UPDATE: TIME’S UP! THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO ENTERED!
So. Last time we had a contest we had some problems because people were concerned with silly things like “rules” and “things Nathan promised” and “this blog isn’t worth the paper it isn’t printed on, and in fact, if you were printed on paper you wouldn’t be worth the paper you were printed on either, Meanie McMeanieagent.”
Let’s be clear up front: this is a for-fun contest that I conduct in the free time that I normally spend bathing and attending to personal hygiene. Rules may be adjusted without notice, as I see fit, in ways in which you might find capricious, arbitrary, and possibly dangerous to the Baby Jesus. Let’s be clear: no angst this time. You have been warned.
Are we having fun yet?
Now then! You remember how this works right?
1. Please post the first paragraph of any work-in-progress in the comments section of THIS POST. The deadline for entry is THURSDAY 4pm Pacific time, at which point entries will be closed. Finalists will be announced on Friday, at which time you will exercise your democratic rights to choose a grand prize super awesome winner.
2. You may enter once, once you may enter, and enter once you may.
3. Spreading word about the contest is strongly encouraged.
4. I will be sole judge this time. Bwa ha ha.
5. A word on word count: I am not imposing a word count on the paragraphs. However, a paragraph that is too long may lose points in the judge’s eyes. Use your own discretion.
THE PRIZES: The grand prize super awesome winner of the SUFPCx2 will win their choice of a partial critique, query critique or 15 minute phone conversation in which we can discuss topics ranging from reality TV shows to, you know, publishing. Your choice. Runners up will receive query critiques and/or other agreed-upon prizes.
On with the show!
n.r. lahti says
From Heaven fell the flakes of snow; white flecks that danced unto the ground. The earthen ground of green and brown was then a sea of snow white down. It was this sea I trudged through beat, and searched a place I knew before. Yet before was long since gone away and hope I had, alone ‘tis true, to guide me there and make it through. So through this day, night, day, night time flew by and took to hide the senses burrowed in my mind.
Dawn says
My brother Gabriel was a blistering boil on my butt from the minute we were born. Before even. The competitive jerk kicked me in the head as he swam out of the birth canal on his way to being first at the very first thing we did. Story is we’re identical twins, but Gabriel didn’t come out with a big red blotch on his face in the shape of a foot. He got the first baby tooth, walked a month before I did, and was “the one with personality.” By the time we were nine he ran faster, jumped higher, and had gotten twice the academic awards. The accident changed all that, though. Now the only thing Gabriel does better is drool.
Candice says
Elim thought he knew this hollow like the back of his calloused hands. Him and Ty had hunted on every last acre of it. But tonight these woods were black and he was disoriented. Still, he kept running. Mama always said, “Ain’t no good ever come from a man that drinks or coon hunts”. She was right. Mama was always right.
Lucy says
The jeweler’s little tent is a tangle of shredded rags; two hours ago, the homemade bomb went off less than twenty feet away. The injured, the dead, the screaming bereaved, are gone now. People pass by in silence, edging away, as if we are somehow responsible for this carnage. I didn’t think we were, but some days, I don’t think I know much anymore. Baghdad keeps us under wary guard, and we stare back just as warily, waiting for the next explosion, for the sudden crash of death, and then the silence. I flinch now when I see children nearby. We in our uniforms are targets for attack. The children are playing around the targets, never fearing or thinking of crossfires and bombs. I keep looking at their faces, searching for Hanan, but Hanan would no longer be a child.
em_brown says
From young adult WIP:
Shit. The female Goliath was coming at her – all six foot four and two hundred pounds. At five foot eight, Jamela could probably dribble circles around the golden haired Amazon. Like Bruce Lee against Kareem Abdul-Jabaar in Game of Death, Jamela didn’t have size, but she did have speed. Coach had told them to go for the two and force overtime. Had barked don’t nobody try an’ be no goddamn hero and take a three. Take it into overtime and momentum would be on their side. But Jamela could see white shirts collapsing in on her like a blizzard of snow. And all around her the crowd chanting “six…five…four…” There were so many white faces in the crowd, she wondered if the opposing team had every parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, cousin, cousin-twice-removed to cheer them on. There were a few dark faces above the bench of the Kennedy High Eagles, mostly parents. But not hers. Never hers. Stepping behind the three point line, she launched a prayer at the basket.
w. says
We huddled in the cramped leg-space beneath my desk, our eyes strained to the top of their sockets at the wall striped in moonlight, and from the far window, a quick shadow cut across the slats. Kathy clawed into her purse and whipped out a cellphone. I clamped her wrists. “No, Kath. Please. No cops.”
