You’ve spent countless hours pondering the plot, creating the characters’ voices, and building the perfect twist at the end that will leave readers speechless. Once everything is as good as you can make it, you publish your writing and wait. . . .
But no one reads your masterpiece.
Unfortunately, in our content-saturated age, if you don’t grab people by the throat, pull them in close, and yell, “Pay attention to me!” with your first paragraph, they won’t stick around to read the amazing story you’ve crafted.
Your Opening Paragraph Is Vital
When I was editing submissions for Short Fiction Break, if the first paragraph didn’t hold my attention, I rarely kept reading. I'm an avid reader looking for things to read. If a story didn’t keep me engaged, it had no chance of catching the attention of the average internet reader.
A scroll through my Facebook feed illustrates the problem. Here are some of the titles vying for my attention:
- 21 Bacon Recipes for When You are Trying to Eat Healthy
- This Game of Thrones Theory Blames Bran for Everything!
- 15 Times Super Heroes Kill People
- Amazing Movies Streaming Right Now!
That blog post you just published? That’s what it is competing with: bacon, super heroes, the entire movie industry, and Game of Thrones. I see the Game of Thrones headline and neurons in my mind begin to fire. “Yeah,” I tell myself. “I bet the whole crippled thing is just a clever ruse. Damn you, George R. R. Martin! Damn you and your ever-twisting plot!”
3 Qualities of Effective Lead Paragraphs
Never fear. Even with all this competition, getting your writing noticed isn’t hopeless. I fully believe good work gets read, and a great opening paragraph will help.
Here are three qualities of opening, or lead, paragraphs that win readers' attention:
1. They Are Direct
The Wild West of the internet is no place for meandering. Your lead paragraph should walk down the street with purpose. Its commanding presence should cause others to step aside because your paragraph has somewhere to be.
Attention-getting lead paragraphs paint clear, simple pictures. They are easy to read. Save SAT words and flowery descriptions of the drapes in the front room for the middle of the work. Don't dilly-dally in your opening paragraph.
Set the scene. Do it in a way that gives us an instant image, and don’t write any words readers are going to have to google.
2. They Grab Readers by the Throat
Internet readers don’t want to ease into anything. I’m not looking for a slow float around the lazy river. This is the internet; I’m probably reading your post on my phone. Give me rapids. Give me challenge. Give me conflict. Give me Jimmy Olson tied up in a corner with a bomb strapped to his chest and a timer reading 10 seconds until the end of the world.
An attention-getting lead paragraph draws readers in.
By the time a reader gets to the end of the first paragraph, they should be at the top of the roller coaster, filled with anticipation, looking down at the rush they are about to feel.
3. They Make Readers Care
Unfortunately, in our calloused age, a dead body on the floor or a couple yelling at each other isn’t enough on its own to get a paragraph noticed. Seventeen seasons of Law and Order SVU have hardened us.
An attention-winning lead paragraph must go one step further: it must make us care.
Show us a character we are intrigued by. Say something that makes us smile. Touch our hearts with a wink or a nod. Remind us that the feelings sparked by images created in our imaginations are far more powerful than the feelings forced by images we see on screens, and we will stick with you to the end of the piece.
You CAN Get a Reader's Attention
There is more competition for a potential reader’s attention now than ever before, but you can rise to the challenge and capture readers from the start. Cast aside fear, kick doubt in the face, and write a simple, emotionally engaging, conflict-filled lead paragraph that demands to be reckoned with.
Your readers will be happy to follow.
What do you find most challenging about writing an opening paragraph? Let me know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to write a lead paragraph that will grab readers' attention. Revise the first paragraph of your current work in progress, or write the beginning of something new.
When you're done, share your practice in the comments. Don't forget to leave feedback for your fellow writers!
When I get in a writing funk, I will often sit at the computer and write opening lines or opening paragraphs. Not only is this a great way to generate ideas for future books or short stories, but it also seems to move me past the “I’m such a wannab” moment. I have collected these openings and put them in a file to “use someday.” Three short stories and one novel have evolved from this.
Emmylou is a professional spinster, a hater of men. Cocooned in her virginal bed, too tucked in to move. ‘Thou shalt not’ embroidered above her, she despises everything that doesn’t conform to her narrow view of how things should be. She lives alone in the small terraced house where she was born. Her job as a librarian is the only outlet she has, books are her friends, their smell and feel of them always brings her pleasure.
Nice literary start. I write pulp so this is from another world. My wife would like this start and she reads serious stuff all the time.
The pain in my arm wasn’t that intense, just annoying. I looked down and saw a small barb embedded just above my wrist. “Shit, I must have brushed up against a thorn bush.” was my first thought. As I reached to pull the little sucker out, I noticed a faint red light emanating from it and thought I could hear a very faint buzz coming from it. I pulled it out and looked at it real close, only to discover that it was some sort of miniscule missile and that the red glow was coming from a tiny rocket motor. I held it closer to my ear and what I thought was a faint buzz, now sounded like a far off collision alarm. “Damn!” I said to myself, just my luck.
Using first person works well for this. Pulls a person in right away. Maybe first person voice would always have that advantage?
I think you could even tell this story in present tense if you wanted to.
Thanks for the reply. I don’t know where that stuff came from, but it was fun. Now for the rest of the story…???
I love it! You must continue the story, please?
Agreed! Very engaging and surprising
engaging…
You can’t leave us hanging! Now, you have to write more about this!
Engaging and interesting. I would love to know more!
Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I hadn’t really thought about how to develop this, but I will try and see what happens to him (Me??).
This works really well as an opening paragraph. I love how it starts small, like the person’s in a normal, unremarkable situation, and then builds up to something dramatic.
I think you could make this paragraph even more intense by writing in shorter sentences as the person examines the barb. I’d suggest breaking apart long sentences and cutting out some of the “and”s and transition phrases like “only to discover.” Then it will read as a series of short sentences, like a burst of rapid discoveries, one after the other, each one worse than the last.
From the first line, I’m engaged and curious, wanting to read more. Great job!
He loves me…he loves me not… Oh, forget that nonsense! Jerilyn tossed the daisy and grabbed her cell phone. She hit the number she’d programmed in and he answered on the third ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” She fingered her turquoise pendant, his most recent gift. “Do you really, really love me?”
She heard him take a deep breath and wondered what he’d been doing when his phone rang. Hopefully he wasn’t in a meeting with his boss at this moment. His response set her worries to rest. “Of course I love you, darling. I love you to depths and heights my soul can reach and all that.” There was a long pause, then he added, “But you know I’ve asked you never to call me at work.”
“Oh…” She searched her mind for a time he might have told her that, but the memory cells came up blank.
“This is important, Destiny. I don’t want your calls coming here. Somebody may notice your number on my screen and ask questions.”
She almost dropped her cell phone. “Destiny? This is Jerilyn!” Her face scrunched up in an angry frown. “Who’s Destiny,” she demanded. There was a gasp, then another pause at his end. She could almost hear him groping at the surrounding air for an appropriate explanation. And he better have one!
Maybe how much a writer can do in one paragraph depends on how much dialogue you open with?
This is nice I like the changes that happen unexpectedly. Keep it up. More than one para though.
Thank you. If I were to share this much info all one paragraph, it would have to be straight narration — which is okay, too, in its place.
Really fun read.
Thank you. Now I’m trying to decide if he’ll go for a confession or “I knew it was you. Just a joke, dear.”
Loved the story line…!
Do you think he can talk his way out of trouble now?
Well, he could say it was a Freudian slip…Destiny is (a client, a colleague, a person who showed up in a dream that he was thinking about)…but will she believe him for long? 🙂
An interesting read. The imagery is particularly good, especially the line, “She could almost hear him groping at the surrounding air for an appropriate explanation.”
I highly doubt old lover-boy will be able to wriggle his way out of this one. 😛
Thank you. I doubt it, too. I hope Jerilyn doesn’t sound like the type who will shut her eyes to the red flags.
No, she seems like a smart gal. If she was smart enough to be worried (even if it might have been paranoia), there must have been a reason for it.
Excellent. It really drew me in.
