Write an opening that would stop you buying a book

Fiberglass Cyborg said:
BLOODSQUALOR: Book One of THE DISEMBOWLLED GODS

Henry Protagonist was special. But nobody in his life knew that. Not until the day he recieved the invitation to the Blood-Eagle School of Blood Magic, which is like Hogwarts only darker and edgier, like. It would be a long journey, with many daring acts of blood magic, false friends, true enemies and contrived scenarios of moral ambiguity along the way. This is Henry's story.
"4) towered over the helpless youth and raised his pig-sticker - then got the shock of (the end of) his life when the plucky boy sprang to his feet and punched him (Khaziface) so hard in the nose that his brain flew out of the back of his head, which is totally a thing that happens in fights. The Rancid Socks gawped in horrified amazement, then fled. A Mysterious Robed Figure stepped out of the shadows, clapping his hands softly.
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"Good. Good." he said with a scratchy evil voice. "Now that you have killed your father, take your place by my side and we will disembowel gods together."

Sorry. Some beginnings cry out to be ended.
 
The problem with all these beginnings is that, perversely, I would read all of them, except the single line generic ones. I guess I have a taste for sarcastic (satirical) literature. I wonder if that's what I should write, rather than serious grown up stuff.
 
Portrait of the Office Worker as a Middle-Aged Man (First Part of the octology - Life of a Modern Man)

The alarm clock went off. It was 6 am. Jones got out of bed and dressed himself. Then he made some breakfast and ate it. After that he brushed his teeth and hair, took his briefcase and left the flat. He went downstairs and waited by the bus stop until the morning bus arrived to take him to work. After 15 minutes he left the bus and entered the office block where he worked. He took the lift to the fourth floor, entered his office and sat at his desk. He switched on his computer and started checking through his emails. Then he printed out the important ones, replied to the others and deleted the spam messages. He made a cup of coffee and drank it. Then he began typing the first of his business reports.
 
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Justin Swanton said:
Portrait of the Office Worker as a Middle-Aged Man (First Part of the octology - Life of a Modern Man)

The alarm clock went off. It was 6 am. Jones got out of bed and dressed himself. Then he made some breakfast and ate it. After that he brushed his teeth and hair, took his briefcase and left the flat. He went downstairs and waited by the bus stop until the morning bus arrived to take him to work. After 15 minutes he left the bus and entered the office block where he worked. He took the lift to the fourth floor, entered his office and sat at his desk. He switched on his computer and started checking through his emails. Then he printed out the important ones, replied to the others and deleted the spam messages. He made a cup of coffee and drank it. Then he began typing the first of his business reports.
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In Volume 5, his bus is late. It's harrowing stuff.
 
I think people are aiming for laughs rather than that elusive cusp of bookshop decision making.
I should have known better :rolleyes:
 
Astro Pen said:
that elusive cusp of bookshop decision making
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TBH recently I've had the experience where books start out amazing and then peter out after the first few chapters. It could be me.
Then there is the 200 yo book that I picked up and almost stopped reading because it was one of those that had a character speaking in Irish brogue, but I kept going and it got a lot better.
 
Love this idea!

The Night of the Crow

2045. That's the only part of the date I can tell you. The Crowpeople have taken over, and our village that once bloomed with the hope of a newborn sprout in the middle of a forest has been reduced to the same execrable slime that clambers the eyelids of a fleshy Crowman. The once joyous melody of the younglings singing of the Fourth Solstice has been replaced by the screeching sounds of sacrificial mating rituals that last hours through day and night. Our people, once full of energy, now mostly sleep the eternal sleep. Mother, and father, too. No, I cannot give you more than 2045, because the unwelcome intruders have all but eliminated time from our mind and the sun from the sky. They took the food from our mouths. They took the clothes from our backs. They speak a language that the human ear is far too undeveloped to understand.
Oh, and one more thing...

I'm engaged to a Crowman.
 
It's hard to put my finger on it, but reading the first couple of paragraphs of a book is like watching the first 10 minutes of a film. By that stage I pretty much know if I'm going to like it or not. Some authors engage the reader from the start, and some just don't.
 
