Home could really be anywhere—it could be the home you grew up in, the home you have created that you live in now, or the makeshift home of someone in transition. Again, I’m going to let my mind fling thoughts in and out of different homes I’ve lived in to see if I land anywhere.
I remember the huge dining room table we all sat around. We had to slide the salt and pepper across the table with an extravagant push to get it to the other side. There was a window into the kitchen, sort of like the place where the servants could serve up the food in the old days. It was such a huge table. I could have some guy bring home his girlfriend and his parents know that she’s “the one.”
I think this could work, so now I have to try and get a good opening line. What would make me want to read more? If I see this through the girl’s eyes, then readers can get in touch with her fear and want to figure out what it is she’s afraid of.
Samantha’s fingers played nervously with her shirt button. Now that she was sitting at the dining room table, with John frowning at her from above the rim of his wine glass, she wasn’t all that sure that discussing the art of grave-digging had been the best choice of conversation.
Ah! Perfect. This story could take off in so many ways, it’s unreal. I could make it humor, paranormal, science-fiction—literally, anything I like. It’s one of those classic openers that lights the muse within.
Have at it, you guys.