Promise Words
By Donald Maass | July 5, 2023 |
Are you a people watcher? Silly question. This is a blog site for fiction writers. As people pass by, you undoubtedly imagine who they are. What they’re up to. The story that will follow. That’s how your mind works. Am I wrong? Probably not.
Now, everyone forms impressions of passersby. For most people that’s where it stops. Teen shoplifter. Mom in a hurry. Off duty cop. Lost deliveryman. Are those first impressions accurate? Perhaps, perhaps not. What’s important is that an impression is formed quickly. Science shows that first impressions are made within seven seconds, sometimes in as little as one tenth of a second. It doesn’t take long at all for us to decide what we might expect from a stranger.
The same is true for the opening lines of a novel. Very quickly, readers form an impression of the tale ahead. They rapidly know what to expect. They have a solid expectation of the experience that they are about to undergo. So, lacking an actual person walking past, what is the basis of for the reader’s first impression? What triggers its formulation? There’s only one thing that can do that: the words on the page.
There is of course the jacket or cover. Plus, the flap copy or back cover copy. Not to mention the novel’s category, shelving, blurbs, and so on. Packaging has gotten the consumer as far as opening the volume, but then the consumer begins to read and that’s where the rubber—as it were—hits the road.
Have you ever read a few lines of a novel and put it straight back onto the bookstore shelf? It’s not your thing. But wait…how do you know? You could be wrong. Nevertheless, there are certain words on that opening page that send signals that light you up, turn you off or, if nothing else, cause you to judge a tale’s nature and relative appeal. Certain words tell you what to expect.
Those words are what I call a novel’s promise words.
Promise Words and Their Signals
What are the promise words in your WIP’s opening? To understand what they are and how they work, let’s take a look at some key words from the opening lines of some published fiction.
Here’s a list of promise words from one opening:
Grief…solitary…islands…graves…alone…avoid…waving from a distance…hurrying away…ghosts exist…the ghost of myself…
What kind of novel do you think that is going to be? A rom-com? Hardly. A ghost story? A sad story? A memory piece? What kind of protagonist will we meet? The life of the party? Um, no. The words suggest it will be a main character who is grieving, solitary, alone.
Do you agree? The impression that you’ve already formed sets your expectations for the novel. You know what kind of experience you’re in for. It’s either an experience that you want for your weekend reading or one that you’re going to return to the bookstore shelf. All on the basis of a few words.
Here’s a second set of promise words:
Shaker Heights…summer…children…burned the house down…gossip…sensational…fire engines…lunatic…something off…hopeless cause…
Well, now. What kind of tale is this going to be? A quest fantasy? Probably not. A suburban story? A tragedy? Involving madness, fire and fate? If that’s your guess then you could be right—but are you? Actually, you don’t know. You’re judging on the basis of just a few words. You have only an impression, and that’s my point.
Here’s a third set of promise words:
Carriage…Bookseller’s Row…spell…mystic signs…elegant buildings…clean streets…anywhere but here…bargaining season…no hope…a grimoire!
Pretty obvious. A fantasy but not Medieval. More likely a Gaslamp Fantasy. About what kind of protagonist? A witch or magician? Sure. But a protagonist you’re going to like? Well, if you like tales with carriages, booksellers and spells in it then probably so. Also, notice the promise words elegant and clean. They don’t suggest either a dark tale or a dark protagonist, do they? No, I didn’t think so.
Let’s try one more:
Doorbell…writing…important scene…shelter from the rain…standing face to face…electric charge…make a wish…longing…happily ever after…
Let’s see, a horror novel? Undoubtedly not. You probably don’t need to guess hard to know in which section of the bookstore you are standing. Is the tone and feel of the tale in your hands romantic? Light? Fun? You could be right; you could be wrong. However, really, you already know don’t you?
What matters in each case is that the writer has set down promise words and from those you have not only conjured an impression but rendered a judgment, and possibly agreed (or not) to a contract with the author. Buy this book and this is what you’re going to get. Stick with me and this is the experience that I will deliver to you. Are you in?
All on the basis of a few promise words.
