Jessie, in NH watching the
We love a good opening line both in novels and here on the blog. And, we love it when readers add their own!
Sherry: Samantha had come to realize that killing was the easy part. It was getting away with it that took planning.
Jessie: Now was his chance, while her back was turned and her attention lay on something below and not on the danger closing in from behind.
Edith/Maddie: I watched him uncover the body, one leaf at a time. He glanced up, looking grim. When he saw my pistol, I watched him dive for the leaves. I didn’t stay to watch him die.
Liz: I come here every day because it’s true what they say about returning to the scene of the crime. If only the unsuspecting neighbors knew what was beneath this bridge, in this serene spot they walked over every day.
Barb: I would have thrown myself off the bridge, but I figured I’d only break a leg. Instead, I stood in contemplation of my many sins, most of them recent.
Julie: Six feet, tops. Well, that won’t work.
Readers: Add your opening line!
I watched them remove the debris from the body. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. Until I saw her face. It couldn’t be. It was impossible but there it was. It was her face all over again, but she was already dead and had been for over a year!
Creepy! I love it!
The dead guy on the sofa, the hint of burned gunpowder in the air, and her weapon in her hand added up to bad. Nausea roiled her stomach. What had she done?
I always love it when the word roil can be used in a first line! So vivid!
The water was gone, filled in by years of debris, but I could see the outlines of the banks. Hopefully, nobody would ever decide to excavate and restore the stream’s flow.
I loved my early morning nature walks; the fresh air cleared my head. The bridge was my reflection point, a way of finding inner peace in the ripple of the stream. Until I saw a body splayed across a moss covered log; water pooling around a grey hand.
You’ve hooked me with “grey hand”!
So there I was, just standing on the street corner, minding my own business, when the world came to an end.
Now I’m curious about what happens next
She stood on the bridge looking at the newly finished repairs and wondered how they had missed digging up his body
Now I’m wondering too! What’s next?
Most memorable: “Tuesday was a fine California day, full of sunshine and promise, until Harry Lyon had to shoot someone at lunch.” from Dragon Tears by Dean Koontz
That is one reason his books are so popular!
Susan Hogan drove around Oak Grove, Texas, for two days before she realized there was a dead body in the trunk of her car. And it was another three days before she knew that someone was trying to kill her.
I love this premise, Judy! Fun!
Phoebe stared at the dried, russet colored leaves and debris in the creek wishing she could remember what really happened fifteen years ago.
The police said it was most likely someone she new, someone she trusted. But why would someone kill a 6 year old child and throw her body away like it was garbage. Were they here in this room pretending to mourn her death? Had I looked into the eyes and hugged the person responsible for taking my baby’s life? Was I somehow indirectly responsible for letting a killer have access to my child? I wassupposed to protect her, I was, I am her mother.
I thought it was my face I saw reflected in the water, but it wasn’t.
I love it!
Staring down from the bridge at the overgrown ground of the forest and the compulsion growing inside of her, Susan smiled to herself as she contemplated where she’d bury her next victim.
This sounds like a great start to a novel!
To anyone who passed me, it would look like I was just meditating on life in this beautiful spot. The reality was, I was gloating over how I had gotten away with killing him. I liked to return to where his body was buried to let him know I was still free.
Now that is nefarious!
As I stared at the peaceful scene of ducklings following their mother in the water I was shocked to see a corpse float by idly washed by the stream water.
What a vivid image!
What was it about the old bridge that made it so fascinating? Was it the smell? The sounds of it lapping against the edges? Or was it the feeling of the odd splashes and gurgles? I loved the depth of it and knowing all the broken promises in its depths.
The Pine Cone Inn in Ponderosa, Arizona, conjured images of Norman Bates slipping in for a little shower action. But after driving two thousand miles in three days, fictional serial killers with mommy issues weren’t at the top of my worry list. What was at the top of that list? Finding a home, a refuge, a sanctuary. Oh, yeah—and staying alive.
This sounds like a great start to a novel!
I love this bridge. I always stop here on my daily walks. I contemplate how best to use it in getting rid of Donald.
Oh, to be so carefree and flow like the stream, but life is certainly not that way.
I love these. There’s a hook in every one. Here’s mine, from my WIP. I recently moved it from end of first chapter to beginning:
Hmm. Looks like a tech problem. I’ll try again:
Sorry. Can’t paste it in, and can’t write it in either.
I am so sorry that you are having problems with this, Triss! I cannot see a way to assist on this end, but I hope we will be able to read your line before too long!
Comments are closed.