So far in my thread of the Grow An Author series, I’ve talked a lot about getting ready to write. Here is a list of my posts so far, in case you need to catch up:
From Story Spark to Story Blurb
How To Effectively and Efficiently Do Research
Ideas for How To Organize Your Research Notes
The Three Things You Need To Answer About Your Main Character
Even with all this work, I’m still not ready to dive full-on into my first draft. There’s more planning to be done. But I’ve learned the hard way that I’m not a very good planner unless I have written a few chapters. I don’t really understand why that is, but it’s pretty common among novelists.
How do you know where to start your story? Writers ask this a lot, and I have a not-so-helpful answer that I will follow up with a more details answer.
The not helpful answer: For me, it’s a gut thing.
We all have parts of writing that come more naturally to us than others, and for me, my instincts with where to begin my story nearly always serve me well. I know lots of other writers who have to “write their way” to their beginning, who almost always scrap the first few chapters they write, so if that’s you, don’t despair.
But that it’s “a gut thing” isn’t terribly helpful, is it? So here are eight elements that I feel are key to creating a compelling story opening.
Start with your main character
It’s almost always a good idea to begin with your main character. This is likely why the reader has picked up your book. To read about this character and their story, so it usually works best to begin with them.
You can probably name books that you know and love that don’t do this. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is the first one that pops to mind for me. So while I think it can work to ignore this bit of advice, I think most stories are served best by beginning with the main character.
Start with your main character doing something interesting and pertinent
You have maybe heard the writing advice to start “in media res” or in the middle of action. I do agree with this, though I do wish whoever first said it would have added to start with action, “that matters.”
For example in The Hunger Games, we begin with Katniss sneaking out to go hunting, which is both interesting and something that’s important later in the story.
Skip the “here’s what you’ve missed” info-dumpy opening
Just don’t do it.
There aren’t many things that I’ll come right out and say, “Never do this,” but this is one. Yes, I know you see bestselling authors do this. I don’t know why their editors are okay with it, I really don’t. I’m actually reading a book right now from an author who I love, but the first TWO CHAPTERS are all backstory. I kept thinking things like, “If this wasn’t this particular author, I would have already closed this book.” And, “When does the story actually start?”
I know it’s easy to believe that if the reader doesn’t know all these things that happened in the main character’s past, or in your fantasy storyworld’s history, they won’t be able to adequately appreciate or understand what’s going on. But your job in the first chapter is to show the reader why they should be intrigued by this character, not to tell them every single thing they need to know.
It’s like when you meet someone for the first time, and you have a bit of a crush on them. You’re intrigued by them. You want to know more. You don’t need to know everything about them—often it’s better if you don’t—and you still feel that this is a person you want to spend more time with.
That is what you’re trying to create for you reader, and I have yet to read an info dump opening that does this.
Start with action that says something about who the main character is, and why we should care about them.
Going back to The Hunger Games, the reason that opening scene works so well is that Katniss isn’t just doing something interesting and intriguing. What she’s doing also says something about who she is. She’s a provider. She’s responsible. She takes care of her own. These are traits of hers that make us care about her, and make us want to find out what happens next.
Start in the character’s normal world.
It’s helpful for readers to see what kind of life this character is used to, but we don’t need very much, and it doesn’t have to be a completely normal day either. In The Hunger Games, it’s the Reaping day. We see just a glimpse of what Katniss’s everyday existence is like, and that’s enough.
In Cars we see Lightning McQueen tearing it up on the race track and nearly-winning with no help from anyone else. That’s his normal world.
In Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, Harry is having a terrible birthday at the Dursleys’, like always.
Sometimes what’s helpful for me is to consider how I can portray a normal day, but with a twist. For Katniss, it’s an ordinary day, except she knows the reaping is coming. For Lightning McQueen, it’s another race, only this time it’s a tie. And for Harry Potter, he’s used to terrible birthdays, but on this one, Dobby the house elf shows up.
Start with hints of what they want, what they need, and the barrier between
This, of course, doesn’t mean stating, “Harry had been neglected all his life, and what he wanted more than anything was to belong somewhere.” This means finding a clever way to show the audience what the character lacks. (And it’s not always what the character thinks they lack.)
Lightning McQueen wants to win the Piston Cup so he can have the best racing sponsor. What he really needs is friends and people who love him just as he is. The barrier keeping Lightning from this is his own ego. We see all of this in the first few minutes of the movie.
Consider your tone
Another danger with blindly following the “start with action” advice is that writers sometimes will pick an interesting, action-filled, whizbang of an opening … that doesn’t match the tone of the rest of the novel. A cozy mystery doesn’t open the same way as a historical romance. Chapter one of a middle grade adventure novel doesn’t sound like epic fantasy.
If you’re already following the above advice, having a mismatched opening isn’t very likely to happen to you, but it’s something to be on the lookout for if you’re trying to amp up the action in the beginning.
Create questions
More than anywhere else in the novel, in your first pages you want to create questions in the reader’s mind. Why did this character wake up scared? Why is she sneaking out? What is she afraid of? What’s so important that she’s risking getting into trouble? These are a few of the questions that I raised when I wrote the opening of Within These Lines, and they were all answered within a few paragraphs. You’re not trying to frustrate your reader by never answering any questions. You’re just trying to evoke their curiosity.
