Blurred Line

In something of a symbolic gesture, I went out and bought myself a new notebook, exclusively for all the short story writing I plan to do in the next few months. Problem is, I have no ideas.

Now, I'm not sure about most people out there, but my process for coming up with stories generally goes something like this: 1) Think up cool opening sentence 2) Keep writing until the plot of the story takes charge. The problem with this, of course, is that a story doesn't always emerge out of a single sentence. It's a real hit and miss proposition (and it misses more often than not).

So, the tactic I've come up with is to write opening sentences or scenes until I find one that I want to keep going with. While I was on break at school today, I took about a half hour and came up with a number of these. Some were horribly bad and some intriguing. For those who are interested, here are the range of opening scenes that pass through my head in the space of 30 minutes (by the way, you'll notice that these are all in the same type of format - I decided I'd just stick with one sentence type for the day):

Jonathan knocked on the door of number twenty-seven. He pressed his ear against the door and listened for movement. Nothing. He opened the door with his manager's key.
The beds were made. Everything was clean, at least. He hadn't been looking forward to cleaning up after the kind of people who would leave without paying. (Clearly, Jonathan would have been an unbelievably riveting narrator.)

Adele was hearing things. Big things, with wet, furry faces. They'd been into her trash again, like they always were when it rained.
She flicked the lights on and off a couple times. Their heads turned towards the house for a moment before they ran off into the bush. (Raccoons wreak havoc in the not-so-distant future of suburbia.)

Sara can't remember the last time she got a letter. Five years, at least. Before she'd come here. (Argh!)

The captain's chair wasn't comfortable. I'd spent years eyeing it, doing everything I could do to make it mine. I fantasized about sliding into it for the first time. The way the material would yield to me, like I'd always belonged.
I shifted my weight onto my right ass cheek. The left had fallen asleep. I had a kink in my neck and cracked it, drawing looks of disgust from everyone who heard. (Captain's Log: Uhh....my ass is sore?)

His name was Fable. Actually, his name was Aesop, but all the kids who knew the connection had started calling him Fable. It stuck. He didn't mind. He hadn't been fond of Aesop in the first place and, besides, having a nickname was cool. (Believe it or not, I actually kind of like this one. Maybe I'll update one of Aesop's fables for SF.)

So, if you're feeling bold enough, spend a half hour or so writing out a few random opening scenes that pop into your head and be sure to share them here. Also, feel free to mock any of mine - especially that letter one.


Profile Writer. Student. Lord of the Dance. Blurredline.com Movie Reviews cterrill(at)blurredline.com Buy Blurred Line Amazon.com Amazon.ca Barnes&Noble.com Booksamillion.com Read it free in PDF Format Blog Exchange Experiment Results Quality Blogs Making Light The Presurfer Scalzi's Whatever Scalzi's By The Way POD-dy Mouth William Gibson Ali's QuixotiQ Writings Dave's Blogography White Screen of Despair Quantum Miss Snark Jack Slyde All Kinds of Writing Aggressive Fiction Architect by Day, Writer by Night Stalkers Not Allowed The Y Logs Totally Unauthorized Bookslut Benjamin Solah Ramblings from the Desert SF Signal Writer Unboxed the0phrastus Archives March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 Et Cetera Feeds Atom Feed	Thursday, March 02, 2006 - The Fresh Page In something of a symbolic gesture, I went out and bought myself a new notebook, exclusively for all the short story writing I plan to do in the next few months. Problem is, I have no ideas. Now, I'm not sure about most people out there, but my process for coming up with stories generally goes something like this: 1) Think up cool opening sentence 2) Keep writing until the plot of the story takes charge. The problem with this, of course, is that a story doesn't always emerge out of a single sentence. It's a real hit and miss proposition (and it misses more often than not). So, the tactic I've come up with is to write opening sentences or scenes until I find one that I want to keep going with. While I was on break at school today, I took about a half hour and came up with a number of these. Some were horribly bad and some intriguing. For those who are interested, here are the range of opening scenes that pass through my head in the space of 30 minutes (by the way, you'll notice that these are all in the same type of format - I decided I'd just stick with one sentence type for the day): Jonathan knocked on the door of number twenty-seven. He pressed his ear against the door and listened for movement. Nothing. He opened the door with his manager's key. The beds were made. Everything was clean, at least. He hadn't been looking forward to cleaning up after the kind of people who would leave without paying. (Clearly, Jonathan would have been an unbelievably riveting narrator.) Adele was hearing things. Big things, with wet, furry faces. They'd been into her trash again, like they always were when it rained. She flicked the lights on and off a couple times. Their heads turned towards the house for a moment before they ran off into the bush. (Raccoons wreak havoc in the not-so-distant future of suburbia.) Sara can't remember the last time she got a letter. Five years, at least. Before she'd come here. (Argh!) The captain's chair wasn't comfortable. I'd spent years eyeing it, doing everything I could do to make it mine. I fantasized about sliding into it for the first time. The way the material would yield to me, like I'd always belonged. I shifted my weight onto my right ass cheek. The left had fallen asleep. I had a kink in my neck and cracked it, drawing looks of disgust from everyone who heard. (Captain's Log: Uhh....my ass is sore?) His name was Fable. Actually, his name was Aesop, but all the kids who knew the connection had started calling him Fable. It stuck. He didn't mind. He hadn't been fond of Aesop in the first place and, besides, having a nickname was cool. (Believe it or not, I actually kind of like this one. Maybe I'll update one of Aesop's fables for SF.) So, if you're feeling bold enough, spend a half hour or so writing out a few random opening scenes that pop into your head and be sure to share them here. Also, feel free to mock any of mine - especially that letter one. Cavan blogged at 7:37 PM \| 2 comments	Progress Mass Romantic Currently: 12k Estimated Total: 30k Cavan Radio Playlist Reading Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen Listening Patrick Park - Loneliness Knows My Name The Detroit Cobras - Baby The 88 - Over and Over Watching The Chronicles of Narnia: D+ Blue Car: B Read My Reviews Wishlist Empire of the Senseless - Kathy Acker Brendan Benson - The Alternative To Love Internal Links Under Construction Link Link