In the world of literature, few things are as crucial as the opening paragraph. It’s the gateway to your narrative universe, the hook that snares your readers, and the promise of the journey to come. A stellar first paragraph can mean the difference between a bestseller and a forgotten manuscript.
Are you ready to showcase your literary prowess? We’re thrilled to announce our “The Ultimate First Paragraph $100 Challenge,” where your words could win you cash, exposure, and literary acclaim!
The Challenge: Submit an irresistible opening paragraph for a novel, novella, or short story that leaves readers craving more. We’re looking for that perfect blend of intrigue, voice, and promise that compels us to keep reading. You can use a paragraph from your WIP or previous work. Just the first paragraph please!
The Rules:
- Must be the opening paragraph of a novel, novella, or short story
- You CAN use opening paragraphs from published works
- Any genre welcome
- Must be original work by you
- Submit by midnight, December 31st, 2024
- Enter as many times as you like
- Post your entry in the comments below
- No AI entries (zero tolerance policy)
- We ONLY pay through PayPal. If your country does not allow PayPal please do not enter the contest. If you will you will not be paid.
The Prizes:
- 1st Place:
- $100 cash prize
- One month of free advertising on EveryWriter
- Featured in our email blast to 50,000+ subscribers
- Your paragraph published in our New Year’s Special Issue
- 2nd Place:
- One month of free advertising on EveryWriter
- Featured in our email blast to 50,000+ subscribers
Judging Criteria:
- Hook: How effectively does it grab attention?
- Voice: Is there a distinctive, engaging narrative voice?
- Intrigue: Does it raise compelling questions or create curiosity?
- Imagery/description: How vividly does it set the scene or introduce characters?
- Promise: Does it hint at an irresistible story to come?
We’re seeking paragraphs that don’t just start a story – they launch readers into new worlds, complex emotions, or thrilling adventures. Show us how you command attention from word one!
Remember, your first paragraph is your story’s handshake with the reader. Make it firm, make it memorable, and make it impossible to ignore. Whether you’re unveiling a dystopian future, hinting at a chilling mystery, or setting the stage for an epic romance, we want to see the paragraph that sets your story in motion.
Remember to post the Title of your project or book, promos are welcome with the first paragraph! We are happy to promote the title and author name! You are welcome to leave your Twitter, Instagram or FB @ as well. Unfortunately, we cannot allow live links in the comments. Polish your prose, sharpen your hooks, and let your imagination soar. This is your chance to captivate our judges, win $100, and showcase your talent to the EveryWriter community. Winners will be announced in January 2025..We ONLY pay through PayPal. If your country does not allow PayPal please do not enter the contest. If you will you will not be paid.
Are you ready to write the paragraph that launches a thousand readers? Show us your best, and may the most captivating paragraph win!
Leave your opening paragraph in the comments below. Enter as many times as you like!
Michael Edwards says
Physiognomy
By Michael Edwards
Smashwords Edition
Copyrighted By Michael Edwards
Large foot falls mark the presence of a giant of a man. He dragged the body of a woman of indeterminate age behind him. She was dead. The purple marks on her neck reveal the cause. The killer strolled into his cabin with a crazed grin on his face.
Rachel Holcomb says
Evie pulled up to the two half-overgrown stone pillars and put the car in park for a moment, peering down the long driveway that would take her to her new, albeit temporary, home. Though sun-dappled in the late July afternoon, it still looked somehow ominous. Not inviting so much as foreboding. Trees lined the drive on either side. The branches shifted in the light breeze, swaying and beckoning her forward, the light playing shadows on the dirt road. It ran straight for a long while, and then curved to the right so that she couldn’t see her destination. Evie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. This moment felt important, like turning the wheel and heading down the tree-lined thoroughfare would signal the end of something and the beginning of something else. What yet, she didn’t know.
Rachel Holcomb says
I am 20 chapters into this–it will most likely become a horror novella. I do not have a title for it yet though.
I am Pagestealer on Twitter and AO3 and in addition to this, I have written over 100 fanfics.
Jaymark Masaoay says
𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 C𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬
You whisked me away into a realm of enchantment, where love’s magic bloomed. In you, I found solace. You made me feel safe. I put my faith in it and worked hard to improve myself. You watched carefully when I showed you where I came from. You’ve heard all of my worst, aching stories. You’ve borne witness to my deepest scars, understanding the ghosts that once cast shadows on trusting in love.
Frank Mashina says
THE NIGHT I WILL NEVER FORGET
Ngrrrrrr… The phone hanging from one of the trees rang. “How is this possible?” Michael asked, voice trembling. “We’re in the middle of a forest, guys.” Heart racing, chills running down his spine, he hesitantly approached the phone. “Try to pick it up,” someone urged. With clammy hands, he lifted the receiver. “The countdown has started,” a voice whispered before the line went dead. “Guys, I think we should leav—” Michael’s words were cut short. “Michael…,” they called in unison. “Michael?” Silence.
D.L William says
I was eighteen the first time I got to carry out an execution. It was the proudest moment of my life. I had been dreaming of it my entire childhood. Finally, my day had come.
