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Friday, August 30, 2013

The Opening: Part 2

Last week, we delved into some tips for writing an opening sentence. Now, we turn our attention to what we can learn from modern authors and the masters of the writing craft. While you may not be able to talk to Charles Dickens, he can talk to you.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” ~Charles Dickens’ opening for A Tale Of Two Cities.
This is one of the most repeated first sentences ever. It is not even the whole sentence. In an epic run-on Dickens adds: “it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”
What Dickens wants us to see and feel and learn and anticipate, we see and feel and learn and anticipate. So profound is his first sentence that even those who have not read the book can quote you those first few words. Even as we learn from Dickens’ craftsmanship we can take to heart what he did not: brevity is a virtue. Countless readers remember only the first portion of his sentence.
Not every book starts like A Tale of Two Cities. There are many ways to give the director’s call and capture the reader’s heart and soul.
The dramatic opening. This often utilizes nature to mimic the stormy or sweet or tense tone readers will uncover in the story.
“Thunder rippled across the frozen lake.” ~Jessie Mae Hodsdon’s opening for Issym.
The unassuming opening. It takes a soft approach, causing readers to lean into the very ordinary nature of the words.
“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” ~Charlotte Bronte’s opening for Jane Eyre. This mild opening for a very dramatic novel causes readers to wonder, “What was there a possibility of?” So the bond between author and reader is secured. Only the book can answer the reader’s question.
“They moved with joint precision.” ~Jessie Mae Hodsdon’s opening for Asandra. Again, there is something quite ordinary about movement, but it also raises questions like, “Why are they precise?” “What makes them move jointly?” “Where are they going?”
The evident opening. In this style, there are no hidden questions, there is no lost meaning, and there is no imagery meant to parallel the pace of the book. This opening, as its name suggests, is evident.
“The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex.” ~Jane Austen’s opening for Sense and Sensibility.
“One strike of his sword after another, the youthful warrior barreled through his enemies.” ~Jessie Mae Hodsdon’s opening for Xsardis.
Readers know they will deal with the traditional Dashwoods in Sense and Sensibility and that they will see a medieval adventure take place in my own Xsardis. With unmistakable clarity, there is also a draw. We cut through all the fancy words and jump (in Austen’s work) to a traditional estate and (in my own novel) to a medieval battlefield. As a director’s call this leaves no room for losing readers, who are immediately forced on stage. It might, however, jar them.
The location opening. It is possible to arouse readers’ curiosity based on opening location alone. It is a risky move. If readers find the place uninteresting they will close the book, but, if they long to know more or have a traveler’s heart, this opening can be highly persuasive. Most readers long to go somewhere. That is why they read.
“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” ~J.R.R. Tolkien’s opening for The Hobbit.
“Ho Chi Minh City in the summer.” ~ Eoin Colfer’s opening for Artemis Fowl.
The image of a creature living in a hole is captivating. It begs questions like “What kind of hole?” “What’s a hobbit?” “What was it doing in a hole?” “Will it leave the hole?” And while most kid readers knew nothing about Ho Chi Minh City when they first read Artemis Fowl, they thirsted to learn about a city with such a foreign title.
The problem opening. This opening names a problem from the start. It may not be the problem, but it will point to the climax that will unfold.
“‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,’ grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.” ~Louisa May Alcott’s opening for Little Women.
“When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it’s never good news.” ~Anthony Horowitz’s opening for Alex Rider: Stormbreaker.
The problems are clear: financial woes for our young heroine in Little Women and the impending doom faced by Alex in Stormbreaker. Such challenges arouse sympathy (even on the part of Jo’s drama, which doubles to show us a good deal of her character) and keep the reader browsing on.
The first-person opening. Books told in first-person carry with them unique strengths and unique challenges. Their opening sentences often ignore all location, all weather, all danger, and all other characters except the narrator. The goal is to give readers a glimpse at who they will be following through the novel and to generate sympathy for that narrator.
“Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.” ~Rick Riordan’s opening for The Lightning Thief.
Such a comment makes us 1) feel sympathy for his unhappiness, 2) wonder what a ‘half-blood’ is, and 3) want to learn what events led him to wish he was not a ‘half-blood’. This makes for a powerful combo.
Opening styles abound. Most sentences are short; some are not. Most beg a question; others do not. In this article, you have read a run-on and a fragment, a quote and a narration, an imagery-filled opening and a blatantly-obvious opening. In this writer’s opinion, the truly talented authors focus on a moment in order to pull a reader toward the content of the book as a whole. Still, only one rule must be followed: make your reader want to uncover the adventure.


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