It’s April and Earth Day is right around the corner (the 22nd). That seems to make climate change stories an appropriate choice for this month’s First Lines post.
As writers, we’re often told that the first line of a story must hook the reader (particularly if that reader is an editor.) Implied is that the editor will not buy the book if the first line isn’t great. But the editor is a single person with an opinion, often based on significant experience in selecting books. Still, it’s one opinion. The opinion that counts is that of the reader.
First Lines is a series of blog articles posted around the first of the month. Perhaps these will offer inspiration and great reading opportunities for writers and readers. No guarantees. After all, the hookiness of the first lines is in the eye of the beholder.
When There Are Wolves Again
by E.J. Swift
Post-Apocalyptic, LGBTQ+ Science Fiction

Lucy | 2020
Speaking to the filmmaker, Hester Moore in 2070, in the Cairngorms
Please, Hester, come closer to the fire. Let me get you another blanket – there. We’ll keep it going all night, it is Beltane after all. May Eve! What better time for telling stories?
So where would you like me to begin? I should warn you, this is going to be a purely organic recollection, with all the whimsy that implies. I never did get on with the fad for memory digitalization in the 40s – I had enough going on in my head already. But I’ll do my best to give you an honest account, at least so far as these capricious minds of ours allow.“
Wild Dark Shore
by Charlotte McConaghy
Women’s Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Fiction

Rowan
I have hated my mother for most of my life, but it is her face. I see as I drown.
* * *
The face I see when waking from drowning is different. It is rough and wind-bitten and scratchy. It is what I’m looking at when the sudden arrival of pain overcomes me, and I know the image of him will forever be as one with this pain. Whenever I see this face, I will remember the burning sting of being dragged upon rocks and flayed open, left raw, I will feel that bursting pressure in my chest; the sensation will be so vivid. It will be like it is happening all over again. His face, a return. A drowning.“
Hum
by Helen Phillips
Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction, Technothriller

The needle inched closer to her eye, and she tried not to flinch.
Above her, the hum hovered, immaculate, and precise. The steadiness of metal, the piece of a non-biological body. She had heard of elderly people who, at the end, chose hum company over human company.
The hum paused to dip its needle finger in antiseptic yet again, then re-extended its arm, a meticulous surgeon. It’s labor was calm, deaf, as hum labor always was.
Yet the pain grew crisp as the needle moved across your skin toward the edge of her eye. A slender and relentless line of penetration. The numbing gel must be wearing off.“
The Light Pirate
by Lily Brooks-Dalton
Magical Realism, Action Adventure

Somewhere west of Africa, so far from land, the sky is empty, and all directions, a storm begins. The water is warm, the waves are high. The air is heavy with moisture. A breath of wind catches, then circles back, turning itself into something new: a closed circuit gathering power, tighter, and tighter. In this way, the storm grows. It matures. Learns to hold the shape. The warm water feeds it, fattens it, then urges it Westward. Electronic eyes watch as it skims across the Atlantic. Soon enough, it earns a name. Reports are written about its speed and size. Preparations are made. There are other storms in this ocean, other pockets of hot, moist, wind, and rain-heavy cloud. But this one – this one will outgrow them all.“
The Climate Machine
The Athena Disasters Book 1, Susan Kemp
Science Fiction Adventure

Was that a raindrop? Marella Wells felt her arm, disappointed to find her skin dry. But of course, it wasn’t raining. The sky above the bakery was a cloudless powder blue, interrupted only by this flying saucer-like top of the space needle. The windows of the city’s, towering icon gleamed silver in the morning light. A dozen shiny gold objects clung to the saucers edge. From several blocks away, they looked like beatles, though they had to be much larger. One detached from the space needle and began to fall, edge is rippling in the wind.
It’s arms flailed.
Marella gasped… It was a person!
The Two Dogs Who Stayed
by Matthew Caldwell
Literary, Small town, Rural fiction

It was my 58th birthday. December 31st. A day people pretend means something. I bought lemon cake.
Snow was falling in that heavy, hushed weight that makes the world feel like it’s holding its breath.
I didn’t plan to celebrate.
Bought myself that slice of lemon cake from the grocery store and a can of whipped cream. Some traditions deserve to live, even if no one’s around to notice them.
I was halfway home when I heard it. A whimper. Or a dog cry, maybe?
Sharp. Ragged.
Then nothing.
Stopped me cold.
I looked toward the old abandoned house on Birch Street. The one with peeling paint and plywood nailed across the windows.
Then I saw her.
Clarification
There are no affiliate links in this post. I don’t make a cent off of the books listed on this page. Usually, I pull these titles at random. They are from Amazon, my personal library, my area public library, or other online booksellers.
Do You Want to Read More?
Do these first lines hook you? Do you want to read more? They are here for your enjoyment. And to entice you to buy more books.
Like this post? Check out previous First Lines posts.
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No matter what book you’re reading, leave a few words on the site where you bought it, a reader’s site like Goodreads, or the author’s website. Just say what you would tell a friend about it. Reviews help writers and readers alike.