I promised myself that 2014 would see the beginning of my novel, a project I’ve never really embraced, although I’ve wanted to. I’m a poet. I don’t write fiction. Fiction is scary. Well, we all need to dip a toe into a hot bath of water before we take the plunge.
Here’s my novel’s first sentence, but I reserve the right to edit and revise.
Gruntlug was a troll and, like all trolls, he had a terribly large nose, his broad shoulders were able to bear the weight of almost any burden, his skin, covered in large warts, as rough as tree bark, and as thick as leather, was green, like pine needles, and his breath was as foul as swamp water, but he was not unkind; no, Gruntlug was not unkind at all.
Now, wish me lots of luck. I’ll need it if I’m to write anymore.