I had this great idea. I started blog posts when I had the ideas for them, and then marked them private so that I’d have a head start on days when The Muse decides to play in the sprinkler instead of write.
It made sense. It had to work. I saved three ideas, each with a paragraph or two to remind me of the feel of the post. That was three weeks ago.
So here’s the downfall. Yes, it worked. Reading the part I started did remind me of the feel of the entry but – yes, there’s always a ‘but’ with me – I didn’t save the link that inspired the post.
Damn it, Pia, get with the program. Fuck. Oh well. We’re forging ahead with what we have. Onward!
Today’s rambling post is about the Do Nots of writing. Or rather, it was inspired by another blogger (because I forgot to save the link, I sadly can not give proper credit), who ran a contest about them. If you write, or have a curiosity about writing, you’ve probably seen plenty of Do Nots for the writing world.
For example, do not start a story with:
1) The weather
2) Waking up
3) A long look in the mirror
There were many more in the article that inspired the contest, but you get the idea, I’m sure. The contest was something that screamed to my Inner Child. I’ve done this before, so I jumped at it again. Then, promptly, real life interfered and I didn’t have time to enter.
Here it is:
Write an interesting opening line using one of the Do Nots listed in the article.
Oh yeah. Break those rules. See why I wanted to do this?
I’m all for new writing exercises and challenges. Anyone who wants to be read should try new things constantly or expect their writing to grow stale and boring. Give it a try. Leave your opening line in the comments (and, just in case, list your Do Not too). I’ll put my favorite in a #followfriday blog post.
I knew the morning would be interesting, trying to remember how I ended up like this, waking up with the sun shining through the half-open blinds and illuminating the bare flesh of a dead god draped over me.
(Detailed character description)
Oblivious to the eyes fixed on his narrow waist, broad shoulders, and shining grey eyes, Marcus strode up to the bar, ordered a drink, and then paled until his skin matched his wild white hair in tone and warmth.
It was a dark and stormy night, except that it was a beautiful sunny day to everyone else, that is, everyone but Joel, who stormed through the city with thunderheads roiling around him and a constant downpour soaking his tailored suit and no-longer shining shoes.