Let’s do a writing round-up: What’s the first sentence you wrote today? The last one?
19 thoughts on “Reader Friday: First and Last”
First line:
He didn’t expect to see any women where he was going, only barrel necked thugs, in gold chains and matching brass knuckles.
Last line:
Baring the weight of his lie was much better that baring the guilt if anything should happen to his mother.
“May I look at the body?” Sister J said.
[First line. I haven’t written today’s last line yet]
Counterintelligence Officer Dunn leaned back in his chair in the imaging analysis center of the NRO and sipped a Dunkin’ Donuts latte.
“What do I mean? Well, I mean it just . . . vanished.”
He wore his blue seersucker suit not so much to honor the formality of the moment, but rather to cover the nine millimeter Walther P99 that he carried in a holster at the base of his spine.
The last line is still a few hours away.
I think I should have said ‘last line from yesterday, first line from today’!
First sentence: “Excuse me,” I said, peeking through the heavy double doors to the Counsel Chamber. Last sentence (s): “Female, face down. Looks like a bullet wound to the back of her head.” I said, “You think she’s a tourist?”
I forgot my opening sentence!
TKZers –
On this reader Friday I want to take the opportunity to note the passing of a great author and an even better human being. Vince Flynn died this week at the age of 47 due to prostate cancer.
A genuinely modest and incredibly likable man. Sympathies to his family and all who knew and cared about him. A truly remarkable person and an author that brought great honor to the profession.
RIP, Vince Flynn.
Vince died much too young.
So sorry to hear that sad news.
Loved his books. Good bye Vince.
First sentence: “My baby’s been missing for twelve hours,” Trish Barrymore said.
Last sentence: Even burdened by grief, Trish had style.
This comment has been removed by the author.
1. “I know it’s you Hunter, so get your phantom ass down here and I’ll fill you in so you can get back to the mission of our lives,” he said, collapsing back in his stretcher–his breathing labored.
2. “He told my mother he was out of the crime business. I had forgotten about it, about him and about my roots to Uncle Victor, and how he got my father killed on his first initiation with the Russian Mafia, in Mother-Fucking Russia.”
First line: text message to customer with computer problems- “Did you turn it off and back on again?”
Last line (of the work day at least) via email to co-worker: “Making us work at five AM on Sunday certainly makes for a sucky weekend now doesn’t it.”
not lines from my book, but will probably end up in a book at some point.
Today I wrote in verse, so here are the two sentences:
First: My eggs and bacon I impale, Though mom’s aghast as I inhale.
Last: Let’s always start up with dessert.
First line: I came to slowly.
Last line. Luckily I was still taped to the chair because I needed a place to sit, I was exhausted.
I was at a seminar all day, so my lines varied a bit:
1) “Kill me now. #seminar” on Facebook via my phone.
2) “The second presenter should have skipped the 20-minute story about her ADHD grandchild.” (on the seminar review form)
First line:
He didn’t expect to see any women where he was going, only barrel necked thugs, in gold chains and matching brass knuckles.
Last line:
Baring the weight of his lie was much better that baring the guilt if anything should happen to his mother.
“May I look at the body?” Sister J said.
[First line. I haven’t written today’s last line yet]
Counterintelligence Officer Dunn leaned back in his chair in the imaging analysis center of the NRO and sipped a Dunkin’ Donuts latte.
“What do I mean? Well, I mean it just . . . vanished.”
He wore his blue seersucker suit not so much to honor the formality of the moment, but rather to cover the nine millimeter Walther P99 that he carried in a holster at the base of his spine.
The last line is still a few hours away.
I think I should have said ‘last line from yesterday, first line from today’!
First sentence:
“Excuse me,” I said, peeking through the heavy double doors to the Counsel Chamber.
Last sentence (s):
“Female, face down. Looks like a bullet wound to the back of her head.”
I said, “You think she’s a tourist?”
I forgot my opening sentence!
TKZers –
On this reader Friday I want to take the opportunity to note the passing of a great author and an even better human being. Vince Flynn died this week at the age of 47 due to prostate cancer.
A genuinely modest and incredibly likable man. Sympathies to his family and all who knew and cared about him. A truly remarkable person and an author that brought great honor to the profession.
RIP, Vince Flynn.
Vince died much too young.
So sorry to hear that sad news.
Loved his books. Good bye Vince.
First sentence: “My baby’s been missing for twelve hours,” Trish Barrymore said.
Last sentence: Even burdened by grief, Trish had style.
This comment has been removed by the author.
1. “I know it’s you Hunter, so get your phantom ass down here and I’ll fill you in so you can get back to the mission of our lives,” he said, collapsing back in his stretcher–his breathing labored.
2. “He told my mother he was out of the crime business. I had forgotten about it, about him and about my roots to Uncle Victor, and how he got my father killed on his first initiation with the Russian Mafia, in Mother-Fucking Russia.”
First line: text message to customer with computer problems-
“Did you turn it off and back on again?”
Last line (of the work day at least) via email to co-worker:
“Making us work at five AM on Sunday certainly makes for a sucky weekend now doesn’t it.”
not lines from my book, but will probably end up in a book at some point.
Today I wrote in verse, so here are the two sentences:
First:
My eggs and bacon I impale,
Though mom’s aghast as I inhale.
Last:
Let’s always start up with dessert.
First line: I came to slowly.
Last line. Luckily I was still taped to the chair because I needed a place to sit, I was exhausted.
I was at a seminar all day, so my lines varied a bit:
1) “Kill me now. #seminar” on Facebook via my phone.
2) “The second presenter should have skipped the 20-minute story about her ADHD grandchild.” (on the seminar review form)