They're really awesome sentences! I say you use one of them as the first line of a story and just let the plot come to you.

C'mon, you guys. Please? *Puppy dog eyes*

This is depressing...

No prob!  Let's see:

If Emily Augusta Osborne had not moved into the house across the
street, Laura would never had discovered what she did, and nothing would
ever have changed.  The house was old, a hunded years at least, and large, stretching far from side to side, with an extensive backyard filled with pine trees and morning glory vines.  On one branch was strung a swing, the kind made of a board and rope, only the board wa slong rotted and none had sat on it for years.  The last inhabitants of the house had moved out when Laura was just five, which was eight years ago, and It had sat empty since, its windows boarded up, paint flaking, garden paths overgrown and grass unmown.  It was a desolate house.

Until Emily came.  She and Laura were the same age and bonded quickly, from the moment they passed each other on the sidewalk.  They seemed quite opposites, Emily having wavy medium blonde hair and brown eyes, and being short but fairly slender, and Laura having vary dark brown hair -- indeed almlost black -- and was tall and quite skinny, with glasses covering eyes of a color that no one could describe.  They were blue, and gray, and green, and a strange mixture of the three.  However, despite their very different appearances, they were alike in opinions and tastes.

Emily's father, who insisted that Laura call him Mark, was a fairly short man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair, was kind and energetic, and within the space of a month had unboarded the windows, reroofed the house, and painted interior and exterior.  When he was done, he replaced the rotting board on the swing and tested the ropes himself.  He was fun, and played games with the girls.  He said he was a stockbroker with a kind heart, and seemed to think this was very funny.  Laura didn't get it.

Emily's mother, though, was tall and pinched, with a hook nose and a skinny figure.  she dressed formally for all occasions and made Laura feel uncomfortable somehow.  She couldn't describe it, it was just a feeling.  The mother liked Laura to call her Mrs. Osborne, for an unknown reason.  Her hair was blonde and thinning.  She stalked the house in high heels and told Emily repeatedly to go away and leave her alone.  As far as Laura could tell, she just stayed at home and played bridge every weekend, and occadionally went to parties with her husband, requiring a sitter for Emily.  Sometimes the sitter came, and sometimes she sent a replacement, who just sent Emily to bed immediately.  It was a horrific setup.

I'll write some more later!  Have fun writing the novel!

Here I go again.  Don't say I didn't warn you!  Tell me to stop whenever!!!

It was a Monday, June 21st, and I was doing the supper dishes when the door blew open without warning and into my life walked the last girl I'd have expected.

"Tricia!" I gasped.  She was my school archenemy, the one who ran against me for every post on the school student board, the one who shot down every suggestion I made in class, the one who competed with me in every sport.  She went out of her way to wear nicer clothes than I did, and had a tendency to have all my boyfriends each less than a week after I had broken up with them.  And she made no secret of it.

She was dirty, ragged, and had a wild look in her eyes. Her clothing, once the most stylish in the school, was torn and stained.  She shut the door behind her and said, in a pleading tone, "Hide me."

Ouch.  I think I just backed you into a corner.  Now she must have either broken the law or her parents have turned against her (whether or not they are justified).  Your choice.

The only reason I'm writing this is that I can't stop!!!!!!  Those sentences are too compelling, they're bending me to their will!!!!!!!!!

The only reason I'm writing this is that the world needs to know of the dangers of fourteen-year-old eccentric girls named Emi.  There was one on my street when I was thirteen.  We were in the same classes at school [here I leave it to you to decide whether the narrator skipped a grade or Emi was held back] that fall.  I didn't see her much the summer before -- we had just moved in, and she mostly kept to her backyard.

But that year at school, there was trouble.  Emi was mute and seemed to have ADHD, very badly.  She would, as if she didn't know what she was doing, run around and around the classroom in the middle of the class.  The teacher would sometimes speak sharply to her, but she didn't seem to hear.  Sometimes she would run into the class itself and loop around a desk, then go back to running around the classroom, only in the other direction.  Sometimes she would stop and backtrack, or hide.  And eventually she started fighting off the other kids who came within three feet of her.  It was a rare day that someone wasn't sent to the nurse because of Emi.

It wasn't until a month into the year that Emi sat still at her desk for the whole of each period.  She looked like she was scared.  She had a hunted look in her eyes, and her muscles would someitmes suddenly tense up and she would shake as from fear.  She was fighting to sit still, fighting to maintain control of herself.  

Later in the fall, in November right before Thanksgiving break, Emi was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She was put on a medication that drugged her so much she would just about fall asleep in class. Every once in a while, she would still get that hunted look, but mostly, she just looked half-asleep. She would even put me to sleep just looking at her.

It was December second that the trouble began. Her medication wasn't working so well anymore.  And all this time her schizophrenia had apparently been getting worse, and no one had known, because she was so heavily sedated.  She looked  amazingly awake one day in class, and then suddenly she stood up, looked at me -- or was it through me? -- and opened her mouth as though she was trying to scream.  Her eyes were wide and wild.  And she jumped me.

Ηhhmph.  That one went all weird.  Feel free to ditch the suggestion.

Oh, sorry, my last post was really negetive. I'm sorry, it really didn't come out the way I meant it to! Hope I didn't offend you!

 RE: It was a Monday, June 21st, and I was doing the supper dishes when the door blew open without warning and into my life walked the last girl I'd have expected. 

Well, depending on how old Tricia is, she could have had some sort of fight with her boyfriend, or she could have gotten beat up by somebody or something.