(TERRIBLE) OPENING LINES FOR MY NOVELS

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 14:02:29 -0500

As Henry Dawkins plummeted earthward from the 92nd floor window from which he had accidently fallen, he gazed about, and thought, "So far so good."

(Note to self: If Henry is the hero this will not be a very long novel. Put this at end, maybe?)

As Lance Duncan stood on the seawall watching the aircraft carrier task force steam out to sea (a larger task force than the battleship group which had steamed out to sea yesterday, but smaller than the submarine fleet from last week), he pondered the words of his girlfriend, Sandra, who last night had said in some anger, yet with a touch of empathy, “Lance, I’m leaving you if you don’t stop your naval gazing.”

Duke Miller snapped awake in his sleeping bag at his campsite on the high plains and, beholding the dying embers of his campfire and the millions of bright stars overhead and the crescent moon setting in the west, grasped with absolute certainty a most unsettling fact: Someone had stolen his tent.

Master Sgt. Steve O’Toole peered into the chilly and misty dawn from the foxhole he shared with corporal Smith and, seeing dozens of the hated enemy sneaking through the distant undergrowth, held out his musty green field blanket to Smith, and said, “Cover me.”

It occurred to Steve Mobble, as he stood unsteadily perched upon the icy crag at Land’s End, that although it had been worth the trek along six miles of slippery and perilous high cliffs to see the sun set into the sea and utter black inky darkness descend upon the scene, he should have brought his flashlight for the return trip.

Reggie Blunt stood in the jungle clearing, stoned as usual but sure he was nearing the huge crop of Borneo cannabis the local police chief had warned him against trying to find, when suddenly, as dozens of natives wearing only banana leaves and fearsome scowls emerged from the primeval forest, he realized he had badly misheard the police chief.

Not a man in the doomed platoon could know, as they confidently fingered their triggers and obeyed the Lieutenant’s order to not shoot until they saw the whites of the enemy’s eyes, that the entire attacking enemy force had contracted jaundice.

TheBadScot's Open Salon Blog

(TERRIBLE) OPENING LINES FOR MY NOVELS