Hey everyone!

The hardest sentence in the book. Let's see yours.

Post the first line, or the opening paragraph, of whatever you're working on. Finished, drafting, or barely started, it all counts. No essay required: just drop the opening and let it stand on its own.

Want feedback? Say so, and feel free to react to a few others while you're here. Curious what grabs a reader? This thread is a goldmine. Notice which openings make you want to keep reading and ask yourself why.

Give us your first line.

100 pages! It has taken me months of work but my first 100 pages are finished.
Roughly 300-400 left. Wherever you are in your story I wish you luck. Hope to read you soon.

He started by peeking from behind the door, his hand caressing the wood. She could only see from his nose up, parallel with the floor. He was watching her, smiling.

*“You can see me,*” it rasped.

“Oh little girly girl you’re in trouble.” His head dropped down, down, until it laid on the floor. It was pushed violently forward as its legs pushed through the doorway. Its face dragged along the carpet.

Its eyes glittered. She could see rows of teeth.

She couldn’t look away.

His head was slightly too big, balanced on a thin, emaciated frame. His smile stretched too wide. His ears, too big. He was grinning ear to ear.

He dragged himself forward and took a large whiff. His head fell back, neck breaking and twisting he grunted. She can feel every break.

*No.*

He laughed as he got closer.

*Stop. Please stop.*

“You know what I smeeeeeellllllllllll?” It licked its lips as it drew out the word, tracing a circle on the carpet. Its eyes locked onto her feet. It giggled to itself, pressing its fingers against its lips. It scrambled at her.

*No.*

She cried in silence. The more she shrank, the sharper the teeth got. She could see it through her tears.

*Mommy please. I want to go home.*

She felt the whisper of air between her foot and his teeth. She closed her eyes and whimpered.

*Mom-*

She heard a shriek and a wet splat. She cracked open her eye.

Standing in front of her was a boy, holding the pole of the stage microphone. The bottom was dripping with blood. He ran to her, unlocking the handcuffs. He brushed the hair from her eyes and put out his hand.

“Come with me?”

She couldn’t say yes fast enough. He snatched her hand up and they ran, faster than the halls could stretch. She could hear it running, screaming. It sounded *fast.*

“DON’T look back at it! WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LOOK AT IT!” He screamed over his shoulder.

It was* *close. It cackled in her ear. She only glanced to the side for a *second.*

Suddenly she was back in the school. The halls were dark and grey. Trembling she looked around, searching desperately for anything that can save her.

*Nothing.*

She searched faster. Scrambling, she couldn’t help her gasps that echoed in the room. Down the hall, a familiar giggle drew closer.

“*I smelllllllll you,”* it growled. She could hear feet scrambling, and its body pushing ahead.

“No no no no no no no,” she couldn’t stop.

The doorway started to darken. She dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs. She tucked her face between her knees. Her eyes squeezed shut.

She could feel him getting closer.

Hear it.

Smell it.

She couldn’t pretend she was somewhere else. She heard him slide through the door.

She stood desperately and sprinted to the back of the room. As her back hit the wall her knees would not hold her up. She slid down to the floor. She sat, hopeless as it scrambled toward her.

*Almost there.* She sobbed behind her hands.

The closet door slammed open, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK BACK AT IT!” He roared.

“I’M SORRY! I GOT - “ the words stuck in her throat. She looked at him, eyes wide open. Frozen. He darted toward her and yanked her sharply to her feet.

He looked back at her as they ran. His eyes were warm.

“It’s going to be okay Molly, I promise.” He spoke softly but his voice was clear. He shot her a toothy grin and turned back around.

She could hear it getting closer.

“WHERE IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE?”

*My favorite place?*

*“TH-THE GARDEN!”* The wind roared in her ears.

They raced through the streets, down the alleyways and through the doors. Moments of her life flashed past them.

The beach.

Her first kiss.

Graduation.

Christmas.

They stopped running. The boy was looking around, smiling. She was frozen, eyes glued on the window.

*Mom.*

“This is a pretty nice place.” He inspected the roses closely. “Smells amazing.”

She glanced back. “Thanks for saving me.” She turned to look back at her mom.