Here are the first few hundred words of Within These Lines. After, I’ll give a brief summary of how I think this fits the above criteria. (Besides my editor, you guys are the first to read any of it!)
Chapter One: Evalina
Saturday, March 21st, 1942
3 months after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor
San Francisco, California
When I jolt awake, the familiar fear smothers my early morning thoughts and thrums through my veins. I gasp for breath, as if there’s a shortage of oxygen, until I convince my rhythm to slow.
No light comes into my room—too early—but I draw back a panel of my gingham curtains and peek outside anyway. Just to reassure myself that it’s all still there—my narrow street, the houses of my neighbors, my entire world.
And there it is, the sound that roused me from my fearful slumber. The faint squeak of bicycle pedals as the paperboy pushes himself up our steep hill. When I look closely at the front door of the house across the street, I spot the newspaper lying across the front step like a welcome mat.
The planks of my wooden floor creak as I slip out my door, past Mama and Daddy’s quiet bedroom, down the narrow, steep staircase, and out the front door. Even in the dim lighting of the streetlamp, the bold headline of the San Francisco News reaches up and grabs at my heart:
FIRST JAPANESE READY TO LEAVE COAST
No, no, no my heart pounds as I reach for the newspaper.
How can you know something is coming, spend every waking moment with it gnawing at you, and still feel a jab of shock when you see it begin?
I devour the article that details how over sixty Japanese Americans living in Los Angeles have voluntarily gone to Manzanar—a place in southern California I had never heard of until earlier this month—to prepare to receive new residents.
“Evalina?”
I jump at Mama’s groggy voice. “Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t sleep.”
With her puffy eyes, Mama looks at the newspaper in my hand. Her mouth is set in a grim line. “This obsession is not healthy, Evalina. I know you’re worried, but we have nothing to fear. I don’t know what it will take for you to believe that.”
“Mama, they’re going to make all the Japanese go.” My voice cracks. “Even the ones who were born here. Like the Hamasakis’s children.”
“Who?”
I swallow. I shouldn’t have mentioned them by name. “One of our produce suppliers at Alessandro’s.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Mama stifles a yawn, seeming unaware of how far I tipped my cards. “You’re safe, honey. I know sometimes those articles make it sound like Italians are going to be rounded up too, but we’re not.”
“If the government was being fair, we’d be forced to go too. Especially a family like ours—”
“But we’re not. Stop looking for trouble, and come inside before somebody sees you looking indecent.”
I’m wearing my favorite pajamas, which have long pants and long sleeves, but Mama hates that I bought them in the men’s department. I shuffle back inside the house, and Mama soundlessly closes the door.
She scowls at me in the gray light of the entryway. “I’m going back to bed. I’m tired of these conversations, Evalina. I’m tired of waking up to you crying. Or hearing from your friends that you’re distracted and preoccupied by the news. This is not normal behavior for a girl your age.”
“Our country is at war.” I force my voice to be soft. “What am I supposed to act like?”
Mama’s mouth opens. I’m wearing away the thread of patience she woke up with—I can see it in her eyes—but I don’t know how to lie about this. Why, I’m not sure, because I’m certainly lying about plenty of other things.
“Evalina…” Mama takes several thoughtful breaths before saying. “I’m going back to bed. You do the same.”
Start with your main character: Done. Again, there are times when I’ve seen writers start with not-the-main character and it works fine, but I think those are exceptions.
Start with your main character doing something interesting and pertinent: Evalina is sneaking out of the house to get the morning paper, which is interesting behavior for a teenage girl, and directly relates to the main plot.
Skip the “here’s what you’ve missed” info-dumpy opening: Done. Other than when I spell out when and where we are in the chapter header, which is customary for historical fiction, the reader hits the ground running with minimal information.
Start with action that says something about who they are, and why we should care about them: From this scene, we know that Evalina cares deeply about something that is happening around her, but not really to her. Anytime you can show a main character caring about something that’s bigger than them, that’s attractive to readers.
Start in their normal world: I considered starting before the bombing, which would really be Evalina’s true normal world, but when I learned the timing of when the Japanese Americans were evacuated, I decided after would serve the story better.
Start with hints of what they want, what they need, and the barrier between: This is just the first 600 words so you don’t get the full picture, but we see what’s pressing on Evalina’s heart, and you even get a hint of why this issue matters to her so much when she mentions the Hamasaki family by name to her mother. The barrier that’s implied is that these are government decisions, and Evalina is a teenage girl with no power of her own.
Consider your tone: I wanted my opening to show the panic and uncertainty that saturated this time in history. That’s why I have Evalina jolting awake from a dream about a bomb, and sneaking out of bed to find out what new, scary things have happened in the world.
Create questions: Some of the questions the scene evokes get answered very quickly. (Why is she sneaking downstairs? Oh, to read the newspaper.) Other questions are raised but not answered, like why is Evalina nervous that she “tipped her hand” by bringing up the Hamasakis? Or what else is she lying about?
Take a look at the openings of your stories. Do you feel like they’re doing a good job of setting up the story you want to tell?