Not signed in (Sign In)


Vanilla 1.1.8 is a product of Lussumo. More Information: Documentation, Community Support.

Welcome Guest!
Want to take part in these discussions? If you have an account, sign in now.
If you don't have an account, apply for one now.
    • CommentTimeMar 22nd 2010 edited

    Blatantly stolen from DEM. The title says it, write a hook. You can take one from a story you’ve already written, or one you’re working on if you want.


    I thought a hook was just the first sentence but apparently I’m wrong. I will post a hook when I’m not supposed to be working on my essay. It’s bad enough to be procrastinating on the internet, but if I’m writing, it might as well be for school so that I can go to bed at a reasonable time. XP


    You know, up until about two days ago I had a pretty normal, boring life. You know, the usual: get up, go to school, come home, do homework, sleep, lather rinse repeat. And I was happy being normal! I mean, it wasn’t terribly exciting, sure, but who needs excitement all the time?

    And then we went on a field trip to the nuclear power plant. Oh, now you see where this is going. Stupid comic books ruin everything. How about this: I start the morning this all happened, and you’ll see why this is probably the best and the worst thing to ever happen to me.

    OK, it all started the day I brought jam toast to school…

    • CommentTimeJun 1st 2010

    There’s a hole in my closet.
    Not the normal kind. Not the kind you hire a contractor to fix.
    A whole in the universe.
    Maybe I should start at the beginning…

    • CommentTimeJun 1st 2010

    I cannot honestly confirm how much of this is true. The bits with me in the, sure, whatever, but this happened thirty years ago and I was busy with other stuff at the time.

    • CommentTimeJun 1st 2010

    This isn’t actually writing a hook, but I found what seems to be a decent article on it.


    They cited a book by Ursula Le Guin…I should check that out.

    • CommentTimeJun 4th 2010

    There was a shark in the kitchen. Thankfully, it was only a small one, and mostly dead anyway.


    I get it now!


    The first time he saw Jen, Ernst was fascinated by her. Idling around the iron bars of the church gate; among the pink roses that were twined along them, still in bloom although it was mid-autumn; she was purity and poetry all in one. Without even knowing her name, he began to fall in love.
    Too bad he was a gnome.