# Post your WIP's first Paragraph



## Tettsuo (Nov 1, 2013)

I love seeing how people start their work.  I've learned a lot from reading how others start their novels and short stories, pulling you in even if the works suxs beyond the first paragraph.  So, in the spirit of sharing, I'd like to post my first paragraph and would love it see what you wonderful folks have as well.

Beyond the rubble and mangled dead, Ophelia stands at the edge of the battlefield. It would be a nice breeze today if it were not for the billowing acrid, black smoke of war that occasionally blotting out the warm autumn sun. Its darkness hides the bright-blue of the afternoon sky. I know she hears my approach as easily as I hear her breathing and calm heartbeat. Her uniform is still torn in the back where she took direct hits from gunfire and a near implantation of a black-worm seed. It would've been hell cutting those vines out if they took full root under her skin. The bleeding stopped hours ago, but her skin still shows the remnants of the vines barbs and rapid growing roots that tore its way into her flesh. It always tough to get black-worms out once fully rooted and implanted, but far more difficult to remove them from a Finger of God.


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## Bard_Daniel (Nov 1, 2013)

Mine is unedited (has errors), and thus not very good, but I'll join in. Excellent topic, by the way.

-----

As a journalist you come to believe that you are a natural born storyteller, that any tale can be weaved and crafted into something that can be presented to an audience. But you also think to yourself, inwardly, that there are some stories that are more worth telling than others and, more so, that there is one that can make or break your career, that can test the limits of what you are capable of--not only as a member of the journalism gauntlet but, more importantly, as a human being.


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## Tettsuo (Nov 1, 2013)

X_Daniel_X said:


> Mine is unedited (has errors), and thus not very good, but I'll join in. Excellent topic, by the way.
> 
> -----
> 
> As a journalist you come to believe that you are a natural born storyteller, that any tale can be weaved and crafted into something that can be presented to an audience. But you also think to yourself, inwardly, that there are some stories that are more worth telling than others and, more so, that there is one that can make or break your career, that can test the limits of what you are capable of--not only as a member of the journalism gauntlet but, more importantly, as a human being.


What?!  What story will make or break a career?!  OMG, I need to know!  

Nice opening.  Not all beginnings need to start with someone getting shot or a chase scene.


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## Bard_Daniel (Nov 1, 2013)

I just re-read yours as well and I must say: good description. Also, you manage to catch the reader with your last snippet "Finger of God" so they would want to read more to find out what's going on.

Props.


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## Outiboros (Nov 1, 2013)

I'll try my luck - these are the two stories I'm editing right now. I don't work with lengthy paragraphs, so I'll post what corresponds to that.

--

Captain Silvio Veris took the wine bottle from his desk and filled another glass.
                The alcohol did little to lift his mood. The hall that was his chamber was dimly lit by the electric chandelier, and empty, silent, only the soft whirr of the gravity cyclers and the air filtration system to keep him company. Lonely, as was a Captain’s fate.
                Captain Veris swivelled his chair around. Behind his desk, through the tall window, was the void of space. Below he could see the hull of his ship, battered and burned, stretching for miles. The Fall of Sanctity, a Bellator, a ship of the fleet of the United Colonies. Millions of tons, guns the size of skyscrapers and engines as large as a modest village, built for only one purpose. War.
                Ten years of war. Ten years that had burned systems, crushed fleets, annihilated billions. Ten years that had destroyed what took millennia to build.
                But there would be no peace, no draw, no ceasefire. Both the United Colonies and the Inner Government had committed sins the other could never forgive. And so they warred on, towards their mutual doom.
                Captain Veris took another sip. Perhaps they deserved it.

--

High in the sky sat a man, his eyes closed, his legs folded underneath him.
                The turbulence shook his body but not his mind, nor did the wheezing systems, the droning voice, the rumble of the winds. Between that and him, between the chaos around his body and the peace of his thoughts, was the mantra.
_                From ignorance, lead me to truth._
                The engine sputtered again, shaking him violently in his chair, but he didn’t let it disturb him.
_                From darkness, lead me to light._
                The voice came back. It shouted its metallic tones through the orators of his suit.
                “THIS SHIP IS FAILING.”
_From chaos, lead me to unity._
                “THIS ENGINE IS DEAD.”
_                From one, may we be many. Glory to Necia._
                The mantra complete, Prospector Ji opened his eyes.

