Last month, I wrote about story beginnings (“Top 10 Ways Not to Start a Story”). A reader asked if I could expand on why those story beginnings may be weak choices, beyond just overuse. (Thanks for the suggestion, author Gloria Lesher!)
A story’s first pages make promises to the reader. As an author, you must understand what those promises are so that the rest of your book fulfills them.
In general, your opening scene gives us clues about the genre. Family drama? Historical fiction? Coming-of-age YA? Paranormal? The beginning also grounds us in location and time period, introduces and makes us care about the main character, and hints at problems our protagonist must soon face.
If you lead readers down one path in the first few pages, then pull a switcheroo on page 9, they will: 1) feel betrayed, and 2) be pulled out of the story while they figure out where their initial assumptions went wrong. Obviously, we never want to give readers any reason to close the book.
If your story’s beginning focuses on anything other than your protagonist, their current setting, and their potential conflicts, you’re setting up your readers for a whiplash-inducing course correction. If this kind of bait-and-switch isn’t what you intended, it’s time take a look at your beginning.
Let’s talk about the 10 openings I described in my last article, to see why they often start stories off on the wrong foot.
- In a dream:
Classic bait-and-switch. Starting your story inside your character’s dream deliberately offers your reader a wrong promise. Often the dream is set in a different world, making us think it’s a fantasy when it’s not, for example. Or we may think the protagonist is in mortal danger, when they’re really just sleeping through gym class. Not only does this lead us down the wrong initial path, it’s jarring and confusing. We want to get to know this protagonist. Dropping us into a nightmare before we’ve learned to care about this character may seem exciting, but it’s mostly disorienting and annoying.
- Looking at a photograph:
Gazing into a photograph is a very passive activity, almost always used as a device (in other words, an excuse) to indulge in a long expository piece of backstory. It feels like a cop-out—a short-cut to convey information without having to work it into a scene more organically. In a story’s beginning, it’s especially noticeable. Later in the story, a photo is acceptable for triggering an emotion, a reaction, or a clue, but it should never be used as a way to sneak in an “info-dump.”
- Looking into a mirror:
Mirror-gazing is another common info-dump culprit. While photo-gazing tells us backstory, mirror-gazing tells us what the protagonist looks like and gives them a stage to let loose with a monologue about their current troubles. We would rather form our own opinions of the character based on their actions and interactions rather than on what they want to tell us. It feels artificial to hear, “My blue eyes stared back at me as I brushed my shoulder-length brown hair away from my freckled face, while I contemplated the situation I was in.”
- In the main character’s backstory:
Start with the story, not the backstory. Starting in the backstory risks making the wrong promise to your reader. (“Oh, this isn’t the story of a 10-year-old skateboarder, it’s about a 30-year-old marketing executive instead?”) It essentially makes the reader start a story twice, which delays the point where they become fully engaged with your character. Not good.
- On an ordinary day, when nothing unusual is happening, and things aren’t about to change:
Closely related to #4. While not a hard-and-fast rule, a good guideline for modern storytelling is to begin at the pivotal moment when the protagonist’s life is about to change, whether they know it or not. Don’t bog us down with the mundane. Who is this person, and why is their life about to change?
- With long descriptions of the setting:
In bygone days, books were more than a pastime—they were often the only way average people could experience far-flung locations. Modern readers don’t have the patience for long openings that describe a location in detail but don’t introduce the character (a lá James Michener). They want rich settings, but those shouldn’t get in the way of meeting a compelling character first.
- With the focus on a character who turns out not to be the main character:
Readers assume the first character they meet is the one they should care about. After becoming invested in that character, they’ll feel frustrated if they must start over with a new one, even if your bait-and-switch was unintentional.
- Right after something interesting has happened:
I once read a manuscript that started with the main character sitting in a car, thinking about how he had stolen a body from a morgue. Hello? Watching a guy remembering something is boring. Watching a guy steal a body from a morgue—now there’s an opening scene I’d pay to read! We can catch up with his internal dialogue later, when we know more about him.
- With a cliché:
You already know this rule like the back of your hand, right? Ha.
- Once upon a time…
Even if you’re spinning a modern fairy tale, don’t use “Once upon a time” or any variation. Yes, Star Wars did it with “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” and it was fun, unexpected, and fresh in that genre. But it’s unnecessary and sooooo overused.
To be clear, even though some of these story beginnings have merit, overuse is the number one reason to avoid them. But every so-called rule in writing can be broken effectively, as long as you break it for a specific reason, backed up with the skills to make it sound unique. If you’ve considered every option and the best way to open your story is one of these 10, go for it!
Whatever beginning you choose, understand the promises your first few pages are making, commit to fulfilling them in the rest of your story, then make that opening scene shine.
[Photo by Gia Oris on Unsplash]
Kelley, I like this article even better than the first one! So helpful. I just tweeted it. But … ugh! I’m guilty of #2.
It happens to the best of us, Gloria!