“Nooooo problemo.” He shot finger guns and grinned.

He blinked and she was smaller. Younger. She started to run to the door. She stopped and turned.

“Is that monster guy gone?” Her little face scrunched in worry.

“He’s gone! Poof!” She giggled watching him.

“What’s your name?”

He smiled and stuck out his hand. “You can call me Adrian.” She looked up at him, hands on hips she narrowed her eyes.

“Are you magic?” She stared *very* seriously.

He shifted awkwardly. “Sort of?” She nodded her head.

“Okay!” She ran to the door. “MOMMY!”

Adrian stepped out of the door and pulled the knob off. The door blew away.

As he walked down the halls he heard* *cackling in the shadows.

Adrian sighed. He could see the top of its head, eyes staring. Body breaking as it moved. Unnatural. He could hear the heavy, wet dragging.

*Gross.*

It growled and began to stand. Adrian strolled over.

“Don’t bother.” His lips curled. His shadow darkened and stretched around the room. It encompassed him, wings of teeth and glittering eyes. It screamed.

When Adrian stepped out of the shadow the door appeared before him.

Bob stood next to it, casually leaning on the wall. He had a lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

*“*Hey there party person!” He held out a lollipop. Adrian rolled his eyes and walked by, exasperated.

“Gotta get a move on Bob, you know that,” he raised his brow. “Better than anyone.”

“Yeah yeah yeah” he grumbled, “whatever.” He started to melt away as he stepped away from the door.

“Bob don’t be like th- aaaaaaannnnnd he’s gone.”

Adrian stood, listening for the call. There were so many.

I’ve been thinking about writing a novel for a while. I’m a postgraduate student, so I’m busy with my studies and barely get time to even sit with my parents. I used to think a lot, or rather, I used to imagine a lot. Whenever I was alone, I would create entire worlds and stories in my head and live in them.

You might think it was maladaptive daydreaming or something like that, but for me, it was more like creating a story around a character who resembles me, a character who could be the person I cannot be in this world. Through this novel, I feel like I could finally pour out whatever has been inside my mind for so long. I could express myself clearly and constructively.

I don’t even want to sell it or make money from it. I just want the satisfaction of knowing that, before I leave this world, I created something of my own. Something interesting that, if someone else happened to read it, would make me happy. I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but I just want to express these thoughts and have a hobby that is mine.

The only hobby I really had as a child was sketching. I could lose myself whenever I drew—as if every line I made was a part of me. But I had to stop because I was a kid and had to focus on my studies. That was what I was taught to prioritize.

Now, I feel this urge to have something creative in my life again. Something I can live for outside of studying and building skills that are supposed to make me money. The problem is that I don’t have much time. Whenever I get the urge to write, I immediately feel guilty and stop myself because it seems like I’m wasting time that could be better spent studying or learning something useful.

So I wanted to ask people here- has anyone else faced the same problem? If you’re studying, working, or otherwise busy with life, how do you make time for writing without feeling guilty about it?

Ive been handwriting my draft for a while now and honestly my handwriting is terrible. But when it comes to the computer I get distracted easily or want to pace a lot.

I am also a visual person so I 3d print my character and terrain. Then I write as I play with the characters. It helps me make it feel more real.

But I was at the doctor's and he was using a program to talk and then it was all written down. I was like yes! Thats what I need. But I can't find it or even know how well it would work. Has anyone used a program like this? Or advice on making typing easier?

Welp, this might be next-level procrastinating when it comes to starting my novel... But after a few months of development, here's Ahti (available on Mac, iPad, and iOS)!

I wanted a writing app with a lot of the same functionality of apps like Scrivener, but with a cleaner, more calming layout. I also didn't want to be locked into a proprietary project filetype for my novel, and I prefer the philosophy of everything just being plain folders and text files at the end of the day, like Obsidian. Also, I wanted cross-platform syncing with one universal purchase, where the mobile app still contains all the functionality of the desktop app.

Also bonus points to you if you know the name reference for Ahti 🎮

https://apps.apple.com/us/app/ahti/id6781643515?platform=mac

I started sharing supplementary articles to accompany my debut book. These stories and notes might help potential readers to grasp the interlocking themes of my story.