--

And I'll post what mistakes I could find in yours, because I can't stop myself:

Beyond the rubble and mangled dead, Ophelia stands at the edge of the battlefield. It would be a nice breeze today if it were not for the billowing acrid, black smoke of war (should there be another comma after billowing?) that occasionally blotting (blotted) out the warm autumn sun. Its darkness hides the bright-blue of the afternoon sky. I know she hears my approach as easily as I hear her breathing and calm heartbeat. (super-senses, I imagine.) Her uniform is still torn in the back where she took direct hits from gunfire and a near implantation of a black-worm seed (I'd change terminology here - 'where she took a near implantation...' is a bit weird for new readers unfamiliar with the seeds. I'd use something along the lines of 'and where a glancing blow of black-worm seeds had almost taken hold'). It would've been hell cutting those vines out if they took full root under her skin. The bleeding stopped (had stopped?) hours ago, but her skin still shows the remnants of the vines (vines') barbs and rapid (rapidly) growing roots that tore (had torn?) its way into her flesh. It (it's) always tough to get black-worms out once fully rooted and implanted, but far more difficult to remove them from a Finger of God.


It's a very serviceable introduction. It manages to convey a lot of information while leaving enough open for there to be questions to be curious about, which is the way to go, and manages to do so without infodump. 
I'm crossing my fingers for Ophelia being something else than human entirely. Is she? It? An Old Testament Angel eyeball-wheel or another superpowered young adult?
What did bother me was the tense - I'm just not used to present tense. Might be a personal preference.


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## voltigeur (Nov 1, 2013)

OK I’ll have ago. This has been spell checked but due to proper Spanish names. So here it is:  

The day was unusually warm and made worse by the sea of people Ines found herself in. She held her mother’s hand as they stood on the east side of the Plaza Civica waiting to enter the Cathedral Metropolitana De San Salvador to view Archbishop Oscar Romero’s body.  They could hear the progress of his funeral procession on the hand held transistor radios people had around them.  A procession of priests and the Arch Bishop’s body had left the Basilica Sagrado Corazon and marched eight blocks down Calle Arce to the Cathedral where Oscar Romero would be laid to rest.  Just before eleven AM the procession had turned the corner to enter the side of the cathedral. Ines straightened her yellow dress not understanding it would be a long time before they moved.


4 paragraphs later all hell breaks loose.


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## J Anfinson (Nov 2, 2013)

The view from the back porch was amazing, Richard Landon thought. The air was calm and the lake water was still, reflecting the shoreline from the other side of the cove. He had no intention of getting up from his lawn chair the rest of the evening, but then he happened to glance over at the storm cellar and saw the door was cracked open. Someone was looking out at him.


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## Gamer_2k4 (Nov 2, 2013)

Like everyone else, mine needs to be reviewed with an editor's eye.  Here's what I've got for now:

Markus leaned his head against the window of the train car and watched the trees speed by.  Right now, they reminded him of the place he wanted to be – the same place that he could no longer live.  He let out a frustrated sigh but continued staring outside, seeking some small amount of solace in the familiarity of the environment.


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## midnightpoet (Nov 2, 2013)

A tale of war, espionage, betrayal and sacrifice:  

   Winter, 1993.  Bosnia, near the Serbian border. 


“I hear a truck, or maybe a tank,” Nadja Kopenek said, handing Emil the detonator.  Her foot slipped on the ice-covered bridge, but she held tight to the railing.  If she fell it was over 100 feet to the frozen river. 
“Be patient, love,” Emil said, not looking up.  “The experts claim C-4 is safe to handle, but it never hurts to be careful.”  In the next few minutes he finished attaching the explosive to one of the bridge’s main girders.  Nadja kept a close watch on the road as he set the timing device.


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## popsprocket (Nov 2, 2013)

Ignoring the fact that this has been scrapped and the bits of its plot that I like transplanted into another story...



> All thoughts of fight vanished as immediately as they occurred. She did not even have the energy to resist her captors, let alone fight for her freedom. It was all she could do to keep up with their pace lest they drag her through the castle she had once been heir to. As they half pulled, half dragged her along behind them, the two men made disturbing conversation discussing what their Lord Emperor would choose to do with her once they’d delivered his prize. The thought made her skin crawl. Surely he would do no such thing.


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## FleshEater (Nov 3, 2013)

I'll play.

