By Patrick F. Cannon

Recognizing that many of you budding novelists may find it difficult to get started, I have drafted a series of story openings that should spur your own creativity. You can then use your imagination to finish them to your own satisfaction. I have included several genres, in hopes that you’ll find one to your liking.

• The ancient church was lit only by a few candles. I stood alone in the vast nave, when suddenly something I barely felt hit my head and fell to the floor in front of me. I picked it up. It was a tiny bird’s nest, intricately constructed and containing only a tiny feather. Just then, I heard the creaking sound of a door opening.
• Smithers stood alone in the noon heat; his hands bound behind his back. He looked across the plaza to the ragged group of soldiers, puffing on their cigars and idly chatting in a language he couldn’t understand. A door opened behind them and a young officer, nattily uniformed and sporting a handlebar mustache, emerged. How, Smithers wondered, had it all come to this?
• I rode into town on my exhausted horse. It could have been any town in this God forsaken wasteland. Wind driven tumbleweed skipped over the lone street. I could just hear the sound of a tinny piano coming from the inevitable saloon. The wooden sidewalks were empty, but I could see furtive eyes peering from behind curtains. Then, the silence was broken by the sound of a single gunshot.
• Millie was running late. She just managed to get in the overcrowded subway car before the doors closed. She managed to find a bar to hold on to as the train lurched one way and then another. With her free hand, she checked her phone for messages. A sudden violent lurch banged her hand on the next passenger and the phone fell to the floor. Before she could bend down to retrieve it, it was returned to her. As she took it, she was looking up at the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
• Curuthers could never have imagined he would find himself in such a dilemma. His very future was at stake. As much as he tried to move him, Professor Goodfellow’s position seemed firm and unshakable. Without saying it directly, he had made it clear to Curuthers that he would never get tenure. His eminence in the field of convoluted text  interpretation would certainly sway the others on the committee. Murder seemed the only solution.
• They had been orbiting the planet Piculbal for three months longer than planned. Their atomic thrusters had failed, preventing their return to Earth. Now, rescue was at hand. A spaceship was on its way, expected to arrive in 14 days. In the meantime, the crew was on reduced rations, adequate to maintain their basic health. Captain Kirk was overjoyed that he would be able to be reunited with his family in time for Christmas. It was then he noticed Ensign Gargan’s head emerging from the tunnel. Where was the rest of him, he wondered?
• His search began in the main wing – the Blue Room, the Red Room, the State Dining Room. Nothing. Surely, he thought, it would exist in the West Wing?  He peeked in the Cabinet Room, the Roosevelt Room, the various staff offices, and finally the Oval Office. Bereft. Upstairs, he thought. Surely there must be intelligent life somewhere in the White House?
• Clark Kent was considering retirement. The last phone booth in Gotham had been hauled away, and he was at a loss to find a convenient place to rip off his suit and emerge as Superman. He knew the caped crusader was still needed; after all, Lex Luthor had just been paroled. Would Lois Lane have any ideas? If he used a public restroom, would it be misinterpreted?
• He double-checked the address. It matched the one on the iron gates, which were open. The long driveway was overgrown with weeds and wound through the dark woods. As he drove through the mist, he wondered why he had received an invitation from this wealthy but mysterious family. Suddenly, the massive gothic-revival house appeared. For a moment, he considered turning around but decided to press on.

Should none of these openings suit your needs, please let me know and I’ll  endeavor to provide one that does.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon