Saturday, May 28, 2011

First Paragraph Saturday!

After several hours of wracking my brain
           trying to come up with  new

for today's blog... this is pretty much how I can sum up my feelings:

So I decided to go back into my list of previous blogs and see which ones generated the most comments.  It makes sense since many of my readers are writers, that the one with the most responses was First Sentence Saturday:   Wow- 28comments!  Now that may not be a lot for some of you who have been writing blogs for years but, for me, that was awesome!  (compare that to last week about the "End of the world" - there were only 7, and I think two of them were my responses!)  Another thing I've noticed is that I never get many comments on my Holiday posts, but that could be because I only advertise once during the following week, and I suppose it leaves many more out of the proverbial loop (at least on facebook).

OK, so here is my idea for today.  First Paragraph Saturday!  Since the first sentence went over so well, perhaps my fellow writers would like to indulge me with their first paragraphs whether in their current WIP (work in progress) or any other novel, poem, or short story.  You choose, we'll read!  This will be fun!  


The first paragraph of Ravenswynd 

    The sound of blood rushing past my eardrums echoed the roar of my pounding heart.  What the flaming hell was I thinking?  My only solace came from knowing I wasn't the only idiot waiting on a dark pier on Friday the thirteenth at exactly seven-thirteen.  There were twelve others.  Had anyone else noticed all the thirteens?  Although I hoped that this was only a series of coincidences, an icy chill coursed through me as I tied it in with everything that my best friend, Fiona, had been saying all along about the secret party.  Without question, something strange and frightening was about to take place. The air bristled with a weird intangible energy.  And this weirdness was only a taste of what was to come – the party is the main entrée.  I didn't even want to think about dessert.  

Feel free to comment on my first  paragraph, but don't forget to add YOURS too!  

Have a great

Thanks for reading and participating!!


  1. I really liked your opening paragraph, it had a great mood and feel, and captured my interest. Here's the opening paragraph on a blog I just wrote that will be posted later today at "Those...eyes. Portals to...our souls. Yours and mine." Have a nice holiday weekend!

  2. I like your first paragraph, Sharon. It makes me want to read more! Here's the first paragraph of my vampire novel that may or may not be finished in this century--and I'm very positive that it will change.

    Mackenzie McMichaels. Her name didn’t incite fear or induce panic in the streets. Mackenzie, or Mac as all of her friends called her, liked it that way; she preferred to be unassuming. Everything seemed to work out better that way. She walked the alleys of the city with what some would say was a confident swagger. Her straight, shoulder length brown hair bounced slightly with each step she took. The chilly February air had little effect on Mac; she wore her black tank top and tan cargo pants as if it were a mild summer evening. Mac wasn’t concerned with the temperature outside or her apparent lack of style.

  3. About your first paragraph all I can say is when do we get more? Sounds like a great beginning to an exciting mystery having something to do with the number 13. So looking forward to more. My first paragraph will seem a bit strange for me....a short story.

    "I know, I know in the dawn that you will be gone, but tonight you belong to me"...yes that is a song and the first time I sang it I was 11 years old walking up Chelsea Avenue with my two new-found best friends, twins Sharon and Sandy.

  4. Nice first paragraph Sharon,
    Below is my first paragraph. Looking forward to future paragraphs...
    Marla Todd

    Richard drank a giant glass of water. He was going to have one hell of a hang over in the morning. It had been a big night of celebration at the paper. Five awards for international and technology reporting. He staggered up to his bedroom. The only thing that would make the night perfect would be having a woman in his bed. On the other hand if that were the case there would be worse complications than a hang-over. All he wanted was a simple uncomplicated woman. Someone he could marry. What he had was a history of complicated women.

  5. I almost always start with dialogue so my first paragraphs are pretty short. So here's the first paragraphs/sentences of my two novel.

    Tell Me You Want Me: “They’re fighting again.” Charles Austin Sinclair III looked up from his Nintendo football game toward his bedroom door. He could hear his parents’ angry voices through the solid oak even though the door was closed.

    Secret Storm: “I have better things to do.” Sara Jensen peered over the top of her glasses and looked down her nose at her best friend.

