I’m still on the Bradbury theme from the other day, “You have to inject yourself with a little fantasy every day in order not to die of reality.”
So I decided Sunday I would would do a journal exercise of 10 opening lines to potential short stories. Which one should I do first? (The first one will be familiar since I’ve already done two blog posts about it.)
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The dragon settled in our backyard one sunny afternoon just before the end of winter.
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Tom Cole Piper carried his magic guitar slung over his shoulder like a rifle.
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If ever there was a perfect day for a grumpy gnome to cross Susan Winkel’s path, this wasn’t that day.
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When I say I never expected a unicorn to walk into my insurance agent’s office and take a dump, I’m as serious as the day is long — and this was the summer solstice.
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Do mermaids wear mascara? Asking for a friend.
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In the old stories a Martian base always has some generic name like Mars Alpha One. In real life it’s just home.
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The sun rose, gray and alien, and Hal Spenser had no interest in seizing any day.
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“Are you sleepy?”
“Very much so, and all of a sudden …”
“Yeah — I meant to do that,” waving an empty packet.
“What?! Why?! You little …”
“Yes, that’s what I am all right.”
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Of all the seedy bars in all the planets in half the galaxy, she walks into mine.
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I met the creature in the field next to my house, when I was 8 years old. I saved its life, and this is how he returned the favor.
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