on February 25th, 2006 at 04:50 am
I remember the first fiction-like thing I wrote had this huge paragraph about the dust on a plastic rose, and the smell of old coffee and wood paneling in the realestate office the opening scene took place in.
Not a few sentences. Paragraphs. On each little grain of old coffee grounds. Each faded bloody plastic rose petal. Each knot in the knotty-arse wood paneling. Many, many paragraphs, before anybody even entered the room, let alone talked.
Yeah, that'll grab the reader right off.
Thankfully, that computer crashed and all incriminating data was lost.