Livian Brian let his gaze drift over me slowly, and small hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. The exchange took less than a second, but it revealed to me that he too had learned to pass inspection. It was dangerous, and more than I was frightened that he could pass, I was terrified that he knew I could as well. He had the power to, in an instant, expose me and effectively draw my careful planning to a close. If he were anyone but Livian Brian I might have had the same power over him, but as it were I didn’t.
Tag Archives: creative writing
“Do you know, that before your mid-life crisis you have at least four other crises?”
That’s amazing, riveting, I think dryly. Jane likes to share things she’s learned with the rest of us. It, likely, makes her feel very cultured and intelligent. Not much intelligence in reading the first story you come upon in some lifestyle magazine at the dentist’s office. Without a source to credit validity simply comes down to performance.
And so I sit on a cream slip cover segmented couch, swirling the untouched wine in my glass. I don’t drink, I’d said.
He had two cavities. One in his upper molar on the right side and the other on the left. Michelle smiled at him and pulled the teal mask over her face.
“Open as wide as possible please.”
His lips cracked and broke on either side. He thought distractedly that he should have put something on. He almost used a lip-balm sample he found under the sink in the bathroom, but thought better of it. Shiny lips on a man he thought, what would people say?
I used to think the everyone’s purpose in life was simply to live. It didn’t matter whether that meant conducting heart surgery to save a child’s life, or sitting in an alley shooting up. As long as there was blood in your veins and air in your lungs you were living. It took me eighteen years to realize that life wasn’t like that. The mailman delivering shitty rom com dvds from Netflix, the mother of two, even the astronaut in space, none of them were living. Not really.
The blue horizon stretched across my vision and wild blooms with strange dotted petals bat against my legs. Dad would have loved it. They all would have. Giant shining beams of light flashed in the distance. It was like granddad’s movies from when he was a kid. At first I never wanted to watch them. They were black and white, the sounds were made by people, and the effects by shining different lights on the screen. Soon I found myself looking forward to those nights. Now it was just me, Evie, and flashing beams of light against a blue horizon.
Honour hadn’t spent much time in school paying attention to Alicia, but now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Maybe it was because, unlike her peers, she hadn’t changed in their four years of schooling. Instead of shifting and becoming someone new, or going through countless embarrassing phases, she was the same brown haired, brown-eyed girl he used to see almost everyday. Or maybe it was because she was pressing the barrel of a shotgun flush against his chest.
When I was 11 I wrote a novel called “Evinus” in a 100 page notebook with a black and red cover I had sewn in family studies class. It was about a world divided into two and a princess who would rather wear a giant pilot’s hat and sneak across a forbidden wall, than dance at a ball with handsome male suitors. It had people that were half angel and devil, cat ladies, and evil adults. It was the first novel I ever started to write and it was completely terrible. But I loved it the way people love ugly hairless cats.
I’ve never been good at finishing things I write, so it shouldn’t be surprising that the first writing book I ever bought was all about writing beginnings. I read it religiously and to this date it remains the only writing book I have actually managed to finish. It taught be that’s there’s little value to a book without a good hook.
When you walk into a bookstore and browse the titles you may find yourself lifting a novel with an interesting cover because, let’s face it, everyone judges books by their covers. You might flip it over to the back, or maybe lift the inside flap on a hardcover and read a 150 word summary. In that moment, it doesn’t matter how many hours the author spent working on the manuscript, how many times they got rejected by publishers and literary agents, nor the time spent picking an eye-pleasing cover or font. All that matters is whether they can immediately draw your interest. If you get so far as to read the first page you’ll meet the true moment where a book can either make or break a sale.
The beginning of a book has always been the most important part to me. For an author it marks acceptance or rejection by literary agents, publishers, and readers. Regardless of how amazing or terrible a novel is, if nobody picks it up and reads it then it’s not worth much of anything is it? This blog is about books I’ve read and will provide reviews to give you insight beyond the hook. I love beginnings, but have never been very good at the rest so I’m being self-indulgent and posting hooks I’ve written myself.
I do read a great deal of young adult novels, but I also enjoy memoirs, social media, and general fiction novels.