  6. Are you washed in the blood?

    In the soul cleansing blood of the lamb.

    Are your garments spotless, are they white as snow?

    Are you washed in the blood of the lamb.

    The voices blended together in a rough off key sound indigenous to this area of the Appalachian Mountains with no musical accompaniment, just the voice of celebration in this region of hardship and despair. Every Sunday the inhabitants of this poor county shed their labor and trials for a few hours of hope, and believe me life is hard in Owsley County, Kentucky. I walked the dirt path to the small church with its faded white paint and rough plank board walls and smiled as I noticed the steeple standing straight and pointing upwards to the heavens. All of this seemed surreal, more like a snapshot from 1911 instead of 2011 but here it stood in its simplistic glory.

  7. Thanks everyone!
    My list of books to read is growing by leaps and bounds!

    Hope we get more writers to post!!

  8. The 1st paragraph of my alternate history/steampunk novel "The Sky: The World", available in print & ebook at Amazon and Reliquary

    Consciousness found its long way through the darkness of forced oblivion like the morning sun breaking through a nightmare. He could hear before he could see, and what he heard terrified him but not as much as it should have. The sound of the wind was ordinary, but recognizing the seat he was strapped into, he knew the rushing wind to be a forebodingly bad sound. A soft, strange tinkling accompanied the blasting air, like coins falling on mirrors beside an animated ocean. His body felt weightless, but his head felt heavy with the pain pounding through it. It was as though he was waking up from a weeklong bender, except that no vice had passed his lips since he’d found out about the baby. It was thinking of the baby that made him force his eyes open and finally behold what should’ve terrified him long before. The instrument panel was beyond broken, whirring and squealing with violent impairment and sparking in such wild abundance that ash would’ve been snowing down upon him if not for the gaping holes in the cabin. Imagining the gentle grey snowfall made his gaze widen to see his wife Sarah still unconscious and buckled into the co-pilot’s seat. Even in unconsciousness, her hands were resting on her swollen stomach and clutching at the child within, worried about its safety.

  9. That sounds really good, Jessica! Can't wait to read that one too!

  10. Fun idea! And loved your first paragraph!

  11. Here's the first couple of paragraphs of my novella, The Immigrant:

    The man who stood before him looked like a penniless, homeless derelict. Phil took a moment to study the filthy, ragged looking man. It was a habit of his to give each new client a once-over before starting the immigration procedure to try and get a sense of who they were. After many decades of working as an immigration officer, it had sort of become second nature and Phil had become remarkably perceptive. Phil could immediately see that this fellow was different and that his first impression of the man couldn’t possibly be correct.
    It wasn’t uncommon for Phil to see an immigrant who resembled a familiar face but this one was a first. The similarity was uncanny really, and for some strange reason he even found it to be a bit creepy. The man bore an odd resemblance to notorious fitness guru Richard Simmons, as he had looked in his thirties, way back in the 1980s. Yet, he didn’t look exactly like him; there were some dramatic differences, of course. Nonetheless, it was easy to see the resemblance if one’s imagination could stretch far enough to picture Richard Simmons unbathed and wearing a hobo’s hand-me-downs. The flamboyant Richard Simmons did not for a moment strike Phil as the type of fellow who would ever go out in public without showering, and the famous fitness guru, who was now in his eighties, was far from poor. To the best of Phil’s knowledge, Mr. Simmons enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle befitting of someone with his celebrity status, still in tip-top shape and still sweating to the oldies even if he was now an oldie himself. Even at his advanced age he was still quite active in his work of helping the morbidly obese achieve their weight loss goals, from what Phil understood. Phil also knew that this man couldn’t possibly be a relative of Richard Simmons, given that he had passed through the doors of Phil’s office. Only new immigrants had reason to be here, and nobody belonging to the Simmons family would ever have need of Phil’s services.
    The man’s resemblance to Richard Simmons struck Phil as strange nonetheless, and he got the impression that there was a distinct reason for it; a reason that he was certain to uncover at some point.


Click above to leave a comment!

Click above to leave a comment!

Follow this Blog by Email

Like This Blog?

Follow me on Goodreads

GoodReads Reviews!

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

I'm a Member of


Follow me on Instagram!