Not to Keep You in Suspense…
The first list of promise words is from Greg Iles’s Mississippi Blood (2017), the third of his Natchez Burning trilogy, concerning the (now) mayor of Natchez, Penn Cage, who has a family in peril, a father on trial, and a dark history with a violent splinter group of the KKK called the Double Eagles. Here’s the full opening:
Grief is the most solitary emotion; it makes islands of us all.
I’ve spent a lot of time visiting graves over the past few weeks. Sometimes with Annie, but mostly alone. The people who see me there give me a wide berth. I’m not sure why. For thirty miles around, almost everyone knows me, Penn Cage, the mayor of Natchez, Mississippi. When they avoid me—waving from a distance, if at all, then hurrying on their way—I sometimes wonder if I have taken on the mantle of death. Jewel Washington, the county coroner and a true friend, pulled me aside in City Hall last week and told me I look like living proof that ghosts exist. Maybe they do. Since Caitlin died, I have felt nothing more than the ghost of myself.
Perhaps that’s why I spend so much time visiting graves.
I deliberately left two promise words off of my list above. Did you notice them? They are true friend. That adds something positive and hopeful. It’s a contrast to the hoary words mantle of death. Put all the promise words together and you have a Southern tale of suspense and blood, but also of hope and redemption. (And the novel is one hell of a read, if you haven’t read it already.)
The second promise words are from the opening of Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere (2017), a tale of suburban tragedy, secrets and a clash of worlds, privileged and not. Here’s the opening:
Everyone in Shaker Heights was talking about it that summer: how Isabelle, the last of the Richardson children, had finally gone around the bend and burned the house down. All spring the gossip had been about little Mirabelle McCullough—or, depending on which side you were on, May Ling Chow—and now, at last, there was something new and sensational to discuss. A little after noon on that Saturday in May, the shoppers pushing their grocery carts in Heinen’s heard the fire engines wail to life and careen away, toward the duck pond. By a quarter after twelve there were four of them parked in a haphazard red line along Parkland Drive, where all six bedrooms of the Richardson house were ablaze, and everyone within half a mile could see the smoke rising over the trees like a dense black thundercloud. Later, people would say that the signs had been there all along: that Izzy was a little lunatic, that there had always been something off about the Richardson family, that as soon as they heard the sirens that morning they knew something terrible had happened. By then, of course, Izzy would be long gone, leaving no one to defend her, and people could—and did—say whatever they liked. At the moment the first trucks arrived, though, and for quite a while afterward, no one knew what was happening. Neighbors clustered as close to the makeshift barrier—a police cruiser, parked crosswise a few hundred yards away—as they could and watched the firefighters unreel their hoses with the grim faces of men who recognized a hopeless cause.
A hopeless cause. In other words, what we are promised is a tragedy. In a classic tragedy something terrible happens but there is a sense that nothing could prevent it. Things might have played out differently but cannot because of a human flaw or fate. Ng’s tells us what to expect—indeed, the story also starts with the fire that we now know is going to be the story’s outcome—and she puts in place the promise words that prepare us.
The third list comes from C.L. Polk’s Midnight Bargain (2020), a Regency Fantasy following Witchmark and Stormsong, which concerns a young woman whose secret magic practice runs against her imperative to marry well—thus the “Bargaining Season”—and thereby save her family from ruin. When she loses a grimoire that can make her a mage, the cost for getting it back is unexpected: She must kiss the brother of her enemy and the resulting entanglement pushes her deeper into her dilemma. Here’s the full opening:
The Carriage drew closer to Bookseller’s Row, and Beatrice Clayborn drew in a hopeful breath before she cast her spell. Head high, spine straight, she hid her hands in her pockets and curled her fingers into mystic signs as the fiacre jostled over green cobblestones. She had been in Bendleton three days, and while its elegant buildings and clean streets were the prettiest trap anyone could step into, Beatrice would have given anything to be somewhere else—anywhere but here, at the beginning of bargaining season.
She breathed out the seeking tendrils of her spell, touching each of the shop fronts. If a miracle rushed over her skin and prickled at her ears—
But there was nothing. Not a glimmer; not even an itch. They passed the Rook’s Tower Books, P.T. Williams and Sons, and the celebrated House of Verdeu, which filled a full third of a block with all its volumes.
Beatrice let out a sigh. No miracle. No freedom. No hope. But when they rounded the corner from Bookseller’s Row to a narrow gray lane with no name, Beatrice’s spell bloomed in response. There. A grimoire!
Notice the words no hope…which are followed immediately by actual hope! Polk plays with her promise words, letting us know that this will be a tale of Regency pleasures and wizardly peril. We’re in for a magical roller coaster ride, which her novel adroitly delivers.
The final promise words are from Elize Bryant’s Happily Ever Afters a…you guessed it…YA romance in which a sixteen-year-old of color, Tessa Johnson, writes romance stories which feature heroines who look like her. When she is accepted into a writing program, though, she freezes, the cure for which is suggested by her best friend: have a real romance. Naturally, her real-life romance doesn’t go exactly like a romance novel should. Here’s the opening:
The doorbell rings, and I ignore it.
I’m right in the middle of writing an important scene. Tallulah and Thomas have found shelter from the rain, thanks to a conveniently located abandoned cabin, and they’re standing face-to-face, so close that there’s an electric charge between the tips of their noses. And when he reaches up to pluck an eyelash off her cheek and tells her to make a wish, it’s clear from the urgency of her sigh and the longing in her dark brown eyes that the only thing she’s wishing for is him.
It’s one of those swoony declaration-of-love moments, like something you see in those ancient movies they always play Sundays on TNT. But instead of that pale girl with the red hair, my protagonist has brown skin and a fro, and she’s about to get happily ever after.
Except she’s not, because the Doorbell Ringer is still at it.
Are you having fun? Of course, but that is not only because of the teen romance writer writing out her dreams, but because of the words which her author portrays that. I mean, shelter from the rain? Make a wish? Happily ever after…those words on page one? You can’t miss the novel’s intention and you can just imagine its complications.
What Promise Words Promise
You might be wondering why promise words matter. Isn’t it the tone and opening situation, as a whole, that reels us in? I would agree except that I read so many manuscript openings that don’t use words with deliberation. The plot grinds into gear but the story’s spell on us is weak. The magic is missing.
Peril. Tragedy. Enchantment. Delight. Most of the openings I’ve cited could have been written plainly. Just the plot, ma’am. But they’re not written that way. The words are carefully, or at least intuitively, chosen to create a specific effect: promise. I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about death. Or life. You will feel fear. Or hope. Or both.
Promise words aren’t a hook, a story question, narrative voice, not exactly, nor any other thing that might be present on a first page. Promise words are an invocation. They fix our minds and hearts for a story, the specific story that will follow. They create in us expectation. We’re living the story already. It’s writing itself in our imaginations. The story, even now, is becoming ours.
So, have a look at your opening. What are your promise words…and what are they promising us? The more intentional they are, the more we are likely to say, yes, we’re in.
Tell us the promise words in your opening lines! Let’s see what we feel and expect from your tale…
Donald Maass (he/him) founded the Donald Maass Literary Agency. in New York in 1980. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004), The Fire in Fiction (2009), The Breakout Novelist (2011), Writing 21st Century Fiction (2012) and The Emotional Craft of Fiction (2019). He has presented hundreds of workshops around the world and is a past president of the American Association of Literary Agents (formerly AAR).
[coffee]
Words do matter, don’t they? Thanks for getting us to think about this.
I couldn’t help but play the game. Words from the opening page of my fantasy saga: last night of summer…didn’t want to kill…ritual…his own soul…duel…shaming…cheating…kill cleanly…quiet footsteps on the path…burnt bones
Kill. Ritual. Soul. Shaming. What does that promise us? Sounds like a tormented protagonist. Fair enough. Am I in the mood for that? Summer. Quiet. Footsteps. Path. Those words suggest that this might not be a tale wholly dark and wallowing in misery. Yeah, I’ll read on a bit.
Yay! :)
It feels like we’ve already had this discussion about the opening lines of my novel, so let’s try my most recent chapter opening!
There was a time…summer before winter…dance…betrothed…bright light of morning…gifts…disappoint.
Now, the whole thing:
…
There was a time, the summer before that winter, when the tavern-keeper taught me to dance.
