OPENINGS

 

There's a lot in Writers Land about opening lines and opening paragraphs.

{For example, see this.}

Conventional wisdom states opening paragraphs must hook the reader at the start and bind them, so they have no choice but to go on reading. First readers may be agents reading queries, then editors reading submissions from agents, and ultimately readers browsing at book stores or “looking inside” virtually, a feature on Amazon.

Most writers know this can cheapen the story somewhat, because a great story builds up and leisurely luscious beginnings are the mark of many great novels of yore. The thing is, no one has that luxury of time anymore. What the Dickens are you thinking if you don’t realize there won’t be a soul looking at your second paragraph if the first doesn’t grab ‘em by the collar?

And speaking of Dickens, he was a master of first lines. His craft shows awareness of collar-grabbing mastery.

There are posts online where readers chime in with their favorite first lines.

{For example, see this.}

 

A first line or paragraph is the narrative voice in a nutshell. It makes one want to sit close by and continue to hang out and listen as long as the narrator cares to talk. Openings mustn’t be different from the rest of the story, or it’s a broken promise. Few things are as disappointing as broken promises.

To this day, one of my favorites is in Richard Peck’s The Teacher’s Funeral. The voice, so expressive, continues and delivers the promise of this opening in spades.

“If your teacher has to die, August isn't a bad time of year for it. You know August. The corn is earring. The tomatoes are ripening on the vine. The clover's in full bloom. There's a little less evening now, and that's a warning. You want to live every day twice over because you'll be back in the jailhouse of school before the end of the month.”

I gave this book to many of my kids’ teachers, making sure they knew it was an ode to teachers and teaching, all the more effective because it was never teachy-preachy. This opening gives that ironic feel. No matter how many times I re-read it, I’m newly awed. 

Oh, and it’s August, folks.

What the Dickens!

Meaning, Work Harder

Here's a bit of writerly contemplation to remind us that the world isn't ending. Whatever is ahead, good storytelling was-is-and-will-be forever a cementing part of the human race. Dickens himself lived through a few scourges.

~~~

However you feel about Charles Dickens stories, few will disagree that he was the master of first lines. Every one of these first lines can be seen as prescient. That's what great lines are.

“Once upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fierce battle was fought.”

The Battle of Life

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”

David Copperfield

“Now, what I want is, Facts.”

Hard Times

Some are as short as it gets:

“London.”

Bleak House

And some are preposterously long:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, 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–in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

Tale of Two Cities

But what Dickens taught storytellers is that first lines, like first impressions, matter. A lot.

The Little Ones’ Perspective

Bringing a new young kittenish feline into a home that already had two fully-grown self-possessed cats, we followed the careful guidelines for introduction.

It was fascinating to watch how all involved navigated the situation.

The new cat, Nougat, was eager to make friends. But she learned very quickly that she must go slowly and carefully. The sheer difference in size necessitated thoughtfulness, and she is one smart kitty.

I noted how, when she needed to reach her food bowl or navigate to the other side of the room past the others, she moved in impossibly slow motion as to not trigger the big ones’ hunter/prey chase response. One such chase and one large claw making contact with her fur taught her this lesson.

She also does her best to avoid passing below uninspectable surfaces, where someone can pounce on her. She appears calm and contented with the others present only if she has a good escape route and sees us, her human protectors, from the corner of her eye.

This got me thinking about how it feels to be little, which got me thinking about writing for newer, smaller people—i.e. children.

Because this is pretty much how children feel all the time.

There are many kid-characters in books who are spunky, powerful, save humanity, and speak up when others don’t. I think these are inauthentic kids. They may serve some fantasies of grownups who wished they had done something back when, but these stories reek of falseness.

When “keeping the child in view,” as Dickens wrote, a good refresher would be to watch a kitten making her way into an established group of bigger guys who know their way around.

Go, Nougat. You can do it, girl.