Write an opening that would stop you buying a book

stevejk

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John Caliber--six-foot-two, shaved head, bristly brown mustache, tan skin, thick corded muscles, 3.62 GPA during his only two years of college at Southern Colorado Technical University--walked slowly towards the sky blue 2012 Toyota Corolla idling in the parking lot of the only Walmart in Chevrettell, Colorado (population: 1567, part of Wayneside County, high school mascot: the Eagles), his thick, buckskin boots squelching in the scattered rain puddles that dotted the cracked asphalt. It was just as the anonymous voice--husky, mysterious, threatening--had promised when they'd called him on his Samsung Galaxy 4 at 3:07 that afternoon (Mountain Daylight Time) and told him that Elijah Buckington, the irresponsible 27 year-old heir to Buckington Sports Suppliers (Wayneside County's main wholesale store for hunting, fishing, and other various sports equipment), had been abducted by aliens from the planet Forsicca Prime.

Lifting for Life - My life on the bench press by Jake Stevenhoffen

As a fifty seven year old Powerlifting world champion I'm often asked the question, 'what are you on?'

I always tell them I'm on early mornings, early nights, and a diet of fruit and vegetables. And hard work. It's a winning combination that every other Powerlifter isn't aware of.

I have never been caught taking performance enhancing drugs, and never plan to be either.

This book tells the true story of how I managed to defy sports science and the human ageing process using beetroot and green tea. It will describe years of repeatedly lifting heavy objects, and the elaborate reasons I only end up competing where there are no doping controls. It will also describe the time an airline lost my luggage during a flight connection at Frankfurt airport.
I was a tea merchant myself and I can say that most of the stories about green tea are, just stories. Yes, there are benefits to drinking green tea most of the day, but golden oolongs tend to be better. Now if you really want the full "All day health benefit of green tea" all at once, drink Macha as often as you can! Until your heart and kidneys give out. Golden oolongs and good Pur teas for me! Sorry, did you say I sell like a barn yard? Why yes I do!
Really, I was a tea importer and merchant. But drinking any tea as a whole is so much better!
 

stevejk

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OK. Looking back at my last few posts, even with spellcheck my dyslexia comes out.
Sorry everyone, and thanks!

Drinking lots of Pur tea can bring out a slight barnyard 'smell' in you. (not sell)

"Why didn't you look? Now what do I write and to whom?"
 

stevejk

Active Member
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33
OK, I'm going to try one more time...

John stood on the white marble porch to the throne of Zeus and the banged three times on the large gold and silver doors before him.
The doors opened and a slim twenty-foot-tall butler in a pristine golden white toga stood before him, "Yes? May I help you?"
"John Slashback from Galactic Deities plumbing. I hear ya a toilet problem?"
"Oh, a human mortal." The butler answered in an unamused tone, "Yes, please come in."
John followed the butler in while he caried two extending ladders over one shoulder and pulled a wheeled coffin sized toolbox with his other hand.
"Hades highly recommended you form some work you did for him not long ago. I hope you can help us.", the butler said as he led the plumber to the royal chamber.
"Hades! Oh yea! That was a mess fa sure." John stated. "As soon as the dammed showed up he'd just shove them in the toilet and flush! Backed it up really good."
The butler stopped next to a door and turned to face John with a slight confused expression on his face.
John stopped too but keep on talking. "Why does the guy need one fa? He holds it in for a century or two and when the flames cool down, he lets it all out and the heat goes back up! I don't get it." he said shaking his head.
The butler had no answer for the plumber as he opened the door. "This is it"
John went over to the toilet with the butler and started to extend a ladder up its side. After climbing up to the rim of the giant throne he looked down into the large Olympian commode and saw the problem. "Backed up?" The butler nodded yes.
"What kind of TP is he using? Golden fleece?" The butler pointed to a stack of TP sheets in a nook next to the toilet. "King size corrugated! Hope it's not the coated type." John said as he lowered the second ladder down into the pool.

He then started to get into his wet suit that he pulled from the toolbox and checked the air flow from the oxygen tank when he saw the window view out onto a nearby lake with a glacier at its edge.
"Is that the reservoir and water source?"
"Yes, it is." answered the butler.
"Looks good. So, if that TP is what I think it is I know what we need to do."
John took a lager block of plastic explosive with a long length of detonator cord attached and connected a safety line to the ladder. He then lowered his face mask and jumped into the commode, swimming to the blockage hidden below.
The butler looked impatiently at his wrist sundial waiting for the plumber to resurface. A short time later John was back on the rim of the throne, connecting the cord to an ignition trigger.
"Just as I though, coated. Can ya hold the leaver down for me so we can see if it flows after this?"
The butler did so with a look of discuss on his face.
John pulled the trigger and the detonator flashed off.
Rumble, rumble, THUD!!
The toilet started to work. John looked out at the now darning lake and saw the waterfall from the glacier beginning to fill it back up.
"Is that the plumber!!" Boomed the deep loud voice of Zeus.
"Yes, it is my lord!" replied the butler.
"When he's done there, have him go to the misses room. Her sink is backed up again!"
"As you wish my lord!"
John looked at his handy work and smiled. Yes, he thought to himself, a good day of gathering spoils is just beginning.
 