This is great! It drew me in from the start. I love how you’ve shown us a lot about the man from his dialogue, especially bits like “and all that.” His voice is very clear, and his personality and character shine through (though not to his credit).
You’ve definitely brought us right into the action in this opening scene and given us a big reveal, which makes for a very engaging start. On the flip side, it makes me wonder what the climax will be—perhaps Jerilyn trying to figure out how to cope with this bad news? Him doing something even more drastic? If this weren’t the opening, I’d think it might be part of the climax; as an opening, I’m curious what it will build up to.
Jerilyn sounds like a likeable and sympathetic character. I love her “oh, forget that nonsense!” at the start. I’m curious now about the story of her relationship with this man—this makes me want to read more!
The idea is to start your story at the point where something changes, so I wanted to create the sense of change. You know that even if he comes up with a valid explanation now, things will never be the same again. Like opening a where something pops out and won’t be stuffed back in again.
And I wanted him to sound like he could be a brush-off artist.
I just figured out an way for him to save his bacon. He’s going to admit to Jerilyn that he owes big time on a credit card and can’t afford to pay. Destiny is a rep of a collection agency and she’s been hounding him. Understandably he doesn’t want her calling him at work.
Hopefully that explanation will get him off the hook for two-timing. 🙂
I like it. I don’t want to “evaluate” your work because I’m just starting out. I see this was posted 1yr ago. Best of luck.
Chuck
How to write a lead paragraph
that will get your readers attention
do not wander , you have a purpose , their retention
make it clear , simple , be a politician some other time
rapids, challenge , conflict , are what I have in mind
Lois Lane tumbling out of a plane , oh yes please
for touching hearts , making smiles ,
Lois Lane says , “while I’m tumbling helplessly to the earth
I’m sure Clark Kent would want to be here , and clearly only make it worse”
The Moa River curved through the rainforest like a black artery piercing a dark heart. The drenching heat slithered its way into the bush plane’s cabin as Billy pointed the camera that took him to all corners of the world. Sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of a Cessna 172 Skyhawk, he set his Samsung’s shutter speed to fast while the bush plane dropped. The professional in him took care not to rest the lens on any part of the plane, and he popped it out the small window rigged to stay fully open. In his viewfinder people on the road below looked like a hodgepodge of colorful smudges on the road’s light brown surface as it snaked through a clearing and then back into the rainforest.
You have a lot of description, but what is the change or conflict? I think you need to hint at something unusual. Like, is the plane coming down as planned or is this an emergency landing? Is there some special danger or prize involved in this trip/ these particular pictures?
That comes in the coming paragraphs. I try to keep the paragraphs short. I will think on all these comments. Thanks Christine.
Your first paragraph hooked me, especially the first sentence, which creates a vivid picture. Seems you’re an expert on photography, too. Have you written more of the story, or is just a pracice post?
Thanks for sharing, Michael.
Cheers!
Thx for the encouragement, Lillian. I am 34000 words in and need beta readers. Are you interested in a reading project in let’s say August?
Sure I am, Michael. I like your writing style and i know your story will be fab.
my email is tsunamiconnectionmjg@gmail.com. The book is at the editor now and we are going through a developmental process that takes time. I can’t thank you enough for the offer to betaread. Writing a book is such a group effort.
I LOVED your description. It was vivid. But it told me nothing about Billy, except that he’s good with a camera. I want to know why I should care about his story.
I stuck to the instructions. One paragraph. That happens to be the first para in my newest novel. Thanks for taking the time to comment. I will think on what you said.
When One of the Bottles Happen to Fall…
Hands unsteady, with pursed lips and her green eyes only slits, Rachel tightened her grip on her glass bottle and secured it to the high shelf with Crazy Glue.
When does one reach rock bottom? You know, the time when people say, “It can only get better from here”? What does one do when one of the ninety nine glass bottles of issues fall and shatter? Does one’s world fall apart?
Rachel thought to herself, “I just hate this life”. Since finding those unworthy text messages on Mike’s phone, Rachel couldn’t help but subtly despise him. She’d been raised to keep quiet, to swallow her words before they formed a complete thought, and couldn’t let herself discuss her concerns with Mike, or with anyone.
Rachel generally coped with her problems by not thinking about them. Because, if you ignore it, it will go away. Like Mom told her as a kid, when a bee buzzed around her; to stand still and not wave at it or run away, because then it will get wild.
Comment, please. I’m very unsure if there is sense here.
Personally, I’d be inclined to turn things around and start with the third & fourth paragraph — rolled into one — then go back and start the second paragraph with her asking “When does one reach rock bottom?”
Her gluing a bottle on a shelf doesn’t make sense without some kind of lead-in explanation. Is she saving up all her empty wine bottles or olive oil bottles or…? And why? To start off with this line and not explain what’s up leaves the reader thinking, “Huh?”
Yes, gotcha! I’m confused myself there…
Thanks…
I’m gonna have to disagree a little. I do believe you need an explanation to why she’s gluing the bottle to the shelf. But that scene is so intriguing and different that I am more leaned to liking it as a starter to your story.
The fact that you asked that question at the end tells me your gut is speaking to you. Listen to it. It did take me a second to figure out what was happening, even when I read “I just hate this life” I was still struggling to understand. Is Mike her husband? Did she discover he was cheating on her? After reading the whole thing I went back to the beginning and now I understand she was trying to glue the bottle so she wouldn’t drink any more. I really like this idea, but it wasn’t clear from the get go. You want readers to understand right away.
Thank you so much for your input. I’m going to use this to make it clearer.
I love your opening line. I agree with M. C. Muhlenkamp that it’s intriguing, a curious and engaging start to the story. It’s such a great image—I can so clearly see Rachel reaching up with shaking hands to press the bottle onto the shelf.
Then again, I also agree that the image doesn’t make much sense without some further explanation, either before or after. You might consider continuing with storytelling rather than questions in the second paragraph: what does Rachel do in the moments after gluing the bottle to the shelf?
The third paragraph feels heavy on the telling and exposition. Could you show us how much Rachel hates her life, maybe by the slump of her shoulders or her weary frown?
I really appreciate the comparison in the last paragraph of coping with problems like not angering bees. That’s great advice for dealing with bees, though not such great advice for coping with problems. It gives good insight into Rachel as a character, though.
You’ve established that Rachel is in quite the dark pit, and I’m curious to know how she got there and how (or whether) she’ll get out. Nicely done! Thank you for sharing!
Damn!!! The lady was at it again!!!
The canary yellow Post-it note attached to the windshield of his truck was the last thing he wanted to see. “Call Candace, Its very important”. With no intention of returning the call he muttered to himself “Just lose my number”.
His hand reached to grasp the note crumpling it into his fist. Nothing could be that important. Remembering the words of his friend and trusted attorney to keep his distance, not to get involved again. He had come too far to be manipulated back into the same dead end relationship. He knew her and he also knew she would not stop until she got what she wanted. Little beads of sweat popped up on his forehead and his face redder than a beet he climbed into the truck, rolled the window down,and with both hands placed a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Seconds later he turned the key in the ignition. The truck hummed to life as he slowly backed out of the parking space while the note fell to the floor underneath his feet.
I’m hooked. Loved that you made it super important and then he just dismissed it. It made me curious. I’d keep reading. I’d just make the writing tighter now. (The Post-it note attached to the windshield of [name]’s truck was the last thing he wanted to see…)
I agree. Very intense. Make sure to proofread for grammatical errors–especially in paragraph one.
fixed the commas
thanks
fixed that one – thanks
I would keep reading. This is a great start. It makes me curious. Only one comment: (maybe I am projecting here because I am working on this right now in my work -the dreaded verb, To Be.) Could you make the first sentence without the verb to be with an action verb?
Got it!!
I, too, am hooked and want to know more!
One little thing to think about: it feels to me like the sentence beginning with “Remembering… is either incomplete or meant to connect to the following sentence. Of course, maybe it’s a question of style?
I’ll look forward to seeing more about this!
Changed the remembering. thanks
Nice! You can tell how angry and frustrated the character is.
I assume Candace is an ex that has caused Jack a great deal of heartache in the past–or at the very least, plenty of headaches.
