Easy thing.
Share the first paragraph. If it’s only one line, only share that line. If it’s only one line of dialogue, only share that line.
I’ll share mine around, too, if I feel like it.
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In case I die young–which is alarmingly probable–I want mom and dad to know that I love them and that it wasn’t Cruz’s fault. Cruz’s a darling. I have no clue how he’s such a sweetie when his sister… His sister is totally his evil twin and that’s why this whole mess started.
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It was a calm night. A beautiful night. Stars lit the sky like thousands of diamonds. Moonlight turned the golden sand of the desert to a pale yellow. The Royal Palace towered over the city of Waset, firelight from torches lighting the entire thing up. The city itself was dark but in a peaceful way. It was late. The people slept in their homes. But that was all about to change.
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Here’s the first paragraph from my current project, Blood Will Tell:
The room readied itself for ravaging. Its fragile, stained-glass windows sunk into the walls, hiding behind a seamless layer of stone; its grand chandeliers hauled themselves into the arched ceiling, fading until nothing but their light was left; and bricks crept over the marble floor, forming a shield over the precious surface. Once the hall had transformed into an indoor battlefield, its first combatant entered the zone.
I might put up more from my other stories later, if that’s fine 
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Empire of Lies:
Sara usually tried not to think about who she was before she found the gang. The memories weren’t bad – quite the opposite, actually – but it reminded her of who she was supposed to be, and how that life had ended. That was one wound time could never heal.
But maybe family could.
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Okay, I’m intrigued XD
What’s your inspiration for this story?
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I always wanted to write about a wild retirement home for vampires… and then, I got obsessed with twins named Cruz and Corazon. Ended up with this story.
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Sounds so pretty 
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That was slick description 
Of course 
Interesting. Sounds like the end of a story rather than a beginning. Like a prologue. To me, that’s what it sounds like, anyway.
Retirement home for vampires XD How do you get these awesome ideas.
Doesn’t this mean “love” or “heart” in Spanish or something?
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I’m just gonna put another here because why not.
My first paragraphs are always dense in the first draft and slim down in editing.
From unpublished There Lives a Beast in the Burning Heart
(I both dread and look forward to the day I’ll have to make a cover for this book)
Argenton Woodman signed off his journal with his name and age—he was still sixteen as far as he knew—then closed his notebook to wait for midnight to wash away his day’s memories like the rain did the blood after a fight. Every night he forgot yesterday. None of the other soldiers knew about it. If they did, Argenton would be kicked out of Elite Force and it wouldn’t matter how skilled he was with all weapons plus combat, or that his father used to be the captain of Elite Force until an accident. If the Master Magee, the ruler of the country of Noier found out about his condition, she would send him home, the last place he wanted to be. The words scrawled in his notebook told of a controlling household where his father, Geldon, ruled with an iron fist, forbidding the three older sisters to ever return home.
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I’ve been procrastinating. I was planning on starting back this week, but my brain is comfortable being numb right now. Lol
I’ve got a few random starts on my phone.
This one is trying a different angle of “having the billionaires’ baby from a dumbass fling”.
Patron of the Arts
“It’s real simple: keep it under thirty grand, only use sturdy craftsmanship, and make sure it’s real wood.” He leaned precariously back in his chair, planting his feet on his desk in a way that irked her soul. There wasn’t enough animal magnetism in the world to overcome that personal peeve of Jane’s.
The cost is a placeholder, until I can sit there and figure out exactly how much everything would cost: if I pursued it.
I’ve got to finish #4, first, but this is the tentative start to the last book of the series.
Assassin Journal V
I hurt.
I hurt a lot.
I want to kill that damned woman, take her by the face and scrape her skin off on the cobbles in front my home, bathe the streets in her blood. I want to put her remains on a pike in my front yard and dare anyone come after me for it. I’d kill them, too.
But like a good little Assassin on her last mission, she made sure that her attack left nothing behind for retaliation, taking both De-Meraine and her idiotic self into the void, where I cannot follow.
This is the start of a dimension jumping story, vaguely going Thelma and Louise.
Crossroads Cafe
The waitress’ nametag was smudged, leaving her proudly displaying El-ra as her name. She appeared mid-50s, wore blonde hair straight from the 80’s, and kept a figure suited to a tavern wench from the 1600s. It was a combination of motherly and siren, leaving any man younger than her a little uncomfortable for the thoughts they had.
Older men? Well, most those didn’t have a 3rd leg to stand on.
So it was rare that she had to deal with being asked for anything more than more coffee, as the laginapppe to her services.
Women were a different matter–not that they were more or less attracted to her–but women were subtlety repulsed by the wards put over the building, seeing a very shoddy diner one step away from being closed by the health department. If any females came in, desperation was the lure.
And part of why Elvira Devlin’s whole life centered around an ancient diner on the corner of 5th and Vimes.
