Opening scene from my
middle grade novel:
He heard the
crashing of broken tree limbs and felt the tremor of the Earth beneath his
feet. His bees hummed angrily and clamored for the safety of the
hive. He grabbed his bentwood walking stick that was propped against
the hive. Hobbling, skipping he rushed toward the crashing, deep in
the forest. Thick underbrush tripped his unsteady gate. He
had to pull himself up to his feet again and again.
He
had to force the panic down, pushing it deep inside him. But the
memory of thirty years ago kept nagging him. The terror of that
night still haunted his dreams. But it was mid-day now. He
was wide awake. This was no dream.
Other first lines
or scenes I like:
In
my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve
been turning over in my mind ever since.
“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,”
he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the
advantages that you’ve had.” The Great Gatsby by F. Scott
Fitzgerald
Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I
do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a
lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for
racing. Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.
There was a boy called Eustace Clarence
Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S.
Lewis.
“At night I
would lie bed and watch the show, how bees squeezed through the cracks of my
bedroom wall and flew circles around the room, making that propeller sound, a
high-pitched zzzzzz that hummed along my skin.” The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

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