First Words

Hey, hey. Let’s get down to business people. SO here’s how the game goes. One person will post the first 100 words of their story, and the next person replies with feedback and a rating out of ten then proceeds to post the first 100 words of their story

Here’s and example
Person 1: Long long ago in a galaxy far far away lived a girl. This girl was no ordinary girl. Oh no, this girl was the ordinary girl. That’s right, this girl was the original basic b*tch. blah blah blah, to 100 words
Person 2: Haha, I thought this was really funny The star wars beginning was smart and the next bits were unexpected. Blah blah, more feedback (try personalize it a bit, give the useful tips)
Person 2: Matteo had decided a long time ago that he hated ice cream. He never quite understood the appeal of the substance. It gave you tooth freezes and brain freezes, and numb hands. Blah blah blah, to 100 words

Got it? Great!
Here’s my first 100 to start it off. It’s from my story, Songs of Eden

I’m drunk.

At first I deny it. I try to convince myself that I’m only slightly tipsy. That the blatant euphoria I’m feeling is of my own doing. But when I realize that the guy dancing in front of me appears to have three heads, I’m forced to admit that I’m definitely wasted.

Fuuuuuuuuu… I’m gonna hate myself in the morning.

Screw it. I’m gonna hate myself either way.

A pair of veiny arms wrap around my waist. I don’t even look behind me before dancing with the mystery boy. I attempt in vain to get lost in the beat of cheesy pop music. To get lost amongst the mass of sweaty bodies pressed against me. To get lost in this moment and the superficiality of life under the influence. But in the back of my mind the same image plays and replays in my head.

Anger burns wildly in my veins, stirring beneath my skin like a volcano ready to erupt.

Man. It’s amazing how little a hundred words is!!

Love your intro. It does a great job at painting a picture of the scene where the MC is at. Plus what are they angry at?! What happened?!

Here’s mine:


His voice was smooth and low, something crossed between a lover’s purr and the burgeoning anger that Alex knew was lying just beneath. If Alex didn’t watch his step - or more importantly - his words, then he knew he’d rouse it and the night would be ruined. But how was that new? He’d ruined so many nights in an all too similar fashion.

“Julian.” Alex’s response was playful, toying, the use of his long-time partner’s full name a part of this less than fun game. He was trying to lighten the mood, trying to tease, his lips curling up into a smile.


This is really good! I love the use of dialogue at the beginning of the story. There’s something about starting in the middle of a conversation that intrigues me. It’s like they’re just living their lives and we’re along for the ride.

Excerpt from Star Bright

Today is not going to be easy.

I knew it from the moment I woke up and came downstairs to greet an empty house. I knew it when I tried and failed to tame my thick, tangled hair. I knew it when my mom’s cell phone went to voicemail for the third time. I knew it when I checked the calendar and realized what day it is.

Yes, it’s the first day back from Christmas break, which means a hard morning for every sleep-deprived student at my high school. But I guarantee that no matter how anxious or exhausted my classmates are today, it will pale in comparison to the emotions coursing through my veins.

-A Teen Fiction


okay so i love where you’re going with this! the repetition of “i knew it…” is totally something that would hook me into a story. a few (subjective) notes:

i think this should be “what day it was.” i mean, you’re narrating in present tense, reflecting on the morning, so it’s complicated, but it sounds better that way. i could be wrong.

i’m not sure about “yes” here. i would start the paragraph with “it’s the first day back…” but if you want the narration to feel more like rapport with the audience maybe try “you see, it’s the first day back…

Excerpt from Seven Minutes in Heaven (Unpublished)

I, Dorothy Darlington, am immune to the charms of Billy Hilliker.

I’m not, actually, but my friend, Alana, told me it’ll become true if I think so. “Manifestation” she called it. I’d call it lying to myself. Either way, it’s quite taxing. My fabrication is particularly tedious.

How long, I wonder, will it take to berate my subconscious into submission. I’ve never had much luck leading with my head, but my heart’s been acting out of order lately. She’s disobedient, my heart, perched upon my sleeve like she knows better than I do. It won’t be my fault when she breaks.


That’s nice to read. Flows real nicely.

You might want to change this. A bit unnecessary when you can use much easier singular words. “strange,” could work for this.

I don’t exactly get the “perched upon my sleeve,” part when talking about your heart. Like, it’s your heart. Should probably be inside of you unless it’s jumping out. It might just be me, but it sounds nice nonetheless.

That sounds a bit off when you read it. It’s just so abrupt and doesn’t flow well with the rest of the paragraph.

Not exactly 100, but it’s close enough. I had to change it to at least get the main idea out.


The loud thundering of footsteps echoes in the corridor as he stumbles, attempting to pick up the pendant he dropped only to swipe at nothing. He lays down, his eyes squinting trying to fumble around the ground, wasting time. His hands start to pick up grit as his searching gets hastier. Searching and searching, he gets more desperate as time goes by.

His breathing gets faster and faster, afraid of what would happen if he got caught. His mind starts to go foggy and hazy from the lack of carbon dioxide. His rapid beating heart thumping in his ears.

“This can’t be, this can’t be! Where is it?”


Your paragraph builds up the tension really well. With every sentence, I feel the character’s impatience and panic increase. You write fluent sentences, although the beginning of the sentences could use a bit more variation. You often start a sentence with “his” (His hands, his breathing, his mind, …) and it gets repetitive after a while.