This is supposed to be a middle aged plus sized vampire story, somewhere up in it. It’s a mental starting point that I likely won’t use as the start, but it’s “shocking” enough to work. Yes, I remember boys like this.
Big Girls Bite
Their teacher sat at her desk clearly having a bad day–if anyone was watching. But she gave up on education and just let near grown children have a free period while she struggled to not put her own head down and bawl.
“Damn, Mrs. D looks like she needs some D in her life.” That obnoxious child was Principal Volker’s son Johhny, supposed star quarterback and class clown.
Mrs. Dorsey bit her lip to not agree with him or send him to the office: really she was of two minds about that little monster every time he opened his mouth. Besides, he made the dumb comment because anyone with a name that began with D had that said about them, at some point in the day.
The Merlecoat is one of the last werewolf stories I plan on writing, but I had a snippit I wanted to get out my head. At first, I wanted to start in the more traditional places, but damn if that wouldn’t be conventional. It might be better to start here, where they are adults and not kids because I get tired of writing about kids. Lol
The Merlecoat
“So, what now, Audrey?” William’s surprisingly gentle grip laid heavily on her shoulder, cloth barely protecting her bite from his touch–both a frustration and blessing.
“Get your hand off me, Billy Boy.”
“We’re mates, it’s going to be hard to do that.”
“Oh no, you rejected me years ago. That bite was for our people, not for us. So, you have two choices: either go slink back to that den you’ve been keeping up at the edge of Yellowstone, or you come back to the shelter, see how a Luna rules over a bunch of broken degenerate wolves who need to find themselves. Perhaps you’ll mend enough to go home–but I’ve found myself out here. You tore apart two families with your antics and I’ll never be a pack wolf again.”
Will recoiled a hair as he withdrew his hand. Here he was, with a marked natural mate, and even his touch didn’t stop the hate pouring from her.
And for the first time, he could see the similarities between the sisters. It wouldn’t have mattered which woman he had chose because they both would have done well as a Luna, but he had to play his games.
This one is supposed to follow a MC that would probsbly be the 2nd ML in a lot of stories…
I find I’m fascinated by men who aren’t interested in being romantic, but find the whole political process of marriage tedious
An Empire's School
“Well, this was an all men’s college.” Sir Bartolmew Crucible muttered as he leaned against the stone wall, smoking his pipe, staring at the long line of carriages that pulled up to the gates of the school.
Prince Darius, soon to be Darius Feltwaters XIV, deliberately went by the nickname Piper, out of frustration with a name he despised. “No…it’s always been the school that future leaders and their aides attended, but our Empress refused to allow her daughter the joys of men, which means that all the young ladies-in-waiting couldn’t attend, that included quite a few inheriting titles.”
“So, that’s about, what–a dozen women to add to our classes?”
“Her entrauge is no less than 26 women, but, I hear only 8 besides the heir were chosen to study here, along with 5 servants, so there will be women of your status, Bar.”
“You think to pull up the fact that I have to hold a title to be your personal slave?!”
“Few treat it that way, especially as you’re my heir until I find someone who has bloodlines enough to shut father up and yet is humble enough for such a small subject kingdom. The Empire has Dukedoms that make us look like peasants…speaking of which, that’s the Duke of Stortisfare’s girl?”.
"Her mask has the emblem, but is it the Duke’s heir that is under that ?’
"Hrm…what do you want to bet that all the women including the servants have that same color hair, to make it easy to swap identities?’
“Very likely, sire.”
“Knock it off. I don’t want to hear formalities unless they are necessary, and you know that…” The conversation was unheated, in spite the prince’s protest. But he trailer off as one of the younger lords stepped forward and started bickering with the woman in Stortisfare’s colors.
That wasn’t the fun part. No, when the young man threw off his hat and jacket and the world around him shifted to reveal the young Baron Francis was a she rather than a he, who then threw herself at the masked woman for a sobbing embrace.
“Well, that’s the rumors on young Francis and his servant Willifred being lovers out to rest.” Sir Crucible muttered.
“He was rumored to love men, Bar. For all we know she’s chosen to marry her servant-heir and came here for an education against the Empress’ whims. But since that was one secret woman popping up on a strange enough day, I suggest we steer clear of their numbers until things calm down around here. Each entitled woman brings more burdens than they ease, in my way of thinking.”
“Yes sire.”
“Shut it.”
This is for an Isekai.
Fi,IsV
They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. Hell, lots of people have told me that. But at the end of all things, that’s not what I got. Instead, it was moments of semi-lucidness that strobed between fully aware and deep oblivion. And I hated what I saw.
This is sacrasm in Dark Acedemia.
Languages of Death
Current theory holds that the magical languages of the rift-sheltered are distinct by species. A dragon’s tongue spoke of matters in that changes the world to suit dragons, and elves did the same. The few words that unicorns spoke were harder to prove true to the theory, especially as their languages changed to a nightmare once their horn was shorn. Then they spoke death to the land, leaving hellscapes in their wake.