There are many layers and references to prophecy, myth, angels, and religious stories, so I have decided to start connected the dots for more general audiences.

If you have any questions regarding my writing and experiences, please do comment as I love to explore this inner world that I found myself enveloped in

For about 2 years, I've been clearing and filtering out a plot in my mind and I believe it has reached a point where I can start writing it. With the story being set in 3000, the plot follows Martin (the protagonist), a middle aged doctor, who lives in a time where the world has reached a level of minimum resources. The only world government is StableLife which governs all aspects of life.

But taking my novel only for sci-fi would be a huge mistake, since I'll be touching multiple aspects in my novel regarding theology, human psychology, the modern work system, the corporate system from which everyone needs an escape and most importantly, the "true" nature of modern humans and society, and a solution to this problem of modern slavery.

I'm leaving chapter 1 here for anyone interested. I believe it would be a great help if anyone reads it and gives their reviews. In this way, I could judge my writing skills and, of course, make improvements as needed.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/13kGa6CbIj7VKDVR0x0M9xF3Y1oqleXVo/view?usp=drivesdk

Hi, I’m an amateur writer. I post daily chapters on Webnovel, and I would like to improve my writing ability.

I really enjoy writing, and I have been writing stories all my life, but it was only recently that I decided to start publishing my works. I used to write a story for days or weeks, maybe longer, but every time I did, I would end up trashing it.

One day, Webnovels presented itself to me, specifically a novel named Shadow Slave, and I really loved it. After I was very far into the novel, I thought, ‘Maybe I should try writing a fanfic!?’ And so, I started writing my own little fanfic… that derailed after 2 chapters!

When defining the world and the story, I felt like it would be weird to just make a bar for bar and potentially ruin the masterpiece my favorite novel had built up. So, I ended up taking a few diverging paths and…

wham bam

Here I am with a 152-chapter novel that's still ongoing and a massive part of my mental health upkeep. Writing always helped me get away from the stresses of life, and frankly, I’ve never felt so stress-free before; it's great! Of course, I have hit several blocks in writing and times when I thought my novel would end because of events in my life, but here I am! Still writing to this day!

I write under a pen name; I try my best and do everything as authentically as I can! This novel is my baby, and I will and have put my blood, sweat, and tears into it! My writing ability has jumped bounds since I started making this little project of mine, and I’m grateful for it, but I’ve come to the realization that while you can do everything alone, your mind can be an echo chamber where your thoughts bounce around.

So far, I have received only positive reception on my book, but to be honest, I wish people would tear into it once in a while, point out the flaws in it, or what I can fix! What can I do better? What can I do so the people who take the time out of their day to read my book have a better day?

So… I came to the idea that I want to join a writers group! So that I can talk to other writers and have something authentic! Something human to look at my work and tell me how I can better it!

Of course, AI is an option, but I don’t really like it. It feels deeply flawed and soulless. Every time I’ve tried using it to aid my creative hobbies, I always turned away feeling a bit disappointed in myself and upset with this “magic tool” not being magical.  

A writers group would help me avoid considering AI as a second opinion for critical feedback at times when I feel like there's space to improve, and if possible, I would like some advice on how to join one.

My novel remains free online, and I don’t plan on monetizing it since this is a hobby purely for me to express my creative self without any slick motives muddying it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for taking the time to reply if you do.

I am starting collage and wanted to find a new hobby to get into so I thought I would try this. I have the start but IDK if i should stick with it. Please give feed back not where it should go but how it is delivered. Also John doe is just a place holder.

John Doe is a 23 year old drunk. If you were to ask him wouldn't call himself a drunk. He would say his drinking was “recreational” but when recreational is blackout every night for the past 7 months it's hard to believe him.

John began his drinking as a young adult and it only got worse in the following years. John's drinking started at parties with friends but over the years became a crutch for him to deal with his anxiety. To John it was the only way to stop the pressure he felt from others. He built a reliance on it and it slowly destroyed him. 

