Thursday off to a slow start? Here’s something fun to get the creative juices flowing.
Your challenge: write the first paragraph of a hypothetical novel based on this picture, and post it in the comment section below so we can all read it.
Any genre is fine!
Not sure how? Here are some tips for writing an introductory paragraph:
- Hook the reader! Lead with action, dialogue, or an intriguing sentence.
- Consider introducing the main character.
- Leave the reader with more questions than answers, to make sure they keep reading.
- Thoroughly describe the setting. Here’s a great example
- Introduce a problem or conflict right away, like this.
Go for it! Post your paragraph below, and be sure to “star” any others you like!
6 thoughts on “Writer’s block? This picture might help”
First they threw the body off the bridge, then they hole up in this seedy little nowhere for almost two hours. I couldn’t figure out which I wanted more, justice for a body that was exhumed, then tossed, or a good stiff drink in the same seedy bar they were in. Of course, if I went for the drink, which I really needed, I might have to change out of my crime fighting costume and into something else. Then again, perhaps the city needed to know that its protector also enjoyed letting her hair down occasionally.
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Roland had good reflexes. He prided himself on them, really. He loved the imperceptibly small rush of adrenaline that came with them before awareness hit his consciousness. And when he stopped inches before the flung body of a man could topple him, force him shoulder-first into one of the many waterlogged potholes of the black, neon-sheened asphalt, he inwardly smiled. He looked to the door of his watering hole, still held open by the beefy hands of its bouncer while faint trails of cigarette smoke and soft swing tumbled about the sconce-lit walls set behind his thick shoulders. His African-American face was fierce on the rolling, groaning victim. He raised his finger at him, stiff and jabbing like a hot poker. [I suppose I’ll end here. :)]
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Reblogged this on The Ink and Palette and commented:
Saw this and knew I should give it a go; a little ambient music in my ear and away I went!
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Her feet hurt, among other things. They knew she was not trying that hard, or else her stints of standing would not be so long. She dressed the part, including her impractically high heels. She had taken three clients and her time in front of the bar was not done soon enough. The other girls had been taken up and she could only pray that no one else came around so that she could end her night. If only she could be so lucky. Headlights approached and the vehicle slowed to a stop. The window lowered. When she saw his face, she did not bother with pleasantries. She opened the passenger door and slid into the car.
“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” the older man was not being smug, he was genuinely concerned. He handed her a roll of cash that she tucked into her small clutch that held little else. “How much time do you have left for the evening? Will that cover it?”
“Yeah, it’s enough.” She unstrapped the painful shoes and left them on the floor board to cross her legs in the seat.
“Your mom made salmon for dinner. She’s really looking forward to seeing you. Are you hungry?”
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Really, the cold bite of the gun’s barrel against my forehead was just the finale in an increasingly terrible day.
I wasn’t supposed to be here, not in this sketchy part of town, not in front of the “Cadillac Lounge” – a fancy name for a not so fancy saloon – not at the dead of night, and not alone. “Don’t move,” the man holding the gun hissed. He was wearing dark clothes and his face was covered with a ski mask. I trembled; my dress, my silky clutch purse, the glitter of my necklace reflecting the harsh neon glow of the sign, all reeked of much more money than he had.
I dropped the purse. “Take it and go,” I said, trying to keep my voice strong. “My necklace too if you want that.” Cold sweat beaded against the gun barrel. I slid my tongue over my lips. It’ll be over soon, I told myself. Just a few minutes and then this will all be over.
The man barked a harsh laugh. “Miss Avery, you’re a fool if you think this is about money.” He knew my name. A chill ran down my spine. “None of today was an accident,” he whispered, digging the gun into my skin. The words sank in. He’d killed Wellington, my protector and chaperone. “You’re coming with me.” And that’s when I knew I was dead.
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Detective Holt Davis walked his beat at midnight. This was an easy task in this part of town. The Cadillac Lounge still had the neon sign on, even though the place had been unused for months. Looking above the sign, he saw there were dim lights on in the upstairs apartment. That wasn’t so unusual. People stayed inside and locked their doors. Most folks went to bed early. He knew because there were no lights on in any of the houses–ever, at this time of night. So why was that upstairs light on? He scratched his head.
The sound of someone moaning startled him. He kept walking, thinking it was probably just an animal–until the sound repeated louder and longer. He turned back toward the twin phone booths. The body crumpled inside brought him to his knees. Not going to be an easy night after all. What was his son doing in this seedy neighborhood?