“In the beginning”—nope, already claimed. All the golden ones are, nabbed by the greats who either slaved over them or tossed them out like they were born to it: “Mother died today,” “Call me Ishmael,” whatever sticks in your craw. Me, I’m not so slick. Life doesn’t always deal you a killer first sentence, especially when you roll into the world on April Fools’ Day, delivered to Maria and Gunther in a Los Angeles County General Hospital room—poor, humble folks who didn’t mean it as a prank, but there I was anyway.
Those perfect lines haunt you, don’t they? You wonder if the authors wrestled them into being or if they just fell from the sky. But real life’s not so tidy. Your big debut might not be the gem of your story. Sometimes the best line hides in the middle—a quiet moment you didn’t see coming—or it’s the last note that echoes when the book’s done, and only then do you realize it was the one that mattered. I’d sidestep the pressure myself, give a nod to my parents’ struggle instead. They had next to nothing, just grit and a hospital bed, and brought me in on a day made for laughs, though the joke never quite landed.
So here’s my try: “I showed up on April 1st, no fooling, to Maria and Gunther, two honest souls with empty pockets, in a county hospital where the only trick was me arriving on time.” It’s not poetry for the ages, but it’s got a grin and a heartbeat—fits a fool’s beginning just fine.


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