Starting Off Right

 You've had excellent advice from those who've written about starting stories so far. I second everything they've said. I'm coming at beginnings from a slightly different angle because for me, a beginning need do only one thing: Make me care.

I want to care. It's why I pick up a book with hope in my heart. I want to care about the story. I want to care about the characters. Making me care is a a three step process folded into the beginning of your story.

First tell me the goals. What does the character want? Even if they're wrong about what they think they want in the beginning of the book, what is that? The sooner I know what that is, the sooner I can identify with that character. I don't need to like the character. The character doesn't even have to be human. I just need to appreciate what they want. Usually there's some truth or universality to whatever this character wants or needs and that's enough to hook me in if you're communicating it via that character's unique voice.

Second, tell me the stakes. I need to know very quickly what's at stake in a story both internally for the character and externally for the character and the world of the story. What does this character stand to lose? This sounds like the answer should be 'well, they either get their goal or they don't' and I assure you that is NOT the answer. The answer is deeper than that. It's connected to a core wound in the character - whatever this character lacks inside themselves that makes them want what they want. It's connected to this character's faulty belief systems. The hard part is that at the beginning of the story, characters don't know they have wounds of any kind, much less faulty belief systems. Still, in the beginning of a story, I need the faintest whiff of what the character lacks. Maybe she's the sole survivor of a space ship wreck. It's been awhile. No one's coming to save her. S'okay, though. She's carved out a means of survival. Lonely? Sure. Sure. But, you know. She wasn't the the type to be belle of anyone's ball so it didn't much matter. This was peaceful. Lots of time for figuring out how to make paint from local resources and painting anything that stands still long enough - oh, hey. Is that a shooting star? Or -- holy shit. A ship. What's at stake for this character? Loneliness. Isolation. Companionship. Belonging. Possibly, if it's a romance, what's at stake is being proven wrong about not being the type to be the belle of anyone's ball.

Finally, tie is all up in a bow and tell me why. Why do the goals and the stakes matter? This is where promises are made. I won't say kept, because promises made at the beginning of a book are rarely kept through to the end of the book - at least, not those about plot or character or goals or even stakes. Word to the wise, though. You might want to keep your genre promises. The why gives me a hint about how the goals and the stakes are going to start generating conflict. Painter girl from above has lots of potential stakes. It's possible she had a goal before the shipwreck - get an important secret somewhere to stop a war. Without a ship and without rescue, that goal is null and void. She had to switch to a single goal: survival. Once that was secured, she could expand to becoming the greatest painter in the world which, notably, only she inhabits. Another ship coming in long after she'd given up ever getting off the rock, opens the door for you, the author, to tell me just how screwed our poor, cast away heroine is. Either that ship is crashing, too, and she's just going to bury more bodies but maybe she can repair the ship, or they land, leap out and shout, "Millions have died! You had one job! Where's the secret thing??" or it's some renegade band running from the law, trying to repair their ship, and they are not happy to see her, nor do they have any intention of getting her off world, or . . . I realize this may feel like the end of the beginning of a story. It isn't. It's the end of the inciting incident.

Which leads me to bonus points. Bonus points for starting on action. I may get hate for this. Or, possibly, you've clucked your tongue, rolled your eyes, and said, 'not every genre can do that'. Yes, my friend. They can. Action, when we speak of story, isn't all about guns and car chases and explosions or ships falling from the sky. Action is about collision. Character in stasis (normal life) + inciting incident (whatever sideswipes them) = action.

In this case, character with goal + stakes (why that goal matters to them) + inciting incident (ship falling from sky) = mental, emotional, and physical chaos.

I'm here for it. Bring it. The faster I can scoop that up like ice cream, the happier I am.

Beginnings of stories must do a bunch of things all at once, yes. Your dawning awareness that there are far more than just three things that beginnings must do is - yeah. Beginnings are tough and you may be shocked to find that ton of authors leave until last. No joke. There's a lot of pressure on your beginning and on you. Some of the best advice I ever had was to start a story where I knew what was happening. Sometimes that's the middle. Sometimes the end. Occasionally, it's the beginning. But, when I don't know a beginning, I can figure out what it needs to be based on how the story ends. So. Never be afraid to say 'I don't know' about a beginning. Get to the end. See where everyone ends. Then you can work backward to a starting point for your characters. You'll have their change arc already in place.

Jeffe's 3 Principles for Crafting a Beginning

This week at the SFF Seven, we're talking about beginnings and our principles for crafting them.

But first, I want to tell you all a little story.

A few years back, I was involved in a local writers group where, as a fundraiser for the group, I volunteered - along with several other experienced authors - to read and critique works from others in the group. On one submission, another author (much more successful and famous than I) and I agreed that the book started in the wrong place, and we offered thoughtful feedback on what beginning might work more effectively. There was pushback from that author and the group, a feeling that we had been much too critical, and several people were upset that we had suggested the book had started in the wrong place. One person said to us that the author in question had already been published, implying how dare we suggest they didn't know how to begin the book.

We were both taken aback by this protest because, and I retell this tale because I think this is so important:

FIGURING OUT WHERE AND HOW TO BEGIN NEVER GETS EASIER.

Both my fellow critiquer and I revisit the openings of every book we write many, many times. Getting that opening right is key. It's also not easy.

So, what are my principles for crafting a beginning? I think a beginning should do three things.

1. Establish genre
2. Pose a question
3. Create sympathy for the protagonist

Establish genre

This one might sound like a no-brainer, but I only learned to do this deliberately, after writing many books. The opening lines of the book or story should ground the reader in what kind of story this will be. This grounding is more important than many authors might think. Sometimes we, especially as newer writers, have this impulse to play coy, as if keeping the reader guessing in this way will intrigue them. Trust me: it doesn't. Think of your favorite books and their opening lines; I bet you they all tell you what kind of story you're about to read.