Gabriela says
The first paragraph:
A wwhhhhhhhhooooo sound, like wind rushing past his ears, howled through his head. He felt weightless and weighted, buoyed and drawn. Moisture condensed on his skin, as if he were tumbling through a cloud. He opened his eyes and saw the earth far below him. A hemisphere of stars and fog bent around the curve of the horizon, like the fold of his lids over his eyes. He held his mind still and let himself plunge, the wwhhhhhhhhooooo a lullaby in his ears. This was freefall.
paula says
Something caught Lucen’s eye. Something quite extraordinary. She had been idly daydreaming in front of her screen, bored at the prospect of studying ancient history and the early origins of computer design. Her mind had drifted happily, far away from the world and the life that was hers.
Katharina Gerlach says
Thanks for going to the trouble of reading so many entries. It’s a lot of work and I appreciate that very much.
Here is the first paragraph of my YA-novel (an alternate earth scenario):
Paul woke with the town’s outer wall against his back and wolves gnawing at his intestines. That was nothing new to him. Last week he has had a lucky day. First Lilla had given him a whole loaf of bread then he had been able to steal another. Yesterday he had eaten the last, moldy slice. Now he wished that he hadn’t. He pulled his legs closer until the pain subsided. Than he sat up and looked at the kids sleeping beside him. All of them were skinny and unkempt and smelled of stale sweat and dirt. Amanda’s wound was still festering. She hadn’t been able to use her leg for two weeks now. Her nimble fingers and fleet feet had been sorely missed, since she was one of the best providers of the Gang. Her wound smelled nasty. In the early morning twilight Paul could hardly make out the grubs eating the rotting flesh. The girl clung to her blind sister Seraphina as if her life depended on it. She moaned in her sleep and Paul’s heart ached at his inability to help her. He knew that the flies’ larvae would help her much better than he could.
jerome says
you’ve gotta love words to do a thing like this–seems sorta fun in a crazy way. Here’s an intro graf for y’all:
I spend altogether too much time at the Status Bar these days, but the drinks are cheap and it’s an easy walk home…
Anonymous says
If I only start my novel today, can I still enter?
ral says
Prologue
Serenity graced the faces of the three 10-year old boys lying at the foot of the Pontiff’s bed. Their blood had been drained to provide an infusion of youthful vitality in a desperate effort to save him. The unheard of procedure had reanimated Innocent’s spirits. He recalled how their eyes, closed now, had sparkled with dreamy visions at the promised ducat still clutched in their little palms. He was sitting up in bed for the first time in days, a large book propped against his upraised knees. Innocent gazed again at the young faces and sadness washed over him at their sacrifice. He would pray for them again. He wondered how long he might keep them there for fear was overtaking him now as he finished the text and closed the book. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied the heretical title: SOMNIA–Sola Ecclesia Vera de Hominis et Die–HHL (“DREAMS: The One True Church of Man and God”–HHL)
Niki Green says
It was a dark and stormy night… not really. It was fall with weather almost too perfect for the senses to register. There was something missing. What it was nagged at me like my aunt nagged at my uncle for wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve. Something wasn’t right. From my hiding place, I was trying my best to go unnoticed and unseen, I breathed in deeply catching the crisp sensation of the air in my lungs; I knew what was wrong. The smell was missing. It didn’t smell like fall yet; even though the leaves were shedding their shimmering green texture for those of marigold and crimson. The air wasn’t right. The smell of fall promised Halloween was around the corner. Fall assured the blistering hot days of summer were at an end and it reaffirmed, to me, that I had made it through one more year. Friday night, the thirteen of October to be exact, I stood outside one of the local bars (goody) and waited, as always, for my cousin to arrive. She had this obnoxious obsession with birthdays and everything that revolved around them. Guess who had a birthday coming up? I’ll give you two guesses but you’ll only need one. I took one more cleansing breath, still missing what wasn’t there, and gathered enough courage to smile in my cousin’s direction. What a wasted night, I thought. At least it couldn’t get any worse. I would remember my last thought before entering the bar, attached at the hip to my cousin, later that evening when my life, my world, and my entire existence spun out of my control and away form me.
