First Liners - Would a publisher want to read more?

[Gyppo]

Behave yourselves, Lads ;-)

If he's only got 9 millimetres in his hand she's probably already used the knife ;-)  Even 9 centimetres isn't anything to write home about...  That's the trouble with these modern metric units, even the youngster don't visualise them as they speak.

More seriously...

She was standing there naked with a 9 mm in her hand and the body was there covered in blood. Next question?

It doesn't need the 'there'.  Also, it doesn't sound like an opening line unless it's meant to be quoted speech and the speaker is answering a question.

Example:  "She was standing there naked with a 9 mm in her hand and the body was covered in blood. Next question?"  Jimmy was already pig sick of answering the same question, but he knew he'd hear it many more times before he was allowed to sleep.  Why hadn't someone else opened the door instead of him?

(But this is probably miles away from what you are trying to achieve.)

Gyppo

[Swampfox one]

Ok,OK I gave up.

she was standing there naked holding a nine inch knife in one hand and gods knows what in the other, the dead man was there covered in blood. Next question?

[Swampfox one]

Gyppo. I was trying to do a one liner. But I like what it started on a Friday this is just the thing to start the week-end.
JH

[Andrewf]

This snippit came to me this morning and wouldn't stop nagging until I'd got it down...



High over the swirling planet the ship's hull began to sing. The cabin a sounding box for vibrations beyond human hearing, although John could feel them against the palms of his hands. The Humming Bird was kissing high atmosphere.

The gas giant was shrouded in broad bands of bold colours. There was no break anywhere, a vast plain that stretched to the far distant convex horizon. The cloud cover looked firm enough to walk on.

John knew it was an illusion; a landscape of vapours as insubstantial as his dreams of interstellar travel.
The ship's singing lowered in tone. Down from the super-sonic into the range John could hear. A scream of tortured gas ripping past just outside the skin.

He moved the stick gently, and felt the ship respond. Not vacuum anymore! He banked slightly and brought them back level. His eyes danced across the gauges; the air-speed indicator crept below MACH-10 and John activated the scoops.

Dip-ships are considered ugly by some; a large delta-shaped lifting body with gaping scoops jutting from the belly, making them look like early jets. But to John, they are a sleek testament to form following function.

Hot gasses rammed through the scoop and into the holding tank briefly. From there they were separated, the Deuterium and Helium-3 fed into high pressure storage and the remaining hydrogen and other gasses released, or fed into the ever hungry engines keeping the Humming Bird aloft.

[bates61]

A knock at the door woke me, my mother answered; I heard her scream out.

“Oh, my god! It’s David, isn’t it?”
 
I threw back the covers, leapt out of bed and rushed to the stairs, from the landing at the top I could see my mother bent over with her head cupped in her hands. I saw a back lit silhouette in the doorway. As I got closer, the silhouette turned into a clean-cut man dressed in a dark blue suit holding out an army ID card saying, “Can I come in please Mrs. Williams?”

He looked at me, but made no comment on the fact I was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “Who might you be?” he asked.

“I’m Robert Williams.” I replied.

“I think you better help your mother inside, sit her down and put the kettle on.”

He introduced himself as the family’s officer and began to explain.

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to bring you this news, Mrs. Williams, but your son David, was shot and killed yesterday whilst on a routine patrol of south Armagh in Northern Ireland.”

[ma100]

High over the swirling planet the ship's hull began to sing. The cabin a sounding box for vibrations beyond human hearing, although John could feel them against the palms of his hands. The Humming Bird was kissing high atmosphere.

The gas giant was shrouded in broad bands of bold colours. There was no break anywhere, a vast plain that stretched to the far distant convex horizon. The cloud cover looked firm enough to walk on.

Hi Andrew
As you know sci fi is not my thing but I think this is a very good start mate.

[Andrewf]

Hi Andrew
As you know sci fi is not my thing but I think this is a very good start mate.

Thanks Ma...   this just wouldn't let me rest until it was written out...   dunno when or where I might use it though 

[ma100]

Thanks Ma...   this just wouldn't let me rest until it was written out...   dunno when or where I might use it though 

how about now as a start of a new story.

[Andrewf]

how about now as a start of a new story.