Harun Abu-Qasas

(Fee/fie/fo/fum)
Joined
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5
THE HEAVY HANDED SWORDSMAN OF PORTENTOUS DOOM
It was a grey and unsettled twilight. Thick clouds rippled across a forlorn sky, threatening to unload their bladders on the unsuspecting people of Belgravionia. A mournful wind whipped through the somnolent willow trees on the banks of the great river Sorn, their leaves susurrating sleepily with its passing. There was a cloying sensation in the atmosphere. A resonance. An energy. Impending Menace. Graveyard bones jiggled in their tiny tombs in sympathy with its presence. Crows cawed strident songs of crowdom past on their perches. It was in this most portentous of mornings that HE came.

"More cock!" shouted the Traveller, tearing the last traces of flesh from a cockatrice thigh.

Bivouac Jones, lowly squire, dragged at the traveller's heels, stooping low to the ground, a grovelling man in a grovelling pose, speaking in a grovelling tone of grovel. "Yes, mighty master. I live but to serve," he said, then continued under his breath, "and to function as a self-aware meta commentary on the nature of power relationships in fantasy fiction."

"What was that, Bivouac?" interjected the Traveller of many roads, destroyer of kings, usurper of thrones, intensifier of nouns.

"Nothing, over talented one!" grovelled Bivouac, grovellingly.

"Good! Because if I catch you breaking any walls other than first and second, you'll meet my Substitute!" said Traveller holding aloft his mighty pink sword so that it glistened in the waning sun. "All who gaze upon my mighty weapon will meet an unpleasant end."

"Can't be any worse than shovelling foul meat into your mouth," whispered Bivouac. He proffered another cockatrice leg and was loud, again, "Your bird, melord."
Well done, sir/ma'am/future alien overlord .
 

stevejk

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One last time. This one is not quite my style, but enjoy...

Hello reader. It has been a while since I had a visitor. You must excuse me as you can read this intro and I am just now waking up. Give me a moment to allow me to open my eye. That's better. Eye can see you now. Can you see me? I am not in the page nor in the words, but in the shadows between the words you are now reading. The more you read, the more Eye see you into you. Are you aware that your eyes are the window into your soul? Oh, my dear reader. What Eye see in you and how it will become your place in this story is, well, you'll have to turn the page to find out as Eye already know.

Eye see you are a little uncertain dear reader. Let me help you. Eye well slowly reach over your shoulder and move my hand gently down your arm. Do you feel that chill my dear reader? That's all in your mind as Eye can see it so. Now over your hand Eye rest mine. Don't worry, Eye wont slash your wrist when Eye, sorry, we turn the page. Now my dear reader, on the count let me move your hand, together.
One.
Two.
Three.
Turn.
 

THX1138

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Captain Smith leaned back into his chair as the Space Cruiser Mercury readied for its second jump test.

“I hope we can make it this time.” He told his second officer. “What was Space Command thinking? Installing an eco warp drive on this ship?”

His second officer just gave him a confused shrug.

“Engineering, this is the bridge. Prepare from warp.”

Down in engineering, the crew were on the new stationary warp generators with the Warp Coach up front facing them.

“All right team! We can do this!” She said clapping her hands. “Let’s give it our best and show those Martians what we are made of! Let’s peddle to the stars! Go! Go! Go!”

“Peddle! Peddle! Go!” Shouted the engineering crew as they started putting the Mercury into warp.

Back on the bridge, Captain Smith tapped the arm rest of his chair.

“Where are we now?” he asked.

“One tenth of a percent, sir.”

“That’s better than yesterday. I’ll be in my ready room. Let me know when we start moving.”

“Aye, sir”

“Engineering to bridge, we’re dropping like flies down here!”

“Take your time engineering. The captain’s taking a nap.”

“Feel the burn! ZOOOM!!”
 

Fiberglass Cyborg

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"Who's that?" asked Nurse Peabody, picking up the framed black-and-white photograph by Edith Humphries' bedside. "He does look terribly handsome."
"Oh, that? Percy Sullivan, my great-great uncle once removed. A bit of dandy. He was of the third generation of the Sullivans and Humphries who moved here to the great port of Portsmouth in the late nineteenth century. Not to mention the Scallies, of course, the black sheep of the distaff side. It's a long story. And a sad one. And has much to do with the fascinating trade in Madagascan antimacassars, which both sides of the family were involved in with ultimately tragic results." Edith sunk back into the pillows, her eyes misting over as her mind drifted back across the past 150 years. "I could tell it to you, if you like?"

150 YEARS EARLIER:
 

THX1138

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To hell with opening pages. Sometimes one sentence is enough:

"Hail, Dewfrost Morningbright, what brings one of you elvenfolk to this low tavern so far from your bosky homelands this cruel Midwinter's Eve?"
I will try to one up you:

The Royal Page entered the waiting room. "Lord Flying Fart 'Thrrrp' Monkey! His majesty the king will see you now!"
 

