UPDATE: TIME’S UP!! THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO ENTERED
After the deluge I mean success of the Stupendously Ultimate First Line Challenge, and after seeing so many wonderful first lines, I couldn’t help but wonder — what came next??
Well. Now’s your chance to fire off more than just a sentence. This week’s contest is THE LARGELY INDISPENSABLE FIRST PARAGRAPH CHALLENGE!! (aka the sensation that’s sweeping the nation) Who can write the best opening to a book EVER?
The guidelines (subject to change upon a whim):
1) All may participate. First paragraphs can be from your work in progress or one you made up solely for the purposes of the challenge. Your choice. Please limit yourself to three (3) entries.
2) Leave your first paragraph in the comments section. Paragraphs stretching on and on into infinity will be judged, well, not necessarily with impunity but definitely with hearty skepticism.
3) Entries may be made between now and Wednesday evening Pacific time. On Thursday nominees will be announced and voting will commence, and the winner will be announced on Monday.
4) After the fantastically generous help of Anne Dayton in the SUFLC, I’ve enlisted the other half of Good Girl Lit, May Vanderbilt, to help me judge this week’s contest. (Because Good Girls make good judges.)
5) Spreading the word about the challenge by means of the Internet is encouraged. Let’s make this one the most largely indispensible ever. 700 entries? 10,000? A BILLION? Bring it!! I’m ready.
6) Oh yes, and the prizes. The winner will receive a partial mansucript critique from yours truly and a copy of one of my client’s books (your choice!). Runners-up will win, as always, my everlasting admiration and the satisfaction of a job well done. Oh, and a query critique as well. (yes, prizes for the runners-up! I’ve gone soft in my old age.)
Annnd that should cover it! Please keep checking back because new rules may be announced without notice.
Good luck! Only one paragraph can win. Who will it be?
Good luck to you both, May and Nathan! Have fun! đ
ManiacScribbler
You can tell it’s a cold day when the grease comes right out of the trap in a big frozen hunk. It’s a lot easier this way. It’s the only decent thing about a day like today. I’ll never
understand why Mr. Donler keeps the stand open through the end of November. It’s not like that
many people eat here in the summer — who wants to
eat at a roadside stand when it’s this cold? Of course, he’s not the one freezing his be-hind off out here.
WIP MG Fantasy
CrashâSydney jolted and looked around her bedroom for the source of the noise. In front of her open window the sheer white curtains swirled like ghosts and the picture of her mother lay face down on the floor. âNo!â Sydney cried. From behind broken glass her motherâs broad smile, squared jaw, long dark hair and lavender-blue eyes stared back. The picture was taken eleven years ago, on Sydneyâs first birthday, the same day her mother disappeared. With superstitious trepidation Sydney continued to stare at the womanâs distorted face behind the glass; it was like looking at herself in a broken mirror.
My goldfish, Andy, jumped out of his bowl last night. I cupped his body into my shaking hands, rubbing the area I thought his heart would be. I tried to pour him back into the water but it was too late. He was gone. Gone to that great aquarium in the sky. Or is it the sea? I crumpled his fleshy, wet skin into a tissue and lowered him into the toilet bowl for one last swim. His leap confirmed my worst fear: I am a loser. Even my fish doesnât want to hang around me. This is a very depressing thought. I canât stop thinking about my poor dead fish on my bedroom floor and I have no idea when the school bus pulled out of the parking lot and stopped in front of my house.
Ut oh.
My apologies, Nathan. I posted in haste, sending my paragraph (“My goldfish, Andy…”)before I saw your informational post in re: the 5 PM Pacific Time deadline.
My innocently-submitted after-hours entry was my second entry. Please ignore my attempt to increase my odds at a Nathan Nod. ;> My first entry will have to speak for itself… and for me. {}
Wow, these comments take ages to load now. Wonder if there’s a limit on number of comments to a single post?
Have loved reading all of these!
âPut the loo seat down!â
âHere listenâŚâ Thereâs a clatter of plastic hitting porcelain as Steve drops the toilet seat and carries on soaping himself and half the bathroom.
I sound like Iâm nagging, I know â but I want to make sure he is in the shower, admiring his willy in the mirror tiles and laughing as he farts loudly enough to sound the reveille to the rest of RAF Benson.
Of course what I should be saying is: âWe need to talk.â
I killed my wife,â confessed Aldo, rising unsteadily from the park bench. âI hated that black-eyed bitch.â Robert watched him in astonishment. He would have to contact the police.
But he delayed. They had only chatted a few times. Aldo might just be a nutcase. Besides, he didnât want to get involved in something like that.
The following day Aldo appeared with his wife in tow. âYou see, sheâs alive and kicking,â he joked.
Robert felt relieved, and yet there was something not quite right.
Then it hit him. The woman Aldo introduced as his wife had blue eyes…
Everything had gone wrong that morning. The alarm clock didnât ring. The lock broke on his suitcase. The taxicab arrived late. He missed the train. What promised to be the trip of a lifetime â a five-day ocean voyage â was off to a terrible start. He caught the next train, but by the time he reached the dock the ship was gone. “Of all the rotten luck,” he cried, bitterly disappointed. The Titanic had left without him.
She was on the run. Hiding out in some of the oddest places. Like the casino where she was going broke fast, and the tenderloin spot that seethed with forbidden sex. She used many different aliases whilst on this odyssey of escape, for there were dangerous characters lurking everywhere. Oh if only she could get off this one-way street to hell. But the awful thing that stalked her was merciless in its pursuit. She dreaded and feared it most of all. The terrible black pit of loneliness that threatened to engulf her, the moment she switched off her computer.