How do opening and closing lines make us feel? Does the beginning set unrealistic expectations of what's to come? Does the final line require a level of drama commensurate with what came before? And if it doesn't accomplish this, does it take the wind out of the novel? 

You can find lists of the so-called greatest opening and closing lines in history. Just Google them. People qualified (and not) have their own takes. If you're looking for any answers here, look again. I will say this: I do have a tendency (like many writers, I'm sure) to redo the opening lines many times before achieving satisfaction. Really, that's all one can hope. I've stopped trying to find that perfect remedy to hooking a reader. As long as the intrigue on page one is sufficient to push the reader along to page two, then the job is done. Next up is page 2's responsibility to carry the load. As for endings? These I don't tend to beat myself up about. For one, if I got you that far, I must have done something right. Two, I want you to feel satisfied with the total piece. It would be like if you watched a two-hour film and focused all your rage, frustration, or unbridled joy on the final image at the expense of the complete work. 

I prefer to think of opening and closings as lines that validate the tone I'm trying to set in the moment, and nothing more. With Book 2 of The Impossible Future series coming out in August, I thought I'd post the first and last lines of books 1 and 2. They are not spoiler-ish, but they do reflect a different tone. And boy, these two books are nothing alike.

From The Last Everything's beginning: Marlena Sheridan brought one son and one monster to this version of Earth because the fool she married sought adventure. The ending: A wash of golden, late-day sunlight cut through the forest. The dust cloud disappeared.

From The Risen Gods' beginning: Jamie Sheridan sensed his humanity peeling away like thin sheets of sun-ravaged skin. The ending: “I’m coming for you, dude. Get my speed?”

As I write this, a certain somebody is speaking in front of the Lincoln Memorial with a wide variety of tanks on display. I suppose that's one way to think about independence. I guess. Another form of independence is taking place in my living room, where 15-year-old Misty (pictured here) is slumbering in her favorite spot because hey, she has well earned freedom from silly rules about lying on the furniture. Now that's the life. 

Wouldn't we all love the ability to make our own rules, govern our time, and rarely (if ever) find ourselves accountable to anyone? I'm not suggesting a life of sleeping the hours away like Misty, but having the ability to do those things we love most because we have the financial wherewithal. As I have discussed here before, my full-time job puts me in an English classroom, but the future lies in that place where I work in shorts and a t-shirt doing little more than telling stories for a living. (Selling books would be a helpful side-effect, thank you very much.)

I am one year into the mission of working toward that independence, and that goal remains strong and viable (albeit still a little ways distant). The second book in The Impossible Future is finished, with a release target of August. Much work remains - building a licensed business ain't exactly the joy of life - but objectives are being met, strategies being learned, and a declaration of independence inevitable. 

Watch this space as well as Facebook and my newsletter for exciting news and visuals in the coming weeks! If you haven't joined the newsletter, take the plunge! Fill out the pop-up form on this site or on my Facebook page. 

(On a side note, neighbors are shooting off fireworks routinely, and Misty doesn't seem put-out, which is truly a new development. Must be that 15-year vibe.)