les aliments de vendredi pour la pensée

I thought my boring Friday title might be more exotic in French, so there ya go. Don't blame me, blame the internet translater. Man can those French guys party, though. I once was at a big weekend party in Maui and I was at this table with all French folks. I don't know why people say they hate Americans; they were nice, to me at least.

Of course, I couldn't understand a damn thing they said, so maybe they were just slamming me with a smile.

I'm thinking about first lines lately, having written two in the past week or so. Lately, I've taken a literary slant with my first lines: I like when a first line encompasses the entire story, refers to the future, gathers the past in close, and introduces the character all at once. A little scene setting is cool, too. You can see how I did.

The rattle the door made as it closed reminded Sean Kelly of a boat-cave gate slamming down, a sound effect imagined into memory from the stories his dad had told him as a child.

Sometimes places—places that he hadn’t known existed the day before—beckoned to him.

Hmm, I seem to have developed an affinity for dashes.

And some older novels:

TAMING THE TIGER: (from my thrust-the-reader-into-the-scene-with-dialogue days)
“You aren’t a cop, are you?”

Hands on him, gentle this time, and soothing, superseding the hum of evil.

The WIP on hold: EXILED:
The sun beat down as if it craved the Ijikaelfe’s pale flesh as fuel.

And some short stories:

"To Stop a War"
I decided to take matters into my own hands when part of my trench mate’s head landed in my lap.

"Prey for Change":
The disappearances of their victims didn’t even make a back page splash on Crete’s media, certainly not like the brutal Human deaths had.

"Kenna's Song" (I'm cheating a bit here.)
A vampire’s favorite way to kill is to turn his victim into another vampire. However, when you’re immune to vampirism like I am, he has to convince you to die the regular way.

From a story I return to and someday hope to finish, you know, once I figure out what the hell it's about, called "Steal Away Home"
When I saw a Jade in the alley behind West Grenshaw in Chicago, my little corner of the Gravid, I knew I could no longer follow the Angels’ orders.

All right, that's probly enough. You get the point. I have it on good authority that
Nathan Bransford's gonna have a bit of a contest concerning first lines. You ready to take it out of context?

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