This is an engaging start to what sounds like a great story. I particularly like the first couple of lines. “Again” tells me that while this is an attention-grabbing opening for the reader, it’s not actually unusual for Jack. That’s great; it gives you time to establish what’s normal life in the story and build up to the climax. And I love the imagery of that canary yellow Post it note.
The third paragraph feels to me like a lot of exposition pretty quickly—four sentences of Jack’s thoughts in response to the note, sentences that list out a lot of the basic facts of his relationship with Candace. Perhaps consider interspersing them with action, so that he thinks these things in between climbing into the truck, turning it on, etc. Or examine which ones are really necessary as his response in that moment, and which ones are extra exposition that you could share later in the story.
You’ve got me curious to know more, especially what is “very important” and what Candace wants so much that she won’t stop til she gets it. Nicely done!
There was complete silence, and then all the hell let loose, the roar was deafening as a huge mass of water rushed inland carrrying with it debris, fish, and all the stuff that had lain at the bottom of the ocean.The tsunami had finally hit the coast, three hours after the earthquake!
I’m gonna have to quote Jeff’s post (actually just read #3 again). I loved the fact that you started with the main conflict right away. A freakin’ tsunami! But it left me wondering still. I want to connect to the character. I need more.
I met Ethan Moon in a pub on Venus and two shots of vodka later we decided we were going to colonize Neptune.
For years we saved and schemed and fought and then we found the guts to trust our friends to the stars, but it wasn’t enough.
We lost contact with Poseidon I as it descended through the atmosphere of Neptune, and all eight of them were presumed dead.
My son. Moon’s best friend Polaris Queen. Dead. There one moment, gone the next.
And as the radio silence stretched on and on, our sponsors ended the program and left us to battle our ghosts, left us to wonder what we got wrong.
Wonder what we could have done to bring them home.
Fabulous! Just fabulous! You got a killer first sentence.
This first person stuff is really selling now. I am a purest for 3rd person stories, but then my books don’t sell lol. I am reading something you might like by a new writer who just got a movie deal for a diary form Sci Fi in first person. Sleeping Giants by Sylvain Neuvel
This is a powerful read—not just a first paragraph, but a full story in nine sentences. Well done!
I agree with M.C. Muhlenkamp that your first sentence is wonderful. You’ve drawn me in from the start and set an excellent pace and entertaining, engaging tone for the whole story. That sets it up well for the hurt and poignancy of the last sentence—powerful stuff.
I love how pithy it is, no wasted words at all. I want more, but at the same time, I don’t; too much more would ruin the effect. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you very much! It does continue, but I am very happy to know that the beginning is engaging. I’ve been working on it for quite a while.
He sat close to the fire, sewing yet another piece of leather across a hole in the chest piece. Sweat rolled down his broad, muscular back, bouncing over various scars and leaving a trail of clean tan in the caked on grime. Some came from swords and knives. Other came from claws. One, near his spine, came from an axe.
The point of the needle in the fleshy part of his finger merited only an annoyed shake of the hand and a slight, “Damn it.”
A moment later, and the cuirass was held before his critical eye as he searched for further flaws. Seeing none, he nodded to himself and pulled the boiled leather over his head and strapped the piece into place. Approaching hoof beats brought him surging to his feet, drawing a broadsword as he rose.
The raven haired rider reined her horse in and swung out of the saddle. “Carter!” Her smile was infectious.
He sheathed the blade once more. “Queen Adora. It is good to see you again.”
“By Kellün’s right hand, you seem to be bigger every time we meet.”
He chuckled. “And you seem more beautiful every time I see you.”
Her bright smile at the compliment faded when she got a good look at his armor. “Gods, Carter. Why do you have such ragged apparel?”
“I can’t exactly go to the armorer when I’m attempting to be captured by Drago’s minions.”
She sat on the log near the fire where he’d sat moments ago. “How goes the attempts?”
His right eyebrow went up. “Ask my guards.”
“Looks like the standing orders are to kill the Walker of Worlds instead of capturing you.”
“Indeed.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Carter shrugged. “Maybe he’s decided I’m too scary.”
“Not enough to surrender, though.”
“Sadly true.”
“Since you’ve not been able to get yourself captured and interrogating enemy prisoners hasn’t gotten you any closer to finding Keeper Dearbhaile, how about joining my army? We could use another swordsman. Especially one of your caliber.”
“Another sword wouldn’t do you any better. I’m much more effective doing what I have been: Ambushing the ranking officers.”
“Yes, that is good, and has helped a lot, but imagine the moral boost for the soldiers.”
“How many even know what a Walker of Worlds is, much less that I am he?” Carter placed another log on the fire. “By all the hells, even I don’t know what the hell the Walker is. Nor what I do.”
She sighed. “Is there anything I could say
Loved the first paragraph. It paints a clear picture of who he is and makes me want to know more about him.
Thank you.
It was by far a very normal evening. I was working a bit late in the lab and took the shortcut through the deserted corridor in front of Mr. Ellington’s room when I heard those words which would change my life forever and bring me in to the whirlwinds of a world, about which my knowledge was next to nothing-
“Kill him.”
Though the voice was muffled behind the closed door,I heard it clear and I could never mistake that particular voice.
‘May be he is not talking about killing a human being’, I tried to reassure myself. But then the voice spoke again-
“He knows too much about our dealings. And clear the mess swiftly afterwards.”
Oh my God!
‘He IS talking about killing a human being!!!’.
My hands felt cold, my whole body started to tremble, I could not breath and on top of everything, I could not believe my own ears.This was not some unknown or less acquainted brooding guy we are talking about. This was a man who had been and still was our professor, a very nice man with a very friendly demeanor. He was very popular among his students too, because of his avid manner of teaching, his knowledge and his approachable behavior.
‘How is it possible! How can a man keep up such thorough acting!’…..I was hyperventilating. I did not know what to do.
Should I ignore it and go in my own way as if nothing out of ordinary happened? At least I would be safe in that case.
But the self righteousness in me had the worst timing sense and decided to make an appearance at that very moment. Though I didn’t know how to prove this allegation which was unbelievable even to my own ears, I squared my solders and opened my phone……
just before a strong hand grabbed me from behind…. a feeling of sharp pinch on my arm….and then…..
everything was dark.
I like where you’re going with this, but I think a little rewording would add a nice punch. I’d skip the first two sentences altogether and go straight for the kill.
I agree with M.C. Lots of potential here. Starting with sentence 3 is a good idea because you edit out those phrases that editors dislike, such as “it was.”
good suggestion!
Alec was ready. He strode into the courtyard, shoulders apart and bent on proving it. He knew fighting a two-hundred-pound jaguar for the sake of approval was by far the stupidest idea he ever had. But at this point he couldn’t back down, and even if he could, he wouldn’t want to. Even if the jaguar was his uncle.
The morning air greeted him, drenched in summer scents. As usual, uncle Lawrence was already kneeling on a rug, meditating before sunrise. Alec narrowed his eyes, watching the man that wasn’t only his guardian, but also his personal jailer.
Intriguing and well-paced writing. I don’t know about ‘stupidest’.
Thanks Michael! Would you think differently if the character was sixteen?
I hadn’t thought of age. It fits if 16 is the case.
I like it! I’ll second Michael James Gallagher’s take on “stupidest”, it feels awkward.
Thank you Jennifer! I’ll ask you the same question I asked Michael, would you feel the same of the character is sixteen?
Yes, everything you’ve written suggests the protagonist is in his mid-teens (well done), so the suggestion was given with this in mind.
Nice idea! I wonder if “stupidest” could be saved if this were written in 1st person?
Thanks Ann! The whole book is written in a close third person. Would the fact that the book is YA change your perspective on the matter?
Love the story-telling. It’s at a nice pace, but like everyone else has already said, maybe change “stupidest” to a better word. As Ann stated, perhaps it might work in the first-person, if that’s the way your character tends to speak.
I am going for a close third person, Wh oh is why I used that word. The main character is sixteen.
Oh, I see what you mean now! That makes some sense.
Nice opening. Unlike the others, “stupidest” works for me. Are they shifters, or mages? I’d love to read more.
