Here’s something to play with. It’s called the cumulative sentence. A great starter.
He drove the car slowly.
There’s your base clause. Okay. Not a whole lot to go on there. Now, add some supporting phrases.
He drove the car slowly, hands gripping the wheel, eyes narrowing against the oncoming headlights, sweat dripping from his brow, forehead lined with concentration, how long had he been on the road, and how much farther did he have to go?
Okay.
Now there’s something to go on. A bit of detail, and you’re in the moment, in the scene, getting lost in what is, and growing. I want to keep writing at that point, and that’s a good thing, already I’m thinking…
The last milepost had been four miles ago, he was sure. And why was the river on the other side of the road, when a half hour ago — had it been that long — it had been on his left. Had he crossed a bridge? Was he lost? If he had to ask, he knew the answer. Damn. Fuel light on.
Start of a horror story?
Maybe.
Just then, something walked out into the road and stopped.
yes, something. There was no other word in his tired mind for it than that. Something. Larger than a man, and holding. What?
Slow down, or gun it, slow down.
For what would be the short remainder of his life, he would always regret this decision.
He slowed down.
Or it’s a comedy, drama, character-driven, who knows what else and why define it sort of story.
The fuel light came on.
Dammit.
Why did he have to date women online? What kind of addresses do they give you? Was it a sign she wasn’t for him? Just then, from the woods, a guy stumbled out. That’s Dan, his online “nemesis” always stealing chicks from him.
“Dan?”
“Jesus, Mike, you’re in here too?”