I came across this opening line as I was perusing my local library:
"Her eyes were like gumballs..."
Whereupon I closed the book and put it back on the shelf because either the author has a terrible sense of description or it's a novel about a cannibal.
 
sule said:
I came across this opening line as I was perusing my local library:
"Her eyes were like gumballs..."
Whereupon I closed the book and put it back on the shelf because either the author has a terrible sense of description or it's a novel about a cannibal.
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I wonder if David Langford has read that one yet.... he collects unfortunate eyeball descriptions.
 
sule said:
I came across this opening line as I was perusing my local library:
"Her eyes were like gumballs..."
Whereupon I closed the book and put it back on the shelf because either the author has a terrible sense of description or it's a novel about a cannibal.
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You'll love "The eyes have it" by Philip K Dick, then...

www.thefreshreads.com

The Eyes Have It by Philip K. Dick

www.thefreshreads.com www.thefreshreads.com


The Eyes Have It by Philip K. Dick​

It was quite by accident I discovered this incredible invasion of Earth by lifeforms from another planet. As yet, I haven’t done anything about it; I can’t think of anything to do. I wrote to the Government, and they sent back a pamphlet on the repair and maintenance of frame houses. Anyhow, the whole thing is known; I’m not the first to discover it. Maybe it’s even under control.

I was sitting in my easy-chair, idly turning the pages of a paperbacked book someone had left on the bus, when I came across the reference that first put me on the trail. For a moment I didn’t respond. It took some time for the full import to sink in. After I’d comprehended, it seemed odd I hadn’t noticed it right away.
The reference was clearly to a nonhuman species of incredible properties, not indigenous to Earth. A species, I hasten to point out, customarily masquerading as ordinary human beings. Their disguise, however, became transparent in the face of the following observations by the author. It was at once obvious the author knew everything. Knew everything — and was taking it in his stride. The line (and I tremble remembering it even now) read:

… his eyes slowly roved about the room.

Vague chills assailed me. I tried to picture the eyes. Did they roll like dimes? The passage indicated not; they seemed to move through the air, not over the surface. Rather rapidly, apparently. No one in the story was surprised. That’s what tipped me off. No sign of amazement at such an outrageous thing. Later the matter was amplified.
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THE ASHEN THRONE. Book one of THE CROWN OF DUST
PROLOGUE
Dust and ashes lay everywhere, like the dust and ashes of the Kulshak Empire's hopes. On the steps of her war pavillion, the Unqueen Gharamouk Wandomium gazed out over the hills of the slain and contemptuously licked the blood from her saber. There was a noise behind her, the rattling of a kicked skull bouncing across the braided fingerbone matting. She turned. Unprince Khakhamole stood there dressed in sumptuous human-leather robes with his jewelled crossbow levelled, the tip of the dart gleaming with the distinctive green of deathslug venom. He sneered. "Thank you, Mother, for doing all this work for me. I shall take my prize now."
"Do it!" she snapped. "What did I teach you, son? Never gloat before your foe is writhing in their last agonies at your feet."
"Very well. Goodbye, Mother." He pulled the trigger. Then fell to the ground writhing in his last agonies as the bolt flew backwards and struck him in the chest. As he lay there, Gharamouk walked over to him and spat in his face.
"Idiot boy, to leave your toys unattended around your little whores with their clever little fingers. Gimhaloulou was mine, you fool. All mi-"
She cut off, gasping, fingers groping in bafflement at the throwing dagger embedded in her neck. Gimhaloulou stepped out of the shadows of the pavillion, her sultry form draped in a bikini made of still-bloody scalps. "Something stuck in your throat, my Lady?" she enquired innocently.
 
Fiberglass Cyborg said:
THE ASHEN THRONE. Book one of THE CROWN OF DUST
PROLOGUE
Dust and ashes lay everywhere, like the dust and ashes of the Kulshak Empire's hopes. On the steps of her war pavillion, the Unqueen Gharamouk Wandomium gazed out over the hills of the slain and contemptuously licked the blood from her saber. There was a noise behind her, the rattling of a kicked skull bouncing across the braided fingerbone matting. She turned. Unprince Khakhamole stood there dressed in sumptuous human-leather robes with his jewelled crossbow levelled, the tip of the dart gleaming with the distinctive green of deathslug venom. He sneered. "Thank you, Mother, for doing all this work for me. I shall take my prize now."
"Do it!" she snapped. "What did I teach you, son? Never gloat before your foe is writhing in their last agonies at your feet."
"Very well. Goodbye, Mother." He pulled the trigger. Then fell to the ground writhing in his last agonies as the bolt flew backwards and struck him in the chest. As he lay there, Gharamouk walked over to him and spat in his face.
"Idiot boy, to leave your toys unattended around your little whores with their clever little fingers. Gimhaloulou was mine, you fool. All mi-"
She cut off, gasping, fingers groping in bafflement at the throwing dagger embedded in her neck. Gimhaloulou stepped out of the shadows of the pavillion, her sultry form draped in a bikini made of still-bloody scalps. "Something stuck in your throat, my Lady?" she enquired innocently.
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And that's just the opening ? Yep, id call that pretty grim.
 
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