One thing that popped up on Bluesky today was a discussion of opening paragraph hooks and just how necessary they are. I’ve had thoughts about such discussions for some time now, though mine relate more to the opening of novels rather than short stories (which are completely different things, in my opinion).
But what constitutes a “hook” depends on who you talk to. There are many writers for whom a hook has to involve action of some sort. I’ve seen this over and over on one writing blog where a particular writer has a regular first paragraph “turn the page” challenge—and far too often the hook that wins the poll is based on a concept known as in medias res, interpreted as “story must begin with action!” Fights! Swashbuckling! Car chase! Clash of armies! Murder! Mayhem! Alarums! Then the reader has to figure out what happens in the world, what world they’re in, and just what on earth is important besides this very active, dramatic scene.
On the flip side, there are writers who decide to begin with massive worldbuilding bloat. Panoramic views of the setting, lovingly described in exquisite detail, but no sign of a potential conflict, a particular writing voice (other than lovely words), or a character who might just turn out to be engaging. Or else the reader gets subjected to a long chronicle of history that makes the New Testament “begats” somehow seem thrilling.
The extremes of both approaches are—bluntly—wrong. Story must begin where the story really begins. Sometimes that’s a quiet opening that doesn’t throw the reader right into the middle of a scene with pew-pew-pew happening all around, but…there’s that little twist hinting at a potential conflict or some sort of disjoint with the world the author is building that makes the reader settle in for a good read.
Then there’s the need to care about the characters. I feel that a sense of one of the main characters and how they think and feel needs to be conveyed in, if not the first line, then in that opening paragraph. Doesn’t have to be much, just a little twist here and there that makes me alert and go…hmm, this might be a good read.
What do I mean?
Some examples to consider:
“My life fell apart when I was sixteen. Papa died. He had such a strong heart, yet he died.” Nnedi Okorafor, Who Fears Death.
“We were not born,” said Linette out loud, “to sit and look at the rain.” Sanders Anne Laubenthal, Excalibur.
“Oho. Like it starting, oui? Don’t be frightened, sweetness; is for the best. I go be with you the whole time. Trust me and let me distract you little bit with one anasi story.” Nalo Hopkinson, Midnight Robber.
“A week before she was due to bring me out, I overheard Mrs. Maynard saying I was “not quite…” That’s just how she said it. “Elvira’s not quite…”” Jo Walton, Half A Crown.
“The body lay naked and facedown, a deathly gray, splatters of blood staining the snow around it. It was minus fifteen degrees Celsius and a storm had just passed hours before.” Ann Leckie, Ancillary Justice.
“Let’s start with the end of the world, why don’t we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things.” N. K. Jemisin, The Fifth Season.
The enticing factor of each of these openings for me is not the action. It’s the presence of a clear voice for both author and character. There’s movement but the other factor is that the voice makes you want to go on further. We aren’t dropped in the middle of action with characters we don’t care about yet.
What do we know about each of these characters from the opening?
Well, we know that Papa has a strong influence on young Onyesonwu’s life, and that his death not only came as a surprise to her but completely changes her world. That’s clearly a change point for our viewpoint character.
It probably doesn’t come as a surprise that Linette is dissatisfied with the course of her life before the opening of the book, and resolving this disconnect is going to be a big chunk of the story.
We get a strong sense that the story of Tan-Tan is gonna take us for quite the ride when the narrator cautions us not to be frightened, and that they want you to trust them.
Elvira obviously somehow doesn’t fit into the society that Mrs. Maynard is bringing her “out” into.
And, well, there’s a dead body but the viewpoint character is very matter-of-fact and detail-oriented. That suggests a particular outlook upon the world where detail and being unreactive is important to that character.
Finally, the end of the world is viewed as…well, something to move beyond. Which provokes curiosity—how could the end of the world be less interesting than what happens after that?
All these openings draw me in. All have a compelling voice that tells me somewhat about the characters that are going to be depicted in their relative books. I’m looking at the pile of books I pulled these openings from and it’s all I can do to set them aside and keep on writing instead of revisiting them (except perhaps for Excalibur, which comes from the early ‘70s and…may have been visited by the Feminist Suck Fairy, from associated points that I remember. But it also leans very heavily on tropes from C.S. Lewis’s That Hideous Strength and Charles Williams’s Taliesin through Logres).
Needless to say, I’m not a Big Name Author or Editor. I’m sure I’ve fallen into the same traps that I shake my head at in this short essay (fighting back the urge to start bringing up books in Vellum to make sure—right now I’ll confess that I have a tendency to start with dialogue).
But I do strive to have voice in my work, both my own and my characters.
Even when I fail.
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