Since mine is cut up with dialogue, I'll post so it makes sense.



“Are we almost there?” Emily asks from the back seat.


​Mom glares at her in the rear view mirror, “Yes. For the hundredth time, we’re almost there. Now stop asking!”


​Emily slouches in her seat, folds her arms, and pretends to look out the side window, though she’s watching the rear view mirror out the corner of her eye. Mom leans towards the driver’s side window and blows a lungful of cigarette smoke out, shaking her head and whispering under her breath. She rolls the window down some more and flicks the cigarette out. A rush of October air passes through the car, sending a chill over any exposed skin.


“It’s cold,” Emily says, in that whiny voice that’s hard to understand.


I zip my coat all the way up and bury my hands into the sleeves, arms wrapped tight against my chest. Mom tells Emily to stop her whining, lets the car air out some, then rolls the window back up.


We’ve been in the car for two hours. Emily’s asked the same questions a hundred times. Mom’s smoked two packs of cigarettes. And I’ve sat here looking out the passenger’s side window, watching everything go by in a blur, not looking forward to making new friends in a new school, in a new town.


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## Bilston Blue (Nov 3, 2013)

Waiting for his mother’s return from a treatment session designed to reduce arthritic swelling in her hands, which included the injection of steroids into pinched carpal tunnels, Delaney was more concerned than he thought healthy at having to sit at the wrong (i.e., window, not aisle) end of a row of seats in a waiting area which resembled in its layout if not dimensions an aeroplane’s passenger cabin. The perspiration on his forehead and beginnings of dampness at his lumbar curve might have been relative to storm-preceding mugginess or equally that of his urgent requirement of an aisle seat. Such requirement was something he could, if necessary, have easily and with only mild embarrassment explained on an aeroplane or an over-populated bus or train, but less so in a hospital’s waiting room and certainly not in Streetly Crematorium’s west chapel, in which, during a celebrative but emotional cremation of a work colleague, he’d recently needed to extricate himself from the middle of a second row pew during All Things Bright and Beautiful’s final verse.


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## Sam (Nov 3, 2013)

Jonathan Baker separated the curtains of his living room one more time. Fifty yards outside his house sat the same dark-coloured van that had been casing the neighbourhood for the last three nights. At once, the side door slid open and half a dozen armed men exited, gathering by the security panel next to his front gate. He let the curtains fall back into place and hurried to the kitchen to check the back door.


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## FleshEater (Nov 3, 2013)

Sam said:


> Jonathan Baker separated the curtains of his living room one more time. Fifty yards outside his house sat the same dark-coloured van that had been casing the neighbourhood for the last three nights. At once, the side door slid open and half a dozen armed men exited, gathering by the security panel next to his front gate. He let the curtains fall back into place and hurried to the kitchen to check the back door.



Talk about not wasting any time!

There are only two words I don't like in this, "At once."


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## Sam (Nov 4, 2013)

FleshEater said:


> Talk about not wasting any time!



That's my writing philosophy. In first chapters, dispense with everything that doesn't serve as a hook to suck readers in. Once you've got 'em hooked, you can tell them how Harry met Sally a couple of chapters down the line. 



> There are only two words I don't like in this, "At once."



They do stick out. I was looking to convey a sense of immediacy without using 'suddenly'. (I never said there wasn't some adverbs I absolutely despise!)


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## The Tourist (Nov 4, 2013)

Well, I used an opening line from another work, does that count?  

You might find this hard to believe, but I have a petulant and acerbic tongue.  Coupled with that, I'll make a toy out of anything.  My story has two specific characters, one is a member of a royal family, so cloistered that she is socially inept.  The other could be termed a Templar, part of an armed society led by a religious fanatic.

The Templar is willful, brooding, surprisingly innocent and let's his mouth get him into serious trouble.  Just for fun, I have the monarch confront him and say, _"You are a dark and stormy knight."_

Yeah, I know, I know.  But if I'm not having fun, what's the point?


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## FleshEater (Nov 4, 2013)

Sam said:


> That's my writing philosophy. In first chapters, dispense with everything that doesn't serve as a hook to suck readers in. Once you've got 'em hooked, you can tell them how Harry met Sally a couple of chapters down the line.
> 
> 
> 
> They do stick out. I was looking to convey a sense of immediacy without using 'suddenly'. (I never said there wasn't some adverbs I absolutely despise!)



I agree. A story has to catch a reader immediately, whether through action or an interesting scene. 

A simple step back to your character reacting to movement in the van might be a good prelude to the door sliding open. Then you can simply cut "At once," and the immediacy is there.  

I hope that story publishes. I'd like to read it.


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## Terry D (Nov 4, 2013)

The girl checked in the hag’s bedroom first. If Gracie was still awake the girl’s plan had no chance. There was no way she would be able to get down the stairs and out of the house if the woman was conscious. The hag had a poisonous sixth sense about stuff that went on in the house, but the girl didn’t know what she was going to say if Gracie _was_ still awake; had no idea what lie she would tell.

('Hag' isn't the word used in the original ms.)


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## Gamer_2k4 (Nov 4, 2013)

The Tourist said:


> The Templar is willful, brooding, surprisingly innocent and let's his mouth get him into serious trouble.  Just for fun, I have the monarch confront him and say, _"You are a dark and stormy knight."_



I smiled.


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## The Tourist (Nov 4, 2013)

Gamer_2k4 said:


> I smiled.



Do you think it's due to our cheesehead way of looking at things?


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## Gamer_2k4 (Nov 4, 2013)

The Tourist said:


> Do you think it's due to our cheesehead way of looking at things?



There's certainly an appreciation for all things cheesy.


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## jayelle_cochran (Dec 14, 2013)

I just posted in the post a paragraph one before I saw this thread.  So, here's the first paragraph (with the few lines of dialogue before it) of my current novel, _Sadie's War,_ which I'm still editing.  


_“That there been Tom spot.”_
_ 
Sadie lifted her head in the direction of the woman's loud raspy voice. “Are you talking to me?” she asked. _
_ 
“Yea hI talkin to ya, girlie.  Ya **** sittin in Tom spot.  Ya *** gotta get gone.”_
_ 
“Sorry,”she said as she began to pack up her things.  It was her first night on the streets and Sadie didn't know that there were rules about where everyone slept.  “Where do I get to sleep?”_
_ 
“Ain't knowin, ain't carin,” was the only response she was given.  Pushing away the overwhelming worry about how she was going to live outside,Sadie quietly packed up her sleeping bag and picked her cane out of her backpack.  When she let the cane unfold the woman began to speak to her in a gentler tone.  “Wait, I...I ain't got no clue ya been blind.  Tom ain't gonna get mad ya stayin his spot one night.  Hey,come back!”  It was too late.  She had already begun to walk down the line of homeless, away from 'Tom's Spot' and the woman who told her to move._


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## popsprocket (Dec 15, 2013)

_Feet pounded hard as Erin ran for all she was worth, cursing all the times she had skipped gym class. Whatever was going on wasn’t readily apparent, but she knew one thing: the men with spears didn’t seem all that friendly. What did they expect? Hauling a girl to her feet by her hair was a terrible way to wake someone up; it was hardly avoidable that she landed a solid punch in the face of the man who had held her braid. His nose looked as though it had been broken a dozen times before so there was no reason for him to make such a fuss over adding another injury to the collection._


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## Schrody (Dec 15, 2013)

I just translated it, so don't be too harsh 

"Hell. That's one way to call it. Space is wrapped with darkness. It's extremely hot, no living being could survive in such crude environment. Atmosphere is heavy, unsuitable, lethal. Vibrations are spreading all over the planet, deafening noises, sounds of beginning. Group of volcanoes ejects violent rage, Mother Nature's dance. Eruption is directed toward hights, far away, as long as you can see. Ash is covering soil, surface of the ocean. Volcano mountains intimdates with size. No one looks, no one knows."


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## Schrody (Dec 15, 2013)

popsprocket said:


> _Feet pounded hard as Erin ran for all she was worth, cursing all the times she had skipped gym class. Whatever was going on wasn’t readily apparent, but she knew one thing: the men with spears didn’t seem all that friendly. What did they expect? Hauling a girl to her feet by her hair was a terrible way to wake someone up; it was hardly avoidable that she landed a solid punch in the face of the man who had held her braid. His nose looked as though it had been broken a dozen times before so there was no reason for him to make such a fuss over adding another injury to the collection._



Well, you got me interested.


