Of all the different ways an author could begin the first sentence, or the hook, I believe my least favorite is, “what if?”.
I realize this is just one author’s opinion, but come on, have I ever steered you wrong? Before you answer, that was a rhetorical question.
One of my complaints with this particular beginning is it leaves too many things open. You don’t know if it pertains to the book (of course, you assume it does) or the club sandwich the author had for lunch three weeks prior.
Please allow me to show you how much trouble you can squeeze into your life with something as innocent as the first two words of a sentence.
What if the CEO of a large US corporation was doubling up twice as a double agent for Luxembourg and a hotdog cart vendor in Piscataway? This collaboration (one of the most feared in the underground world of the atomic hotdog) had reached a pinnacle set by no other. After decades of failure upon failure, they finally had a working prototype. One bite of this deadly sausage and, poof, instant gingivitis.
This leads us to the true purveyors of this purulent pact; the dental cartel of North America and parts unknown.
With so much gingivitis running ramped, they stood to clean up. (Clean up; get it?) Cleanings, x-rays, extractions, implants, dentures…you name it; they would control it.
So much power in so few hands could bring about the demise of corn-on-the-cob as we know it.
Remaining undetected, yet watching intently the events unfolding on the North American continent and parts unknown, a small clinic in the Ack galaxy on the planet of Plurple is developing a plan to thwart the earthly dental cartel. The head dental technician on Plurple, having stationed operatives all along the North American continent and parts unknown, is now ready to place said plan into action. Following a page from Santa’s playbook, they visit every house in the world replacing teeth with exact duplicates constructed from white chocolate and accomplish this task in a single night.
Unfortunately, white chocolate is the strongest material available on Plurple. It’s inhabitants dine on air and their white chocolate teeth last a lifetime which is marginally longer than a Mayfly. Even so, this solution removes the need for dental care on the North American continent and parts unknown which in turn puts an end to the evil conspiracy concocted by the dental cartel.
What all this accomplishes I am not sure; however, it proves without a doubt that only nonsense can come from starting a sentence with, “what if?”.
On an unrelated subject; I’m sure you’ve all seen that irritating little green twit with the ridiculous white mustache advertising, “the General’s Car Insurance.”
Perhaps we could petition the military to send a drone and one little bitty hell fire missile to blow that green aberration into a trillion pieces?
Sorry to end on such a violent note, but some things just have to be said.