And so it Begins

Sometimes it looks as though something like this is not going to get off to a very good start. There is a lack of action, a lack of drama in the first few
opening sentences. There is little even to say what it is going to be
about.

Right about now you begin to wonder if it is worth the time and the effort to carry on reading it.

You decide that unless something happens in the next few sentences then you will give it up as a bad job and go and look for something else more interesting to
read.

Then the sentence introducing the naked lady appears.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, what was turning into something rather dull and pedestrian now contains a naked woman....

It could get interesting....

However, for the time being the naked woman just stands there, not really doing much, not really knowing what she ought to be doing.

She becomes aware of the audience somehow, the readers all sitting there waiting for her to do something with this... this... what looks like it may be some kind of story. She begins to feel nervous, insecure, shy even with all those people staring at her. Looking down she sees that she is totally naked, without even the flimsiest narrative convention to cover her nudity, or even give it some kind of context or artistic value.

The naked woman realises she doesn’t even have a name, or even a description beyond the fact of her nudity. In fact, she is not really sure she belongs in this story at all.

With an angry sigh she glares back out of the narrative framework at the audience of readers, who under her harsh scrutiny feel themselves blush as her glaring stare causes them to look away, giving her the chance to escape the narrative convention of the story and run off home so that she can get dressed, promising herself she will never again believe any writer who promises to put her into one of his tales.