My policy is to let authors query me by submitting only their first sentence. I then post their sentence and my two cents on my Twitter account. Saves both of us a lot of time. Here are some of my faves:
If days were trains, this one would have been lying at the bottom of a ravine. If openings were logs, that one would be in my fireplace.
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It's over. For once I can say this with certainty: you're starting in the wrong place.
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Armageddon began with a cup of coffee. I had forgotten Starbucks prime directive: If Satan comes in, serve him decaf.
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It was a stately room. Specifically, it was shaped like Colorado.
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I stopped dead in my tracks the moment I saw him. No one had told me Evil Editor would be attending my sweet sixteen slumber party.
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The day I learned my twin sister was a vampire, I was shocked. Then it hit me: finally, I had an excuse to put a stake thru her heart.
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The big Dutch boy wanted to fight about the ship's name again. We showed him the name, printed on the stern. That settled that.
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"Tell me you're kidding." "Nope, I've got you a seven-figure contract and I sold film rights . . . Okay, okay, I'm kidding."
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As Leisha disembarked, the hot desert wind hit her like an anvil. She took a deep breath and blew it out like a category 5 hurricane.
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“What brings you to Mobile?” The only believable response to that question: "My GPS malfunctioned."
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She’d grown to expect it. And yet it still shocked her when the 1st sentence of a manuscript had two pronouns with no antecedents.
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The man bore down on me, leering with yellow teeth. And chomping with bloodshot eyes.
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She was a force of nature steaming through the mall. I made a mental note never to get between her and Mrs. Fields.
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“Your drug-induced coma is the anteroom to my reality." And your Huh?-inducing opening sentence is the foyer to my nightmare.
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Kincaid rode behind the sheep. I'm torn between wanting to know what you mean by "rode" . . . and NOT wanting to know.
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The room lit up as the Pope walked in. Immediately Cardinal Vespaci knew he would catch hell for inviting paparazzi to the conclave.
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The vault's alarm spoke: "Fa-oop fa-oop, fa-oop." Reading that is almost as annoying as listening to it would be.
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I wish I didn’t have to tell my story in the first-person. Sorry, but it's pretty much industry standard for autobiographies.
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In your minds, you are all special. That's because the publishing industry would grind to a halt without us . . . in our minds.
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"I love you," Andi said very clearly, looking right up into his brown eyes. "I'm so glad I put up this ceiling mirror," he added.
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In this business, every once in a while, you meet a woman who's a class act. Thanks.
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I didn't know that I was psychic. Which, now that I think about it, should have been the first clue that I wasn't.
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Some say stasis dreams are as close as the human mind can come to a vision of Heaven. I say it's a pint of Cherry Garcia.
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I had my nightmare again last night. Me too. Mine was the one where yet another author opens by telling me about her dream. And yours?
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"Shit!" I'm a traditionalist; I prefer that you give the title and word count BEFORE the genre.
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The dame had finally come unhinged. Hey, YOU try working a job where you do all the work and get 15% of the take.
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On impulse, Jerel gathered the mage close. On impulse, I turned on the shredder.
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I retched, and gagged, and heaved more liquid out of myself. Been reading my slush pile?
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I let the gun rest on my limp dick. No need to tell us it's limp. If there's a gun anywhere near it, it's limp.
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"You're going to wear that page out, you know." Dialogue between two senators?
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It’s amazing how you take oxygen for granted until you don’t have any. True, if you replace "amazing" with "perfectly understandable."
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The Nightmare Man came today. The Nightmare Man comes EVERY day. Although we agents call him the mailman.
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"What the hell was that?" What the hell was THAT?
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One year was wasted and gone. Trunk novel or boyfriend?
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"You don’t want this, no more than I do." Well, at least we agree on SOMETHING.
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