Thanks RevDr! They are shifters. The book is written in a close third person and the main character is sixteen. I’m trying to weight that fact with the major dislike most everyone had with the word ‘stupidest.’
You’re welcome. Writing teenagers believably is pretty difficult if you’re not one, so good luck with that. One thing to maybe remember is they speak and act a lot differently than adults. I’m cheering for you.
Thank you! It’s been a work in progress. What’s your genre?
Epic Fantasy. What is yours?
Yeah, your paragraph had the feel. Really nice. I write YA fantasy & sci-fi. Would love to share with you, maybe trade feedbacks if you’re interested. You can contact me through my website @mcmuhlenkamp.com if you want.
Sure. That sounds fun.
This is an engaging start, drawing me in from the first lines. It also sounds like a good place to start this story, leading up to the conflict without diving into the climax in the first line.
A couple of places felt to me like telling / data-dumping exposition. “Even if the jaguar was his uncle” makes sense in Alec’s train of thought, but to me, “the man that wasn’t only his guardian, but also his personal jailer” felt clunky. Is there a way you could show us this in the next few paragraphs, or help us understand it implicitly—or even just move this statement a few lines later, so the first couple paragraphs don’t feel like excessive exposition?
I thought you captured Alec’s 16-year-old voice well here; it felt believable, and “stupidest” worked for me. Since this is close third person, you might consider cutting “He knew” in the second sentence.
You’ve got me curious, wanting to read more, and waiting to see how this ill-conceived fight turns out. Well done!
Thanks for the fabulous feedback!
Timmy watched his father and a small girl feeding the ducks in the park. Safely hidden in the darkness of a laurel headge, the smell of cut grass and the dank undergrowth of earth, insects and litter, rose and stung his nostrils. He rubbed his eyes and his nose. The sound of his father’s voice and the little girl’s laughter ground his mind to a halt in a confusion of feelings. Disbelief, sadness, loneliness, the weight of a guilty secret he somehow guessed he could never share, rooted him as still and as pale as a statue in the dark. Then they moved off: him pushing her in a pram still talking, still laughing.
You’ve got me. Tell me more!
Thank you, Jennifer. This is the first draft of a 3,000 word short story Chap Book. Here’s the Synopsis:
Taking a short cut through the park, a troubled boy hides behind a bush and observes his father pushing a pram. The boy tells a friend, his abusive mother overhears and interrogates the boy; violence follows confrontation when the father returns home. Confessing the truth and realising the abuse of his son, the shocked father comforts the boy who joins his ‘other’ family.
I like this and want to know more. It’s interesting how this paragraph condenses what could well be expanded into a book!
This is a great start—in a way innocuous, but also laced with intensity and mystery. From the first line, I’m invested in Timmy, wondering why he’s merely watching his father rather than feeding the ducks with him.
By the fourth sentence, I’m reading a lot of weighty words, but losing the clear picture of what’s going on. I’m also a little confused by “the weight of a guilty secret he somehow guessed he could never share.” Why is it weighty, who is guilty, what is the secret, and why has Timmy guessed he can’t share it? From your synopsis, I can guess, but in this opening paragraph, I’m not yet grounded in the story enough to hold this much confusion. You might try expanding the description/action there and holding off on some of the introspection for a few lines more.
On the flip side, I love the image of “rooted him as still and as pale as a statue in the dark.” That’s an eloquent and powerful comparison.
I’m definitely concerned about Timmy and curious what will happen. Nicely done! Thank you for sharing your writing with us!
Thank so much for your kind and creative criticism which I greatly appreciate. I’ve got quite a few versions of this paragraph so here is one of the others:
Inside the darkness of the laurel hedge, unseen by people strolling by, Timmy squinted at a man and a little girl feeding the ducks. The man looked so much like his Dad; was it really his father? He recognised the blue trilby and the grey suit, but who was the little girl? What was his father doing with a little girl, throwing crusts into the water and laughing together as the ducks came quacking, crowding round, snatching at morsels. He rubbed his eyes and wiped his nose on his sleeve: it was dank and smelly in the hedge. Timmy stood as pale and as still as a statue in the dark, watching them, then took in a sharp breath as his father gathered up the little girl in his arms, tickling and kissing her, making her squeal. Quite suddenly he felt lonely and small in a very big world – and not a little jealous of the fun they were having. Then he heard, ‘Come on, Daphne, say bye bye to the ducks. Mummy will be waiting.’ It was his Dad alright. He knew his voice. Timmy watched until his father, with ‘Daphne’ safe in her pram, disappeared from sight on the other side of the park.
So sorry for my slow reply! I saw your comment, but then I lost it and couldn’t find it again.
I like this version better. I particularly like how you express Timmy’s emotions: “Quite suddenly he felt lonely and small in a very big world – and not a little jealous of the fun they were having.” This sounds like the honest experience and reflection of a small child in the moment. The version from the previous sample, “Disbelief, sadness, loneliness, the weight of a guilty secret he somehow guessed he could never share, rooted him as still and as pale as a statue in the dark,” sounded a little too mature and self-aware. Actually, I think that might be true for each paragraph as a whole: the first version sounded rather “literary,” but this one sounds like it’s straight from the experience of a little boy—a much more desirable effect in my opinion.
The string of three questions at the beginning throws me off slightly. Each question is useful, but I wonder whether it would be helpful to separate them, or to rephrase one or two so they’re not directly questions. You might use verbs like “wondered” or phrases like “confused, he watched” or “curious, he watched” to convey that sense of confused questioning without directly using questions. These are just my thoughts, of course; suggestions to play around with, and you’re more than welcome to decide they don’t work!
Thank you for sharing these two versions of your story with us! I look forward to seeing where this beginning takes you.
Thanks again, Alice. Yes, you’re right about the three questions in your second paragraph and I take that on board. And you have rightly hinted at my current dilemma in writing this short story. I am now confused about how to write it and fear I’ve made it worse, (or better) by experimenting with writing the story from each character’s perspective and voice. For example, Timmy’s story, his mother’s view and his father’s view. I really like these three stories – I’ve stopped at the mystery woman’s voice for the time being; I seem to have painted myself into a corner and feel that if I walk over what I’ve already done to synthesise these (three to four) stories, I’ll ruin what I’ve already got! Advise me please. Here are a few paragraphs at the start of Timmy’s story:
Timmy
Sometimes I don’t open my eyes when I wake up because I don’t want to look. Sometimes I do, especially when I’m looking forward to school. I might be seeing my very best friend James and then I’m happy because we have fun and I do open my eyes when I wake up. Mostly I don’t. I stay in bed as long as I can. It’s mostly warm which I like. Sometimes it’s not. 74
If I open my eyes while I’m still in bed I can see the light shade. It’s a glass bowl and hangs on three chains. When the light is on it looks like a bowl of innards. That’s because it’s white glass with pink and orange blobs and it hangs over my bed. It looks like suet in the butcher’s.
And my pillow case is stiff and shiny and leaves creases in my face so I look like folded paper and the sheets are the same. I can’t move when I get into bed and have to lie on my back. That’s because I have to have hospital corners. But I turn over in my sleep. I must do or I wouldn’t have these creases in my face.
Telling the story from multiple perspectives, in multiple voices, sounds like a great experiment. And here, I’d say it’s working very well for Timmy. In these three paragraphs, I’ve gotten a strong sense of his voice and his sweet, innocent, creative, observant character. I particularly love the line, “And my pillow case is stiff and shiny and leaves creases in my face so I look like folded paper and the sheets are the same.” What beautiful imagery!
From these three paragraphs, I have just a couple words of caution. First, you may want to keep in mind as you write in Timmy’s voice that it could be overwhelming in excess. That isn’t to say don’t use his voice. In fact, you might find it works well to let his voice come through strongly a lot! It’s just a thought to keep in mind as you write (or perhaps more accurately, as you edit) to be aware of what’s helpful and what’s overwhelming.
Second, your description in this passage is thorough, but I wonder sometimes how relevant it is. In a short section like this, I don’t know—I can’t make a judgement about whether Timmy’s observations about the light shade will be useful to know later on. (They might be! We might be getting some important insight about his character to hear him describe it as “like suet in the butcher’s,” for instance.) But I would encourage you to go through and question your text: is this particular detail relevant and helpful, or does it actually distract the reader from where this story is going?