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## Greimour (Dec 15, 2013)

jayelle_cochran said:


> I just posted in the post a paragraph one before I saw this thread.  So, here's the first paragraph (with the few lines of dialogue before it) of my current novel, _Sadie's War,_ which I'm still editing.
> 
> 
> _“That there been Tom spot.”_
> ...




I don't much care for the homless womans accent who told Sadie to move on... but if this was a book I picked up as a browse in a book store of some descript, then I'd be unable to put it back down at this point and would either read on or buy it. 

Also, when she took a cane out of her backpack, I didn't immediately realize she was blind... I was immediately grateful the homeless woman made that clear and it added a lot of immediate interest to the story for me.


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## Greimour (Dec 15, 2013)

My first Paragraph of one W.I.P ... unedited but for now it immediately puts me back into the scene which is important for later when the edit does come.


Darien bolted through the side alleys; skidding, sliding and crashing his way through or past anything in his way. His muscles burned, calves ached, breath wheezed in his throat and tickled down to his chest... cheeks burning with cold and the blood thumping in his head made him dizzy. A cat too petrified to move tangled up his feet, sending him sprawling into the main street. Sleuths and City Guards were already closing in. Whoever had set the trap for him seemed to have thought of everything, cutting him off every which way he turned.


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## Pidgeon84 (Dec 15, 2013)

The first paragraph of my attempt at something bigger:

I awoke in my rundown dwellings, the sun’s rays poking through the spaces in the boards. One hitting me right in the face. Something you find unpleasant when you’ve been strung out as long as I have. I just stay here where it’s safe. Behind my wall of apathy and heroin. It didn’t spare me though, I didn’t spare me from the nights, from the other side. I hear their voices in my head. It’s the most haunting thing. I sit up in bed and back aches. I realize I have no clue how long I’ve been gone. I had no point reference. I walked out and the sun was slipping into the sea. It was higher in the sky than when I last looked. It must’ve been months! As looked out on the boundless body of water that lay before me. I had two choices I could sit here and slowly fucking kill myself in isolation, and it sounded awfully tempting. Or I could go out there. See what lays beyond. Resolution? Salvation? Anything at all? What if it was nothing I don’t think I could handle that. As looked upon the sunset reflecting off the water I decided it had be better than dying here in my own exile. I looked off to the east at a massive rock formation overlooking the water. My journey starts there.


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## Outiboros (Dec 15, 2013)

Schrody said:


> I just translated it, so don't be too harsh
> 
> "Hell. That's one way to call it. Space is wrapped with darkness. It's extremely hot, no living being could survive in such crude environment. Atmosphere is heavy, unsuitable, lethal. Vibrations are spreading all over the planet, deafening noises, sounds of beginning. Group of volcanoes ejects violent rage, Mother Nature's dance. Eruption is directed toward hights, far away, as long as you can see. Ash is covering soil, surface of the ocean. Volcano mountains intimdates with size. No one looks, no one knows."


The mistranslations make this piece almost surreal.


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## Outiboros (Dec 15, 2013)

Schrody said:


> I just translated it, so don't be too harsh
> 
> "Hell. That's one way to call it. Space is wrapped with darkness. It's extremely hot, no living being could survive in such crude environment. Atmosphere is heavy, unsuitable, lethal. Vibrations are spreading all over the planet, deafening noises, sounds of beginning. Group of volcanoes ejects violent rage, Mother Nature's dance. Eruption is directed toward hights, far away, as long as you can see. Ash is covering soil, surface of the ocean. Volcano mountains intimdates with size. No one looks, no one knows."


The mistranslations make this piece almost surreal. I understand you couldn't leave it like that, and it's tiring to read, but it does give it a certain degree of spirit.




Greimour said:


> My first Paragraph of one W.I.P ... unedited but for now it immediately puts me back into the scene which is important for later when the edit does come.
> Darien bolted through the side alleys; skidding, sliding and crashing his way through or past anything in his way. His muscles burned, calves ached, breath wheezed in his throat and tickled down to his chest... cheeks burning with cold and the blood thumping in his head made him dizzy. A cat too petrified to move tangled up his feet, sending him sprawling into the main street. Sleuths and City Guards were already closing in. Whoever had set the trap for him seemed to have thought of everything, cutting him off every which way he turned.