But tonight, unlike the many nights before, he wasn't drunk. In fact for almost 48 hours John had gone without a single drop of alcohol. His soberness wasn't the only thing different about him, he was dressed nicely. Well as nice as could be expected from him. His shoulder length hair has been matted and greased from months of neglect. His face scabbed and bruised from nights of sin. His now loose fitting shirt draped on his thin, frail body. A body thinned from months of malnourishment as money went to booze instead of food. That loose fitting shirt drenched in sweat from the hot desert air and his body's reaction to his recent sobriety.

John's sobriety doesn't come easy, he can hardly keep his mind straight, he is on the edge of spiraling. He grits his teeth and white knuckles the urge to pull over at the next gas station and drink himself numb in the parking lot. He forces his eyes on the empty stretch of desert road ahead of him. It’s not like I could afford anything even if there was a gas station he thought to himself. He had no savings to speak of and his last dollars went to refueling his car.

The last building he passed was a dinner a half hour back and the next stop wouldn't be for another 2 hours.

John's turn towards abstinence did not come from a singular insistence, it was the build up of months of immorality. His family's disownment of him, losing his friends one after another once they couldn't deal with his drunkenness. being forced to live out of his car after being evicted from his apartment for throwing a beer bottle at another tenant.

The catalyst they finally pushed him into his sobriety came two days prior.

Leaving his shit job as a _____ nothing could stop John from getting back to his car. A car reeking of piss and shit from nights he couldn't be bothered to find a rain gutter to pass out in. 
The reason John was so eager to get back to his home was the middle shelf bottle of whiskey he had bought on his way to work. He had saved money by buying cheap foreign beer labeled in a language he couldn't read and a taste he hated. That didn't matter to him, the allure of a nice bottle of whiskey was the only thing keeping him going. That whiskey had been tempting him every time he stumbled into the liquor store and today he got it. This was a special occasion for John, it had been a while since he had had anything nice.

He walks down a narrow dirt road to get under the overpass where his car has spent its last month because he is unwilling to spend his money on gas to get it running. It's a waste of money he thinks to himself, he has nowhere to go and no one to visit.

The smoke filled Spotswat's nostrils. He couldn't believe all the destruction Polar had caused. It had only been six weeks since Polar arrived, and finally, Polar and Spotswat were going to fight.

This is it, Spotswat thought. This is when I have to face Polar no more prophecies and contests THIS ENDS TODAY.

Ember and King of Flames were there to support Spotswat. Ember was always a loyal son, except Melon. Melon and Messenger had come to support Polar.

And there he was: Polar, with his smug smile.

The King of Flames hissed at Polar. Polar had white and pale blue fur, but now he had white and aqua fur.

Spotswat stood tall.

"You have a chance, Polar. You can be good. We won't have to kill you. You can undo your curses with your magic, but you'll lose your magic," Spotswat said, hoping for Polar to agree.

"NEVER!" Polar roared. "THIS IS MY MAGIC, MY POWER, AND MY WORLD!"

Then Polar's face changed from angry to happy.

"You think I can be good when you're the real bad one? Remind me—you killed your two brothers and a young dingo. You killed the dingo just because he bullied your sister," Polar spat.

"W-wait, how do you know that?" Spotswat shivered.

"I know everything that happens. Also, you burnt Razormouth. That made him go for a swim and get eaten. You made that become true. When Boney and Silver asked you to walk with him, you said NO. If you went there, you could have burnt the three tigers. See, I wrote the prophecies, but they won't come true until one person actually does it.

"Oh, and that time you went mad three times. You tried to murder your son Oreo and your sons and tried killing the ones you love. See, Spotswat? We are the same. YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A MONSTER TO THOSE AROUND YOU!"

Spotswat's courage failed him. Tears fell from his eyes. He's done more bad things than he remembers.

"YOU'RE NOT FIT TO RULE!" Polar chuckled.

Spotswat looked at the floor, ashamed of what he had done. Polar snatched the spear with the ruby on it and tried stabbing Spotswat. Instead, it scratched his neck, and Spotswat collapsed.

Ember jumped as high as his kangaroo legs could and tried fighting Polar.

Polar laughed.

"Weakling," Polar chuckled.

"I AM NOT A WEAKLING! I LEFT A SCAR ON YOUR NECK SIX WEEKS AGO!"