It was the Aiorai, and already I had embarrassed myself once by accidentally getting myself betrothed. A young woman with her friends in the bright light of morning had come to my door, and I, knowing nothing, had taken her proffered kerchief, and thanked her kindly, because I would refuse most gifts, but I did not want to disappoint one so young.
…
The chapter? The narrator and the tavern-keeper find themselves caught out alone in the woods on midsummer night. Romance does not happen, but the gods show up to join their dance. Later, in real time, our protagonist gets waylaid by a potential suitor, an outspoken young woman, and you can imagine exactly how that goes.
(Totally love everything C L Polk does, BTW. Even Though I Knew The End is absolutely the best noir.)
Summer. Dance. Accidentally betrothed. Friends. Bright light. Thanked. Gifts. Those are all words of goodness and good humor. They’re a promise of a delightful story. And I’m glad you like Polk’s “Even Though I Knew the End”. She’s a DMLA client and we’re proud of that one too.
New WIP. First draft; Cassie stood in the doorway and watched yet another luggage rack roll past. Behind her in the room, the window sash screeched like a cat. A chill shivered up her neck from the sudden blast of cold. Or maybe nerves. The elevator dinged again.
“Oh my God,” Francine gushed. “Stop obsessing and come look. We can see the castle from here.”
Stood. Watched. Past. A chill. Nerves. Obsessing. What you’re promising us, I’m picking up, is a nervous, inactive heroine, probably lacking agency, a “fate” character to whom things are going to happen and who will feel helpless. Are we in for that?
A code to live by, mobster, fortuneteller, mermaid, mistakes, wrong direction, secrets, nobody, gargoyle faces, a hundred years ago, now.
Although I like them, I think my promise words in the current opening are falling short of the actual story. So I found the promise words of the second chapter, which some readers have said might be better as the opening.
Tarot card reading, free advice, pretty woman, too young, tattoos, scruffy, has-been songwriter, Death, Happiness, break the curse, want.
Is it just me, or are they like two different stories? I think I need to define what part of the story is more than the other and open with that? Basically, is it a Romance or is it just romantic.
Thanks for a fun exercise. It helps to see the focus.
Mobster. Mistakes. Wrong. Nobody. What do those words promise us? A story of regret? Suffering? Helplessness? Then in Chapter Two: Tarot. Pretty. Young. Tattoos. Happiness. Phew! I was getting worried. Those words are a relief and promise me a story that’s not wholly dark. See what a difference just a few words can make?
Great post, Don. As you’ve said, those tiny promises culminate into something much greater. This makes certain kinds of openings a challenge. Dreams for example. Opening with a dream makes a reader feel lied to as they’ve stepped into this new world the author is creating only to find it isn’t real. On the other hand, if done well, could these promise words actually be small lies used to mislead the reader on purpose? I think so. Interesting idea!
Words from the opening paragraph of my book out next year: Knife…street brawl…family first…disrespect her girls…
Knife. Brawl. Family. Disrespect. The promise is a story somewhere between The Godfather and West Side Story. There’s a female angle (“her”) so I’m curious and also asking myself if I’m up for this experience. Maybe I am, maybe not. That’s not the point. The point is for you, the author, to be aware of the signals sent by the words.
I always look forward to the first Wednesday of the month…your post underlines my love for WORDS. The problem: how to combine them into story. Progress: working on it. Here are my PROMISE WORDS: abandoned house…old foundation…child who screamed…four heavy-set cops…fifty minutes until 3-11 shift…no magic, more destruction…
Abandoned. Old. Screamed. Cops. Destruction. Well, what we’re promised here isn’t cheerful! That might be okay, depending on your story intention. Simplified, stories celebrate life or they touch death. They make us feel fear, or they make us feel hope. If your story intention is death and fear, then I’d say that your story will fulfill what your words promise.
Hi Don, because you asked for beginnings…I focussed on immediate. A mistake. Because also within the first chapter…cottonwoods, occult twin, this woman might steal a baby, platitudes.
Eeep. Back to the old drawing board.
This is deep, game-changing advice — and it’s *specific* advice, because it’s about weaving the right magic right there on the first page. On the spot that does more than whole sections of the book will to keep people reading, that really is make-or-break… but no pressure, right?
It’s this advice that actually can take some pressure off starting a book. Yes, a story has a lot of work to do to pick the right opening scene and moment, hold our early interest, introduce what it needs to and keep it clear. But looking at these examples, it’s a comfort to think how much better a good scene can work if it just *make* this kind of promise that that goodness is lined up. And all that needs is working in individual words.
Inspiring.
Challenged.
Grateful.
Another First Wednesday.
Aw, thanks Ken!
OPENING SCENE: A MYSTICAL INFANT SURVIVES A TRAUMATIC BIRTH ON A SINKING SHIP.
PROMISE WORDS: astrologer, perverse, universe, blood red sky, sickening jolt, convulsed, wounded, pain, frantic, panic, bitterness, fears, aggressive, gripped, icy, drained, sharp, antiseptic, presence, loathing, haunting, spiteful, lifeless, fusty, newborn, helpless
Perverse. Blood. Sickening. Pain. Icy. Lifeless. So, let’s see…this is a comedy? Uh, maybe not. What is the reader being promised? A black tale of suffering and terrible fate. (The “fate” part comes from “astrologer”.) I am sometimes up for that, but I can’t help but wishing that one or two positive and hopeful words had been included. Do you see why?
YES, a few hopeful words would be better since the story is about positive change
Children’s picture book:
Tattoo blue arms, tight hug, leaves, waiting.
Pretty obvious, I hope.
Blue (skin). Hug. Leaves. Waiting. I am nervous! The promise, to me, looks like a story of apprehension. Waiting is inactive with an undertone of helplessness. Now, the actual story could be anything from a mother whose toddler is undergoing surgery to the mother of a teen auditioning for a stage version of “Avatar”. Kidding. Or am I? The point is that the promise words are putting me on edge. A hug is warm, but the rest of the words are not reassuring. If you’re promising us tension in the tale, then I think you’re on target.
Hi Don,
I totaled the word counts in the examples, divided by three and came up with exactly 200 words.
Promise words in my first 200 words: talent, weather, storm, beach, love, anything can happen, wedding, yacht, gentle breeze, child, complicated, joy
It takes me another 203 words to get to: lifejacket, family, not-family, icy breeze, goosebumps, clouds, mist, ocean, island, half-hidden, troublesome, wind
Wondering..
Can weather words be promise words?
Do my words promise Contemporary Fantasy or Women’s Fiction? Or both or neither?
What words am I missing?
How can I get to them sooner?
An interesting exercise. Thank you, as always.
Marcie
[Full text:
Some people have a special talent. Mine’s predicting the weather. Every day, every hour, I know what the weather will be. Storms don’t surprise me. Sunshine’s my stock in trade. Today’s weather? Beach weather. Falling-in-love weather. Anything-can-happen weather. For Troy Armstrong and Natalie Holster, we’ll-never-forget-our-wedding-day weather, guaranteed.
A classic wedding march began to play through the one-hundred-and-sixty-foot super-yacht’s sound system. The dozens of guests seated behind me on the open-air stern deck fell silent. At the end of the aisle, Troy tapped his toes while sets of groomsmen and bridesmaids made their procession toward him. The blue sky, soft sunlight and gentle breeze could not have been more beautiful or more glorious.
Troy and I had never been in love. Never been a couple. Never even dated. We had gotten drunk, stupid and naked a decade ago in a spare bedroom at a house party during our second year at Anacapa College. Two months later, we’d agreed we wanted our child, but not each other. Now he was marrying Natalie while I was still single. “Complicated” didn’t even begin to describe my feelings about this wedding. (186 words)
One thing that wasn’t complicated: the joy that bloomed inside me when Lainey appeared at the far end of the aisle that divided the rows of guests. A neon pink replica of Troy’s navy captain’s cap rode high atop her pigtails. An orange lifejacket mashed her sequined dress. Her lips moved as she silently counted a few measures of the music, then skipped toward her father, sprinkling rose petals from a woven basket along her path. I had to smile at the guests’ appreciative whispers and Troy’s thumbs-up for our daughter.
Her march completed, Lainey wiggled onto the padded folding chair beside me at the end of the first row: not quite family, not quite not-family. I gave her a quick hug, then startled as an icy breeze sliced through the air, raising goosebumps on my arms. I frowned at a mass of clouds clumped together along the horizon. Not white clouds. Gray ones. A mist descended over the ocean. My skin felt cool and damp. A moment ago, Anacapa Island had been clearly visible in the distance. Now, its rocky peaks appeared blurry and half-hidden.
The music swelled and Natalie made her entrance. At yesterday’s rehearsal, her lace veil had floated on the breeze. Today it was pinned up a less-than-pretty fashion against the troublesome wind. (403 words)]
Talent. Storm. Anything can happen. Love. Mist. Wind. The promise, to me, is a tale of magic and weather. (Yes, there are a lot of weather words.) The novel is called “The Wind Lord’s Curse”, per your recent post, so I’d say your promise words are promising the right things.
Well, that took only 10,000 drafts. (lol) Thanks, Don. Much appreciated, as always.
Marcie:
Promise words aside, this opening is very . . . promising. The narrator’s voice and tone, the use of weather to symbolize relationships, the reflection on past happiness compared to future uncertainty — all would keep me reading. Good job!
Thank you, Christine. I’m glad you liked it! MG
WIP Opening Lines:
Good afternoon everybody. My name is Randy and I want to be a good liberal. Not an easy undertaking as you’ll read about here.
What a terrific post, Don. I like how you broke down promise words. It looks like roughly the promise words came from the the first 200 words of each story example.
Here are mine:
Old wedding custom… Celts and Vikings…faeries… trows…modern woman…loaded into the back of a lorry, swaddled like an infant…mischief…
There’s an old wedding custom in the Orkney archipelago. Once the land of Celts and Vikings, Orkney became part of north Scotland some 600 years ago, merging the folklore into the sea that surrounds her.
Dawn was creeping through the curtains, creating shards of movement around Alanna’s sleeping form. Streaks of light were not the only movement in her bedroom. Alanna woke to murmurs of, “Be still”, and the bundling of blankets and ties.
It was happening, she thought, as panic and laughter rippled through her. Mother had shared her own blackening ceremony, yet Alanna hadn’t anticipated this could be part of her coming wedding. Alanna prided herself on being a modern woman.
Educated at St. Andrews, she’d taught science in Edinburgh before returning home. Alanna didn’t believe in faeries and trows, or any of the wee folk stories shared so passionately on many a winter night around a crackling fire. Despite the tales of Dancing Faeries, she understood the phenomena that created the Northern Lights. And now she was being loaded into the back of a lorry, swaddled and bundled like an infant. The engine fired as her friends piled in around her. “You’re crazy”,
“You’re in our safekeeping, Alanna. It’s protection we seek for you.”
“You don’t truly believe this nonsense-“
A couple of gasps, and a warning. “Be still, lest you awaken mischief.”
And I’ve now gone down the rabbit hole. Alanna was stunned. They believed this nonsense. No. They’re just having fun. Mocking the old tales.
Wedding custom. Faeries. Modern. Lorry. Mischief. The words are promising magic and fun. I’m in! (And now I’m going to read the actual opening that’s supplied.)
Good afternoon. Good liberal. Not an easy undertaking. There’s a wry aspect to these promise words. I’m expecting something like a social satire. Is that the story intention? If so, spot on.
This is satire, and I hope it’s a fun read. It’s been fun to write
Don, thank you for this.
Promise words: home library/Tudor-style windows/sun dapples, rural Minnesota/dreaming in German, rackety stool, arcing blobs of green paint, palette knife; wading in the shallows, frozen, expert on grief not properly expressed; dainty crocheted tablecloth, love endures, life is short, before it’s too late, home, graduation party
Library. Windows. Sun. Paint. Palette knife. Frozen. Grief. Life is short. Before it’s too late. Home. What are those words promising? A story of art and urgency and (?) returning home? Personally, I like the sensual suggestions of “Tudor-style windows” and “sun dapples”. Less inviting, to me, are the words “grief” and “life is short”. Am I going to need a box of Kleenex when I read this? Then again, maybe that’s just what I want!
From short prologue and opening: Zmutt’s Junction, Vt …canceled recital … Sam’s Body Shop …Grammy-winning … not rescheduled … Manhattan … searching … vintage guitar … betrayal
From the short prologue and opening: Zmutt’s Junction, Vt. …canceled recital … Sam’s Body Shop … Grammy-winning … not rescheduled … Manhattan … searching … vintage guitar … betrayal
Recital. Grammy. Searching. Guitar. Betrayal. Hmm, could this be a novel about music and musicians? Well, obviously. The words “Sam’s Body Shop” and “betrayal” promise emotional drama. If that’s what we’re in for in this tale, I’d say the promise words are promising accurately.
Thanks, Don!
So true this:” The words are carefully, or at least intuitively, chosen to create a specific effect: promise.” And this principle is not some new marketing device. Just have another look at Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Philosophy of Composition.” The effect of our creation is what captivates the reader, making him into a participant in the experience of fiction.
I am shocked that I have never run across that Poe essay! Must track it down! Thanks!
Fabulous exercise! From my opening page: professor … slipped away … daughter’s homecoming … heroin … neuroscience … hawk screeched … forest tamed for the rich … amygdala … treacherous fear monger … fight-or-flight response … lock and load … addict brain … leaped into the fray … public display of repentance … reborn … recovery … I love you … voice of despair … fighting chance … forgive. Oh and “tucked under my Spanx.” For those middle-aged women who know what Spanx is. :)
That’s all from your opening page?? Professor. Hawk. Forest. Fear. Addict. Reborn. Despair. Forgive. Your promise words are promising a whole lot. Too much, I wonder? I’m not getting a clear impression of the story that I’ll be reading, but hopefully the full context of the opening will do that. (And yes, I do know what Spanx is, despite not being a middle-aged woman!)
I’m on my way home from my parents’ and got started on Verghese’s newest: Covenant of Water. Full of promise: Child-bride. Drowning in every generation. St Thomas Christians. I’ll be ordering a copy as soon as I get home. Thanks for a wonderful exercise.
Covenant of Water is on my purchase list too!
Great post, Don. “Promise words” seem like the DNA for world-building.
Or story building.
Fabulous (and timely) advice, since I am starting a new project today, arguably the most important of my career. Thank you, Don. It always brightens my day to see your byline, as it were. You share valuable information,
Thanks for the kind words, Stacey.
Very helpful piece, Don. Thank you.
Promise words from first page of my first novel.
Never wanted to say goodbye. Vibrant presence. Contentious. Bittersweet. Longing to reconnect. Five-year relationship. Glamorous. World’s best vacations. Made my life big.
Goodbye. Vibrant. Bittersweet. Longing. Glamorous. Vacations. Already i want to bring your novel to the beach! Not sure if that’s your intention but your words seems to be promising a heartfelt and escapist novel.
Thank you, Don!! Your Wednesday pieces always help me so much in my writing journey.
Hmm, this will be affecting how I approach the story I’m hoping to start the first draft of this week. Thank you for a thought provoking post!
From the first page of a WIP that has gone through two drafts so far: witch… metallic taste of blood… passive aggression… electric charge… sensory flashes… dramatic mood change… morphing… magic… kill… head lowered… hidden… confiscated… relief… clear cause to leave.
Blood. Aggression. Flashes. Morphing. Magic. Kill. Your words are promising me a story that’s…well, let’s just say one that’s not a light social comedy!
This little exercise makes me feel more positive about my new chapter one!
…ghosts, imagination, asylum, stamp out, arcane, negligence, accidentally, on purpose
Ghosts. Asylum. Arcane. You could stop right there. I’m in, at least for a little more.
I love this approach, Don! I feel like I learned some of this when we were doing book dissections using your teachings. It became apparent that even books that began with bridging conflicts, rather than the main event, would give breadcrumbs as to theme, tone, genre, and the story’s core question. But “promise words” really cuts to the chase.
These are the key words from the WIP I just (hopefully) polished: Colorado country lane…Christmas…ranchers…Snowflake Festival…conduct an exorcism…vanish sight unseen…final time…five years away…“Mother trucker”…sharp crack…blind…last photo of Russ.
Country lane. Christmas. Snowflake Festival. Based on those words, I’m in for a Christmas romance. But then… Exorcism. Vanish. Final. Crack. Blind. A big switch in promise! Sweet and deadly is what I’m getting, usually contradictory story intentions so I’ll be interested to see how you handle this.
Excellent. Love this. Looking forward to SIWC, Don.
Here is the first paragraph of Killing Imaginary Friends
Olly’s eyes burned with tears. What a crappy birthday. He stumbled up the stairs, back to bed, his pajama sleeve wet and cold against his nose. Even with the storm outside and his door closed, their angry voices pierced his ears. His Iron Man pillow wrapped tight around his ears wasn’t much help either, but it smothered his sobs. Deep under the covers, he hunched his shoulders as high and hard as they would go. His breath struggled past the lump in his throat.
Tears. Crappy. Stumbled. Back to Bed. Storm. Closed. Sobs. Struggled. I’m being promised a story of woe. See you at SIWC!
Thank you, Don. A thousand thankyous. (Spelling?) This post is too beautiful, not, to reply to. So, here I go. I wrote this paragraph yesterday and decided to insert it in the middle of my second page, not my first, simply because I think page two is where it belongs. However, it does contain promise words. It provides a glimpse into my protagonist’s inner self, as well as an example of similar events which lie ahead.
Life had been so simple then. Days spent running with their dogs on dusty roads by the school. Nights when they’d bundle up nice and cozy and sprawl outside, eyes fixed on the firmament above, while their hearts waited patiently, joyously, bursting with anticipation for that very moment when Father Sky would spot them, and gently, lovingly, guide them to the exact location of one of his shooting stars. Never, once, did he ever disappoint them. It happened every time. And oh, when it did, what fun it was lifting their voices into a breathtaking chorus of ooohhhs, and aaahhhs. It was their private way of saying “thank you,” for allowing them to witness such a prodigious celestial event. Wonderful, magical, moments, filled with nothing but awe.
Memories she would cherish forever, and hoped, that Becky would too.
I can’t believe this. The clock on my computer just registered 10:02 PM. I’m not usually writing this late. Reading maybe, but never writing. It actually reminds me of pulling a late nighter in college. And, that, was a long time ago. So, I’d better say good night, and thank you once again, for a very beautiful and inspirational post.
Thank you for consistently writing really thought provoking articles
Another great article, Donald. In addition to scouting out promise words, it forced me to go back and look for, and eliminate, weak verbs and wuss adverbs. I would like to think the two-sentence epigraph at the top of the first chapter of my latest work going through final revisions would give the reader all they need to know about what to expect: God, rested, seventh, day, all Hell broke loose. The novel is called God’s Day Off.
If that doesn’t do it, the first paragraph includes: atheist, shock, heaven, real, more shocking, run the joint, Cosmic Command Center, power, and in his grasp.
What does that tell you?
So it opens like this:
It is written:
God finished the work which He had made; and He rested on the seventh day. — Book of Genesis 2:2
And on that day, all Hell broke loose.
— Book of Adam 3:0
As a card-carrying atheist for all his time on earth, imagine what a shock it was to find out heaven was for real. Even more shocking than the fact that they would let him in the front door was that they want him to run the joint while The Big Guy (T.B.G.) was off for a little R-and-R. The scuttlebutt around the Cosmic Industrial Complex suggested TBG was recovering from a hangover after His Kid went down and helped the Chicago Cubs baseball team win the World Series. The Cubbies hadn’t done that since, well, Moses was probably still in diapers at the time. The joke making the rounds was that, what with changing water to wine, healing lepers and some of his other capers, giving the Cubs the World Series was The Kid’s toughest miracle by far. That was the kind of power the atheist soul sitting on a cliff at the edge of nothing would have given his left wing for. And for one day in heaven, he had it in his grasp.
I’m not going to add my words to the pile we already have here, but thank you, Don, for suggesting the exercise. I can see that my “promise words” might point to some sort of scary story, but if the reader makes it to the last paragraph on the first page, they’ll see that the tone is actually light and (I hope) funny.