The stunned look on his face at being buried alive was slowly replaced by the realization: I was killing him, not to keep him quiet, but because he made his new waitress cry.
(Hopefully this was not an insipid incipit).
Unsurprisingly enough, those 33 words are for the only thing I haven’t been too lazy to “blog” about in the last 4 weeks, that Trifecta Trifextra writing contest thing. There’s been no inspiration, ambition, or new big thrills whatsoever at this particular “watering hole” lately, unless you count swimming with the kid. That’s thrilling fun, in its own way (when hanging out with the kid, or having water wash over you when it’s 99 degrees out, lose their thrill, then you can bury me alive), but not real blogworthy. This isn’t really a “mommy-blog”, after all.
Chuck (Charles Dickens, that is) has nothing to fear from me, as far as opening lines are concerned.