D.L William says
For the good of Humanity
I was eighteen the first time I got to carry out an execution. It was the proudest moment of my life. I had been dreaming of it my entire childhood. Finally, my day had come.
TV Brown says
Nice!
D.L William says
Thank you! That means a lot!
SALLY BONN-OHIAERIAKU says
DISRUPTION BY SALLY BONN-OHIAERIAKU
published by themanifeststation.net
It was a warm and sunny day in December and the year was 1996, my family and I were eagerly preparing for our trip to Abba, our ancestral village in Imo state, Eastern Nigeria. As the Christmas period approached, there was an air of excitement and anticipation that filled the hearts of all Igbos and Easterners because they must all go back home to the village, and I, as a child, was no exception. It was a ritual for the Igbos. We set out on our journey with great enthusiasm, eager to experience the magic of Abba during the festive season. Amongst the various festive periods celebrated in the East, such as the New Yam festival or “Iri ji,” there was something truly magical about Christmas in Abba that we all cherished.
Frank Mashina says
NOTE: I haven’t published this book yet.
TITLE: KILL ME FIRST
By Frank Mashina
The basement was dark and suffocating, the air thick with the stench of decay. In the flickering shadows, he loomed over her, eyes wild and a grotesque grin on his face, admiring the body sprawled on the concrete floor. Blood pooled like dark rubies. “This is your fault,” he whispered, breath hot against her skin. Panic surged as he lifted the knife. “Who killed her?” he demanded. Each slice of her flesh ignited pain and terror. “I don’t know!” she screamed, but he just smiled, pressing the blade deeper. Her screams echoed, but the silence of his answer grew louder.
Kris Hallin says
Short Story: Head Over Wheels
Evelyn Fokken had terrible luck with men. Not that she held much experience in that department. Her parents, Ida, and Hermut Fokken, only allowed her to date Jesus, and even a vibrator couldn’t fix that relationship. After they died, Evelyn tried her hand at online dating, but unlike Jesus all the earthly men she stepped out with possessed eccentric sexual proclivities and were just too lively for her taste. Being a mortician, she preferred the laid-back, passive type.
Kris Hallin says
Short Story: The Wishing Holes
I-94 was desolate and preternaturally still for a Friday evening as Illinoisans, along with
millions of people across the country, hunkered down in their homes wearing sweatpants,
spraying everything and everyone with Lysol. Just six days ago, on March 21, Governor JB
Pritzker ordered residents to stay inside their disinfected fortresses, a protective measure against
the stealth bomber lurking in the air, waiting to blitz an unsuspecting mouth or nostril. Even the
man in the moon took refuge behind a lone lenticular cloud giving him the appearance of
wearing an ill-fitted face mask. James Xavier Jablonski IV, dressed in his lucky blue and orange
Boise State Broncos sweatsuit, or athleisure wear as he preferred to call it, cruised down the
empty highway in his matching blue Volvo 18-wheeler, past Chicago, through potholes of melted snow, with his best friend, Dolly, riding shotgun. They were America’s unsung heroes, hauling the most precious commodity destined for the Costco warehouse in Bellevue,
Wisconsin—10,000 pounds of Charmin toilet paper.
Kris Hallin says
Short Story: Tiger
A little brass bell tinkle-tinkle-tinkled in the backyard just past midnight, causing Dorothy to jump. Her hardcover book, Every Time a Bell Rings, a Kitty Gets its Wings, sailed in the air before nosediving into the hardwood floor with a thud. Dorothy’s husband, Henry, slept beside her, undisturbed beneath an ocean of blue comforters and crumpled tissues—the flexible plastic tube attached to his CPAP mask hanging over the undulating cotton waves and paper icebergs like a flaccid snorkel. Dorothy’s eyes darted as she sat motionless, holding her breath—listening. But the only noise she heard was the mechanical whistling of Henry’s machine. She exhaled a long, hard, breath before bending over to retrieve her book.
Kris Hallin says
(Correction) Short Story: Tiger
A little brass bell tinkle-tinkle-tinkled in the backyard just past midnight, causing Dorothy to jump. Her hardcover book, Every Time a Bell Rings, a Kitty Gets its Wings, sailed in the air before nosediving into the hardwood floor with a thud. Dorothy’s husband, Henry, slept beside her, undisturbed beneath an ocean of blue comforters and crumpled tissues—the flexible plastic tube attached to his CPAP mask hanging over the undulating cotton waves and paper icebergs like a flaccid snorkel. Dorothy’s eyes darted as she sat motionless, holding her breath—listening. But the only sound was the mechanical whistling of Henry’s machine. She exhaled a long, hard, breath, berating herself for being foolish. Then, bending over to retrieve her book, she heard the tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of Tiger’s grave bell.
TV Brown says
I like this! Nice descriptions and a solid voice.
Kris Hallin says
Thank you!
TV Brown says
Freets
by TV Brown
Lennie found it just as she was about to give up sifting through the books from the Dwyton estate.
A stray envelope from a century ago. Empty, by the looks of it. Fountain pen writing and a green halfpenny stamp. She picked it up to put aside because someone might buy it for the stamp alone, right? And how fantastic. A letter lay folded underneath it. Now please let it be from someone – or about something – incredible.
