The challenge: 100 first-page story hooks in sixty days. Just the first page (or less), and it has to hook the reader to want more.
Raise the difficulty: Re-write the opening hook of twenty straight shorts from my collection. Thing is, although some of the opening hooks I've done are pretty good, there are always more ways to write them, and punching them up can be good exercise. So below, you have (60) the original opening and the revised opening for my short "Sin Comin' On", and (61) the original and revised open for my novelette "It Is May". Which do you think is better?
Sixty
Original: I felt bad for Carlo, but when that new man walked in the room, I felt a sin coming on.
"The launch is December 5, people; we need all hands for the next two months," Richard said in his Program Director voice, letting his eyes run briefly over the newcomer, a tall, dark-haired Oxford button-down with crisp slacks and scruff, all manner of contradictions and a mix of earnestness and sass that already had me wondering what he was doing later, which didn't make it simple for me to keep my eye on the prize. Or maybe it did, if you understand my meaning.
I have a man. I do. It isn't that.
Revised: Richard, our Program Director, hadn’t got through his first sentence when the new man walked in the room.
“The launch is December 5, people, we need all hands for the next two months…” Richard said, and let his eyes travel to the tall, dark-haired Oxford button-down with crisp slacks and scruff. The newcomer was all contradictions, earnestness and sass that had my back straightening and skirt hiking before he put his slim britches in the open chair.
I have a man. Carlo. It isn’t that. But there’s prizes and prizes, if you take my meaning. And although it was very early, I felt a sin coming on.
Sixty-One:
Original: It is May, and the violets are dying.
They tell me they will return again in spring, as they have always done, but I know this time they will not. Some things, perhaps, will return, but whether I shall see them or no, I cannot say. I want things to go back to the way they were, or failing that I beseech the goddess for the strength to endure them as they are now, but I fear she has no more power in this world.
Revised: It is May, and the violets are dying.
They tell me they will return again in spring, as they have always done, but I know this time they will not. Some things, perhaps, will return. The emmer wheat. Equinox. Blood and fire, oh, yes, blood and fire. But my Caius? Who can say? I cannot even tell if I will return, though I beseech the goddess day and night. I fear she has no more power in this world.
If you're looking for writing help--and who isn't--there are a lot of good editors on the Discord channel. I recommend it.
~Cristof
P.S. This series is the brainchild of The New Creatives, which challenged us to create 100 of something as a way of attaining mastery of a particular art form (or beginning the process, more like). This is my attempt. #TNCmy100