Thursday, November 22, 2018

GNG; writing fundamentals -- How to write a good first line


After taking some time to view the video below, the GNG members write 3 first lines of 3 different genres. Can you guess which genre?




al-Falaq (Had to outshine us by doing 4, LOL)

“I’m not pressuring you,” Detective Eickes grumbled out through clenched teeth, “but has anybody found this guy’s fucking head, yet?”

Blood trickling into my eyes, I could barely make out the thorn-filled wall of roses stretching up into a cloudless blue sky as I thought, “Okay, let’s try this again.”

Onion, garlic, rosemary, thyme; the loves of her life through nimble fingers drizzled over her magic cauldron while just beyond the varnished swinging door, judgment sat, patiently waiting.

Jacob was waist deep in the ocean in a three-piece suit, the day I became the kind of person who could learn to care about someone else’s feelings more than my own.


Mia Maine

Write three opening lines for three different genres.
Other writers try to guess the genre

He came from a long line of construction workers; he was part visionary, part bulldozer, no wonder he was adept at breaking hearts.

The teddy bear was sticky, not from overuse but from the pool of blood in which it lay.

A feeling of foreboding settled upon my shoulders as I stared at the indigo splotch spreading across the canary sun.



He held her hand as the white sheet was draped across her cooling body; would it be for the last time or would she wake as before?

Be watchful! Fog, can be just as great an enemy as those who hide in it, among the trees,” the General said as he stood on the hilltop.

My life began with a kiss, electrifying. 



At the age of sixty-five, DeAnna decided that her fight with happiness was over.

The dawn brought with it the cold and Vlad could think of nothing but the warm, satisfying taste of blood.

When autumn leaves fall, they fall – they don’t shatter.  

Friday, November 9, 2018

GNG Meeting: An exercise in movement



Within my cupped hands
I hold water
That holds me.
A reflection
Still
In my hands
Water.
My breath pushes forward
As I sigh.
The water Ripples.
I ripple.
I sigh again and 
Water escapes.
I escape so I hold on
Until the water is still again.
My reflection is still.
So, I am still
Still hold me
Within my cupped hands.



I started reading my book around three,
Cloaked in the shadow of a sycamore tree.
Jeremy wanted me to ride with hee,
In a rickety buggee,
He plied mee
With an offer to share some brie,
So I accepted his hospitalitee.
And down the dusty road, rode we.
About halfway we came to see
A vagabond stumbling drunkenlee,
Before our horse did tumble hee,
Who then tripped our horse, which sprained its knee.
Then it was not me, but Jeremee,
Who accosted this stranger angrilee
Before he had had a chance to see
This hobo was now just a dead bodee.
“Oh, Shit!” exclaimed hee.
In panicky chaos a plan did Jeremee,
Hatch to resolve this delinquencee
Since I now found out that unbeknownst to me,
He was now smuggling heroin for the thuggee.
“You’re on your own”, I explained to hee,
And disembarked into the forestree,
Wherefrom I could hear his arrest into captivitee
As the police encountered Jeremee.
And there in the shade of an old oak tree,
I sat to read, both happy and free.



She speaks in whispers
Her breath coming in quiet swirls of words
Smelling of sweet nothings in melody, whispers
Whiskey husk glides across drums that vibrate with sound
I watch her lips tip back the glass, then another
Arms engulf me as she moves closer, whispers
The rank and filth around us disappear, as her hair brushes my cheek when she turns her head
Thumping bass moves us as we stare at one another, one eye honey the other chocolate
Bodies moving in the dark, lights illuminating the shadows, whispers
Bumps in the night stir me to wake, she takes another sip
“Sorry pal” he says before moving over to her, grabbing her by the waist
She smiles deeply at him and glances over his shoulder, honey and chocolate
She speaks in whispers but not to me