by Michael Lydon
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
–Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
“Tom!”
No Answer
“Tom!”
No Answer.
‘ “What’s Gone with that boy, I wonder. You TOM!
No answer.
–Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….
–Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
–J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Writing dramatic opening sentences, I’ve learned from long experience, can be tough.
Writing an opening sentence about writing an opening sentence can be tougher still, and it’s next to impossible to write an opening sentence about writing an opening sentence about writing an opening sentence! Help!
There glows the computer screen, blank and courteously bland, awaiting your command.
You could start with a close up:
Betty stared at her scratchy fingernails; she should have trimmed them before the interview.
—or with a long distant shot:
The prairie stretched out over endless miles of grassy emptiness.
Why not try a snatch of dialogue?:
“No, I’m not going out with you tonight, tomorrow, never in a million years!”
—or a private thought:
John shook his head in disbelief—she just doesn’t get it, not a bit of it.
Reporters often put opening sentences, which they call “ledes,” in one of two categories: first, the who-what-where-when-why lede that gets all the basic info into the opening sentence:
At last night’s Parks Department board meeting, Joe Smith, the department chairman for twenty years, angrily announced his retirement this September.
—and second, using a literary device (such as this rhetorical example below) to transform a standard lede into something more lively:
Joe Smith? Retire? You’re kidding me! Nobody knows our parks like Joe Smith knows our parks. But alas, it’s true. He’ll be gone in a month.
But whether you are a reporter, a novelist or a biographer—the primary goal of a first sentence remains the same: to get the reader to read the second sentence! And then the third, fourth, fifth one after that, and on into the body of the book.
Think of your opening sentence as a fish hook: whatever will get the glistening trout flip-flopping in your canoe, that’s the one to use.
Yet there’s no hard and fast rule that declares that this opening sentence works and that one doesn’t.
Brevity is generally a good rule of thumb, but to open my big biography of Ray Charles I used a rather long sentence:
For a hundred miles west of the Atlantic coast, the land of northern Florida lies flat as a floor covered by a thick rug of gray-green vegetation
—because I knew I was beginning a long book and wanted readers to accept my marathoner’s pace.
Like a friendly smile or a pat on the back, a good opening sentence is touched with warm, soul-to-soul magic.
What works for one writer or for one book may not work for another.
From the many superb opening sentences that you Write-the-Worlders submitted, here are a few that hooked me, though I’d find it hard to say why.
What was the point of continuing the fight? Would it even make a point?
–Thelonelypizzaroll (Australia)
The young girl sat with an expression of someone who had seen more than anyone should see.
–TheLittleElephant23 (United States)
Darkness is bewitching and full of enchanting possibilities, when you have only yourself for company,” the girl scribbled into her diary…
–Piku (India)
I never expected such a wild side of somebody so plain to even exist. Her mousy-brown hair and eyes, paired with the short frame and glasses had always led me to believe that nothing even remotely interesting could be associated with a girl so…boring.
–gabriellew (Australia)
It’s just short of a well known fact that every child hates going back to school, but adults still swear it’s good for us and wake us by whatever means necessary to get us there on time.
–Abigail (United States)
The lights shut off two months ago, and the world was too afraid of the night to turn them back on.
–aryelee (United States)
To tell this story, I must begin with my mother.
–Kate Gardner
In the house by the meadow, there were a thousand open doors.
–Kate Gardner
Why? Why, the only word that came to mind. The only word I could remember. Why me? Why was it that I was alone. I couldn’t fathom why it was me, not him, nor her but me.
–Geysensei (Australia)
The day the sun took the moon’s place was the day the world went absolutely bonkers.
–omicron7889 (Hong Kong)
If you think raining cats and dogs is just an expression then you definitely haven’t seen my life yet.
–omicron7889 (Hong Kong)
“Why can’t you say something else?” he asked me, “Why are you always so negative?”
–hk47isme (United States)
Hassan was a kind and loyal boy, but he created an uneasy tension everywhere he went.
–Nicolas Baroja (Spain)
I eat dogs for breakfast, cats for lunch, snakes for dinner, and, sometimes, beetles for midnight snack.
–Worriedwiredweirdo (Phillipines)
Why do I love these opening sentences? For many reasons that aren’t so easy to pin down.
A sharp insight into life and the human heart, for one thing.
A wicked sense of humor is another. Omicron7889’s “If you think raining cats and dogs is just an expression then you definitely haven’t seen my life yet” made me laugh out loud, and I’m sure I’ll use it soon in conversation.
Worriedwiredweirdo’s daily diet of dog, cat, snakes, and beetles got a hearty “Yu-u-u-k!” out of me just as, I figure, Worriedwiredweirdo hoped it would.
Kate Gardner’s “To tell this story, I must begin with my mother” instantly gives me the feel, “Oh, this is a book I can settle down to read on a rainy night by the fire. Abigail’s “It’s just short of a well known fact that every child hates going back to school” reminds me of Jane Austen’s famous “It is a truth universally acknowledged…”
All of these opening sentences awaken my curiosity: why did Hassan create tension when he seemed so kind and loyal? The sun took the moon’s place—when, how, why did that catastrophe happen? I’ve just got to know!
By waking my curiosity, each sentence connects me to the “what’s going to happen next?” energy of the narrative, and soon enough, by trying to answer Geysensei’s endless “whys,” I’m hooked, charging through the chapters to find out if the mysterious stranger with the crooked scar is my friend or a—eeeek!!!— deadly foe.
About Michael Lydon
Michael Lydon is a writer and musician who lives in New York City. Author of many books, among them Rock Folk, Boogie Lightning, Ray Charles: Man and Music, and Writing and Life. A founding editor of Rolling Stone, Lydon has written for many periodicals as well, the Atlantic Monthly, New York Times, and Village Voice.
He is also a songwriter and playwright and, with Ellen Mandel, has composed an opera, Passion in Pigskin. A Yale graduate, Lydon is a member of ASCAP, AFofM local 802, and on the faculty of St. John’s University.