 This is something I've noticed a lot on here lately - stories that begin with running. Maybe it's a pattern, maybe it's all in my head. (I can't read anything without editing anymore - I'd remove the first 'his way')



popsprocket said:


> _Feet pounded hard as Erin ran for all she was worth, cursing all the times she had skipped gym class. Whatever was going on wasn’t readily apparent, but she knew one thing: the men with spears didn’t seem all that friendly. What did they expect? Hauling a girl to her feet by her hair was a terrible way to wake someone up; it was hardly avoidable that she landed a solid punch in the face of the man who had held her braid. His nose looked as though it had been broken a dozen times before so there was no reason for him to make such a fuss over adding another injury to the collection._


See? See? It's not me, I swear!

'Gym class' sets a very clear time period in my mind, and then 'men with spears' jumbles that up again. I'm sure that's cleared out in the next paragraphs, but still - if this is in a more medieval period, you might want to change 'gym class' to something more relevant to the period.


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## Caragula (Dec 15, 2013)

Ruben gazed up at the giant balloon, a huge silken globe the colour of porridge, and was reminded of his seventh wife’s substantial buttocks.  This only hardened a dark mood created by his collar, which chafed like an iron shackle.  He tucked a forefinger under the lip of fat it pinched into and tugged it half-heartedly.  The brass band amidst the thousand or so townsfolk of Muilee laced the right notes with some near misses and over-zealous cymbals, uncomfortably near the dais on which stood the Consilors, the Mayor and Ruben himself.


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## Schrody (Dec 15, 2013)

Outiboros said:


> The mistranslations make this piece almost surreal. I understand you couldn't leave it like that, and it's tiring to read, but it does give it a certain degree of spirit.



That's why I shouldn't translate. Luckily, I'll have professional translator when it's time to publish. I'm sorry you had to witness this bad attempt.  It's a Sci-Fi, and I swear it's good!


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## Outiboros (Dec 15, 2013)

Schrody said:


> That's why I shouldn't translate. Luckily, I'll have professional translator when it's time to publish. I'm sorry you had to witness this bad attempt.  It's a Sci-Fi, and I swear it's good!


Isn't that expensive? You could try writing in English - I did. Not really by my wallet, just by my general despising of my mother language, but it can be learned.


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## Schrody (Dec 15, 2013)

Outiboros said:


> Isn't that expensive? You could try writing in English - I did. Not really by my wallet, just by my general despising of my mother language, but it can be learned.



It's freelance translator, but has a lot of experience, so it won't be that expensive (I hope)  I write a mix of english-croatian language, it's really fun to read. I used to translate some stories, but that was more for the fun of it.


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## popsprocket (Dec 15, 2013)

Outiboros said:


> Gym class' sets a very clear time period in my mind, and then 'men with spears' jumbles that up again. I'm sure that's cleared out in the next paragraphs, but still - if this is in a more medieval period, you might want to change 'gym class' to something more relevant to the period.



It's nothing so confusing. Poor Erin has accidentally warped herself into a fantasy world. Unfortunately for the three friends with her at the time, they've also been taken there. In reality Erin is the luckiest of them all in terms of how their new lives turn out... at least she doesn't get enslaved at a salt mine or used as a dog of war...


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## Greimour (Dec 16, 2013)

Outiboros said:


> This is something I've noticed a lot on here lately - stories that begin with running. Maybe it's a pattern, maybe it's all in my head. (I can't read anything without editing anymore - I'd remove the first 'his way')



Nice catch, I will take that out... and... this story didn't originally start with running, but started a few days earlier... the pick up was slow and lacked a hook though so I skipped ahead to the first scene that contained any action - just happened that it would be a chase scene.


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## tepelus (Dec 17, 2013)

I'll play. This is from my historical fantasy _Draculești_. I'm still in the editing process, round four to be exact.



> The goats butted the rails of their pen, screaming like girls running from a bee. Gheorghe set down the pail of water and leaned over the pen. “D**n it, Dan! You forgot to fill their trough.” No wonder the goats made such ruckus. They'd gone the whole morning without water or grain. He lifted the pail over the rails and emptied the water intended for his horse, the goats trampling over themselves. They sucked and slopped the water, shoving each other to get every drop. A hot day like this was not a day to forget to water the animals. His brother was going to owe him—big.



I asterisked the swear word for this forum.


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## popsprocket (Dec 17, 2013)

Greimour said:


> Nice catch, I will take that out... and... this story didn't originally start with running, but started a few days earlier... the pick up was slow and lacked a hook though so I skipped ahead to the first scene that contained any action - just happened that it would be a chase scene.



