It Was a Day In March

I’ve been feeling vaguely creative over the last few days. I’m sure the sensation will pass if I beat it down with enough football-watching and mind numbing work, but for the moment I couldn’t sleep and was thinking about writing. This was probably brought on by my very brief ownership of this game at a white elephant party.

As I was thinking about writing, I remembered what is possibly my favorite opening to any story. Of course, it is by O. Henry.

It was a day in March.

Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.

Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.

There’s nothing very world-changing here. Just some simple enjoyment over a clever turn of phrase. Hope you enjoyed it.

Read the whole story here if you like.

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