Nicole says
Jason bumped restlessly from dream to reality, opening his eyes only briefly to confirm that this reality was in fact true and not just another dream itself. He vaguely remembered dreaming of the sea and storms and each time he awoke a part of him expected to be onboard his ship, the rocking of the speeding carriage on the rough roads reminding him of the seas in a violent tempest. Even the sounds of the carriage’s creaking wheels and the thunder of hooves reminded him of the sounds of waves crashing over strained timbers and sails snapping in brutal winds. Nevertheless, the same sight greeted his disappointed eyes each time: the gloomy interior of the carriage, its dark velvet curtains all drawn, blocking out any light as well as the prying eyes his companions were concerned about, and a small group of tense men and women whom recent events had turned into strangers.
Chelle says
Here Goes…
My completed YA novel.
There should be a better name for these places.
The two-story bricked front house resembled every other house in the small suburban neighborhood. Inside, Diane knew the family would be like each of the other four foster homes.
Hmm. Home sounded too… normal.
Nut Nursery. Basket Case Haven. Habitat for the Hopeless. Cast-off’s Cottage.
“Let’s go meet your new foster family,” Mrs. Tomas’ voice, hollow and empty, broke through muffled and distorted.
Crap. How long had she been talking?
Diane huffed out a sigh. Focus. This new house is just another stop on the train
Jill Press says
“What do you mean, blow jobs don’t count?” Andrew’s voice was so loud that the entire New Year’s Eve party came to a screeching halt.
“I can’t believe it,” Barbie scolded as she made a beeline across the living room to where Sophie and Andrew were standing side by side. “Sophie, not only is this a twenty-year-old argument, but now you’re debating it with my son.” She knew she needed to explain to her other guests what all the shouting was about.
“Wait a minute,” Andrew said, laughing. “Who knew the subject was even up for discussion?”
“I knew,” Barbie said, giving Sophie a dirty look. “And Sophie, you’re fifty-two years old, you should know better.”
K L Romo says
Chaos. Total chaos. From start to finish, front to back, side to side, and bottom to top. Chaos tonight, as it was this morning, as it was yesterday, and the day before. Chaos without end. Amen. And as far as he knew, the Chaos would always remain. For tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. His forever companion. Although at nine years old, he really didn’t know its name. Only its feeling. He didn’t know its cause, only its effect. For it had always been there, as far back as he could remember. And he had no reason to expect there would ever be a day that it wouldn’t be swirling its mind-numbing noise and confusion all around him. Making him crazy. Swallowed up in that jumble of turmoil that made him invisible. He was only a piece of the lump sum. For everyone was so totally wrapped up in the disorder itself that no one ever really noticed him. Except for one person.
Melissa says
Katelynn Evans stood in the middle of the crowded room frozen in time. Dread crept into her bones, twisting and squeezing her chest with impending danger. Yet still, she denied it.
John Lionel says
Excerpt From ‘Camel Back Air’
Book One – Part One
Ch. – 1 -: ‘A Life of No Consequence’
It all came apart in ’48, about two steps short of where they were finally getting it together. Or so they thought… Then again, some would swear it started fifty years earlier, back in the day, where Bush handed Gore the payback for what Kennedy had done to Nixon way back when. But who’s counting? This sort of thing had been going on since the days of Adams and Jefferson.