Yeah. That goes for me as well. I could have started earlier but I began with the running because it's an easy spot to begin with action. I suppose I could afford to alter it so that it begins with her punching the dude in the face and _then_ running off.


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## jayelle_cochran (Dec 18, 2013)

Greimour said:


> I don't much care for the homless womans accent who told Sadie to move on... but if this was a book I picked up as a browse in a book store of some descript, then I'd be unable to put it back down at this point and would either read on or buy it.
> 
> Also, when she took a cane out of her backpack, I didn't immediately realize she was blind... I was immediately grateful the homeless woman made that clear and it added a lot of immediate interest to the story for me.



Thanks luv.  (Btw...had some problems with the copy and paste which is why the sentences were a little off...I thought I fixed it).  lol  I'm glad you like the beginning though.  

The accent is actually a recurring theme throughout the book.  I wrote a dialect for the poor ("Gutter Trash" as they're called in the book) and the upper class (ie. "Highborn") talk more formally.  Thankfully my editor is a linguist and she's going to help me with the dialect.  It wasn't easy to create new grammar rules, vernacular, slang, and sentence structure.  lol

*hugs*
Jayelle


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## popsprocket (Mar 23, 2014)

Not exactly a paragraph, but I've always been one for using odd line breaks and short passages.



> It hurt, to hear her so hurt.



Not really sure where I'm going with the story as a whole. I have ideas and characters and they sort of fit together, but I need to tie them down in a more central conflict, probably.


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## T.S.Bowman (Mar 24, 2014)

OK, well...I put the Prologue in and there was a "mixed" reaction to say the least. Figured the worst that could happen would be the same kind of reaction for the first paragraph of the novel. LOL
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[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]     Brian Radik was having the best day of his life. He hadn't hit the lottery for millions of dollars, but he felt like the luckiest man on Earth anyway. He walked through the glass doors of his workplace with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. The afternoon sun, usually just a back of the mind thought among all the shadows of the skyscrapers, seemed brighter than it ever had. The air, which was normally clogged with exhaust fumes, seemed cleaner and more crisp than usual. The sky was the kind of blue that reminded one of the Caribbean, even if you had never actually been there.[/FONT]


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## popsprocket (Mar 24, 2014)

T.S.Bowman said:


> OK, well...I put the Prologue in and there was a "mixed" reaction to say the least. Figured the worst that could happen would be the same kind of reaction for the first paragraph of the novel. LOL
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> Brian Radik was having the best day of his life. He hadn't hit the lottery for millions of dollars, but he felt like the luckiest man on Earth anyway. He walked through the glass doors of his workplace with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. The afternoon sun, usually just a back of the mind thought among all the shadows of the skyscrapers, seemed brighter than it ever had. The air, which was normally clogged with exhaust fumes, seemed cleaner and more crisp than usual. The sky was the kind of blue that reminded one of the Caribbean, even if you had never actually been there.



This one's a personal nitpick, but: a small kitten is punched in the face every time someone starts a book with a character's full name.


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## A_Jones (Mar 24, 2014)

[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]First chapter of my book FAE

Glen[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]Thebeast stares at me as it paces around our little group. It'senormous, larger than I have ever seen. Its black hair is on endforming a spiky ridge that travels down a hump of a back. Thepredatory eyes, set forward in its huge head, gleam withintelligence, yet I can’t keep my eyes off the two large yellowedtusks that curve out from its jaw. I heard plenty of hunting storiesabout the Silvik Boar as a boy. Even the pelts that decorate thelocal taverns are no where near so large. Just the sight of thiscreature brings new meaning to the chilling tales of boar hunts thatare favorites among the tavern folk,  though nobody hunts very farinto the forest anymore; the fear of the Silvik Witch is far toostrong.[/FONT]
[FONT=Calibri, sans-serif]
First chapter of the sequel MINNOE

Zeke
I amabout to die.  A watery death, how fitting for me.  With a whiningcreak, the starboard railing beneath my feet dips with the pull ofthe waves.  The fingers of the men on either side of me tighten on myarms, keeping my feet firm.  For the time being.  The bright sunreflects off the water into my eyes and there is no were to look thatdoesn't cause me to squint.  Behind me a door opens and slams, andthe sound of boots scuff across the deck in my and my captorsdirection.[/FONT]


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## -AT (Mar 24, 2014)

You're missing a few spaces. Haha.


