First line generators are neat for sparking ideas, but I'd be careful about treating them like a 'how-to' guide. They throw out phrases like 'His eyes held the storm of a thousand regrets' or 'The moment her latte spilled on his vintage jacket, fate laughed,' which, okay, can be funny or weirdly specific. The real use for me is as a diagnostic tool—if the generator spits out 'Her heart hammered against her ribs like a caged bird,' I instantly know to avoid anything that cliché. I sometimes run it ten times in a row just to see the patterns of overused imagery (so many storms in eyes, so many fated coffee spills). Then I try to write the opposite. Instead of 'brooding billionaire,' maybe it's the barista who's painfully organized and hates mess. The generator's output defines the tropes, so you can deliberately subvert them.
I also paste a bunch of generated openings into a doc and edit them mercilessly. 'The gala was a whirlwind of silk and secrets' becomes 'The gala was a meticulously planned disaster, and she was the one who'd ordered the confetti cannon.' It shifts the voice from generic to specific. The key isn't the line itself, but the questions it makes you ask. Who is this character with 'stormy eyes'? Why are they stormy? Is it indigestion? Probably not, but you get the point. The best result I ever got was a nonsense line about a gardener and a missing trowel; it made zero sense as a romance opener, but it got me thinking about rivals in a community garden, which turned into a much more unique setting than another boardroom.