Lori Benton says
Mama was the first of Mountain Laurel’s slaves to know about the letter. Before Master Hugh posted it away north to a place called Boston, he called Mama from her spinning and he read that letter to her. Master Hugh hadn’t done such a thing even once that I know of since he married Miz Lucinda. Before she came, Master would sometimes let Mama hear his words set down, before he sealed the wax and the post rider came and off they went to wherever they was bound. Mama never did say what she made of being called in like that after so long, but that’s how we came to know early on that Master Hugh was asking his half-brother, up Boston-way, to send his youngest son back to North Carolina.
Redhead says
The thwack of the heavy wooden spoon against his skull gives Helen great satisfaction but no response, so she hits her husband again.
Barry Napier says
From my WIP, “Broken Skies”
In the final seconds of his life, he lay naked with her in a hammock, the midnight breeze cool against their bodies as it offered them their last breaths. The air smelled of grass and cedar, and was thick with dwindling summer heat. The night sky was not as dark as it should have been; there was a faint glow along the horizon, as if the sun knew this might be its last day and refused to entirely set. Here and there within the sky were what looked like bruises of dying light, encompassed by the stars and pinpointed by the persistent glow of Venus.
Oscar says
Okay, I decided to throw my para into the hat:
“The red-haired rider on a bay horse, sun-burnished and hot, was lost, not in the geographical sense of the word, but in the workings of his mind as he mumbled and ruminated on the situation he as in.”
So, there it is, a Western of all things.
Spirituality & Health Books says
Alice looked down into the open drawer.“Oh my god, Cammy, come here, you gotta see this! Panty liners! The whole drawer’s full of panty liners!”
LeDome says
This is from my WIP, Rooster:
2 a.m. and still Bao sits at the kitchen table with a bottle of lukewarm vodka and the smudged glass he refuses to surrender to his wife. He still wears his work boots, his stiff jeans, his musty flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a belt buckle he soldered himself. It bears the name BOB, an Americanized version of his name because his boss can’t pronounce the real one.
whiffless apprentice says
Sad. I know. It’s an awful thing that happened, but, dropping dead on the thirteenth green’s not the worst way to go.
Anonymous says
Jesse stumbled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She moved blindly: eyes shut, arms stretched out, fingers grazing walls and surfaces to help guide the way. Her head was pounding but she didn’t think she could stomach even one aspirin. She squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror –blood-shot eyes, puffy face and pale complexion. Her hair was an unruly, matted mess and her tongue felt thick and furry in her mouth.
Joy says
Picture Book:
I’m not like my daddy. I’m a morning person. If you wake my Daddy up too early, first he moans like a monster. Second, he growls like a bear. Then his hairy arms lock you into a tickle torture, but I heart tickle tortures.
Harris says
Hey Nathan,
By the time you get to my entry, I’ll have prolly changed it, but here goes (and yeah, not sure this counts as ONE paragraph, but it feels like it is)….
———————
7:00 A.M
The alarm rings but I’ve been up since 5. I look at the clock…7 AM.
Thirteen hours till my stand-up comedy debut.
I yawn, kiss Brianna as she sleeps, and I get up.
8:17 A.M.
“Excuse me sir, but you’re standing in vomit.”
Fritz Galt says
The window was propped open with a suitcase and let in the sounds and smells of late afternoon in Belgrade, Yugoslavia. A hot breeze wafted across Alec Pierce’s hairless chest. It carried with it the creak of an axle, the backfire of a bus, the distant toot of a tugboat on the Danube.
ddpattison says
I’ve written several postings on Opening Lines that might be of interest.
Opening Lines: The Story in Miniature
Openings: 5 Ways They Go Wrong
Prophetic Openings
Happy Holidays!
Darcy
Geosteph says
First paragraph of fantasy WIP, Light’s Journey:
As consciousness pulled her from sleep, Zaya gradually became aware of a dull pain in her head, utter darkness around her and the smell of decay. She forced herself to sit up, one hand on her head, the other pressing against the cold, hard floor, and scanned the blackness, trying to determine where she was. Eventually her eyes focused on a glimmer of light on metal bars set into the window of a thick wooden door. The light danced as if reflected from candles somewhere beyond.
Becky says
The sound of my shuddering teeth formed an uneven counterpoint to the discordance of the birds. Seriously, did they have to sing in quartertones? My brain gradually ignited, registering some other unexpected sensations. The scent of the air was wrong somehow. Something sharp was poking me in the face—no, there were several sharp things poking into my face. And there was something hard under my left hip.