In that sense, I think the first paragraph is most helpful—we learn right off the bat that Timmy mostly doesn’t want to open his eyes when he wakes up, and that leads us to wonder why.
(Also in that sense, what is the 74?)
As far as the multiple voices go, I actually think you might be onto something by not writing the mystery woman’s voice. Her name says it all, doesn’t it? She’s a mystery, both to Timmy and to the reader (and to you, it sounds like!). It could work well to tell this story that revolves around her without ever giving her the chance to share her own perspective. We could experience all the ramifications of her actions and the confusion of the other characters without ever quite seeing and understanding her. You might try it and see how it goes.
Thank you for sharing more of your story! Good luck writing and revising!
Great post. I tried to apply info to my next travel blog, but I’m wondering which intro best meets the criteria. Please help me decide.
1) When Lewis and Clark encountered the Nez Perce in 1805, it was a meeting of the minds. Bright men on both sides shared survival secrets and technology, friendship and trust. So how did this meeting lead to Chief Joseph’s greatest sorrow?
2) Returning home from Yellowstone to Seattle, we drove off-piste a bit and took Highway 12, the Lewis and Clark Trail west, which later became the Nez Perce escape route east. Along the way, the National Parks displays reduced us to tears over how the brilliant Expedition eventually led to the death of so many brilliant Nez Perce. It didn’t have to end that way.
Perhaps number 1, though you’ll have better luck working the greatest sorrow bit in as the first sentence. You’ll have to do some reworking to make it fit, but it will hook the non-history buffs who would otherwise stall on the facts of the first two sentences.
Thank you so much, Jennifer. I think you’re right. And you know my audience–non-history buffs.
Jeff moved to the front door and set the green duffel bag down at his feet, placed a well worn loafer on top of it and leaned an arm on his knee. Some may have thought this too casual a pose for the circumstances, but this was how Jeff thought best – his body relaxed in order to let his mind do all the work. He removed his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair as he studied Karen through the screen door. He was grateful that she was here and he doubted they could have reached this point without her unwavering support over the last few weeks.
Karen had moved from the front stoop to the porch swing. Jeff noticed the other, smaller bag was tucked discreetly under the plastic table next to where she sat, rocking slowly. Jeff thought she looked as forlorn as he felt. She was transfixed on something down the street and he look but saw nothing. Karen’s just as lost as the rest of us. It distressed him to consider what was going on inside her head – surely nothing that had not passed through his own in recent weeks – but it was better to study Karen than to observe the anguish happening in the living room.
Remove the phrase beginning with “placed a well worn”, and the second sentence. Start the last sentence with “He doubted”. Just a suggestion.
This is a quietly powerful start to a story. The actions—moving to the front door, setting down a duffle bag, studying Karen’s slow rocking deliberately not observing the anguish in the living room—subtly hint at some major angst and drama.
My best advice is just to tighten what you have here. The sentence “He was grateful that she was here and he doubted they could have reached this point without her unwavering support over the last few weeks” throws me off a bit; it feels like telling/exposition that tries to pull me away from the beautiful showing and subtlety of the piece. You might try breaking it up and combining the pieces with other sentences, something like: “. . . he studied Karen through the screen door, grateful that she was here.” and later, “He doubted they could have reached this point without her unwavering support over the last few weeks. Still, she was just as lost as the rest of them.”
You’ve got me curious, and, honestly, a little down, wondering what’s going on in the living room and why all these duffle bags are packed. I want to know more! Well done, and thank you for sharing!
Thank you so much, Alice, for your review and your suggestions are good ones. I wrote this about 13 years ago and gave up rather quickly on it. But, I saved it for a reason – I am hoping to one get return to it and make it a short story.
I am currently taking a more serious approach to my writing than I had back then. I am writing a suspense novel. From the critiques I’ve gotten from family and friends, it seems I am on the right track.
Thanks again for your comments. They are appreciated.
Eyes darting to and fro, hands rubbing, washing, always moving, Dr. Gerald Armenter was a very disturbed person. One year ago, he had not been like this. Armenter had stepped up to take charge of what was then called the Lost Tribe project. He was poised, confident: the epitome of self-assuredness. His group had just made contact with another intelligent race, so close to humans the differences were trivial. It proved the parallel development of two species. Now Armenter wanted the President to nuke the damn thing.
Gary, that was really well done. I got a picture in my head of what this species could be and then immediately became interested in why they need to be nuked. It gets the mind to wonder about possible conflicts, twists and turns immediately
I love how you tell of the good doctor’s fall from a confident man to a paranoid shell of what he once was. Sort of spooky, very interesting–I’d love to read more.
As I stumbled up the road, bones aching and muscles crying, I caught sight of something on the horizon and I squinted to make out what it was. When I dragged my feet a few more meters forward my eyes widened and my pace quickened. The shadow on the horizon was a town! My eyes closed and I imagined the feeling of fresh, cold water trickling down my throat and my tummy rumbled at the thought of food; the first it would have been given in days.
Reaching the outskirts of the town sent a shiver down my spine. There was no one around, no activity at all. The further into the small town I crept, the more signs there were of a hasty departure and my brain thought up a bunch of things that could have happened to make a whole town leave so quickly. It was then that my ears pricked up and I whipped my head around towards the sound. It was like nothing I’d ever heard of before, a kind a deep, guttural growl mixed with the raspy breath of someone who was suffering from an asthma attack. Another shiver made its way down my back and I turned forward again, hurrying towards what seemed to be a general store. As I looked through the contents of the shop my mouth salivated and my tummy growled like a beast and my hands shot out to grab the closest source of nutrition. There was another alien sound, this time behind me and I spun around. My jaw seemed to unhinge itself and my eyes grew to the size of saucers as I took in the sight in front of me. The beast was huge, bigger than any other mutated creature I’d come across in my previous adventures. It’s claws looked like they could fell a tree and the teeth, well I was imagining myself in very small pieces if I couldn’t wriggle my way out of this. Then I felt the excitement and adrenaline coursing through my veins, like a roaring sea caught up in storm, and I was once again thankful that the last thirty mutants I had come across weren’t any match for me. Let’s do this.
I’m new in the group. Thank you for a great article! I thought I’d try this paragraph:
3am. Elaine Paxton labors up a hill in Marseilles. Her head is bent with purpose. Her life is on the line. If Lucien ever found out. She must avoid witnesses. Taking a cab, even a bus, might attract attention. Lackluster, nondescript clothes camouflage her, a shadowy, moving extension of the walls she huddles against. Not that it matters. No one is around, not even le boulanger.
Facing the low-income housing complex, “Paradis de la Mer,” she thinks aloud, “Seaside Paradise?”…The only resemblances this place has to the sea are dampness and the smell of rotting fish. She scans the walls and shuttered windows, reaching for her flyers and some glue. Distraught, with frazzled nerves, her mouth is as dry as her need for justice. With no water, revenge will have to do.
I want to keep on reading! You did it!!!
Thank you, Mariana!
Just a question, aside from this text: can someone tell me how to add italics to the text? (the original Word document had italics, and they’re not showing here)…(I’m using a Macbook pro)…thank you!
Bracket the text with . and . Remove the periods. You can also replace em with i.
Thank you
. Thank you
Thank you! There was a learning curve…but finally got it!
This was pretty intense, and I love the fact that you used the oh-so-scary third-person, present-tense narrative that so many writers are generally unwilling to try. I would love to read more!
Thank you!
Strong. I would go with Purpose bends her head ( some such other way of saying it). Ugh! the dreaded verb to be.
Thank you! It’s true I was trying to find a way to deal with “to be” and hadn’t found a good solution. How about: Purpose weighs and bends her neck…?
Or: The weight of purpose bends her head…?
Or: The yoke of purpose bends her head…?
any of those is better from my perspective
Thank you! I have another one:
The burden of purpose bends her head…
I think I’ll go with this!
great
I’m going wild, now! Just thought of another:
Her head bends beneath purpose. Going to edit again…
This is definitely engaging, and gets me curious to read more—you’ve definitely picked a good place to start your story. I can feel the intensity of the moment, and I want to know what Elaine’s doing and why she has to sneak around—and why her life is on the line, to boot.