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## Gamer_2k4 (Mar 24, 2014)

popsprocket said:


> This one's a personal nitpick, but: a small kitten is punched in the face every time someone starts a book with a character's full name.



Those kittens had better get used to it, because there's nothing inherently wrong with that.


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## -AT (Mar 24, 2014)

Everything looks incredible when it’s thousands of meters below. Regardless of the landscape, it all just blends together to form this surreal depiction of how the world looks in the big scheme of things. From this point of view, no single person matters. They are so small in comparison that they may as well not be there. A world with no people... I think I would like that.


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## W.Goepner (Mar 25, 2014)

A day like yesterday​ ​              A post on a persons Blog page: “I felt “It”. A change around me. It was like a charge of electricity. I felt the hairs raze on my body. I had to concentrate hard to achieve it though. I just got back from the store. The checker must have thought I was high or something. The way she looked at me when I bought five, one pound bars of bakers’ chocolate and ten avocados. Man do I crave them. I will try again tomorrow after a good nights sleep” 
              Two days later: “I can’t believe it I slept forty-eight hours! I had to go to the store again this morning. All the chocolate I bought was gone and the avocados too. I must have eaten them in a sleep stupor because I do not remember eating them. I stocked up triply and I have eaten eight eggs, a pound of sausage, and two good size potatoes. So I guess I am ready to try it again. Wish me luck.”


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## Lyra Laurant (Apr 19, 2014)

*Rough translation alert! >_<*

A loop of rope was flying in my direction, thrown to fit my neck. I abruptly turned right, entering a side street. The rope caught the air behind me, and the human swore. That was rude!


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## SarahStrange (Apr 19, 2014)

The following paragraphs are from the same story. However, they're from the two different perspectives that alternate throughout. Enjoy. Or not. 


*It was a kindness that killed us. A rotten, twisted kindness that took everything apart and fell humanity to its knees. Can it be called a kindness if it destroyed us? She believed it was. I hope that it’s kindness that brings us back. The real kind. Not hers. He suggested I write all of this down. I asked what the point of that would be, and he said it’d be like one of the books I was so happy to find here. I need to “express” myself more. He’s worried all those long nights running and hiding made me cold. He might be right. There’s only so close someone can come to freezing to death before the ice sinks into your skin and your heart.*

*Neville Bertram sat on the what was the most uncomfortable airport chair his arse had ever graced and watched the fat raindrops slide down the window. Outside, was an airplane attempting to taxy down the runway towards his terminal. To his right a woman snored loudly. Her jowls jiggled with each intake of breath. Next to her was a young boy sniffing incessantly. It was perhaps an ironic thing for him to be annoyed with, considering dealing with infectious diseases was what he did for a living. What he lived for in fact. But the tissues that were dropped unremembered from the boy’s short fingers to the floor undoubtedly held nothing more than the common cold virus. At most influenza of a lesser kind. In other words, he was uninterested and vaguely disgusted.*


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## Riptide (Apr 20, 2014)

The tigers were secluded. They were, once, circus animals who traveled the world, but now all they roam is a broken down circus stand in the middle of a once famous place. They've made this deserted town their habitat, only managing not to extend out into the neighboring villages because of weekly feedings from the villagers. 

- Um... that first sentence I think I should change.


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## garza (Apr 20, 2014)

'We'll go to prison.'

from 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight.'


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## Mystovation (Apr 22, 2014)

In essence I wouldn't have considered it love, but by dictionary definition, that is what it would seem to be called

Although I was a sixteen year old high school kid, I could safely say I wasn't a “typical” teenager, yet I never really had any trouble getting along with those types. By typical I mean that by-the-book, statistic, Degrassi teenager. And because I wasn't this “typical” teenager, I could only assume I wouldn't succumb to the “typical” teenage dramatic situations. I always hated that "Young Adult" romance crap, they were always jokes to me, I was always telling myself that not one person could fall in love like a fairy tale, it was nothing more than a fantasy commercialized to sway the many naive hearts of the youth. To able to love someone oh so dearly and purely to the point where that person consumes your thoughts to the end of nights and the dawn of days.To me, that kind of love was all but worthy to be experienced by something as filty as a human being.

Yet…am I not guilty of this affection?

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EDIT: It's a little spaced out but it is all apart of the same thing


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