If your character is human, then this seems rather odd to me. A mind can go hazy from too much carbon dioxide, or from a lack of oxygen. The less carbon dioxide in your brain, the better, actually.

Overall, I think you did a great job here. Your first 100 words definitely peek my curiosity. What genre is this story?

Here are the first 100 words of the first chapter of “Inheritance - The Dark Sorcerers: Book 1”. It’s actually a bit more than 100 words, but I couldn’t cut the paragraph without ruining the atmosphere. :sweat_smile:

The intrusive weight of invisible eyes watching me touched my skin as I walked, although there was no one here. The long corridor ahead of me was completely deserted, except for me, then. The air that left my lips formed clouds in the cold, and I rubbed my arms in an attempt to warm up.

I should have put on my dressing gown. Sister Clementine was right: I would be forgetting my head some time.

I turned around a corner, but stopped dead in my tracks when I noticed where I was. I knew I was still inside the Monastery - I had to be, because I didn’t recall leaving the premises - yet I didn’t remember ever having encountered this particular wing.

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Oooo. I like this one. It’s a bit creepy and mysterious while still able to set the screen and give us some character insight. The text and inner monologue are a bit confusing and weirdly structured but that could be part of the historical/fantasy style.

Here’s mine:

They called it The Culling. A perfectly normal toosday gone wrong. An sunny afternoon turned twilight.

The thing about the Culling, what made it so memorable, was its unexpectedness.

That day the rays of our ever-present sun brought the slightest bit of warmth to our cold classrooms. The stronger students still beat up the weak, and shoved the timid ones into the vented lockers. Teachers yelled at students for using their powers outside of ability training class, as they did everyday.

Maybe the normalcy of it should’ve thrown us off. It didn’t belong in our prison.

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Oh, that’s good, gives me Leia Stone vibes.
I like fantasy which has children trying to control their powers.
Harry Potter
Fallen Academy, etc.

My first 100 words…
“Crystal, no!” my mum screams as my best friend and maid of honor jumps up on my groom and rubs her bouquet of red roses and blush pink lilies on my to-be husband’s face.

Thing is, he’s horribly allergic to roses.

You got it, it’s my wedding day,


But that doesn’t explain why my maid of honor is dead set on sending my husband to the ER.

Now, I’m Mystique Paris Watson, age 32.

But the most noteworthy thing in my life happened to me when I was 20.

I’m here, standing on the altar, experiencing the 'magic I had dreamed about for almost all of my life.

But, a revelation by my nieces dearest, flipped the event on its head.

Not exactly sure, maybe non-fiction. It’s actually based on a mental disorder called schizophrenia. This scene is actually portraying his mind in that state. I wanted to try soemthing more on earth and related to mental illnesses.

Well, I think you portray his confusion really well. I wouldn’t call it non-fiction, though, if it isn’t real events that you describe, but the theme seems fascinating nonetheless.

Yah, I just don’t know what to call it. :stuck_out_tongue_winking_eye:
The definition of non-fiction is using either real events, real facts, or real people, so I was just going off of that. The schizophrenia is actually the result of a drug called cannibis, or better known as marijuana.

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Expert from A Phantom’s tale

A fishing line landed into the river and sank beneath the water for a moment, then bobbed up again as ripples of water expanded from the splash. Seated on a rock near the riverbank was a young boy fishing. He wore a plain shirt with beige trousers and wore no shoes letting his feet dangle in the water.

He was about ten or eleven with short, sandy hair, brown eyes, and freckles across his face. The boy was well built but not exceptionally tall, although he looked to be in very good health. his name was Rob, the son of an Austrian farmer. When Rob was not at school, he was helping his papa and mama on their farm in the mountains of Austria, and when he wasn’t on the farm, Rob passed the time playing in the woods and fishing. The woods of Austria were large, full of tall, massive pines scattered all along the mountains and through the valleys, miles and miles of woods with a few farms and houses, built of logs, on the mountain sides.

Rob had been fishing for an hour or two and was beginning to get drowsy, he had not caught any fish yet. Suddenly there was a tug on the line and Rob jumped up and began to reel in the line. After a few moments the line went slack, the fish had gotten away. Rob sat down again disparagingly and looked out onto the water as the clouds drifted slowly overhead.

Something snapped behind Rob and he looked around to see a boy come wandering out of the forest holding a large stick as a staff. Rob looked at the boy with interest as he came closer. The boy looked to be the same age as Rob, he had long dark hair that swept over his head and piercing black eyes. He was tall and lanky but quite handsome wearing a similar outfit to Rob’s.

“Hullo!” the boy called out as he approached the river bank, “Got away didn’t he?” Rob continued to stare at him. “Who are you?” he finally said at last. The boy sat down next to Rob and set down his stick. “My name is Eric. What’s your name?” “Rob.” “You live near here?” asked Eric. “Yes, my papa is a farmer, our farm is up on that hill see?” answered Rob pointing to a small farm house on the side of the mountain across from them. There were sheep dotted all around the farm and a soft baaing could be heard in distance. “Want an apple?” continued Rob producing two apples out of his overalls. “Oh yes please” Eric took the apple graciously and both boys sat for a moment crunching on their apples.