For several years, Mrs. H. T. Miller had lived alone in a pleasant apartment (two rooms with kitchenette) in a remodeled brownstone near the East River. She was a widow: Mr. H. T. Miller had left a reasonable amount of insurance. Her interests were narrow, she had no friends to speak of, and she rarely journeyed farther than the corner grocery. The other people in the house never seemed to notice her: her clothes were matter-of-fact, her hair iron-gray, clipped and casually waved; she did not use cosmetics, her features were plain and inconspicuous, and on her last birthday she was sixty-one. Her activities were seldom spontaneous: she kept the two rooms immaculate, smoked an occasional cigarette, prepared her own meals and tended a canary.
Then she met Miriam. It was snowing that night. Mrs. Miller had finished drying the dishes.…
(My mentor Howard Pease continues) Notice the matter-of-fact prose which introduces the protagonist. Mrs. Miller is an ordinary person; she might be any aging widow living alone. Notice, too, that the second paragraph starts the story, the action. From beginning to end, the prose is keyed to the first paragraph. But the story itself is far from ordinary. The interest slowly rises to a smashing climax in the final paragraph, an ending you’ll not forget.