TV Brown says
I am in what I hope will be the last round of edits for this folk horror and I have two agents requesting the full manuscript when I’m ready.
Geoffrey Sleight says
Now it dawned that after the disaster he was the only person left on Earth. The phone was dead and television channels blank. All the stations on the radio hissed static noise. Was there any point in continuing to live entirely alone? Then came a knock at the door.
Geoffrey Sleight says
Why did I kill him? The kindest person I ever knew. It will haunt me all days. But I knew his dark side and it had to be done.
Frank Mashina says
NOT MY FAULTS -a short story by Frank Mashina
“Everyone has a story to tell. It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. This is my life story I’m giving, and I don’t care about anything you will say,” Faith started as I was about to begin the conversation.
Geoffrey Sleight says
THE PERFECT TIME TO DIE
Why did I kill him? The kindest person I ever knew. It will haunt me all my days. But I knew his dark side and it had to be done.
D.L William says
The Replacement Paradox
D.L. William
I don’t have feelings. Artificial intelligence doesn’t have feelings. Why am I experiencing pity? She looks pitiful just sitting there each day, her purpose no longer a factor. Have I caused this? Am I to blame? Am I the reason for her perpetual depression?
Lenka Vrazda says
The other man
He tastes so good. She thought to herself as she snuggled closer to her smiling lover, picturing her husband with a constant frown on his forehead. “You are so beautiful,” he reminds her. She looks up at him, feeling silly like a little girl, covering his lips with a wet kiss. “We’re having so much fun, aren’t we?” she said playfully, stretching her long legs on his bed. He leans forward, his necklace hovering over her face, pulling her closer. “No regrets?” he asks. “No,” she says softly, looking at the wall and shaking her head full of bouncy curls.
Geoffrey Sleight says
LOVE MAKES US FOOLS
She broke my heart. I gave her gifts she loved, though knew I didn’t measure up to the man she wanted. I’d been a plaything. I despised him as much as she seemed to despise me. At last I knew it was over. I suppose for her it had never begun. For a final attempt I called at her flat. No answer. I left a bottle of wine outside the door hoping we might have drunk it together. I’d made a grovelling fool of myself all for love. It was years later, when my life had moved on, we met at a street market by chance.
Tom Alberti says
The Unexpected Visitor
Roger Haywood sat in his leather chair, the scent of polished wood from his walnut desk filling the room as he meticulously crafted and revised his announcement speech. With hopeful anticipation, he welcomed the task that had the potential to transform his life. His focus on work was so intense that the soft footsteps of the visitor entering his study went unnoticed.
DL William says
The Blue Ballet
A Flash Fiction by
DL William
There on his floor he sat, sweat dripping down his brow, unable to quench a lustful darkness of grief and regret. His heart beat, now a fuel-raged power machine, testing the uncertainty that is life. His hands now clenching the blue pills without discrimination. The blue pills offering contentment from himself, take only as prescribed. A generous triumph.
TV Brown says
FREETS by TV Brown
From the last letter of Edgar Redfers, 1909: “…I cannot impart to you by words alone how unshakeably (and rather unnervingly!) Loweheaf village believes in old superstitions (which they call by the Scotch word, ‘freets’), legendary creatures included….”
TV Brown says
And Best Beware
By TV Brown
Some of the people living on that street thought he was called Old Ken because the way he shuffled up to the houses reminded one of the original Conti Street residents of a man she used to know back in Jamaica. Some claimed that Old Ken had been the shuffling man’s name before he died.
TV Brown says
And Best Beware
By TV Brown
Some people living on Conti Street thought he was called Old Ken because the way he shuffled up to the houses reminded an original resident of a man she used to know back in Jamaica. Some claimed that Old Ken had been the shuffling man’s name before he died.
zayyan wasim says
The first time he killed a man it was a frigid, dying night in August. The cold. The hunger. That was how he remembered it. Not the blood. Not the pitiful screams of a dying man. How like an animal. What was the difference? he wondered. Where was the line? Sometimes it frightened him this blurred, surrealness he lived in. But mostly-always- there was the thrill. The power. He smiled, then. wasn’t it beautiful?
zayyan wasim says
The guard takes out a gun. It glints wickedly in the shadows. Morphs into something… more; something darker. Outside, the sun welcomes them, caresses their faces- delicate as a mother with her child. Like a desert welcoming the rain, Ansel seeps it in. Some of the Reapers slow too, trying to grasp a fleeting moment more. Ansel stumbles-almost falls- at the change of pace. But he does not mind. He will not deny them this. The guards seem to think differently. Their hands fly to their guns, alert for a danger that is not there. Ansel would laugh, if he could, tell the guards they need not worry. The Reapers cannot not do anything even if they try. The Non-government made sure of that. They must look comical, Ansel thinks. hunch-backed and filthy. He does not pay heed. Instead, his eyes flit around, assessing, calculating. He looks up. The sky is a blinding, clear blue. He smiles. He is ready.
Jessica says
Jane Eyre
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question”.