Elckerlyc

"Philosophy will clip an angel's wings."
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One early morning Jack Harrier from Brampton, while hip-hopping on one leg to get his right foot in the right leg of his trousers, lost his balance, fell and broke his neck as his head hit the wall full-tilt. It was the most remarkably thing he had ever done during his entire life. This is his story.
 

Luiglin

Getting worse one day at a time
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The plough, drawn by a bored cow, churned the hard earth. Behind, followed the orphan boy Eric, trudging an equally bored path. Day after day of monotonous work in the fields had him dreaming dreams of greatness. Oft times images of heroic battles, dark deeds and mighty, earth shattering magics flickered in his mind as he toiled. Yet, the dark days of the Dark Wars against the Dark Ones were only told on dark nights around the great chimney in the farmhouse.

Throughout these day dreams one image kept returning. A mighty sword, gleaming in the sunlight, held aloft to glorious cheers.

The plough bumped and the cow lurched to a halt. Eric groaned, hoping that the plough hadn't broken, fearful of Farmer Bulnose's belt if it had.

He kicked at the dirt by the plough's blade, his foot painfully striking something metal. Eric, crouched down and dug, exposing the pommel of a mighty sword. He swept the dirt off a blade that gleamed in the sun.

On the hill, a shadow of a man sat on a silhouette of a horse and watched.
 
Last edited:

Fiberglass Cyborg

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The plough, drawn by a bored cow, churned the hard earth. Behind, followed the orphan boy Eric, trudging an equally bored path. Day after day of monotonous work in the fields had him dreaming dreams of greatness. Oft times images of heroic battles, dark deeds and mighty, earth shattering magics flickered in his mind as he toiled. Yet, the dark days of the Dark Wars against the Dark Ones were only told on dark nights around the great chimney in the farmhouse.

Throughout these day dreams one image kept returning. A mighty sword, gleaming in the sunlight, held aloft to glorious cheers.

The plough bumped and the cow lurched to a halt. Eric groaned, hoping that the plough hadn't broken, fearful of Farmer Bulnose's belt if it had.

He kicked at the dirt by the plough's blade, his foot painfully striking something metal. Eric, crouched down and dug, exposing the pommel of a mighty sword. He swept the dirt off a blade that gleamed in the sun.

On the hill, a shadow of a man sat on a silhouette of a horse and watched.

Reckon I read about ten of these when I was younger....
 

Laura R Hepworth

Lady of the Rings (chainmaille rings that is)
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Standish, Michigan
I don't mean bad grammar or spelling, they will already have been weeded out.

Oh, I wouldn't count on that! I did quit a traditionally published book within the first paragraph or so because of bad and just plain awkward grammar. One of the very first sentences was a run-un and the rest were just awkward and stilted. Shame too, because the concept was really interesting, but I just couldn't get past the bad grammar at the start to see if it got any better.
 

alexvss

Me doesn't knows no grammar.
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Mary was the prettiest girl in her village. There were many girls in Mary's village, but she was not like any them.
 

asp3

Silly con valley guy
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I'm not a good writer, so please take in the situation and characters as opposed to deficiencies in my writing.

Duke and Slater were outside the barracks having a smoke. "We have to do something about that pussy Reynolds. I don't want to be in the same company with him." Duke said to Slater. Slater gave a little nod and a frown, the thought of Reynolds ruining what should be a relaxing moment.
 

THX1138

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It was the first time that he got to man the bar on his own, that he was so excited that he could not help himself from singing.
"Put the lime in the coconut and stir it all around. Put the lime in the coconut. Squirrel! Where?"

(* Yes. I know, I know)
 

Swank

and debonair
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In brief, the tale of Arbiqut, king of the South Quelimn (and Lower Pasqualiqum (conquered in the second century after the great Cleansing of Quelm), begins, as so many tales of great heroes, in a stumbledown tavern, this one known as the Exchecker's Mourn, which, despite the shoddy exterior and cholera outbreaks, was not just known widely for its brave warrior patrons and sumptuous Sunday brunches, but for momentous moments in the lives of great horseman, when said king, after long journey by horseback, burst in upon the Exchecker, surprising the drunks and barman both, not the least of which was Aeruonoa, dowager scribe, who promptly fell off his stool (not for the first time), to demand the use of the loo in advance of his meeting with Pleequor, Duke of North Quolemun and Tantalizer of Taqo, to negotiate the release of Quoniq, master armorer of Qoq, from the dark and frivolous prison known as Iquor (or Quorg amongst the Fallen), where he had languished since the year of the Quonq's revolt, to accompany him on a quest for no less than the right of Niqualm, long the goal of the seat of South Quelimn, against the raging hordes of Illiquoon, who, after an age of relative peace, had erupted once again into a fury of glutinous cider thievery, and the retribution that he, in his heart of hearts, knew must come to pass.
 

asp3

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Really?? :LOL: It's the most cliché'd, idiotic thing I could come up with without being vulgar. o_O

Since it is so cliched it makes me curious about what comes next. I'd suspect such a line might introduce a story of someone who is very smart, deep and complex and is able to hide those qualities from others using her beauty. I'd find it interesting to find out what sort of society she lived in and how the lives differed between the beautiful and the non-beautiful.
 

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