I’m currently trying to publish a short story titled, “The Sword of Oops,” or TsoO, as I like to call it. Quite a few paying markets exist, and I’ve sent this to a small percentage of them–two, to be exact. Below, I have posted the very first paragraph of TsoO.
Zerren trudged behind his plow—not the dignified, straight-backed trudge of a soldier or brigand, but the wearied, drooping trudge of a farmer. The sun pounded on his balding head as his feet throbbed from walking for miles without pause. His plow struck something, and he stumbled as the rickety contraption jerked out of his hands. Lodged beneath the blade, half-buried under a furrow, lay his sickle.
I like it.