The Problem with Opening Sentences---A Moron's Perspective.

The blank screen was a reflection of what was not happening in his brain.

What is an opening sentence that will blow away all other opening sentences and change the way words are written forever? He thought to himself.  

Yesterday's morals are as insipid as IHOP coffee...  no, no...too pop culture, too pretentious.  People like simple words, simple concepts.  

Unremarkable hate was the plague of the 21st century; I avoided the madness by being remarkably stupid.    No, he thought...too dystopian, too pseudo-psychologist.  

"It was a pleasure to burn."  Now Bradbury could write an eerie dystopian intro sentence.  "Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins."  Beautiful...but Nabokov could only get away with lines like that about a 15-year-old girl, because he was Russian, and it was a different age.  Americans would gladly send pervert authors to their Gulags in Guantanimo for expressing lust for a minor.  

No, he would have to choose something much more universal and safe (and yet epic).  He needed to write something that would invoke crying in people who hadn't cracked open a book since English 11.  He needed to write the Breaking Bad of novels.  The Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It) of opening chapters.  

Why is this so hard? Isn't everyone an author now? Heck, the local newspaper just published an article about how 200 4th graders at the local elementary school had just self published their "novels" with actual ISBNs.  If pre-pubescents could get published, how hard could it be?  What could a forth grade novel possibly be about?  Batman fighting a three-legged Unicorn?  

Maybe he was trying to hard. 

It's not like I'm trying to get on Oprah's show, he thought.  Does Oprah still have a show? I can always just market it under some minor subheading, and then claim "best selling" status. Yeah. When people ask what my novel is about, I can say, "Well, it's a dystopian YA Amish rom-com with literary fiction undertones.  In fact, I'm the Amazon top seller in that category."  

Who cares if I sell out? he contemplated.  He could always use a pseudonym.  He could use the money, and nobody except intellectuals care about the Booker Award or literary achievements.  

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I need a hug, or an
antidepressant.  

After the Joker vaporized Gotham City, there wasn't much for Batman to do but to move to the country.  Upstate Gotham was beautiful, and its beauty was enough to keep Batman off his Zoloft and Sarafem pills. He wondered if, maybe, he could be the Light Knight now? But all these positive thoughts faded when he saw Tri-Mono-Maize, the dreaded three legged unicorn.  

I know he's not three legged, but
this was too weird not to use.  

"Damn gimpy unicorns."  Batman muttered under his breath as he glared at the fabled beast.  Yes, these mythical creatures were supposed to be good. But not when they were raised to be evil by the Penguin. And especially not when the Penguin accidentally blew off its right front forearm with a monkey rocket. Now Tri-Mono-Maize was all piss, vinegar and evil to the human world.  

Batman removed the grapple gun from his utility belt and aimed it at the beast's horn.  fffffllllllliiiiinnnggg.  The grapple rang true and clung tight to the alicorn, and the horse reared up in shock, trying to find the origin of the attack.  Batman jerked hard, severing the horn from the forehead of the bewildered creature which fell limply on its side, shivered, and died.  

Batman reeled in his grapple.  He inspected the horn and noticed that it contained a strange liquid at the root.  "Nothing like the fluids of a mythical creature in the morning," Batman said as he gulped down the essence.  It was better than any antidepressant.  

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He looked over his work. It was good. Now he just needed 200+ pages. The thought was daunting after how hard it was crafting this first, perfect page. Overwhelmed, he hit the save button, and turned off the computer. He would get to this later.  (just like the other 30 or so projects he had started in the last ten years).  Writing is hard...maybe I'll just write funny memes instead, he thought.