Petra was so lucky to get into Ms Brignell’s creative writing class. There was a waiting list as long as your arm trying to get selected. All that Petra had done was to knock on Ms Brignell’s door and say “I really really REALLY want to get into your creative writing class.” And indeed she did.
The first lecture involved learning how to write an opening sentence. In fact Ms Brignell set an assignment. First sentences are so important. I want you to bring four opening sentences of your own making next time we gather.
The assignment seemed easy, but once Petra thought about it she realized how difficult it was. She spent the week thinking and jotting down and crossing out. In the end, Petra had four opening sentences and she was dissatisfied with every one of them.
The second class began. Ms Brignell began. “I don’t want to see any of your opening sentences. If you think they’re rubbish then they probably are.”
Petra grew to hate Ms Brignell’s creative writing classes. They were too hard. They were challenging and useless. She thought when she had signed up for the course they would spend their time writing poetry. Stuff like that. This wasn’t creative; it was work.
It would be politically incorrect, in fact insulting, to say that Louis was as gay as a row of pink tents. But he was; everyone said so. The way he would dress up and get photographed in poses that made it look like he was straight out of an old photography gallery. But he was as alive today as you and me. He was… well… pink tents doesn’t quite capture it.
He would get a new photograph taken about once a month, always in a different costume, always in sepia, always horribly posed. He had them on his fridge in rows (Louis was terribly ordered) under little fridge magnets of various vegetables. There was a turnip magnet when he was dressed as a pirate, and a lettuce magnet when he was a sultan, and so on. There were about twenty photographs altogether. Goodness! He almost needed a bigger fridge!
When Louis died, quite suddenly, his two sisters cleaned up his house. There wasn’t a great deal there; nothing overly personal; just a few household items that they sold to the second-hand store. There was the fridge of course. A used fridge doesn’t fetch much, but a few dollars is a few dollars.
They didn’t know what to do with the photographs. Berwyn said she would keep them and put them in her family album. That was very kind of her, because she disliked the silly photographs immensely.
While putting them in the album, Berwyn noticed something. She’d never noticed it before. Each photograph was dated on the back. What she noticed made Berwyn check the newspapers around each date.
Hello Everyone (i.e. my possibly two and a half readers)
I don’t know if this will work or not, or if you’d be interested… I thought it could be fun to have readers make suggestions for an opening sentence to a story. Then I would put a link back to your blog (if you have one) when I post the story.
THANKS TO ALL WHO LEFT AN OPENING SENTENCE. THE SUGGESTION BOX IS CURRENTLY CLOSED! BUT I SHALL BE CALLING FOR FURTHER SUGGESTIONS IN A COUPLE OF DAYS!
Here are the first Sentences used thus far. For the sake of tidiness and ease of not getting muddled, comments below are “removed” once a suggestion has been used: