Something That Might Not Actually Be True
By Barbara Linn Probst | February 16, 2022 |
This month’s post is written from the perspective of a reader, not a writer—because I’ve started wondering if what we’re told we need to do, as writers, matches up with our experience as readers. Specifically, that all-important “hook” in the first couple of pages.
We hear again and again that we haven’t a prayer of engaging a reader, agent, or editor unless there’s a high-stakes, compelling hook in the first few pages. Better yet, on page one. So that’s what we aim for, when we write. But is it what we require, when we read?
I decided to examine a few of the books I’ve enjoyed recently—novels by a diverse group of best-selling writers, all of whom I admire tremendously—to see what actually happens in the first few pages. In each case, the book captured my interest and made me keep reading. (That’s not the same thing as sustaining my interest, of course. There are many books that I begin but don’t finish. That’s another post, however, and none of these novels are in that category.)
So. Let’s look at some opening pages written by Joyce Maynard, Jodi Picoult, Alka Joshi, and Charlotte McConaghy to see if they do what we’re told we’re supposed to do.
Prologues and time-jumps
The first thing that struck me is that all four books have some kind of prologue, even if it’s not called that. (No, I didn’t choose them for that reason. I chose them because I liked them and thought they worked, so this was a surprise. And no, they’re not especially similar to one another since they span different cultures and settings, including imaginary futures.)
In fact, each prologue or introduction takes place in a different time period than the actual story. Jodi Picoult begins Wish You Were Here with the sentence: “When I was six years old, I painted a corner of the sky.” She relates a short anecdote—a memory from that idyllic time—and then the rest of the story, apart from some additional bits of backstory, takes place when the protagonist is an adult.
Joyce Maynard begins Count the Ways with a prologue that takes place years before the novel opens, although somewhere in the middle of its chronological span. The prologue has symbolic significance and its motifs recur throughout the story, but the reader can’t know that yet.
Alka Joshi and Charlotte McConaghy go even further, switching tenses as well as time frames in their prologues. Joshi’s prologue to The Henna Artist describes an incident that occurs two months before the story opens—told from Radha’s point-of-view, in first-person/present-tense—and then the story switches to Lakshmi’s point-of-view, in third-person/past-tense, which continues for the rest of the book. In Migrations, McConaghy opens with a dramatic stand-alone line (“The animals are dying. Soon we will be alone here”), then segues to a short memory in the past-tense (“Once, my husband found a colony of storm petrels”), and then shifts to Greenland in the present-tense.
All four openings are rule-breakers. And all of them work.
The stakes
Okay, maybe this prologue business is just a matter of style. Surely these four gifted authors have still set up the stakes in their opening pages! No stakes, no reason to keep reading, right?
Let’s skip the prologue, then, and look at the first “real” scene of each story to see if those stakes are clear, inevitable, and critical. I’ll give each author the same five pages that agents typically give us when we query them.
By the sixth page of Wish You Were Here, Picoult’s protagonist Diana has taken the Q train to Times Square, transferred to the uptown number one, and gotten off at Seventy-second Street. On the fifth page, she’s greeted by Kitomi Ito (a barely-disguised Yoko Ono) who might or might not be selling a famous painting. We’ve also learned that Diana works for Sotheby’s and is about to go on a vacation with a man she’s pretty sure is going to propose. Not much has really happened and I have no idea what the stakes are—that is, what terrible thing will occur if Kitomi Ito doesn’t sell her painting or the boyfriend doesn’t propose. As the boyfriend himself says on page 15, “No one ever dies of an art emergency”—but I’m engaged anyway, because Picoult is such a good writer.
What about Count the Ways? Well, after the prologue, the story opens with a loud noise that reaches all the way to “the field where the chairs were set up.” A few people scream and the protagonist, Eleanor, wonders what caused the sound, yet there’s no evidence that something dire has happened. “Eleanor’s family is safe … dazed, confused, but unhurt.” False alarm, then. Eleanor is holding her granddaughter Louise, who’s studying her necklace, and tells Louise that they’ll look for her mama, even though (again) there’s nothing to indicate that Louise is upset.
Five pages into the scene, we learn that Eleanor has just seen her middle child (Louise’s mother) for the first time since a major rift three years earlier. We’re curious about what happened, yet there’s no special tension (or stakes) since the rift has now been repaired, at least enough for Ursula to let Eleanor carry her child. But again, I keep reading because Maynard is such a good writer.
No Giant Stakes in the first five pages or Migrations or The Henna Artist either—yet I’m entranced by both books because of their vivid settings and intriguing characters. I don’t need stakes just yet. I want to know more about these characters and the world they inhabit; that’s why I keep reading. For me, the stakes can wait.
Story Question
What about the idea that a story question has to be raised right away, before the impatient reader loses interest—the Big Question that will sustain the entire narrative?
In Migrations, McConaghy gives that question to us bit by bit. First, she has her protagonist note: “I have tried seven captains of seven boats.” My radar goes up as I read that line; it’s intriguing and original. Then, on the next page: “I’m out of options, and I’m running out of time.” A ticking clock, then, and a task. A paragraph later, McConaghy writes: “I won’t be staying; even if I were capable of it, Niall would never forgive me.” I still don’t know what the story question is—as in: “Will Franny find a boat so she can do XX before it’s too late?”—but I feel its presence. I keep reading because I want to understand what the story question is.
Maynard tells us her story question explicitly, the one that will sustain all 441 pages of Count the Ways: “How does it happen that a person with whom you have shared your most intimate moments can become a stranger?”—but not until page 19. Counting the prologue, that would be page 23, well past the ten pages that more tolerant agents (and, presumably, readers) are said to allow us.
The story question in the other two books isn’t so clear. In The Henna Artist, it emerges gradually as characters are introduced, their lives entangle, and we want to know how it will work out for all these interesting people we’ve come to care about. You could say that the question is “Will Lakshmi find fulfillment?” but that’s not very specific and doesn’t do justice to a skillful novel teeming with specifics.
Picoult’s real story question doesn’t appear until page 188. I don’t want to spoil Wish You Were Here for those who haven’t read it, so I’ll leave it at that.
My point is that good story questions take time to unfold. If we feel compelled to state the Big Story Question right away, before the reader has come to know and care about the characters, we risk wasting its impact.
So what’s left?
What do I need, as a reader, in those first five pages to keep me from setting the book aside?
Sometimes it’s the sense that something isn’t quite right or hasn’t been revealed yet; I’m even willing to tolerate being a bit confused if the hints are intriguing. Sometimes it’s the promise of an unusual character who will show me a world I don’t know. Sometimes it’s the voice, or just plain wonderful writing.
So where did this hook-and-stakes thing come from? From readers—or from overwhelmed agents who don’t have time to read more than a couple of pages before making a quick judgment?
I’m not blaming the agents, by the way; they have to make a living like the rest of us, which means they have to use their time efficiently. I’m just raising a question about whether (maybe) we’re working backwards and, in consequence, treating readers like children who need instant gratification or else they’ll go and play with someone else.
Over to you, now, WU community.
What do you need, in the opening five or ten pages, in order for a story to plant its “hook?” Insight into the POV character’s motivation and goal? An intriguing setting? A compelling voice? An external conflict—and, oh yes, high stakes?
What do you need, as a reader?
Barbara (she/her) is an author of contemporary women’s fiction living on an historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Each of her acclaimed novels (Queen of the Owls, 2020; The Sound Between the Notes, 2021; and The Color of Ice, 2022) was a medalist for prestigious national awards, including the Sarton Award for Contemporary Fiction, the Independent Book Publishers Award, the Hawthorne Prize, and the Nautilus Award for Fiction. Her fourth novel, Roll the Sun Across the Sky, launches in May 2025 and has received stellar advance praise. Barbara has also published more than 80 articles on the craft of writing and the writing life. She has a PhD in Clinical Social Work and has been a therapist, teacher, researcher, and advocate for out-of-the-box kids and their families. When not writing, she’s a serious amateur pianist and a traveler to spots from Iceland to the Himalayas. Learn more on her website .
Most of the books I read have a prologue.(commercial fiction) which you think would be a big taboo. The prologue usually contains the dramatized backstory incident that ties together the threads of the current story. The timelines of the prologues are usually one to six months before present day. Dramatizing the backstory adds to the story stakes. The reader has experienced the traumatic event which makes it more powerful. Instead of being told “ Jane was mugged six months ago that’s why she’s afraid to go out” the reader has experienced the terrifying mugging. Janes day to day life has altered dramatically. The story may be about Jane overcoming her fear or giving in to it or she may obsess and want to destroy her attacker. I’ve never read a prologue and said “ this should have been chapter one”.
Thanks for your comment, Karen. I think there are two ways (or probably more) that writers approach the matter of the backstory trauma or wound that drives the protagonist. One, as you note, is to let the reader see and experience that event at the very beginning of the narrative, to provide context for all that follows. Another is to withhold it for a while, revealing it strategically bit by bit. Either can work well, and it’s great to know that the books you’ve read have been so successful in using a prologue that you, as the reader, have felt that it’s exactly what was needed!
BRAVO. Somebody finally said it. “… overwhelmed agents who don’t have time to read more …” How many writers have been tossed aside because of their prologue or their first five pages didn’t knock the socks off some agent with a God complex. The key here is not just good writing but great writing. It’s time writers stop putting all their eggs into an agent’s basket. Take control of your own work. Perfect your craft, ignore some “expert’s” rules, and allow your readers to guide your writing future.
You raise so many important questions, Pam! How do we know which rules to ignore, and when (that is, what do we trust)? Can we read our own work as if we weren’t the one who wrote it? What elevates good writing into great writing? I don’t have any answers, but I do try to listen to the characters … Another thing that helps me is to read good writing and ponder how the writer did it. Thank you for weighing in!
Pam, I like your advice on “Perfect your craft.” No matter what you call your opening pages, Prologue or Chapter One, the writing has to draw the reader in and be well written. I agree taking control of your own work is key. Writers have to be true to their story and their characters first.
Pam, this is right where I am, in the querying (and rejection) process. Even after massive editing, beta readers and feedback, and you’re left with, “Maybe I’m not such a great writer after all.” If only something more substantive than a form rejection were given…
I think that is why so many people are turning to other publishing paths that don’t rely on an agent tapping you with his/her magic wand (not to be snarky, but that’s how it feels at our end, no?) Jane Friedman is a terrific resource on this, if or when you are interested in exploring.
I’ve been told often not to have a prologue, but I’ve never understood why really. I like prologues. In any case, it’s a great idea to take a look at your favorite books and see how they started and why they pulled you in.
Agreed! And then to see what happened next, after you got pulled in … There have been many books that started strongly (for me), and then I found myself losing interest. I try to ask myself why that was. I tend to like a slower seduction, a story that gets better as I keep reading—but then it becomes a question of pacing, and I wonder if that is a matter of personal taste?
I’ve long felt that the “rules” of the gatekeepers don’t align with what readers actually enjoy/care about. Thank you for voicing this and taking us through this analysis of the start of four great books!
Thanks for giving voice here, Anjali. I have a suspicion that there is a kind of vicious circle here. As business people, “gatekeepers” are trying to figure out what readers want, yet they are also shaping (dare I say controlling) the kind of books that readers become aware of, and thus can choose among. For example: if all I’m offered are fruits in various shades of yellow, then it’s easy to assume that I prefer yellow fruit over red or blue. That’s not to say that many best-sellers aren’t best-sellers because they are really good! My four examples are meant to show that these best-sellers really ARE good! But I also suspect that readers will accept and even like all kinds of books … since there are so many kinds of readers :-)
It’s all about character. If I care about character, am piqued by character and her milieu—either of which can suggest questions or quests—I’m there. For more pages, back/front stories, complications and all. Empathetic outlook and voice offered in a fresh writing style trump all.
Well said, Carole, and I’m with you about the power of the characters to draw me into a story. On the other hand, I’ve read a couple of books about characters I truly disliked, yet the writing was so damn good, so there’s that too!
This is such an important post, Barbara. Thank you. As a reader I love prologues! I like the setup because it’s often insightful, gives me a peek at what’s happened, or hints about what is to come. As a writer, I do have prologues in my novels. But if the prologue (or even named as “Chapter One”) is a big info dump or delays the story, then it needs rewriting. I think you said it clearly, if the writing is good, the prologue is good. This thing about no prologues with agents or editors is a trend to me. It’s what they want, not necessarily what is right for the readers, writers, or what is in the best interest of the story. The authors you mention and their prologues, well, they are seasoned writers with a strong readership established. They can break the rules successfully. Margaret Atwood has a prologue in Hag-Seed. What editor or agent would dare tell her not to?
P.S. Just to clarify, Paula. Two of the four books I chose for examples are debut novels. Yup. Not from “seasoned writers with a strong readership established.” So I think that gives hope that rule-breaking writing (as long as it breaks those rules, as others have said here, skillfully and for good reason) can find a receptive audience!
Thanks for the wonderful flip of the tables, Barbara,
Out of the gate, prologue or no, I look for voice and skill in the first lines, and some (tiny, even) aspect that will prove true to the story. A whiff of the author’s bravery here to break norms goes a long way. [The first lines are last I write, after thoroughly knowing the work.] Be it setting, action, or insight, a simple first line can slice open the sky. Even if the story’s pace is languid, it should hit that ground running.
Next, whenever the dialogue first appears, the character should convey some of her essence, and say something that must be said in that moment.
I love prologues, unless they act as movie trailers. This type seems gratuitous, unnecessary to the story–the literary equivalent to the fatal traffic accident that you can’t not look at–or lazy, as if added because the first chapter’s opening lacks compelling elements in craft and/or story. That technique leads me to close the book.
First chapters that appear to be a host (author) vacuuming the house for a party better have some powerful subtext.
Your point about story questions inspires me to look deeper at my work. Certainly, writing that stirs wonder about what the question is works as well as presenting a good question overtly.
What wonderful reflections, Tom! “A whiff of the author’s bravery”—oh yes! And “stirring wonder” a la Don Maass—another yes! An intelligent, purposeful risk. The sense that this line is just what is needed right now, with a bit of mystery. We don’t need to say everything in those opening pages. Thank you so much for your reflections!
Thank you for your thoughtful comment, Paula! I should say, first, that I was just using prologue as an example of “something that might not actually be true” within the context of the current view that you have to “grab the reader with giant stakes in the first five pages.” I totally agree with your point about focusing on what is best for that particular story—and yes, each section or scene, regardless of how it’s labeled, has to earn its specific place in the narrative. Your point about passages that “delay” the story is interesting too. On the one hand, if they slow the pace for no reason, they need to go (see Dave King’s post from yesterday). On the other hand, “delay” in the sense of restraint can help to build the tension and guard against info dump. As you say: both rules and rule-breaking need to suit the story!
I’ve recently realized that I like some kind of beauty to be drawn into a story. Not a beautiful character, necessarily, and certainly not physical beauty, but even in grinding deprivation or hopelessness, I want a spark, a presence and promise of some kind of beauty.
I’ve just started reading (50 pages) Mark Helprin’s book Paris in the Present Tense. The writing on every page is a spectacular feast and the protagonist wrestling with grief and guilt is vivid, but it’s only because I read the blurb that I know he’s going to be tempted to do something outside the norm. The story is slow and deep but I was hooked by the poetry and the power from the beginning. And yes, dammit, I wish I could write like him!
What a lovely comment, Lloyd! “A presence, the promise of some kind of beauty.” I feel that very much; more and more, I find myself uninterested in stories about the lowest and worst in people. Just the opposite. “Slow and deep” is an important kind of writing that needs to be given space in the literary arena. Thank you!
YES! THANK YOU! This is everything I needed to read, everything I’ve been thinking and feeling frustrated with. I don’t have much more to add. Focus on your craft, your art, your story … not on tricks of the light that usually feel cheap and obvious anyway.
You are very welcome, Stella. I’ve been chewing over these thoughts for a long while, too. I should add that the absence of great big stakes doesn’t automatically make a story profound or even well-written :-) But I do think we need to let the story be what it need to be, without being slaves to rules that a vague “someone” has proclaimed. Craft. Art. Listening to the characters. Those come first.
Thank you for this. It’s good to know that excellent writing which draws in the reader is the primary means of getting someone to read your book. Unlike Ray Ramey, I give a book more than 16 lines before I decide if I’m going to read it. Amazon does, too, because they usually give you 10-15 pages. That suggests to me that Amazon knows it takes more than 16 lines. Ray says the 16 lines thing is getting the publisher’s interest, but good writing that carries one along is the most important thing.
Thumbs-up to you and to Ray! And, of course, people have different ways of assessing whether a book is going to draw them in. As I mentioned in an earlier reply, there are books that hook me in the first chapter and then lose me … So there is engagement, sustaining the engagement, and then leaving the reader with an ending that feels right—three huge tasks for the writer!
Great post, Barbara. I don’t have to have big questions or high stakes, but heart. What draws me in is voice, being in the hands of a master, so that I can let myself go completely and sink into the story.
Beautifully said, Vijaya! I am starting to think that there are more of us out there than we might have known! Heart. Voice. Something that we know is true—not just about the character, but about ourselves and what it means to be human … thank you!
Barbara,
Your essay confirms my long-held belief that rules were made to be broken, as long as they’re broken well. I could go on about prologues, hooks, story questions, etc., but the bottom line is, whatever the author writes, and whenever they choose to implement such tools, it’s acceptable to me as a reader, as long as it’s done well. For me, everything in the story has to feel organic — naturally arising from the events preceding it. And that seems to be the mindset of The Powers That Be when questioned about bestsellers that defied “normal” conventions. There is nothing special about normal — it’s the unique that pulls us in.
You’ve added to our conversation in such an important way, Mike! “As long as the rule is broken well.” I would add: and for a damn good, story-relevant reason. The unique pulls us in—when it’s skillful and meaningful. Rebelling for its own sake, just to show that one needn’t follow the rule, is rarely of much interest to anyone but the rebel himself. It’s all about the skill, the art—just as you say! Thank you!
I agree about the things you’ve added, as they fall under my “has to feel organic” caveat: a damn good, story-relevant reason; skillful and meaningful uniqueness; and not rebelling for its own sake — otherwise, it’s writing that feels like writing, not writing that feels like a story. Great article and examples, leaving much to ponder!
Writing that feels like writing, versus writing that feels like a story. A keeper! Thanks, Mike!
Great questions. Thank you, Barbara.
For me, it’s the voice; that’s what I’m going to spend the next 200-400 pages with. And for me, the voice doesn’t always get the first ten pages. If the voice introduces a question or or action that interests me I may extend the trial period. I particularly like first person; I want to know what’s going on inside my protagonist, but if the voice and action/question are intriguing enough, I can live with third person.
I appreciate your questioning the prevailing wisdom: begin in the middle of things, and your observation that that may reflect the urgency of the agent rather than what engages the reader.
Thank you again.
It’s always good to question the “prevailing wisdom,” I think! I don’t think it’s necessarily “wrong” to begin with a high-stakes hook. I just don’t think it’s the only successful way to begin! For some readers, like you, it’s all about the voice and access to the inner world of the protagonist. For others, it’s the story-world (setting). For still others, it’s a sense of mystery. Isn’t that great?!
As I learned on Writing Excuses, the first line you read isn’t actually the first line of the book—it’s the author’s name. And a well known author generally has a lot more leeway as to how much time they have before a reader looses interest. It may not seem fair, but it’s similar to why we often act quite differently when we’re at a job interview or on a first date than we do when we’re among friends. We don’t have to convince our friends that we’re someone they want to hang out; they already know that. And even if we personally haven’t read the author before, just recognizing their name can carry quite a bit of weight; I’m much more likely to give someone a chance when people I like or admire have recommended them.
I think sometimes the advice to catch the readers’ attention is misunderstood. We don’t want to just catch their attention; we want to convince them they want to spend time with our books. Someone who is loudly being cruel to others will catch my attention, but I’m going to get away from them as quickly as I can.
Our first pages will be the most successful, I think, when they give the readers’ hints as to why they want to spend time with this particular book. For me, I love interesting characters with unique ways of seeing the world. I also like intriguing ideas, and insights that help me understand myself and the world around me better. I also like things that are just plain fun. Action scenes won’t turn me off—unless they’re too graphic or gory—but they won’t get me excited either. I’m not that kind of reader.
Someday, I hope to have a name that makes promises all in it’s own, where just by reading my name, readers will know that they’re going to meet some fascinating characters who have unique ways of seeing life, that the story will be well written and interesting and fun with an awesome ending, and that they might find an insight or two about life along the way. But until I’m there, I’m going to do my best to make sure my first pages let the readers know that’s what they’re in for.
I love how you put it, Erin: In the early pages, we want to know why we ought to spend time with this particular book (set of characters). You could say that the author has to convince or even seduce us—beckon us toward the “intriguing ideas” or enjoyment that lie ahead. That’s very different from the kidnapped child or “girl tied to the railroad tracks” approach, where the peril and stakes are there at once. And yes, we just might find “an insight or two about life along the way.” That’s my goal, too, as a writer. Thank you for your thoughtful comment!
I give a book at least 3 chapters to draw me in. That seems like a fair amount. I don’t really like books that start off with a fight/explosion/kidnapping when I haven’t even met the protagonist yet. I want to care about them before they get to kung fu fighting. But I grit my teeth and drive on to find out if there’s more to the book than swordplay and smart remarks. I like quiet books a lot, and I’m sure they are not getting picked up because of the ‘start your book with a bang’ want of the agents. The examples you give are ones I would read, happily.
Me too—I have to care about the protagonist before I care about her “stakes”—same as with the “real people” I know! Come to think of it, why would a novel be any different than real life? Thanks for joining the conversation today!
Hey Barbara–As a reader, I agree with the points you’ve made here. How I select the books I read has nothing at all to do with the opening pages, as I never read them in advance. On occasion I read backcover blurbs and reviews, but it’s mostly genre and recommendations.
As a writer, can I say I’m just so damn exhausted? I can look back and say I did get in the industry’s game. I lost, but I don’t feel at all like a loser. Particularly in hindsight, as I don’t give a damn about any of the things that seem to be primary criteria for selecting debut authors. I’m lucky, because I don’t give a damn about the money, either. So I’m going to play my own game now. It may turn out to be solitaire, but that’s fine. I just want to tell my stories. It will be meaningful to me no matter who ends up listening.
I’m going to bet that when I get to my own version of “The End,” I’m not going to feel much regret over not getting a pub deal or hitting a bestseller list or winning an award. I’m betting I will be satisfied that I’ve stayed true to my stories. I might even fondly reflect on the dozen or so nice notes I’ve received from readers, relating how those stories have been meaningful to their lives.
I’m with you, Vaugh :-) As a writer: “staying true to my stories” is what it’s all about. As a reader: I want to be swept into the story that someone else has made for me. I might select (meaning: buy) a book based on recommendations, for sure—but whether I finish, like, and recommend the book is another matter :-)
Yes, yes, YES. I have gotten so tired of the “in media res” demands of traditional publication, because it just doesn’t match what I write and read.
Then again, I’m an eclectic reader who goes back to Jane Austen, Anthony Trollope, John Steinbeck. I keep exploring old as well as new writers. It’s not just the author’s voice that draws me in, it’s the characters. I’m more likely to put aside a slam-bam, let’s get things going and keep them going at breakneck pace book than I am one that entices me into the work with details of setting or character.
That said, the opposite extreme of “in media res” can sometimes backfire, especially if it falls into the equally problematic “let me explain ALL the backstory” infodump category.
However, a well-crafted prologue that leaves an uneasy question in the reader’s mind?
Priceless.
“Entice” is such a great word! And yes, letting things unfold at that Goldilocks pace of “not too quickly and not too slowly.” And yes again, info dumps don’t work, regardless of where they occur in a story! Thanks so much for weighing in today!
I’m willing to give agents a break here. An agent is reading my story not with readers in mind but with publishers in mind, for an agent has to sell the book not to a reader but to a publisher. That’s a rather short list, and publishers are far from representative of your “average reader”. Whatever that is.
In theory, the publisher–and by a weird sort of inheritance, agents–knows “the market” and knows what readers want. Or at least knows what readers buy. In practice, it’s rather hit-and-miss, which explains why so many books are the same sort of thing over and over, but also explains why something quite new takes the market by storm. Once in a while.
At any rate, that whole world is a convoluted path between author and reader, so any advice as to how an author should write based on what readers want should be taken with a cartload of rock salt. Not necessarily wrong, but not right often enough to be called reliable. BTW, the path is just as convoluted for the self-published author, involving nasty critters like algorithms and corporate opacity. Advice from that quarter is no more reliable but is more fevered.
As for why the advice is heard so often, it’s only because there are so many more megaphones. In the old days (which were not good), these things were said in letters between author and editor. Or were ping-ponged at conferences and in bars (sometimes indistinguishable venues). But the audience was numbered in the dozens and scores. Now a blog post can reach tens of thousands if not more. And the brutal content cycle means it gets repeated endlessly and persists perpetually.
Phew. Me, I’m going to go hang out at the bar … er, conference.
I so much enjoyed your comment, Ellis! A few comments, back at ya. First, I hope I was clear that I’m not blaming agents; they work for a living like the rest of us. Second, I think everyone is trying to second-guess and predict, whether it’s via sales figures for comps, Amazon algorithms, analysis of clicks, hitting #1 on some category (even if it’s an obscure one) etc. etc. And no one actually knows because an outlier can hit the jackpot when least expected! And third, save me a tool at the bar next to you!
cmvenzon, I am coming late to this discussion but hope you will pick up my question anyway. Your points are well made—the characters must be well drawn right away, and must not be “too anything.” But I don’t understand the end of your comment because of the way it is sequenced. Do you mean that Towles’ Gentleman immediately became real to you? Or do you mean that the Gentleman lost your sympathy (implied by your immediate use of him as an example)? I’ll appreciate your clarification. Thanks!
Barbara:
Thanks for having the courage to take the outlier’s position and challenge the “rules” for successful writing. For me, strong characterization through scene and dialogue is key in the first pages. Paragraph after paragraph of exposition, even if skillfully done, is a turn-off. Characters must be real to me. Too anything — too good, too evil, too clever — and they lose my sympathy. Look at Amor Towles’ A Gentleman in Moscow as an example.
I’ve always believed in questioning what is presumed to be true, sometimes at my own peril! As others have said, it’s about the characters. Their stakes won’t matter unless they matter. Thank you for joining the conversation!
Barbara,
Thank you so much.
As someone said about rock and roll music years ago when decrying it, “It’s the beat, The beat. The beat.”
For me, it’s the writing. I regret that agents only have limited time, but it’s a fact of life. I have to do something to attract their attention in those first few pages. Readers are often the same way. I have to make a good first impression.
Shelley Winters once said Marilyn Monroe would dress in a plain black dress, (yes, but Marilyn in a little black dress, but I digress), simple earrings and necklace and then wear gold shoes. She’d to one thing to knock you out, but the whole package had people turning heads.
That may be what that killer first line or first paragraph is, but I don’t need it if the write reels me in with beautiful, intriguing writing.
C.J. Box–On the third day of their honeymoon, infamous environmental activist Stewie Woods and his new bride, Annabel Bellotti were spiking trees in the forest when a cow exploded and blew them up. Until then, their marriage had been happy.
How could you not want to read more?
The prologue of A Game of Thrones drew me in immediately even though you don’t find out what happens to the Black Watch soldier until quite a bit later.
Outlander starts out quietly. She’s window shopping and thinking about buying a vase for a home they may soon have. Pretty dull stuff, but the writing is there. I want to know more about this woman and her story.
