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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