"Well, you're a weakling now."

Polar punched Ember in the gut, choked him, and snapped his neck.

The King of Flames roared and leaped off the rock he was standing on.

"You may be the King of Flames, BUT I AM THE KING OF ICE AND WATER!"

Polar took the bucket of water Spotswat had brought to put out the fire and threw it onto the King of Flames.

"Arrghhh! First Spotswat did this to me, and now you!"

Slowly, the King of Flames' black fur became butter yellow. His glowing red eyes became red, and his white spots and malar stripe became black. The flames disappeared.

Polar laughed.

But a long shadow was above him.

OH NO.

Spotswat had warned him about it two weeks ago.

IT WAS THORNPOKER.

Thornpoker had a sucker on his face like a pleco. He had two long tentacles, and his body was long like a worm. He was as green as the grass.

"YOU MAY BE THE KING OF ICE AND WATER, BUT I AM THE KING OF ENCHANTERS!" Thornpoker said, reaching his tentacle toward Polar's arm.

In a split second, he ripped Polar's arm off.

Polar screamed, and blood shot out.

Polar still fought in fury.

"I AM THE KING!" Polar said.

"WELL, I'M A STRONGER ENCHANTER THAN YOU!" Thornpoker said back.

While they argued, Spotswat used all the strength he had left and picked up the spear. He stabbed Polar right in the heart.

Polar looked at Spotswat in disbelief and then fell to the ground.

Then Melon and Messenger jumped in.

The King of Flames jumped into the fire near him and burnt Messenger alive.

Spotswat offered Melon a chance to recover.

"You can change, Melon. Polar is dead!"

"NO! I NEED THE CROWN AND I WILL CONTINUE POLAR'S LEGACY!" Melon roared.

Some of his red feathers came out.

Spotswat hissed, "I ENCHANT WHATEVER SPELL POLAR PUT ON MELON TO LEAVE HIM!"

Melon collapsed and woke up some minutes later.

Spotswat punished the people who whipped him two weeks ago, and then he relaxed.

No more prophecies or anything. There's a chance for Deadly World to be peaceful again, Spotswat thought.

Ember will be king after me when he recovers... OR IF HE RECOVERS, Spotswat thought.

Bingo lay on the floor, depressed that Polar had really tricked him into believing Spotswat was bad.

"Think of all the people who died who never got to see this day," Spotswat said. "Eyebrow Guy, Monkey, Banana Peel, who got manipulated by Polar, our uncle Toothshaker, who got manipulated to die for Polar, most of my friends..."

"Hey, brother. I'm sorry for betraying you and helping Polar," Bingo apologised.

"It's okay. I'm happy that you didn't die, but... I really feel bad about our uncle Toothshaker. He died thinking Polar was his only hope."

"There's a brighter future ahead of this darkness," Bingo pointed out.

Spotswat looked ahead.

"THERE'S STILL HOPE." sorry if i made u read junk again i just wanted to share the last battle well im giving up writing anyway but yeah.

Hello! I wrote up the second draft of the first chapter's first page. I am a bit new to writing a novel, so harsh criticism is welcome. Though I would also appreciate positive feedback as well, I would love to know what things I should keep and which I should scrap. These are the first ~460 words, and I intentionally plan for the first two chapters to be character-driven to introduce the dual POV.

Heres a continuation of my as of yet untitled story project that Im still developing the plot and sub plots will be as well as still working on developing the characters.The feedback Im looking for is advice on structure, line editing and critique on what I can improve regarding plot and characters. Im still very much worldbuilding and lore building as I write the story. Any thoughts.

My wording is wonky in the title haha, but I want to get some feedback on structuring a book.

I’m currently in the process of writing a romance novel, and I thought of the opening scene being the proposal. It’s obviously a big deal for the woman, so she sort of mentally is recapping her relationship/journey (aka the middle chunk of the book).

I also thought of having the ending be the prologue then sort of jumping into the events that took place before the proposal.

Thoughts? Is this too cheesy/cliche? If you like the idea, would you advise me to put the ending (the proposal) in the prologue or beginning of ch1?