Would you like to write a novel but you’re not sure how to begin? Here are some examples of what not to do.
- I looked at myself in the mirror, studying my features. Why did I have to be so plain? My hair was frumpy and mousy brown, my nose a little crooked, and my tentacles were tangled again.
- Zoe woke up with a start, gasping. Her whole grand adventure had all been a dream, from Colander Castle to the Battle for Honeycomb Hill to the destruction of Lord Bagel’s magic shirt buttons. She decided to write it all down in a book, even though it was sure to be full of plot holes.
- Edge Sharpblade swung his sword, the enchanted Soul Ripper 9000TM. Its mystical dark energy devoured the life force of its victims – and there were a lot – and sent the energy into Edge’s body. He was like a vampire but cooler. Killing with his amazing sword fighting skills kept him young, and also gave him amazing pecs.
- When I turned forty, I finally had a plan for my life. I had always had goals, ambitions, aspirations, desires, sure, but now I had a mission, a calling, a grand purpose! I was going to write a thesaurus!
- When Bill came downstairs, Shelley was doing her homework in the living room. “Hello, Sis! It’s me, your big bro! As you know, we are teens, and our single mom (our father disappeared on a jungle expedition while searching for the other half of a mystical amulet) is at the store. I hope she buys frozen waffles!”
- Henry was the last man on earth, thanks to the apocalypse, so there was absolutely no one to listen to his long and traumatic backstory. He decided to catch one of the mutant rats and prologue at it.
- Zendela climbed up the steps of the old tower. The great wizard Gr’loxik had promised to teach her the magic of B’porbl the Elder. She would finally be able to rescue her parents from the clutches of Lord Kib’l’lk and the knights of Dedkil’defgigkiljehif’deg’leton.
- Detective Johnson examined the corpse’s body. The Crime Scene Instigation team dusted for finger pits. They also put numbers next to things, in case that helped. Sargent Johnson pointed with his big, sausage-like finger. “His head’s been cut off with one of those big choppers they used in the French Resolution. I’d bet you dollars to doughnuts that’s what killed him.”
- The zombie trudged along with the crowd of undead, doing his best to fit in. Life had seemed pointless, and being undead even more so. He shuffled his feet and groaned, “Brains! Brains! Brains!” like the others, but his heart wasn’t really in it.
- Gal Zillionaire was the richest woman alive, the CEO of seventeen different groundbreaking companies, and the CFO of another nine. She also did nonprofit work, but not for gross nonprofits with poor people. She was on the boards of fancy rich people nonprofits, like museums and art galleries and a co-op that sold fair trade Fabergé eggs. She also spent eighteen hours a day in the gym working on her perfect abs. And yet, somehow, she still had plenty of time to seduce me, the bland reader surrogate character. She just loved my nondescript face and adorable clumsiness. I was always dropping the stacks of papers from my magazine job. Yes, I work at a magazine, because those are totally still a thing.
- The day the alien invasion started, it was gray and rainy. It was thirty-five Fahrenheit outside, and the wind was coming out of the northwest at five miles per hour. There was a twenty percent chance of snow, with a high of forty-four on Thursday. Now let’s look at the extended forecast.
Looking for actual writing tips? Check out my writing advice section here.