How does your story begin?

[Righmath]

Give it to me. The first three sentences/paragraph of your story.

I'm currently at a writers bloc after having been after being asked to submit my first chapter to an agent. I cant commit to pressing send as I flitter back and forth between two openings for my book.

One is catchy but perhaps cliche, which then opens up into what could be a prologue (not info dump, but a dramatic setting of the book). The other starts with action, and was my original first chapter opening, but could lack the world building I perhaps desire.

It would be interesting to see what others have started with

 

[Snuggs]

I will happily share later! Right now though, I am currently editing a very messy first draft, so mine so it doesn't exactly have it's start anymore.

 

[msstice]

For your purposes would it be better to find the openings of recently published books in the genre you are writing?

 

[ColGray]

One of my all time favorite opening lines is from Jack O'Connell's Word Made Flesh.

"You are hearing the screams of a short, fat man."


The prologue/1st chapter is very short and slowly pulls back the reader's eye to reveal the MC is a reporter who has been snuck in to watch a ritual murder/flaying, and the reporter's source is narrating. It's a great intro to the world, the antagonist(s), the plot, and the stakes.

 

[Wayne Mack]

Consider looking at Critiques There are multiple opening sections to review.

 

[Snicklefritz]

"It was a dark and stormy night..." is a cliche for a reason.

 

[sknox]

I was late and it wasn't my fault. Some fool of a dwarf had got the mix wrong coming out of Ingolstadt--I heard the coachman say something about impurities in the phlogiston tank that resulted in weak Steam pressure, or something like that. It could have been pixies in the fire box for all I cared.
-- Into the Second World

Talysse flew low to the ground, trying to gain altitude. The wind was treacherous down here, a steady tramontane sweeping tumultuously down from the north, swirling about the tall reeds and the salt hills. The breeze on which she rode sagged abruptly, giving her barely enough time to get her feet down. She touched solid ground and sprang upward again like an antelope, grabbing hold of a new current to ride.
-- A Child of Great Promise

The island was a black fist thrusting out of the Atlantic. We put off from the ketch in a longboat, and I wanted to be anywhere but there. Sprites hate ships, as is well known. Humans think we're afraid of the sea, but that's not it. We're a sensible folk, preferring not to travel on a bunch of sticks over an abyss, hoping we don't sink. We don't jump over fires either. Same sort of thing.
-- Mad House


There are three examples. FWIW, openings are difficult. I don't usually settle on the first chapter until much of the story is in place, for the simple reason that it always feels like there are a dozen different places and ways to start the story, and it feels that way right up until the the right one locks in. Which is very much a subjective experience. And even when I have the first chapter, getting to those opening lines is a further process.

I would never make it as an agent. I don't trust openings. Give me a scene--a full scene--from somewhere in the book's middle. I want to hear how the author handles dialog. I want to get some exposition and some narration and maybe a bit of action. I'm looking for the author's style and command of the language, and I want to get some sense that the author *cares* about the characters and isn't just manipulating them. I don't see how an opening communicates much of anything except maybe a grasp of grammar.

 

[Phyrebrat]

If I were you I’d check out crits and when you have enough posts, you can put the opening up.

Till then we can’t really comment or help; it’s just us throwing our stuff out without any reference to how it might help you. And also we might be wrong.

 

[Toby Frost]

I wrote this a long while ago about beginning a novel. Maybe it will be of some help.

What I think about openings

There are many ways of starting a book. A really good writer could probably start a novel anywhere, and with anything, and the force of their prose would carry the reader on. But, as with all writing advice, the safest thing to do is to maximise the possibility that the reader will want to read...

www.sffchronicles.com

 

[The Big Peat]

Give it to me. The first three sentences/paragraph of your story.

I'm currently at a writers bloc after having been after being asked to submit my first chapter to an agent. I cant commit to pressing send as I flitter back and forth between two openings for my book.

One is catchy but perhaps cliche, which then opens up into what could be a prologue (not info dump, but a dramatic setting of the book). The other starts with action, and was my original first chapter opening, but could lack the world building I perhaps desire.

It would be interesting to see what others have started with

Did you solve this and submit?

I have musings and thoughts about this, but struggle to put them in order, so I wonder whether you got anywhere.

 

[ANV]

First, fingers crossed with the agent

I also start with a prologue... but which of those two beginnings gives the more precise promise of your book? Is it in the end more about drama or about action? Cause I believe the first chapter sets the tone and shows what the reader should expect going forward.

 

[Oligonicella]

A few. Plucked hop scotching down the series..

***

What I want to talk about this time – this session – is the gals. Yeah, that was a thunderbolt, wasn't it?

This time is different, though. The women I want to talk about are the ones who worked with me to make all our lives possible.​

-- To Kill a Mocking Bard

***

Ever have someone come in and tell you about dreams they've had where they died? Of course you have. Anyone doing what you do long enough has had that I'd guess.

Ever have someone come in and tell you that they've died?​

Yeah, that one is a bit different, isn't it?

-- Some Body, Some How
​

***
Gods, I miss my Voös, my Pretty Girl.

I know I've said that before, but there's been so much crap in my life recently that sometimes I just find myself sitting alone in my office in the dark and thinking about her. Wishing I could have her back if only for as long it would take me to tell her how very much I miss her. Almost five thousand years and I still sit and cry every once in a while.
-- Déjà Voös

***

Hello Ducks.
​

I know you was expecting Just an' not some red head but here we are.

You look a bit surprised so let me introduce m'self. My name is Sniede.
-- Not Just an Ending

 

[Swank]

I was going to post some of mine, but now I'm embarrassed because they all contain the word "tramontane".

 

[Phyrebrat]

I was going to post some of mine, but now I'm embarrassed because they all contain the word "tramontane".

 

[reiver33]

I trod carefully through a shoal of Snowdrops, leaving only crushed grass to mark my progress. The wood was barely into bud, trunks throwing stark shadows ahead of the low winter sun.

A world of silence, but not solitude.

 

[Swank]

View attachment 114831

Suffused with fluorescent gloom, the waiting room a torture chamber for the senses. My chair, designed without the consult of Danes, had long since deprived symmetrical spots on my backside of life-giving circulation. No doubt compounded by the skinny jeans I had thoughtlessly paired with the phased plasma pistol currently bruising my groin. Why is Control wasting my time, and killing my sense of smell with that damned lavender Glade Plug-In?

"Mr. Tramontane, the Director will see you now."

 

[Phyrebrat]

@Swank — glad you’re carrying the anti-Glade plug in manner; I hate those things. Hope Tramontane’s arse gets better.

 

[RJM Corbet]

Douglas Perry was born with a part of the back of his skull missing. The back of his head looked strangely caved in. His breath did not smell good and his eyes were small black pebbles that glittered with intensity. He was a quiet person. It was the intensity of a brave spirit limited by a deficient physiology. There was an air of melancholy acceptance rather than self-pity about him. Perhaps it was just his natural state of mind. Anyway I never saw Douglas smile.

His parents had provided a home for him at a private institution for adults with autistic and other mental difficulties. It was on a farm outside the small, dry town of Malmsbury near Cape Town. I know little about his parents or his early life though it was clear he loved them and they were concerned about his wellbeing during his short adult life upon this world, while he waited for Erlos to rescue him.

At the time, I was writing an article about the farm for a magazine. Douglas meanwhile, was looking for someone to write his story ...

 

[Mans]

The elderly man with a hunched posture, long white hair, and beard is walking along the sidewalk. He is using a long cane that is taller than he is and resembles a straight tree branch. He carries a sackcloth bag on his back and walks with slippers that have wooden soles and uppers made from interwoven wool. He has a long white garment that reaches his shank, and some parts of it have turned yellow due to dust and sweat.

 

[ZroSkeerd]

God is not here today …

James Arklin replayed the scene in his mind again and again as he packed his meager belongings into a worn duffel bag, fighting back waves of nausea. The room was lit by a single lamp on a nightstand next to the bed, where an old digital clock informed him it was 3:17. He had been awake less than an hour, roused from an already restless sleep by the nightmare he knew would soon become reality if it hadn’t already. He made a final sweep of the room, looking through the drawers and refrigerator, helping himself to the soap and shampoo from the shower as well as the packets of generic ground coffee next to the pot on the sink and stuffing them in his bag. Within minutes he shouldered his duffel and opened the door to step into the darkness of the predawn morning.