to jump in with my first post. I'm about ready to start querying this one:

Scrubbing toilets wasn't my first choice in making a living, but my first choice hadn't worked out so well. Cleaning was okay. It paid the bills, and it gave me a chance to create order from chaos.