The Tweets of Hannah

Hannah Rogers, literary agent (link in sidebar), has given up tweeting, but has granted me permission to reproduce some of her contributions to Twitdom. As you may know, Hannah accepted submissions of the first sentence of authors' novels, then tweeted that sentence plus her two cents worth.



"Someone made a mistake."  Is that your first sentence, or your prediction of what I'll say when I read it? 

Armageddon began with a cup of coffee.  I had forgotten Starbucks prime directive: If Satan comes in, serve him decaf. 

It comes on the night of the full moon.  And lasts about 5 days, and if you want me to like your novel, don't bring it to me then. 

It was a stately room.   Specifically, it was shaped like Colorado. 

I stopped dead in my tracks the moment I saw him.   No one had mentioned to me that Evil Editor would be attending our slumber party. 

The day I learned my twin sister was a vampire, I was shocked.  Then it hit me: finally, I had an excuse to put a stake thru her heart. 

The big Dutch boy wanted to fight about the ship's name again.   We showed him the name, printed on the stern. That settled that. 

As Leisha disembarked, the hot desert wind hit her like an anvil.   She took a deep breath and blew it out like a category 5 hurricane. 

I could hear the fear in my breathing - jagged and sporadic.   Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought, and entered EE's office. 

“What brings you to Mobile?”   The only believable response to that question: "My GPS malfunctioned." 

The man bore down on me, leering with yellow teeth.  And chomping with bloodshot eyes. 

"Your drug induced coma is the anteroom to my reality."   And your Huh?-inducing opening sentence is the foyer to my nightmare.

Kincaid rode behind the sheep.   I'm torn between wanting to know what you mean by "rode" . . . and NOT wanting to know. 

In your minds, you are all special.  That's because the publishing industry would grind to a halt without us . . . in our minds. 

"I love you," Andi said very clearly, looking right up into his brown eyes.  "I'm so glad I put up this ceiling mirror," he added. 

"Don't forget to send a report about the Crom Dubh to the national data base," I called.  Swallow the bagel, please; then repeat. 

In this business, every once in a while, you meet a woman who's a class act.  Thanks. 

“Mama, Luis ate the last empanada!” Carlos whined.  "The one with poison in it?" she replied. "I meant that one for you, Carlos." 

I didn't know that I was psychic.  Which, now that I think about it, should have been the first clue that I wasn't.

It's over.   For once I can say with certainty: you're starting in the wrong place.

"Shit!"   I'm a traditionalist; I prefer you give the title and word count BEFORE the genre. 

She’d grown to expect it.   And yet it still shocked her when the 1st sentence of a manuscript had two pronouns with no antecedents. 

If days were trains, this one would have been lying at the bottom of a ravine.   If openings were logs, that one would be in my fireplace.

I let the gun rest on my limp dick.   No need to tell us it's limp. If there's a gun anywhere near it, it's limp. 

"You're going to wear that page out, you know."   Dialogue between two senators?

It’s amazing how you take oxygen for granted until you don’t have any.  True, if you replace "amazing" with "perfectly understandable." 

One year was wasted and gone.  Trunk novel or boyfriend? 

"You don’t want this, no more than I do."   Well, at least we agree on something.

"What the hell was that?"  What the hell was that?