Yeeeehaw!!

I always enjoy writing the first few sentences of a story the most. How about:

She had always imagined that Texas was hot, that she would live beautifully in the heat, steamy and sultry like Sybil Shepard in the Last Picture Show. Long highways and tumbleweeds blowing-- desolation as a backdrop.

Or:

I can’t hear the couple fighting anymore, even with the glass pressed up to my ear against the paper-thin wall. I sit back on the tight-piled rug and look at the blank wall, picturing the woman in the next room lying bruised and battered on a dingy floor, the man donning his cowboy hat and smoking a cigarette while he stands over her. It’s that kind of place.

Oh ho ho. These are the types of images that come up for me, because, yup, I’m in the Lone Star state. You haven’t heard from me because the Rockettes were calling. They needed me more than you. What are the Rockettes doing in Dallas, you say? Well, their Christmas show, of course. And no, I’m not dancing, nothing as glamorous as that. I’m merely getting them ready, making them look good, all those beautiful long legs. I’ll be here for a couple of weeks until I head to Vegas for a festival— cabaret, rock n’ roll, and hip hop all under one tent (that’s right, my stage is appropriately placed in a circus tent). I’ll be all over the map and lonely as all get-out. Should make for some good writing.