Let’s practice writing a bunch of beginnings together…
…based on Cards Against Humanity prompts!
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we practice writing some beginnings together.
First we went over the four elements of a good opening. Check out more details on them here if you’d like, but in summary a good opening does these four things:
- Set the scene: where/when does this take place?
- Set the tone: how does the character/reader feel?
- Small action: nothing crazy, just *doing* something
- Hook with voice: make it sound like a real person talking
We then picked out some random Cards Against Humanity and used them as inspiration to write the beginning of some stories.
Here’s what we came up with:
Topic #1: “I drink to forget the milkman.”
ME
It was nine a.m. on a Saturday, the time when the milkman should’ve arrived. Even though there was no doorbell or knock, I still performed the same ritual. Our ritual. Opening the door to the bright front yard, smiling, making smalltalk — with no one.When I closed the door, there were no fresh, clinking glasses of milk in my hand, only a bottle of tequila with cigarette butts dancing around the swill at the bottom. Ashes to ashes.
I’d been suckling at it since I woke up at three a.m. The same nightmare as always. The one where I got to say goodbye.
JOE_G89
Some of my clients had simple jobs. Plumbers, lumberjacks, warehouse workers. But the most basic of all was the time I met the milk man. The first time I met him in the seedy motel room, I didn’t think he was anything special. Average looks, middle aged. But god, by the time his hour was up, I had to drink to forget how attracted I was to my most basic client.BOBICUS
He orders the same thing every time. Small glass of milk, warm. He’ll go around the bar, asking women to sing him a lullaby and tuck him into bed. His shirt is untucked, his hair uncombed, but he’s devilishly handsome. Ungroomed and unkempt, but a strong jaw and deep eyes.They agree, some of them. They ignore the unmet gazes, the awkward grip of his hand. They play along, promising to be his “mommy.” Sometimes they even leave with him.
One day, a younger woman came through, a librarian’s glasses and owl eyes. She sang him a lullaby and held him to her bosom, until he fell asleep in her arms.
ERICADEEL
Milk comes in all forms. Sometimes from a mother, sometimes from a jug, and other times? That sweet, succulent white liquid comes from a firm, juicy man. You know what I’m saying? I’m saying, I got me a milkman. Well, *had* me a milkman. I caught him sharing his milk with other women, delivering it all around town, in fact. Now, I drink to forget what I had—and what I did. He can’t deliver that milk no more.I choked down my half-chewed mouthful of tough, gamey meat. “Yeah! Thank you – ah, thanks, y’all, for welcoming me to the family. Actually-” I whirled my head, looking for the glass bottle I’d brought. There. “Drinks on me!” It was whiskey. My most expensive bottle. I had hoped this trip would cure me of my need for it, but I knew I’d still be afraid to stand in the house of God next Sunday.
Even deep in the woods, surrounded by the manliest and most God-fearing men I knew, I craved the routines of civilization. One particular routine of civilization. Milk delivery, and the beautiful man it came with.
Topic #2: “Introducing Xtreme Baseball! It’s like baseball,
but with Stephen Hawking talking dirty.”
ME
Sam managed to hit a home run, but it wouldn’t count unless she could come up with something dirty to yell real quick.Nobody even bothered to go after the ball, it was clearly soaring over the rusted fence beyond Mulberry middle school’s outfield. All eyes, and ears, were on Sam as she rounded the bases, waiting expectedly. She sucked in a breath, and spoke in the most robotic, Stephen Hawking-esque voice she could muster.
“That ball was easier to hit than your mom’s last night,” she said, passing first base. The baseman nodded in approval and she kept going. One base further to a run in Xtreme Baseball.
JOE_G89
I was sitting in the dugout with a bunch of the other guys. Some were chewing dip or Big League Chew. Stephen Hawking was the mascot but his battery died so we stuck him down here. Big mistake. He kept talking about how to cork a bat using just your mouth. Then he asked me if my gum still had flavor and to let him chew it. Ugh. And then the final straw was when he asked to hold my balls. My signed balls were collector’s items. I wasn’t gonna hand those puppies to just anybody.
Topic #3: The next Happy Meal toy? A windmill full of corpses.
ME
By the twentieth goddamn time Shane whined about getting his stupid toy from McDonald’s, I caved. All I wanted was a decent dinner at home, a nice grilled salmon from the fridge with some steamed pilaf on the side — now I was in hamburger hell.It reeked of old plastic and vats of stale, churning vegetable oil. A hint of urine creeped through the doors to the forbidden ball pit. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so I let Shane order whatever the Pokyman or Maryo thing it was he wanted and forked over the ten bucks. Keep the change.
Walking out to the parking lot and finally breathing fresh air, Shane tore open his Happy Meal bag and proudly showed me the toy he’d been screaming about for days. It was a small plastic windmill with skeletons hanging out of it that he spun around and around, making a rattling noise like a dying air conditioner.
“Look, Dad!” Shane squealed. “It’s just like on Biji Skellys.”
I don’t know what kind of cursed tongue my son speaks sometimes, but I just smile and nod and thank Christ at least there aren’t 150 of these goddamn Beegee Skeletons or whatever.
JOE_G89
Hey kids! We’re not giving away Pokemon Cards in Happy Meals any longer. We’ve moved on and you should to. Now we’re teaching kids about death with our new spinny toy. The Deathmill of Fun. We have never released a toy this exciting before. Make a game of it. Spin the blades and watch as plastic corpses fly off into these fun plastic coffins. Collect all 24 coffins! Trust me they are gonna be worth a lot of money on eBay. Buy now while supplies haven’t decayed completely.SIXSIXSEVE_N
Timmy pulled on the coat sleeve of his father, Sir Reginald. “Daddy, I want the corpse windmill. I want it now.”Sir Reginald, a man of exquisite taste, curls the ends of his handle bar mustache between his fingers and surveyed the room. Little Timmy’s nagging would not be quenched until he received the exact McDonald’s toy that he requested. The little brat.
“Look, she has a corpse windmill.” Timmy pointed in the direction of Ludmilla, the daughter of Madam Penelope Fenster. The girl slapped at the rotting flesh of a hanging body. The corpse wore a tattered suit, as did the others nailed to the lumber of the windmill.
Reginald adjusted his collar. “That’s because little miss Ludmilla is poor. She doesn’t understand the first thing about a proper McDonald’s toy. The toy you should want is the ledger book. Bookkeeping is one of the highest arts.”
Puffing up like a balloon, Timmy prepared one of his infamous shrieks. The type of scream that could curdle the blood of all within the restaurant. “I don’t want the ledger book, daddy. I told you. I don’t want the children’s practice W9 forms. I don’t want the calligraphy pen and inkwell or the wax seal and stamp either. I want the corpse windmill!”
A pointed clearing of the throat from Sir Peter Laniston urged Sir Reginald to go ahead with his order. The McDonald’s employee looked expectantly, waiting for the his answer on which type of toy he wanted included with Timmy’s meal.
“Very well,” Sir Reginald said. “I suppose we will go with the corpse windwill.”
Timmy cheered.
An arm from one of the corpses on Ludmilla’s windmill dislocated and dropped to the McDonald’s floor with a moist thump.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Top images: Pakutaso