Example: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Pride & Prejudice, Jane Austen.

Look at how much you learn about the story to come from this one sentence.

Pose a question

THIS is where you intrigue the reader! Some writing teachers refer to this aspect as the "hook," but I think a lot of us have trouble understanding what a hook is supposed to be. Instead I think of this as posing a question. It doesn't have to be THE central question(s) of the entire story, but it should connect in some way. Suggest that there's a secret. Pose a conundrum. Put something in there to make the reader wonder - and to keep reading to find out the answer.

Example: "The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. He'd been dead for ten days before they found him, you know. We hadn't intended to hide the body where it couldn't be found. In fact, we hadn't hidden it at all but simply left it where it fell in the hopes that some luckless passer-by would stumble over it before anyone noticed he was missing." The Secret History, Donna Tartt.

I skipped a bit there for efficiency's sake - but the whole opening prologue is worth studying! - but see how she introduces the core mystery and poses a number of questions? 

Create sympathy for the protagonist

I'm not saying your characters have to be likable, or even that the protagonist has to appear in the first few pages, or that there even has to be a single, identifiable protagonist. What I am saying is, whatever characters do appear at the beginning, the reader needs a reason to want to be in their heads, to take this journey with them. If there's nothing interesting or appealing about the characters in the story's opening, why should the reader keep going?

Example: "It was a dumb thing to do but it wasn't that dumb. There hadn't been any trouble out at the lake in years. And it was so exquisitely far from the rest of my life." Sunshine, Robin McKinley

Feel that instant interest in the character, the clarity of the voice, and how there's a sense of feeling for the person, whoever it may be? 

 

Really, all of these examples serve in all three principles. There's lots that goes into a good beginning, but these three are key. Beginnings are a challenge and take time and effort to get right. And totally worth it. 

Top 3 Mistakes in Crafting a Compelling Opening

 This Week's Topic: Beginnings--What are my principles for crafting them?

Regular readers of this blog know that the beginning of the book is the hardest part for me for many reasons that can be summarized best as "still getting acquainted with my characters and my world."  I've been making the same mistakes long enough that I know when I'm doing them, and I know that I have to go back and fix them once I get through the first arc. Committing the transgressions is just part of my process now. I confess these sins in hopes that you, dear reader, don't develop similar bad habits.

Top 3 Mistakes in Crafting a Compelling Opening:

1. TMI -- Info dumps are deadly to opening chapters. Be they about the history of the world or the backstory of a character, big chunks of Telling prevent the reader from smoothly transitioning into the world and the story. 
• Alas, as a writer I need to write the TMI so I know what shapes the Goals, Motivations, Conflicts, and Weaknesses (GMCW) of the characters. Yes, that includes the characters of Setting and Magic System. No, this doesn't mean that TMI survives through first-round edits.
• What is the minimum the reader must know to understand the scene? -- This is the question I ask myself once I complete the first arc and am ready to exorcise the info dumps from the beginning. 
• There's a lot that gets cut in the first edit and is either never mentioned again or is distilled down to one or two sentences. That which gets cut gets pasted into my "extras" file to be used as reference points throughout drafting. On the rare occasion that I cut too much and my CP or editor tells me they need more info {manic cackle}, I've got the answers ready to go.
2. Vague Notion of What The Protagonist Wants -- Sure, I know the gist of the book before I start writing the beginning (I'm a skeletal plotter), but that doesn't mean I can concisely state what my protagonist (initially) wants, how they (initially) plan to achieve it, what the obstacle to success is, and what the consequence of failure is. To ensure reader buy-in to the adventure, I must clearly and simply convey the stakes, and I must do it within the first chapter. 
• I save myself from endless agonies when I craft a simple statement of Goals, Actions, and Obstacles. I revise this statement often throughout the book as a touchstone of progress and a plot reminder to the reader. 
• For any writer who tends to indulge in tangents, adding this progress-revised statement at the end of each notable sequence will keep you focused on your plot. 
• The simple, concise statement of stakes can and should be used in crafting a query/short synopsis as well as marketing promos. It is, for all intents and purposes, the Hook.
3. Being Too Coy -- Once upon a time, DongWon Song, a very talented agent of fantasy novels (and more) posted the most helpful and yet obvious piece of advice (which I will paraphrase because I can't find the link to their original post): Writers often confuse withholding information as creating mystery in their story; when, in fact, they're annoying the reader. We all want to compose a story with a bit of thrill, a bit of intrigue, and a lot of anticipation for what will happen next. We want to craft a page-turner (not a wallbanger). When we fail, it's often due to not understanding our own plot development and pacing. The first book I published proves this point to a (painful) T. 
1. Part of improving as a writer is honing when and how to reveal key information and misdirects. Much of that is knowing when and how to pose the questions, which is a facet of story structure and plot development. 
2. Beginnings and sagging middles are usually where we fall victim to our wannabe-tricksy-ness. Because I know I have this weakness, I developed the habit of building a bare-bones outline before I begin writing. When penning the beginning, if I find myself getting too close to revealing a Big Suprise that shouldn't happen until much later, I compare my outline to my WiP to find where I asked the wrong question or laid a faulty foundation. Getting ahead of myself happens, that's why an outline is helpful.
3. Another aspect of Being Too Coy is when we make a reveal but it's unnecessarily complex. There's a huge chasm between being compelling and confounding. If in doubt, KISS or JUST SAY IT, DAMN IT.

There you have 'em, dear readers, my Top 3 Mistakes in Crafting a Compelling Opening. May you avoid 'em.