Where do I begin
to tell the story
of how great
a love can be,
that’s not how the story goes.
They left me here,
It was to be a quick survey of the planet but no, the other crew must play a prank on poor old
Engineer Technician #2
“Oh Look” they said “Over there in the clearing, isn’t that a category #10 structure?”
Of course, my curiosity gets the better of me and off I go to check it out.
And away they go, leaving me behind again.
Well, it’s time for ET to phone home again.
“Maybe they want… No, they don’t. They just want information, nothing else. That’s why they are sitting in that shabby hut. I can smell them from here. They just want a snitch and I’m no snitch. I am committed to the cause. This small house by the river is the perfect place to keep an eye on them. They have no idea I’m here. None.” And he chuckled.
When the window shattered, a single shot coming from the shabby hut, he fell.
“Where do I begin…” said the sniper at his debriefing. “If you hesitate, you’re done, and he hesitated.”
Experience has taught me that most writers these days are pretty good at opening chapters – they are, after all, the bait to lure both publishers and readers in – but things often go rapidly downhill from there.
I’ve lost count of the number of books where I’ve reached the final pages, and it’s abundantly clear that the author doesn’t have a clue how to wrap things up or come to a decent conclusion.
So, I always begin at the end, and if the final chapter is pretty compelling, there’s a good chance the rest of the book is worth reading too.
What Could Possibility Go Wrong #001
Hamilton pulled up a stately winged leather chair next the white hair old
man. His advanced age made him appear a cross between Santa and Einstein.
Yet on closer examination the bright blue of ageless eyes signaled a near
nefarious intent. Unfolding the weather note book, Hamilton began the
interview will the same question the public at large had been dying to
know since Maximum Ford had walked out Rift. Or should I say Sir Ford
second Time Lord of the Queen: Where is Arnesto Cervantes? Hoarsely Ford
replied,” Where do I begin.” And he did much to Hamilton surprise.
Where do I begin?
At the age of seventy-five I decided to write my autobiography, being full of years and accomplishments, yet still reasonably expecting time enough to complete the task. But where to begin?
My own birth would be the obvious place, but first I would have to give some account of my parents, and then the cultural circumstances that brought them together. But that implied a whole social history of their era, and the deep tides of civilisation that produced it, which in turn— and so on.
After long consideration, I wrote the first words. “Fourteen billion years ago, the universe began.”
799/800: Questionable Accounting
The accounting system for thoughts and opinions is rather confusing. Someone asking for your opinion is worth ‘a penny for your thoughts’. But sharing an opinion unbidden, one ‘offers their two cents’. Is the one cent difference a penalty for not waiting to be asked? Or are they both just starting positions for negotiations? I offer my two cents; do you haggle to pay me less? You offer me a penny for my thoughts, do I hold out for more? What if the extra penny is actually supposed to be funding all the nickels someone gets for ‘every time they…’?
801: The Stuttering Storyteller
It all started the night I caught her sneaking out on me a month ago. I had noticed her behavior had become erratic and had grown suspicious. I guess that means it started before then.
So, I would have to say it started a few months before, when I noticed her schedule became unpredictable. She was very reliable in terms of when I could expect her home. At least, ever since she changed shifts at work. Although now that I put it like that, maybe that’s where to begin. Anyway, now she’s dead, and I don’t know who killed her.
Sabrina had been right when she told Billbert that they had all the same classes, and he followed her from room to room. She had also been truthful when she said the other students all spoke behind her back.
They sat together at lunch and it was clear the other students were giving the two of them strange looks.
Billbert asked, “What happened that these people want to treat you so badly?”
Sabrina sighed and stared sadly at her tuna fish sandwich, “Where do I begin? I’ve lived here my whole life and people have always treated me this way.”
Where do I begin?
Usually just below the nape of the neck: A long, straight cut along the ridge of the spine, finishing in the small of the back.
Precision is everything, cut too deep and they bleed profusely, too shallow and you’ll tear the skin.
You’ll want to be able to peel it apart at the shoulders, draw it forward and slide it from their arms, like removing a wetsuit.
Be sure to administer morphine, or their screams will distract you.
Finally, when they’re properly peeled, slip yourself into their skin, and see what it’s like being somebody else.
Where do I begin? asked God to nobody.
God started with a giraffe.
It thrashed about and then floated limply through the void.
“Bummer,” said God.
God made a few billion more giraffes, and they all did pretty much the same thing.
Giraffes floated around and bumped into each other.
“That didn’t work out so well,” said God.
God pondered somewhere to put the giraffes.
And created the heavens and the earth.
Dead giraffes plummeted from the heavens to earth, making a mess.
God eventually edited this part out from the official version of Genesis.
But the giraffes never forgot.