Member-only story
The Angst of an Opening Sentence
Or Just Walk the Plank
Sometimes, I think the opening sentence of a book is one of the hardest things to write. I want to throw myself and the reader right into the action. There needs to be no 45-minute meandering explanation to set up the story, the characters, or the place, even though that’s what I am inclined to do. Maybe that’s why the advice I heard many years ago to scrap the first three chapters of any novel is good practice.
“Avast, me hearties!” A pirate, of course, encourages the sailors to business.
“Hey, let that go.” The toddler and dog are playing tug of war with a towel.
“Watch out what you’re doing.” Coffee gets splashed all over somebody’s lap.
Perhaps I should just settle down and get some first lines going. It would be sort of like practicing what I am going to say on a date — a date with somebody I don’t know, a date with somebody who is a friend of a friend.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. I hope I’m not too early.”
“No, right on time.” I put out my hand to shake his hand. “I am, as advertised, Norma.”
“Oh, heh. Yes, of course. I’m Ted.”
“Does anybody ever call you Theo?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“Oh.”
Okay, that exhilarating bit of conversation just appeared, as did the characters’ names, Ted (Theo) and Norma, though I did think of Marilyn Monroe as I wrote it down.
It’s not long, but it’s also not very eye-catching. How about this one?
Ding Dong….
“Oh, shit. Mason, get back. Please, don’t jump on him. Your paws are filthy. What the hell have you been doing? Are those coffee grounds?”
Ding Dong….
“Oh, damn it. I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.” Norma snorts inelegantly. “Mason, get back. Everybody knows you’re a good guard dog. That’s good. Just sit. Please.”
The once lovely woman in a light-flowered dress steps over her dog to answer the door. Ted, on the other side, having heard everything that happened after he rang the doorbell, says, “Hi. Are you okay?”
