The first sentence; a beginning. It's the doorway in to the story. Once you've pushed it open and stepped over the threshold you can begin to look around at the wonder the door held in. And time can slip away as you lose yourself in it.
I'm stuck. The story to follow comes as effortlessly as snow falls from the sky, but the opening line...it escapes me.
The characters have taken up residence in my mind, longing to escape. to be free and tell their tale. The door is closed. Bolted. I scramble to look for the key, to compose the sentence that opens the door. The rest of the story begs to be told.
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