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In An Analysis of Twelve First Lines and Why They Work, I focused on the importance of the very first line of your novel. The twelve I chose are different in tone and delivery, but they all have a few things in common: They signal a sense of intrigue, of mystery, of voice. They force the reader to ask a question (or questions) that draws them in.
Many writers, however, struggle not just with first lines, but first scenes. Where to begin? The common advice is “to start as close to the action as possible.” But what, exactly, does that mean?
You shouldn’t just open with action for action’s sake. Putting the reader in the middle of confusing action means they’re lost already. They don’t know or care about the main character(s) yet, so it’s impossible to feel the stakes.
What it really means is to start as close to the moment where everything changes as possible.
Writers will say, “But I need to set the stage! I need readers to know about the ordinary world before they enter the extraordinary one!”
But pages of exposition, establishing your world, the history, the current situation - boring! No one cares yet, because all that has no meaning. We get meaning from the characters and what they go through.
Even in historical fiction, in fantasy, in science fiction, you will fill in the details as you go, and as the characters interact with each other and their world. The reader will absorb it automatically, and they will find it rich and interesting rather than boring.
I recently read the original opening of Dorothy Dunnett’s The Game of Kings (one of my favorite books) versus the one that made it into the published book. What a difference!
Original:
They called it the Rough Wooing; and according to Scott of Buccleuch, across whose lands the armies marched every time, it was the bloodiest betrothal outside of a farmyard.
(Followed by several long paragraphs explaining the political situation between Scotland and England at the start of the novel. It’s a history lesson, not a story. We don’t know who Scott of Bucchleuch is, and we don’t care. He’s not even the main character.)
Final version:
“'Lymond is back.'
It was known soon after the Sea-Catte reached Scotland from Campvere with an illicit cargo and a man she should not have carried.
'Lymond is in Scotland.'
It was said by busy men preparing for war against England, with contempt, with disgust; with a side-slipping look at one of their number.
'I hear the Lord Culter’s young brother is back.' Only sometimes a woman’s voice would say it with a different note, and then laugh a little."
In this, we’re introduced to the main character right away, with a hint of mystery - who is he? Why is he back? Why are there such different reactions to him? Lots of questions the reader wants answered. It’s followed immediately by seeing him in action: slipping into Edinburgh, disrupting a clandestine meeting, and escaping in the most hilarious way.
In other words, we start with the main character returning to the land he’s been exiled from, into a powderkeg of political intrigue. We don’t start with setting the social and political scene. We don’t start with him waking up on the ship, contemplating how he will enter the city after dark.
In Lucy Foley’s latest mystery, Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel, we start with three ladies in a gondola rising toward the hotel in the Alps. (Well, there’s a prologue, where a body is discovered - but the actual story starts two days earlier.) It begins with people arriving at the hotel, and through the first few chapters we’re introduced to the main point-of-view characters. At this point, we don’t know who will be murdered, only that it’s a man. But we’re starting with their arrival - the point where they move, literally, into a new world high above the village below. Because it’s a mystery, the stakes are already established, and so is the tension: who will be the murderer? And who the victim?
In Rebecca Yarros’ The Fourth Wing, we begin on Conscription Day, the day when all the young people of the country of Navarre line up to enter their “quadrant of service.” We don’t know what that means yet, but that’s fine, because we’re immediately in the head of the main character, who is facing death as she is forced to enter the conscription process to be a Dragon Rider. We don’t see her preparing for this day. We’re simply there, as she meets with her formidable mother and her sympathetic sister, in one last-ditch effort to avoid her fate.
This is an interesting example, because Yarros might have started with Violet on the parapet, taking a deep breath and trying to quell her terror as she attempts to cross.
Instead, we meet Violet’s remaining family, and learn a lot about the world of Navarre and the War College in particular. This is all done in scene, not as dull exposition. And it hammers home the fact that Violet was never meant to be a Dragon Rider. When she does step out onto the parapet in Chapter Two, we feel the full weight of the challenge that lies before her. It is literally Do or Die.
The Arc of Change
One of the most important things an opening can do is to introduce the Arc of Change the main character goes through. Where do we see them at the beginning? How have they changed by the end?
In The Game of Kings, Francis Crawford goes from an exile with a death sentence on his head, to a return to his family and a new life. His arc is mostly external, but in conversations later in the book, namely with his protege, Will Scott, we see that he has learned quite a bit - about himself, how to trust others, and how to be a leader of men.
In Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel, it’s an Agatha Christie-style mystery, so there’s less emphasis on a character Arc of Change, but more a resolution of the mystery itself. But some of the point of view characters, at least, do go through a change that forces them to think and act in very different ways than we saw at the beginning of the novel.
In The Fourth Wing, Violet Sorrengail goes through training hell in order to become a Dragon Rider and face the enemies of her people. She is no longer the terrified, weak-seeming girl from the novel’s opening, but someone who has faced incredible odds to survive and start to become the leader her country needs in order to survive.
Knowing what kind of Arc of Change needs to happen in your novel helps you identify where to start the story. Who is the main character? What are the main External and Internal Stakes they need to face by the end?
It’s always worth going back to books you enjoyed, and investigating how the author drew you in within the first few pages, even the first chapter. You’ll see that there are many ways to do it - so why did that opening work for that particular book? What is the Arc of Change it precipitates?
Now apply it to your own novel. You may find that you can get rid of paragraphs - or pages - or whole chapters - to create a compelling beginning for your story. Ask your beta readers: what drew you in, and why?
The beginning of your novel is the most important part. It will “sell” the story to readers, agents, or editors. It’s worth the work to make sure it’s a book they can’t put down.
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