The last two sentences don’t quite work for me. “Distraught and frazzled” modifies the subject of the sentence, which here is “her mouth.” I suspect Elaine herself is distraught and frazzled, not just her mouth. And I wonder how a need for justice can feel “dry.” (On the flip side, “Her head is bent with purpose” doesn’t bother me; it’s good to avoid passive voice, but you don’t overuse it in this paragraph, so I don’t mind it in this sentence.)
Well done on an intriguing start to a story that makes me want to keep reading! And welcome—we’re very glad you’re here!
Thank you, Alice! This paragraph has already been re-written…but the last two sentences are still there, so I’m very grateful for your comment. The idea was that nervousness made her thirsty, and she thirsts for justice. I’ll have to figure out how to make that clearer!
I changed the last two lines:
Thirsty, her mouth craves water, as she yearns for justice. She has neither, so revenge will have to do.
Thanks again, if you have the time to look!
I like this paragraph and the descriptions. I can picture Elaine Paxton and connect with her feelings.
Well done!
Michael stands in front of
the house he shares with his girlfriend, Sally. It’s the last house
on a dead end road. He was told at one time the road wound over the
mountain to the next little town, but when the highway was built it
got cut off. It’s a nice old house, with a low stone wall and
lavender Rose of Sharon trees in the front. South side of the house
was a flower garden, past the flower garden and the wall was old Mr.
Stevenson’s house; empty since he had passed away. On the north
side was the driveway and forest beyond that. On the back side the
forest came almost right up to the house.
Michael walked into the front door as Sally was getting ready for work as a waitress at the diner 5 miles down the highway.
“I thought we talked about this, Sally.” said Michael “You said you were going to
quit your job.”
“No, Michael, you said I was gonna quit my job. I never said any such thing. Who do you think you are that you can tell me what to do?”
“I’m your man.” yelled Michael “And when I tell you to do something you do it.”
“Bullshit, I’m not that meek wife you were married to. I have my own mind and I will
do what I want.”
“That “meek wife” knew better than to disobey me. When I tell you to do something, you better do it.”
“Disobey you?” said Sally “What do you think this is? The Middle Ages? I think you better leave Michael. I will not put up with that shit.”
“Oh, you won’t?” said Michael.
“No I won’t. And don’t give me that crap about not giving me anymore money. You don’t have any money, it’s all gone. You know it, and I know it.”
“So, that’s it! All you wanted was the money I would get for my half of the house when I divorced Alex!”
Then Michael looked at Sally and she was never so scared in her whole
life. The anger in his eyes was terrifying. He started advancing
toward Sally and she thought she was going to faint.
I’ve never done a writing prompt on here before, but here goes:
Chrystephone felt at peace here in the meadow of lush, green grass. A rainbow of wildflowers spread as far as she could see, filling the air with the refreshing scent of nature. Though she’d never physically been there before, she knew this place. It always happened here, and the dream almost always played out in the same exact way:
She would hear footsteps from behind—the sound of leather sandals brushing through the grass. When she turned toward around, she would see that they belonged a tall, beautiful woman with caramel-colored hair. The most frustrating part was that she could never really see her face clearly, as though she was looking at her through a foggy glass, like some distant memory she tried desperately to call back; but Chrystephone was sure she knew who this person was, beyond a shadow of doubt. As strange as it may sound, she could tell who the woman was by her scent: the same scent as the red sash she always had with her. This woman was her mother.
But of course, it was impossible. Papa had told her that she’d lost her mother not long after she was born, and she of course had no memory of her—that’s how she knew for sure that it was all a dream, sweet as it may have been…
This is great—your clear, powerful imagery immerses me in the scene from the start, so I feel like I’m standing with Chystephone in this beautiful, ethereal meadow.
I’m usually not a huge fan of dream sequences, but you’ve made this one brief and given it a mysterious twist at the end, which kept me engaged and propelled me forward to read the rest of the story. That said, I think there’s some wordiness and repetition in the second paragraph that could be tightened, especially in the third and fourth sentences—”Chrystephone was sure she knew who this person was, beyond a shadow of doubt. As strange as it may sound, she could tell who the woman was . . .”
It’s the third paragraph, though, that really makes me want to keep reading; you’ve set us up with a quiet, calm, and peaceful scene with an underlying mystery, and I want to know more. Well done, and thank you for sharing your writing with us!
Wow, thank you very much! I actually hadn’t realized that when I typed the second paragraph–I think I was mostly rushing, given the fifteen minutes I tried to write it in, and the fact that I was honestly too lazy to edit. I’ll keep that in mind, though. :3
For most of my life I questioned my existence- not the existence of man’s life, only my own. Why was I here? Did I serve a purpose? Where exactly should I be? More often than not these thoughts were accompanied with a case of beer or maybe a bottle or two of hard liquor. I was good at drinking, so good in fact that many now lost friends and estranged family members accused me of being an alcoholic. For years I’ve fought everyone but now, sitting here alone on the beach, I feel they may be right. Surely my education, wealth and expensive lifestyle made me okay I thought. But… maybe those things made my drinking worse.
I squished my toes into the damp sand one last time, stood up and gathered my shoes and other belongings. In the distance I noticed a group of men and women celebrating some sort of occasion on a nearby pier. It was quite opposite of my melancholy demeanor. In an attempt to alleviate the tension of my thoughts I sighed loudly and dramatically, raising my arms toward the sky, possibly with the idea of petitioning for change.
That’s when I saw it, a large orb breaking the Earth’s atmosphere and descending into the Pacific Ocean. It’s iridescent glow was both beautiful and frightening. I looked toward the celebratory crowd to gain their reaction. There was none. It seemed, from their lack of acknowledgement, nothing had really happened. Bewildered with this response, or lack of, I questioned my sanity. Was my sullen attitude now affecting what I saw?
“Hey buddy,” said an unfamiliar voice, “nice night, huh? Anything exciting going on around here?” Did no one see what I saw?
“Not much really,” I lied, wanting to keep any possible conversation at bay.
“So, uh, you’re Evan right?” the stranger asked.
“Yeah”, I answered slowly, puzzled. Though I usually can recall a face almost instantly, his escaped me. “Do I know you?”
“No,” he responded with a smile, “But you will.”
To me, it was all going to go down in sixty seconds. I would have picked up the phone to call 911 but that would have taken twenty seconds just to dial it and then there would have been no more time left. I’ve wasted another five seconds thinking about it. Out of instinct, I grabbed for the bat. He was still on the ground, but I had to make sure he’d stay there. I whacked him on the head four times before he could even stand up. I assumed four was enough. Now I’m the one awaiting trial.
The package sat well obediently on the passenger seat. It was uninvited, as usual Aariel bored being it monday entered her cubicle to find her desk busy with a neatly packed package. A dash of excitement coursed through her vein watching the package there certainly it had to be a lovers gift. Like a starved teen she hurried to open it before she could do just that an envelope ended in her hand from her colleague Lyra mentioning her to be kind and place the delivery to some random guy name Raynold Dean. She had to be good but the package looked tempting right from the beginning. Was this for her boyfriend? She ran ample of questions in her head and the curiosity to open the package was working ten folds by now. Aariel kept reminding herself she was a good girl and did good things but it was still tempting. Giving in on her temptation she parked her car, tore open the package. It was beautiful, an Amethyst carefully conserved into tiny diamonds circling around it threading it into a angelic pendant with gold chain attached. Aariel was dazzled by it, she carefully picked it up and distinct lights emitted from it making her blind. Her view was blocked with strong lights of different color. She couldn’t see, for a minute she almost believed she had gone blind.
The soft but annoying tone pinballed through my ears. I hated it. But I couldn’t bring myself to put the phone down. The truth was that I just wanted to drown his last sentence with the monotonous beep that came out of the phone. “Not anymore.” I pressed the phone harder against my ear, trying to muffle it out. “Not anymore.” Streaks of salty tears ran down my cheeks. I started to imagine that the phone was howling because it felt bad for me.
