One of my favorite lines from the original Star Trek is when Doc leans toward Kirk and remarks, “He talks a lot, but he doesn’t say much.”
Today’s Chatty Blog asks, “Did that first line say much?” I have ranted about openings before, but I cannot emphasize how important this is to the success of a book. It doesn’t matter if you are trying to find an agent or want someone to buy your book; the opening must make the reader continue.
This week, I saw two Twitter authors “pitching” a book. I went immediately to Amazon and “Looked Inside.” I wanted so badly for the book to be good. I like to retweet my fellow authors. Two times I slogged along, hoping—and hoping. The tragedy here is these books may be great, but I wasn’t hooked. I fear other readers (or agents) wouldn’t be hooked, either.
Today, we look at some first lines, asking the question—did the first line tell the reader anything?
Betsy Byars’ middle-grade book, Good-Bye Chicken Little, contains many memorable lines, beginning with the first:
Four days before Christmas, Jimmy Little’s uncle announced he would walk across the Monday River.
This sentence is loaded. It is Christmas time. Jimmy is the main character, and his uncle is about to walk across a river. We can only hope it is frozen. The name Jimmy Little may hint at the character’s age and agency. The second sentence does away with all doubts.
It was a sudden decision, made after several beers in Harry’s Bar and Grill, and the other customers, posse-like, hurried him to the river bank.
This can’t go well. Pete and his buddies have been drinking, and now his companions want to put the plan into action. The term river bank lets us know this isn’t a stream.
Quoting from my book, Members of the Cast, I offer the result of over 80 rewrites:
Outside the apartment door, Margo’s biggest problem was the “F” on her Biology test.
We learn that the main character is a high school girl. We know she lives in “the” apartment, not a mansion. She is probably arriving home from school and is not a great student.
Let’s examine the second sentence and see if our assumptions are correct.
Inside, it didn’t matter; her parents were leaving.
Ah, she lives with her parents, so she is in high school. Her parents are leaving, which is a bigger problem than the “F”. Her parents probably aren’t going to the store—their leaving means the failed test is moot. Hopefully, the word big(est) rings here; the main character has a problem that is worth solving.
The next opening comes from Abigail Silver’s book Child of Awareness:
The first time I met my father I didn’t know anything about his history.
This opening sentence tells us the main character does not live with her father. The father is not a work-a-day guy but a man with a history. The assumption is that this history is a big deal. The second sentence broaden’s the picture:
In fact, I didn’t know he existed until I was old enough to read.
Now we have answers that stir up questions. The MC is young, five or six. Her mother or guardian has not mentioned the man, suggesting some bad blood.
Rebecca Amiss is an up-and-coming indie author. This opening is from her latest book, South of Home:
The sailor at the bar was a dead ringer for Gene Kelly.
Amiss begins with a simple sentence that offers many clues. This is an adult main character, and Gene Kelly makes us believe this is a period piece. A sailor sets the date around World War II. The mention of a male movie star gives the impression a woman is noticing the sailor. The second sentence confirms our assumptions.
I couldn’t say the same for his dancing, however.
Fun. She is going to dance with him. Our main character is reflecting on the evening. The sailor is drop-dead gorgeous, but alas, he’s a hoofer. (She says this a little later.) We begin to see that the main character has no problem giving her opinion from a lofty point of view.
This opening is from Mark E. Gelinas, Sr.’s work in progress, Prisoner of the Past:
For the second time in her life, the gates of the Indiana Women’s Correctional Facility closed behind Hannah Winters.
Gates of a woman’s prison are closing behind a woman—and this isn’t the first time. This get’s my attention. The name Winters gives a chill to the moment. Mark also places us square in Indiana. If we wanted to, we could Google the exact location. The second sentence answers the question of the gates closing two times but loads us with many questions.
This time, she was free.
This line gives extra meaning to the word “closed” in the first sentence. The past is closed, but Mark’s title tells us the past will rear its ugly head.
My last example is from Richard Peck’s young adult book, Remembering the Good Times. Peck was one of the greats, and this opening tells us way more than we can imagine. I am cheating a little by using the first paragraph. Literary agent Jennifer March Soloway once tweeted, “Get the end into the beginning and imply the ending up front.” Peck does precisely that. To avoid spoilers, digest this paragraph on your own. This is a book that will stay with you for years. If you want a print edition, it must be a used copy. It will be one of the finest used books you will read.
Trav and I almost argued once about which of us got to Kate first. I did. I remember the day, almost the minute we met. We were still kids—twelve, so it was nearly four years ago. A lifetime.
I’m not suggesting you must revise your opening 80 times, but make every word count.
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