Tod Hardin says
Young Celi Barranger walked onto the ledge, sixteen stories high. She looked up to the sky, into a blue so bright she had to squint to see across the city. The ten-year old took a deep breath of cool morning air and smiled at the smell of baking bread, wafting up from somewhere far below. She turned toward the morning sun, threw back her head and spread her arms wide, then walked off the building.
Erin Nolan says
This is the first paragraph of my novel, This is Not Forever:
Differences in climate are things you need to think about when you’re studying abroad, especially when you plan on leaving your dorm with nothing but a single layer of toilet paper covering your clothes.
Terry Spear/Terry Lee Wilde says
As soon as Alana Fainot heard the women’s voices chanting in her head, attempting to bring forth a demon, she gritted her teeth, fighting the pull from the restaurant where she and her mother were celebrating the end of her junior year at high school. The portal opening somewhere down the street, sent a surge of energy rushing through her, and the roar of the wind filled her ears. Too late. She was swept up into the maelstrom.
Grace Brooks says
The first paragraph of my historical Christian novel.
The Asquinn Twins Come To The James Bay Frontier
Chapter One
Aberystwyth, Wales, 1945
It made Erma sad when her husband, Pastor Odadiah Asquinn, said they had to move from the house. Her three-year-old daughter went out into their yard and cried. Her dark brown shoulder length hair was in a mess and her hazel coloured eyes red from crying when Erma found her. She sat down beside her. Martha’s twin brother, Marty, had stayed inside.
“Why so sad?”
“I like our house,” Martha said.“ And I like my friends.” Erma said. “I don’t want to leave either.”
Martha sniffed. Her mother reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled hankie. Martha blew her nose.
“Moving might be fun,” she said.
“And making new friends,” Erma said. Martha smiled, much to Erma’s relief.
“Let’s go inside.”
Collette says
From “All Barking”
Chapter 1
Whisky Tango Foxtrot (WTF)
Monday morning and I’m still sizzling. My wanton weekend with Michael was the best, most wonderful, wild, exciting, thrilling weekend of my entire life. Thinking about Michael makes me feel like a teenager again. Now I can’t wait for Wednesday: we have a secret coffee date planned.
Brendan Vidito says
No one knows about nightmares better than I do. My name is Teague Lynch. I am seventeen years old. Ever since my doctor prescribed an anti-psychotic that would prevent my delusions, nightmares had adopted a new significance in my life. They began the moment I drifted into sleep; terrible visions so horrendous and inexplicable, they are virtually impossible to relate with accuracy. Every book on the subject, from Freud’s study on dreaming, to those dealing with interpretation were useless. It was as though my nightmares possessed extraneous qualities indecipherable to existing sources. I had trialled various methods to prevent their nightly recurrences, but nothing proved effective; the nightmares persisted regardless of my efforts. At this point, I’m uncertain if I prefer the nightmares or the delusions.
Sarah says
Packing would be an arduous chore if not for the anticipation of a pending trip. Thankfully I was packing for a trip. It wasn’t just an ordinary trip either like visiting my parents at Thanksgiving. I closed my eyes for a moment and I could already feel the Caribbean. I pushed the hair back from my face and sighed, there would be a reward for all my effort. The excitement of my soon-to-be vacation was motivating me to finish. I had reached the final stage of packing where I was trying not to forget anything. Keeping three, almost always, adorable children from climbing into the suitcases, wasn’t making my task any easier. I had spent half the day packing and the other half disciplining. But I wasn’t all that surprised with how long I was taking. Over the years I have learned the amounts of things I need to accomplish directly correlate with the level of mischief my children get into. The more I had on my “To Do” list the more I found myself groaning, “Don’t do that!” to them. Today had been busy, so of course, my three munchkins seemed to be attempting a record high in their successful, albeit short, mischievous careers.