The Parsim City Hospital was a white page, a paper model for the people that ran through it like worried inks. It showed off each person, each hairstyle, each parade of rainbowed clothes. It was all so clear, so bold, that the girl’s eyes ached. And yet there was a gap.
This is hard….this is hard…………
I never thought I would get this far, to be honest.
Didn’t think I would be standing in the hallway in my senior year, didn’t think I’d still be alive. But there I was, still pitching, still making decent grades. I mean, when seven people in your family die before they’re out of high school, you start thinking maybe you won’t make it too.
But there I was, March of my senior year, and for a couple of moments I had started to believe that I might make it.
But that was before today.
This is a strong and engaging start to what sounds like a great story. Your first line has me hooked from the very beginning, wondering where “this far” is and why “I” never thought they would get there.
You’ve included just enough exposition neatly without making it feel like telling or running too long. The voice of the narrator is so clear, and sounds like a person I want to keep reading about.
I’m torn about the last sentence. On the one hand, it’s definitely dramatic, and brings us up to speed, ready to dive into the story. But it also feels a little cliché. Making it more specific (not “before today,” but “before Timmy fell in the well” or something) might help. Or it might not; just something to think about.
You might also consider varying your sentence structure; three sentences start with “but.”
Overall, though, you’ve got me curious and engaged, wondering why so many people aren’t surviving their high school years, and ready to read more. Well done!
This is the opening to a story I wrote for a NaNoWriMo challenge (an embarrasingly long time ago)
Funny the things we remember,and when. Right before he was shot, Chris Vu thought about the day he saw his father wearing a blond wig and a dress.
“You? You don’t have the nerve!”
Probably not the smartest thing to say, practically goading somebody into firing, even if they weren’t planning to do so, but given the circumstances, he could probably be forgiven
a lapse in judgement.
I love your first couple of sentences! The juxtaposition between a father in a wig versus someone being shot and the casual tone of the first sentence have me engaged from the start, anticipating a story I’ll thoroughly enjoy.
I’m not sure how the dialogue connects to the first paragraph; I don’t have a good image in my head of what’s going on. You might consider making that transition clearer, or at least making it very clear in the next few sentences where we are and what’s happening. The last sentence is a little long and wordy, but I LOVE the lighthearted tone.
I have no idea what’s coming, but I definitely want to read more. Who’s shooting Chris Vu, and why, and why do I want to laugh as I read about it? I hope you finished the story—and I hope that blond wig and dress made another appearance!
Alice, thanks for your comments. To be honest, I’ve added and deleted the lines after “blond wig and a dress” to set up the confrontation later on in the story. I’m torn between having him be shot and facing down an assailant with a gun, that’s why the dialogue references “You don’t have the nerve”.
I get that you find the scene humorous, but it’s based on a true story, and is explained in the first chapter. My story contrasts the immigration ( always a hot topic) experiences of two boys, one Vietnamese and the other Mexican
who become friends and take divergent paths as they grow up.
Thanks again for your comments, I appreciate them.
Scott, thank you for sharing your larger vision for this piece. What you describe sounds like a powerful and worthy story.
From the short piece, I envisioned a happy ending, or perhaps the dark humor of something like Catch-22. I consider it most helpful to you to give my honest response as a reader, and taken alone, this opening did make me smile. However, I suspect that my response would be different in the context you’ve now given, and the early smiles would make the later conflict more poignant.
If you were to tell this story with dark humor, I think you could do so successfully. If that’s not the case, however, I think this will still be an effective opening. I’d suggest keeping the tone in mind as you tell it—but I also suspect that’s worked itself out as you’ve written.
I hope my comments did not sound flippant or disrespectful in any way; if so, I sincerely apologize. I stand by my original statement that this sounds like the start of a story I’ll thoroughly enjoy, although perhaps in a different manner than I anticipated. Thank you very much for sharing this piece with us on The Write Practice.
Since I posted my paragraph all those chapters have been deleted. It wasn’t that many and it was also going no where. It felt wrong. so this is my new lead paragraph.
“Alex, you have got to leave that man! I mean for heaven’s sake, look at your arms!” said Callie gesturing to Alex’s arms which were covered with inflamed red bumps. “You have never had hives in your life and now you have a panic attack and break out in hives at the thought of going home?! What the **** has that man been doing to you?!”
The team was back. All but one. One was never coming back.
Something whizzed over her head. She ducked just in time to avoid having her glasses knocked off. Its thrower waved in apology.
“Come on Ms Morgan, join the party!”
The team was back. That was cause for celebration, wasn’t it? Should she join them, and treasure this time of fun until they discovered the truth? Or should she tell them now, and ruin the party for everyone?
Shelby would know what to do. As much as Kendall doubted her abilities as a waitress, she had to admit that Shelby possessed a certain flair with social situations that she herself lacked.
The team was back. How could she tell them that one was never coming back? And yet, how could she not tell them? How could she not remember, every time she went into battle?
Kendall wished she could be someone else, anyone else. Even Shelby.
***
Shelby wished she could be someone else, anyone else. Even Ms Morgan.
Sure, her boss had several unpleasant qualities. Chief among them her inability to ever enjoy herself. Here they were at the biggest celebration they’d had in a year, the first time all eight of them were reunited. And what was Kendall doing? Standing at the edge of the room, arms folded, as the party unfolded around her.
But for all her flaws, Ms Morgan was decisive. Whether they were facing a new opponent in battle or Chase setting the oven on fire, Ms Morgan always seemed to know what to do. Now, if Ms Morgan had an overbearing father who was pushing her into business school, she would certainly know what to say.
Although maybe even Ms Morgan had her limits, given how she was doing absolutely nothing to stop Chase and Tyler’s budding test-tube-juggling competition. This could only end in –
“Argh! Sorry, Koda – you alright there, mate?”
Ms Morgan seemed to have awoken from her trance. There was that familiar dangerous gleam in her eyes as she strode towards Chase and Tyler.
Time to make herself scarce.
***
Half an hour later, the fragments of glass were mostly gone, but Shelby had a new problem on her mind. She approached Chase, who was shaking the last shards out of his broom.
“Something’s wrong with Ms Morgan.”
“You think? She docked me two weeks’ pay just for one little test tube!”
Perhaps this wasn’t the best way to start the conversation. “No, I mean – don’t you think she wasn’t as angry as usual?”
Chase didn’t look impressed. “She looked plenty angry to me.”
She’d approached Chase because he’d known Ms Morgan the longest, but she’d forgotten how childish he could sometimes be. She tried one more time.
“Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for ten seconds and listen? You’re not the only one who’s an expert at annoying Ms Morgan. We both know exactly how angry she gets.” Turning up late for shift was three days’ cleaning duty. Pestering her to go on digs was a week of working shifts during lunch rush. Breaking a test tube in a juggling competition should have been a month’s pay and suspension of cell phone privileges, at the very least. “And that there, that was nothing.”
Chase snorted. “You think that was nothing, you’re welcome to swap your next paycheck with mine.”
“Forget it.” Chase was clearly too sore to see her point. But she could tell Kendall was going through the motions. Something else was on her mind.
Shelby glanced again at Ms Morgan. Her boss was never exactly outgoing, but tonight she seemed even more withdrawn than usual.
Here is my top contender for the opening of my current WIP. I’m not married to it, by any means….
“What’s it to you, Chink?” Rachel bellowed.
“Chink is a derogatory term for a Chinese person,” Akiko said calmly. “My ancestors were Japanese. If you’re going to insult me, call me Jap. Or Nip, if you prefer.”
Akiko couldn’t see Rachel, of course, but from her silence she guessed the girl was confused. Rachel wasn’t clever enough to actually be pondering Akiko’s words.
“You don’t know that,” Rachel shrieked. “You don’t know anything. You can’t even remember your parents. Retard!”
“Again,” Akiko asserted, stepping closer to the sound of Rachel’s voice and her unwashed scent, “use appropriate insults. Please.”
“Retard! Blind retard!”
Akiko could sense in her gut what Rachel would do next. She could sense it before the rustle of clothing and the slight but distinct force of moving air gave it away. Rachel was lashing out, with both hands in front of her, and although Akiko couldn’t see her, she knew Rachel was most likely trying to shove her with both hands. Akiko sidestepped quickly.