A long time ago, I was querying a high fantasy. Janet Reid’s intern wrote back and said, “Your story starts here where the dead uncle arrives.” She’d cut out the first three chapters. She was absolutely right.
The new opening is much better. Thank goodness for great interns who read past the first five pages.
Now, confession time. When I go to a bookstore, I read the first few pages. If I like what I read, I skip around and read a few more. If the writing holds up, I buy the book.
What can I say, Julie? Brilliant examples. Two questions: Where does one find those interns? And: thank goodness for real bookstores there we can do just what you do. Thanks so much!
Julie,
Yeah, I look at writing before anything. Is it competent? Confident? Compelling? I love that anecdote about Marylin Monroe: sometimes all it takes is one fresh, surprising element to hook me.
If the writing feels like something I’ve read a hundred times before, I’m putting the book back on the shelf.
Thank you so much Barbara, I really needed your comments right now! I have interest in my unfinished novel and am forever tinkering with the opening to meet those elusive 1st page criteria that I know in my heart of hearts aren’t a good fit for my book. You have given me permission to stand up for my novel because sometimes it works better to tease, to hint, not to smack the reader in the eye with the core conflict.
Personally what I look for as a reader in the first few pages is a narrator I want to spend an entire book with. I don’t have to like them, but I do have to find them interesting enough to want to get to know them better. There has to be something that makes me curious, make me wonder how this person might surprise me next. Reading isn’t speed-dating; being told the the hook, the stakes up front in the first few pages is a big turn-off for me.
Your comment means so much to me! Knowing that I helped to empower you to stand up for my novel makes it all worthwhile—and that is what we do for each other, here in this wonderful WU community :-)
In my humble opinion, we should do what the great Toni Morrison advised: Write the books we want to read. So trust your instincts as a reader, and listen to your heart—just as you are doing. Bravo!
You make some good points and thanks for this post. But one thing these authors that you selected have in common is that they are well known, successful and can “get away with” just about anything. People will buy their books no matter what. But I tell my students and clients who are writing novels and looking to be traditionally published for the first time that they should generally steer away from prologues and pull their reader in as soon as possible. They should also read recent debut novels to see how they begin and take note. Obviously there are many ways to begin a novel to hook a reader but I tell people to write the book of their heart but also be smart about it.
Hi Wendy. Two of thee four books I selected were, in fact, debut novels: The Henna Artist and Migrations! At the same time, it’s often easier to get a debut accepted by a publisher if it follows a familiar pattern—I have no statistics, but I think that’s true. And yes, you said it so well: Write the book of your heart but also be smart. It all depends on your goals, as a writer. Thank you for adding your thoughts to our conversation!
PS—I forgot to add in my other comment the most important part: Thank you for taking time to deconstruct a few beginnings for us and getting us thinking about what makes a beginning intriguing. I agree that it’s not always what people think it is, and looking into beliefs that are sometimes held up as “the way it should be done” rather than “an option for doing it” is a good way to help people figure out what will make their beginning the best it can be. Thank you for taking the time to do this!
Thanks, Erin. Your comment prompts me to add: As an exercise, we can take our own story opening and try redoing it in various ways, just for fun. Sometimes the best solution is actually to delete it and start the story with Chapter Two—but that’s another post!
I have DNF’d so many books recently I’ve lost count. I’ve also finished some that were just so/so because the writer intrigued me enough to see how the story played out. But I’ve always said I’m a sucker for good writing, so that can pull me in immediately. But if I’m halfway in and I still don’t know where the book is going? I’ll probably put it down. Usually, I’ll give a book 50 pages to capture my interest There’s an indefinable something that engages a reader (I think), an interesting character, an intriguing situation, but for me it’s all trumped by the quality of the writing.
I’m the same. The all-important “hook” rates fairly low in my book, if the writing is good, action believable, and characters are relatable and well drawn
Great story and/or great writing—agreed! There was a good I read recently that had a gripping plot and phenomenal writing, even though I hated the protagonist. and really didn’t want to spend time with her or root for her. Yet I finished it … so I guess there really are no rules!