Barbie says
She was not the kind of kid who could be “arsed” into anything, but when the judge decreed that Elsbeth’s community service hours would be spent at the behest of some old bat who was laid up in bed, she almost puked down the front of the frayed, preppy blouse she’d heisted from her mother’s closet. And no one, but no one called her Elsbeth anymore. Since fourth grade when Miss Dippety-Do tried to rail her into remedial reading and she’d lathered the chalk brushes with Vaseline, her classmates called her JC. JC Penney.
Diane G says
I hope you don’t go blind reading all these entries. Can’t resist adding my own from my completed thriller, REDEMPTION:
The man slouched on the edge of the bed, his fingers clutching the deadly syringe hidden in his jacket pocket. Despite the timpani drum pounding in his chest and echoing in his ears, his face was expressionless. He stared at the naked, unsuspecting woman asleep on the bed, her slender body seductive even in repose, her blond hair a halo on the pillow. The guilt gnawing at the man’s gut did not spring from having been inside her, making love to her, earlier in the night, but from what he knew was inside her heart and mind and soul. That knowledge made killing her wrong. Wrong on so many levels. The truly sad fact was that he had known it was wrong for a long time, but he had been powerless to change the course of events set in motion all those weeks ago.
Anonymous says
Despite my attempt to block out all sense perception, I can’t help but notice that Denise Henly, who is sitting next to me at computer number five, is making sucking sounds with her mouth. Every time I manage to drift off into a daydream tributary, she snags me with the loud, slimy jostling of her tongue or the wet smacking of her lips. The sound is vaguely like crinkling cellophane and I can’t really figure out what she’s doing and I don’t want to look over there because that would slosh the atmosphere and probably cause her eyes to lap up against mine. The only explanation is that she is participating in some sort of subconscious grooming regimen. I look over and notice that she is, very efficiently, biting her nails. They are painted a bright, chipped silver like she thinks she’s an obsolete technology from the future. I accidentally start picturing us on a dusty console at the end of the world – she’s gyrating on top of me, wires twitching and spewing from her severed cyborg arm as wide red arcs on a computer screen in the background indicate the decimation of the universe.
Chris says
I watch the early morning sun bleed round Vesuvius, lay its long shadow over us as a sundial. It is in these first hours of day, before my masters wake, that I am most happy. Up that mountain slope Hades lives, his breath escaping in hot curls of steam from the Underworld. My master’s make baths of his fury and spas. I cannot understand this lack of respect. The Gods are wondrous and terrible things and certainly not to be trifled with.
Leslie says
From Hijacked, wip:
Ben Martin had ricocheted through two miracles already tonight—two more than he deserved and one less than he needed to survive. And he wanted to survive. Survive to breathe air unfouled by betrayal. Survive to see justice. He dragged himself back from lust for bloody revenge, but justice…
🙂
Leslie
Robert Baty says
The first paragraph of “VINTAGE CONNOR: The Case of the Blonde in the Lotus Elite”
The maid found her. She was in the tub with the water up to her neck. Room 21C at the Moonlight Motel on Fremont Street. Her eyes were open and her lips were parted, as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of a sentence.
Keziah Fenton says
Alex Christiansen bunched the pillow around his ears and tried to drown out the siren song of the Niagara river. He should have been kayaking the jungle rivers of Belize, not shivering his ass off in a cold Canadian winter.
R Elland says
First paragraph entry from my current book.
________________________________
For a moment, I couldn’t remember my name, where I was, or, for that matter, how in the world I’d even gotten here. Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw in the semi-darkness was trees and a slowing growing light in the sky. Beyond that, there was no details, except that I had awakened in a semi-circular hole filled with snow, rock, and dirt. Burials came to mind.
Mrs. B. says
The trees spoke to each other with breeze-blown tappings and rustlings. They had seen nothing in their long lives akin to the Otherness in the scarred earth. Leaves shivering, they waited as trees wait, each month a second, each year a minute. A held breath. The space between heartbeats. And finally he came.
quetzlcloth says
The last time Porter Robbins saw his father’s childhood home, a charcoal-eyed snowman was dripping under bare oak limbs in the front yard. He’d built it alone. His father had joined him later with a stocking cap for the figure, and they’d stood in the cold and looked at it and talked until Porter’s mother had come to find them.