And that madness was the class I chose to take at 6am, after nights of carousing in bars like any student should do. The language of death, where we would corrupt our own unicorn until it’s tortured soul breathed out new words to add to this devious language.
What peckerhead thought you should give this task to upper classmen instead of putting the risk on first year students didn’t value the time and effort their school put into the mageborn.
So, I sat there with a silver saw, trying to start on cutting back this stupid horn on this terrified fat pony, hangover so bad that I was still seeing double, and I swear the only word comming out the fucker’s mouth was “Shit!”
Who taught a unicorn the language of men? Besides, wouldn’t "Fudge sticks!’ or “Poot!” befit the idiot?
Then the fucking beast managed to headbutt me…
…and my world will never be the same.
The peabrained creature wasn’t saying shit, but a word far closer to Shylfte, which is the Elven word for escape. Or maybe it was Schuit? Dwarves often used that for very rare minerals, when they called them to the surface of a mine. Oh, and Scheffe was the Draconic word for flying…
After about a dozen iterations I’d this, the soon to be gelded unicorn headbutted me hard enough to knock me out.
First thing I did when I woke up was dropped the class.
Second one was flood the dorms with unicorn shaped golems that sang a curse to shrink the size of the Archmage’s manhood by several degrees, with the only open countermeasure being a disbanding of all the language courses. Not that I expected it to work, but his wife would put some pressure on him to free himself expediently.
Third was to get rip-roaring drunk for a month straight in a bar that the knights frequent so no mage would think to look for me there.
Then I waited until they sent me a letter of probation and therapy.
By this point I got bored with everything and finally decided to work on the epiphany the idiotic horse gave me:
They weren’t different languages. It’s just that different values were given to the same concept, depending on the species. An elf would view escaping the way a dragon viewed flying, and a dwarf viewed the rarest minerals. They were all aspects of freedom.
So, what the fuck did that unicorn think was freeing about a drunk as lunatic sawing off it’s horn? Do the useless things really have that big a death wish?
Yeah, it’s clear this is all 1st draft. Lmao
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Thank you, spend quite some time trying to figure out how to start 
Yayyy, I’ll post them tomorrow maybe! I’m close to sleeping so I’ll do it later XD
The first artificial lifeform was born on a cold night of 23rd of December, 2022, at 19:23, British Hour, in London, England, United Kingdom. Her name was Sofia.
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First few lines from the prologue of my ONC project, Pretty Little Things.
The clock ticked closer to the next death.
The air was bitter with ash and smoke, fire curling its way down her parched throat. The smile splitting her lips reflected in the polished silver of the mantelpiece, curling and glowing like the dance of the flames in the hearth.
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I wish I could but I can not.
My draft is really rough…sorry.
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Really really rough is okay, too!
But of course, only if you want to. You are permitted to lurk here as well
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Thanks for letting me know!
I have something that is in play format for my rough draft till I edit it in novel format.
Meaning, that I shall write my first draft in play form until when I edit it and it become better in novel form.
Sorry for the rambling. I shall return with something.
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Cross and Heart.
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Thoughts on this? It’s the first paragraph from something that I’m currently working on. Potentially gonna be my final Watty entry if I can’t get I Must Confess moving soon.
It all started on the Fourth of July at the Imperial Beach Resort in downtown Coconut Heights. Fireworks weren’t only going on outside. Inside Ramon’s hotel room, things were getting pretty heated too. Sparks were going off left, right and center.
It was the best night of his life so far.
How he’d managed to pull someone as beautiful as her was beyond him, but he didn’t care. His first time was going better than he’d expected it to.
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From Magecraft Mechanics in play format:
Prologue: The Cleansing.
Setting : Erid City in the Kingdom of Olavar.
Scene: A Machina named Dain is in a local diner waiting for a mysterious person to appear. He just orders a cup of hot water with a lemon with a few crackers. He wasn’t really in an eating mood, but since he was in the diner, he had to order something since the waitress were staring at him wondering what he was planning. He keeps looking behind him hoping that the person he is waiting for will come soon enough. At least five Machinas came into the diner ready to eat whatever meal they plan on ordering. Dain sips his hot lemon water and lightly bites on a cracker.
((As Dain was into his light meal, a person comes and sit at the booth that Dain was sitting in causing him to look up.))
Mysterious Person: Sorry, for being late and all. I am here with the item in question.
Dain: Are you the person that I am supposed to wait for?
((A waitress walks over then the mysterious person in which she hands him a menu. She walked away from the booth and the person glances at the menu feeling hungry.))
Mysterious Person: Tell me, have you ever had the pie as this place? It is to die for.
Dain: (confused) No, I have not.
Mysterious Person: Well, you should. Even though it doesn’t matter since Machina don’t need to eat at all.
((Dain’s confusion turned into feeling anger for having waited for this person who just came too late to eat some pie.))
Here it is…
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