Believe it or not, it's not the blank pages in front of me that are intimidating. I know where I'm going, and I have the directions sitting next to me, guiding my fingers across the keyboard.
No, the real problem is the army of words built up behind my blinking cursor. 491 pages. 126,064 words. Waiting to be let loose. Waiting impatiently for these final chapters to take form as ones and zeros. Then comes the inevitable point where I push these digits out into the world, well beyond the small collection of friends and family who have held this nest in their hands.
I am not sure this army ready. I'm not sure I am either. I know there will be rewrites. I know that, even done, it's never done. But, right now, is it good enough? Is it good at all?
There are great opening lines, sentences that grab you, pull you in, and keep you reading till you turn that final page.
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. -- Gibson
It happened every year, was almost a ritual. And this was his eighty-second birthday. -- Larsson
All this happened, more or less. -- Vonnegut
Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person. -- Tyler
When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. -- McCarthy
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. -- Orwell
Will my words make it onto someone else's list?
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