I’ve been up since five. That’s right. Five o’clock in the goddamn morning. To call me a morning person would be a stretch. Even after three cups of coffee, I’m worthless as shit until at least nine. And even when I wake up at an acceptable hour, I’m already exhausted by seven in the evening.
But today I had resolve. Today would be different. I would get shit done today. I got up early, pounded obscene quantities of caffeine, and got my ass in gear.
I had a mission. I’d been putting it off because I wanted to make sure I got it absolutely right. It had to be perfect. This would set the tone for the whole thing. Anything less than flawless was failure.
I’m a writer, you see, and I have this story, this grand adventure, that must be written. It’s so unique! You’ve never heard its equal, I tell you! And I swear this is true. Dickens, Tolstoy, Hemingway…passé cretins by comparison.
Now, call me superstitious, but if the first sentence falls flat, the whole story is damned right from the get go. No careless clichés, nor tired tropes, nor lazy lines, would do. Perfection or nothing. Gold or garbage. Excellence or tripe. I’ve never been a fan of drivel like that of every fairy tale ever written. They all begin the same. They all start with those same four damned words everybody knows so well.
No, I would not settle for such trite sentences. I would have my genius displayed. I would stand out. And, to that end, I labored all day long, stopping only once to eat a few crackers.
For fifteen hours, I agonized over the perfect opening, but to no avail. It seemed I was beaten. The last three hours were the worst by far, each passing minute bringing with it a new depth of delirium and despair.
But then, when all hope had finally drained from me, when I could swear my eyes were bleeding, when my head delivered such throbbing pain that somehow increased with each passing heartbeat, it happened: the Muses spoke. I scribbled their silent, whispered prompt onto the page. But immediately after I heeded their call, slumber overtook me and grasped me with a vengeance.
I awoke in the late morning the next day with a start. Goddamnit! My mouth had been open all night and the page was stained with drool. Were my mellifluous words intact? Oh, rapture! Only the page’s blank regions were damp.
I yawned and stretched in victory, eager to read that gemstone of an opening sentence so graciously bestowed upon me by the Muses. I cleared my throat of that gunky morning shit and looked down at the moist paper.
“Once upon a time…” I read aloud.
Fuck.