LOL 

amongst the starts of all the others too...  let alone trying to finish the short stories as well   

[Ninny]

amongst the starts of all the others too...  let alone trying to finish the short stories as well

That's okay Andrew, just give up the day job!!   Then we get to read your stories all day long!
No, wait, that would mean I would have to give up my day job too!
Well maybe you'll live to be 456 years old!   Or you could use your time machine to go into the future where all your books have already been written and bring them back with you!!   (My mum always used to say that I had a way of working things out in the end)!!

Your Welcome!!(I've been into the future in the machine and you're going to be singing my praises!!)

Ninny x

[Andrewf]

Thanks Ninny, but I already tried that and my future self stopped me saying something about plagiarism and time loops...


 

[johnnyh2]

Once, when I was nine, I blew up a cow with an industrial air pump. I tried it in its mouth first, but I couldn't wiggle the tube down. Silly cow kept coughing an' chewing the rubber. So I tried down the other end, which worked brilliantly. I'm not ashamed. I pretended to be ashamed at that juvenile court thingy - but I wasn't really. In fact, in me 'ead, I was proud. When the judge said I was depraved, stupid me, I started laughin'. An' the more I laughed, the crosser he got, till I thought he'd explode like that ol' cow done. My name is Gloria Groans, an' I don't like girls with long hair.

The opening lines to, The Twinkling Green, my first attempt at writing a novel. It's an 80,000 word adventure story for kids aged 8-12. It's all but finished, only, I've been wondering about ... 1001 things actually, including, changing the opening.

Perhaps this is a better start.

In the living room of number 56 Bolton Avenue, the blood was still fresh on the carpet. Gloria had tried her best to mop it up with a sponge and a bowl of soapy water, but the more she scrubbed, the futrher the blood spread, till the stain was as pink as her slippers.

Are these sentences too long for comfort?

Any and all opinions on my 'openings' would be ever so welcome.

Thanks, Johnny

[StrayDog]

In the living room of number 56 Bolton Avenue, the blood was still fresh on the carpet. Gloria had tried her best to mop it up with a sponge and a bowl of soapy water, but the more she scrubbed, the futrher the blood spread, till the stain was as pink as her slippers.
- -

Start straight off with her scrubbing.
I'd stay to show you how, but you'll learn more if you do it yourself.

Hints
What is she thinking?
What is she saying?
What is she doing?
When do her parents get home?

[Poncia]

I haven't had much time lately, but while browsing the topics I was very happy to come across this one.
I've got about 65 pages and it's fragmented in a number of scenes that need cohesion.
This is one of the openings I've been considering. I like the very first sentence, but I'm not sure if I'm 'in love' with it and therefore want to make it the opening of a novel. Do you want to know more about this character?

Before there was Internet, there was Antoinette. Even as the sharpest tool in the shed, her career options were limited. ‘Rosie the riveters’ taught her that chalkboards, typewriters and bedpans were for future wives. She wanted to be connected, wanted the switchboard. After twenty-five years of service, she died the day man landed on the moon.

Any feedback will be greatly appreciated,
Jim

[MaxieNZ]

Joining this thread.

YA fiction.

MIDNIGHT CROW

     It was fortunate the majority of Ashwood were asleep the morning the midnight crow flew into town. If not, then old Doc Harvey may have had a few more patients than normal and this would not have pleased him at all.

     If asked, some would say fate arranged for Jim Duley from Hillberry Farm to be the solitary witness. On the other hand, perhaps he’d noticed because Jim was like that — he noticed things. 

     In town early to deliver produce to Rooney’s Bed & Breakfast, Jim felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck at the precise moment he lifted the basket of eggs from the back of his truck. Carefully replacing the basket so his hands would be free if needed, he turned… steady grey eyes narrowed he scanned the horizon.

     From the depths of the dawn it flew. Long, slow beats pulled it up and over the church spire before circling the town square only to rise and settle atop the cross. In this part of the country, crows were common and considered a pest. However, this crow was as far removed from common, as Ashwood was a town of pure souls. Its sheer size; if not its brilliant sapphire eyes proclaimed it as being something out of the ordinary—something to take notice of.
The Midnight Crow has history. If legends were to be believed, the Midnight Crow created history.

*Dons her thick skin*