She heard Rachel huff as she fell on the ground. She heard the snickers of the onlookers.
“That was mean,” Rachel said.
“Agreed,” said Akiko. “But I forgive you.”
One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Then he kicked him in the groin for good measure.
“You killed Monte! Man, you killed Monte!” Theodore shouted at his cousin and fellow Villa Heights crew gang member.
“I don’t give a shit. He called me a liar and quiet is kept. I ain’t no freakin’ liar, bet.” Jermaine said, taking Monte’s cash out of his jeans. “Let’s go, idiot.”
They ran before the cops came and it was dark. The only witness was the ho down the block who liked to give bj’s for crack rock. He would give her a twenty-ten ten to shut the bleep up.
The murder was mentioned on the six o’clock news the next night. No witnesses, the cops were swarming the block for weeks then a new case took over. Monte’s parents wore black lives matter teeshirts. But since nobody saw a white cop do the shooting, nobody gave a damn. Another unsolved black on black crime in the heart of Chicago.
Through the broken car window I could hear the screams of people running away, but they were only echoes. They were drowned out by the deafening bang of the explosion resounding in my head. Of what had just happened, I knew three things: I knew that one moment Jaxon and I were driving to my parent’s charity gala, and the next we were speeding down the road in the opposite direction. I knew the gala was the target. My mom and I were speaking on the phone before the line went dead and the bomb went off. And I knew it was all my fault.
WOW! You have my full attention! You really reeled me in with “…speeding down the road in the opposite direction. I knew the gala was the target…before the line went dead.”
And the last sentence sealed it for me. Now I want to read more!!
Of all my openings this I believe to be my personal favorite. It is simple, but has the bite of truth. I saw these two as I wrote.
She who must be obeyed nagged him. Miss Martha, his health care nurse, looked at George with determination in her eyes. “You need the walk. Besides, Charlie would want you to,” she said.
“Now that is not fair,” George answered, “using Charlie like that.”
“If it keeps your butt moving, Charlie wouldn’t mind, and you know it.” Both of them looked at each other and chuckled.
“S’pose you’re right,” George agreed, plopped his cap on his head and opened the door.
I love the opening line “She who must be obeyed nagged him.” It set a great start to the piece.
The doors burst open. A cloaked figure entered the chamber. From behind him armed men came. Clad in ringmail, they leveled their crossbows at the surprised occupants.
“What is the meaning of this?” A man stood, clearly armed with more pride than sense. “Do you know who we are?”
“Oh, I know you very well.” The cloaked figure said, removing his hood. He reveled in their surprise.
“Kill them.” The thrum of bolts thrusting from the crossbows and piercing flesh filled the room.
The man replaced his hood, then signaled the men to follow him. “The finale of my vengeance is about to begin.” he said. “Our noble queen shall be avenged.”
A handsome woman. Sarah would never though she’ll live so see the day. She’s glad she accepted her friend’s invitation to go to the gym. Sarah know her friend’s intentions. Checking out hot guys. She was never attracted to muscular men. Because she saw them everywhere and became bored with it. She tried seeing other types of men, but they don’t catch her interest. There was that time during high school when she dated a girl named Claire. But lost contact with her after high school. “Wait.” Sarah thought “she looks familiar.” when they locked eyes she knew. That’s Claire and she can’t wait to “catch up” with her.
Azure,
When I look at from a macro level it is a good start. You set the scene and characters so that the reader could get comfortable with them.
But … coming back to micro, the constant fluctuation of tense is disconcerting. The first two sentences bounced from past to present to future in head twisting rapidity.
I don’t work well with a fifteen minute time limit.
I use the 15 minutes as a rule of thumb. I’ll write for 15 minutes, but I may take a few hours to edit.
Okay, thanks for the tip.
And don’t forget, you can always go back and edit.
I could only find some one liner or two…I’ll keep at it. Below are 2 “hooks?”
****
We all heard the saying ‘Finders Keepers’. It’s a bonanza for the finder but in Joan’s case, she doesn’t want to be the keeper of that find.
****
Today’s forecast will be sunny with a high of 80 Fahrenheit with some light showers in late evening…and death.
She didn’t mean to hurt the cat. She didn’t mean to… kill it.
It was a beautiful day. She spent the afternoon reading in her favorite tree out front. Its bent branches were easily climbable, and the gentle movement of the soft leaves soothed her. She could sit there for hours, letting the wind playfully tug at her hair. That’s what she was doing when she heard a soft buzz next to her ear. She ignored it until it grew loud enough to tear her eyes away from the enthralling story she held in her hands. She angrily swatted at the noisy offender, and the bug floated away in a different direction. Annoyed, she shifted her position and started to return her focus to her book. She eyes didn’t make it back down to the page. Startled, her breath caught in her throat. A cat was sitting on the branch in front of her, only a couple feet away. The sun shone through its dark coat, illuminating every hair. There was almost a halo of light around it. She hesitantly let her breath out, and slowly outstretched her hand. The cat cocked its head at her, contemplating. A strange feeling came over her. She desperately wanted the animal’s approval. Its umber eyes stared at her; judged her. She leaned forward to move her hand closer. The cat’s eyes narrowed into slits. It stepped away, back arched. It was giving her every warning sign, but she wasn’t paying attention. She had to touch it. She crawled onto the branch, ignoring the bark digging into her palms. Just a little closer… She stretched her arm out as far as it would go, inching her fingers closer and closer. Her fingers finally brushed up against the top of its head. She was so happy for a moment, then very, very afraid. It burned. She felt her hand burning and she could feel the cat burning and it was hot, so, so, so hot and then she was slipping and falling down, down, down, and there was pain in her back and then there was nothing.
Her parents didn’t understand what had happened. Her mother found her lying in the cool grass under the tree in their yard, a book lying next to her on one side, and the burned, blacked body of a cat on the other. Her dad said that is was a freak accident, that they must have been struck by lightening, that it had been a little cloudy that day, so it was the only explanation that made sense. Her mother accepted this as the truth. They were glad that she wasn’t hurt badly. Her back was a little sore but everything else was fine. Her hand was fine. She had felt it burn but it wasn’t burnt. The cat was not so lucky. It was gone now, taken away by animal services. She couldn’t get the image of its twisted black body out of her mind. Thinking about it made her mouth turn bitter. Somehow this was all her fault. She didn’t know how, but it was. It was no longer a beautiful day.
“Count down… My life has literally come down to a countdown right now.
7… 7 billion lives depend on my perfection; quiet literally.
6… 6 days I had to perfect my perfection.
5… 5 centuries of penance and apocalypse is what awaits if I fail.
4… 4 gods that I have to overthrow.
3… 3 best friends who stand by me against all odds.
2… 2 eyes watching me hopefully while his eyes change into most vibrant of colors in a matter
of seconds.
1… 1 last step and 1 last chance to save humanity.
0…. (beep… beep…. beep ——–)…….
Hi, I am Jane and this is the story of my battle for humanity and a battle that will never appear in any of the history books, but that which will determine whether I save seven billion lives and a very devastated God or not.”
Hi, Ishu Shankar,
I’m intrigued by the points you’ve given of your story. Sounds awesome. It’s a book I want to read.
Happy Writing.
I’m here…in the lifeless forest, laying on a blanket…I don’t even know if I’m dead or alive…The only thing I can think about is the way that you looked at me…
Those eyes…Those hypnotizing eyes that I used to admire, are now the reason I’m here now, on this white blanket, drowning in my own blood…I still remember your last words:
“Goodbye…Forever” you said smirking at me.
What you did hurt me…not physical but emotional…I just want you to know that I don’t hate you! I still love you and I’ll always do…
Yesterday night, I had a little conversation with myself. I was telling myself, she has moved on. She is not with you. She doesn’t love you anymore. So, why do you think about her? Answer came, ‘because of love’. Then I asked,what is love? This time answer didn’t came,’just smile on face’. But I got all the answers with this smile. And I thought, if this is giving smile on my face, then how can I stop myself to think about her? How can I stop myself to love? And I got all the answers of ……. WHAT IS LOVE???
Please tell me what you think of this as a lead.
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