Bubo-Lytton Awards
I would like to write the opening sentence of a novel or short story. This narrative would be an exercise in reminiscence and, preferably, have the feel of gauzy nostalgia characteristic of a certain species of the genus. Most preferable of all would be if all this were apparent from the first sentence alone. Sadly, I fear myself unable to carry out my mandate. (qui mandatum mandavit? I, myself.) I can see the shape of the sentence in vague outline, but then the path bifurcates. It splits. The possibilities compound. I know not how to proceed, and qui scribet nisi ipse scriptor?
The constraint under which I labor: this sentence must begin as follows:
They say that pride, like the summer, goeth before a fall,
Now, as I see it, there are two main ways to proceed in this sentence, starting from either pride or the summer. It would be easy to establish a backward look in the latter case; simply introduce some sort of concession ("but") and remark on some long-ago summer, say of the narrator's youth ("this is the harder part, but it would be clever here to incorporate some mention of high-running pride and insinuate that in that bygone August it seemed as if nor the summer would end nor the pride would ever be dashed, thereby setting the stage not just for downfall but, if handled right, perhaps some violence, which would interact well with gauzy nostalgia, at least in my mind—imagine Dvorak's string quartet (op 51) played on a staticky radio"—obviously this needs some cleaning up). Or you could start from pride. I haven't thought about that possibility, really.
You could also start from "fall", but that would be silly.
Comments
on 2005-07-29 13:04:09.0, Jacob Haller commented:
"and, similarly, a crouch, like winter, comes before a spring."
And then the narrator talks about The Lion Song.
and, further, on 2005-07-29 13:48:41.0, dave zacuto commented:
They say the pride, like that summer, goeth before a fall
and, further, on 2005-07-29 14:53:04.0, Michael commented:
Really, continuing from the sentence you wish to use, you can't continue on as if "summer" was the subject of it's thought. The subject of thought in your sentence is "pride." Of course, you could change the subject by moving the words around, but then it becomes even more awkward, but in a completely different manner. You could still tie the two together, but summer would have to be merely the setting for the plot event which is situated around pride.
They say that pride, like the summer, goeth before a fall, and I remember that particular, woeful summer when my pride ran as high as the kites I flew, running in circles in the city park as I sought to make my mark in the blue heavens, my babylonian ambition to touch the gods of nature through my child's toy continuously frustrated as my plastic icarus inevitably tumbled down as the doldrums inevitably set in, replacing the ecclesiastical zephyrs.
and, further, on 2005-07-29 14:55:38.0, Michael commented:
...which had whooshed up my kite, and my pride at this accomplishment (never mind that I could scarcely claim credit for command of the winds!) up to those celestial hights.
and, further, on 2005-07-29 15:38:51.0, ben wolfson commented:
Really, continuing from the sentence you wish to use, you can't continue on as if "summer" was the subject of it's thought.
Don't be silly, m'boy, of course I can. This would establish quite efficiently the disjointed abruptness that would characterize the narrative. It seems, though, that you attended to my post as well as you attend to your spelling, for you might otherwise have noticed that in the sentence I characterized the subject of the thought continues to be pride (or could well be), it's just that the summer is mentioned first by way of scene-setting.
babylonian ambition … my plastic icarus
Consistency, please! This is no blog for syncretists.
and, further, on 2005-07-29 16:39:58.0, Michael commented:
In the pursuit of bad writting, you laud disjointedness yet find no merit in my misspellings and syncretism?
and, further, on 2005-07-29 16:48:00.0, ben wolfson commented:
It's more that I find no merit in you.
and, further, on 2005-07-29 18:31:35.0, Michael commented:
That's because you got no soul.
and, further, on 2008-07-06 18:07:25.0, Kara commented:
May I, as a lowly writer and creative-writing teacher, chime in? Story's bad from the get-go, philosopher. Can it. You thinks too muches.