Tuesday, December 10, 2013

First paragraph for a novel

I found this in my documents this morning.  There's more.

There isn’t a married woman alive, even the most congenially married woman, who hasn’t wished at one time or another that her husband would fall under a bus. Those women, fast-walking early mornings, elbows swinging at awkward angles, chattering like magpies to each other, with no designated listener, speak openly about the insurance money.  They speak of new lives in Paris, Chanel jackets, eating pastry with almond paste, and driving frivolous Fiats through avenues lined with aged sycamores.  Insurance money and a dead husband are the easiest ways out of a prickly collaboration like marriage.
Why wait for an accident?  Why not murder him?

How would she do it?


  1. This is so great! My husband and I were recently discussing each others' insurance policies. When he asked me how much I had, my response was, no lie, "Not enough to kill me!" Hahaha!

  2. Holly Crow I love this! Please go on… I'm plotting even as I type. Though I have to pause to take a bus to the bank.

  3. What a modern, demented Jane Austen you are!

  4. There was an avalanche.

    He loved to backwoods ski. Why, though, had he disregarded the morning's avalanche reports? Why did he take that particular route? Where was his transponder? So many questions...

  5. Poison. Over a month or so, enough time for him to be sickly and everyone to think it was inevitable.

  6. Waiting with baited breath for what's coming next...write on Louise!