How should I start my novel?
“She jumped out the window. For no reason.” “Come on, Carl. There must have been a reason.” “I tell you. There wasn’t. Her old man was loaded—and he gave her anything she wanted. Just last week, he…”
Mary Jones opened her attic window, one bright sunny morning, and stepped out. No one knew why. At least not at first.
The picture window in the mansard roof faced an English garden, replete with every variety of rose in the Jackson & Perkins catalog. Every morning, Mary would come up to the attic to see her flowers, which she prized above everything, even and especially her husband.
Mary Jones had married Jeffrey just three short months after her previous fiancé left her standing at a rose-covered altar in St. Joseph’s Cathedral.by