Book Writing 101: Starting Your Book In The Right Place

Hi readers and writerly friends!

I’m so glad you’re here and I can’t wait to get back into this series! (I may have gone on a mini vacation/camping and I have been playing a lot of WoW lately! Hello, Shadowlands!)

In any case, after a long-awaited return, the How-To Series is back and this week in Freelancing, we’re going to discuss where to start your novel. Make sure to if you haven’t yet read my blog post, “Book Writing 101: How To Write A Book (Basics)” ! It’s a great first step to writing your novel. If you’re ready to start bringing your story to life, just keep reading to learn how to start your book in the right place!

The importance of starting your book in the right place

You might have heard this phrase —I think you might have started this story in the wrong place— before from a friend or critique group or what have you. It’s actually a very useful and critical piece of advice because the start of your novel is arguably the single most important part. From the very first page/scene, readers get an idea about your voice as a writer, what the story will be about, what the characters are like, and more. The first page just might be the most important part of your book. But don’t fret! It’s doesn’t have to be as dramatic or as daunting as it first may seem. The key to a good opening scene is one that introduces character, conflict, setting, and ideally, stakes. The opening scene should establish your main protagonist (or if you’re writing with flashbacks, it can introduce your antagonist too!), introduce the main conflict/themes of the story, present the setting as both where and when the story takes place (and what rules/systems/cultures and other aspects exist there), and should reveal the stakes of the story.

Achieve balance between action and introduction through pacing

This of course, is going to require much of you since there is a lot to accomplish in the opening scene, to be sure. However, the secret is in the pacing. Whenever someone says “I think you might have started this story in the wrong place” it has to do with pacing more than the actual location in the plotline. For example, if you start your story too early or too late, that simply means you haven’t given enough time to establish all of these aspects of a good opening scene: a) character, b) conflict, c) setting, or d) stakes. If you start your story too early, then you will end up with a pacing that feels slow or takes entirely way too long to get the proverbial ball rolling. However, if you start your story too late, then your story will feel rushed and the reader will feel confused and as if they have no clue what is going on. The former usually presents itself in a “waking up” or “weather scene” which is typically irrelevant and will bore your reader, while the latter presents itself typically in action scenes, where the reader is dropped into a situation where there is just not enough information to assess said action.

Start just before the inciting incident

A helpful tip I always try to tell new writers is that they should start their story just before the inciting incident. This doesn’t necessarily mean, fifteen minutes before the action, but it can. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the story will start five minutes before the action, but it can. It really depends on your story and the plot you have created, but you should always try to start your story just before the thing happens that sets the story in motion.

For instance, if you’re writing a YA Highschool Paranomal romance— where a girl discovers she’s a vampire while she’s at school and everyone makes fun of her— you wouldn’t start the story with her waking up. Instead, you might start with your main protagonist sitting in class when she starts feeling unwell. Thoughts are racing through her mind as she struggles to pay attention to her instructor. She can hear her heartbeat drumming her ears, but wait—its not her heartbeat she hears, its her classmates’ and she can hear their blood pumping through their veins as well. Suddenly, she gets up and rushes to the bathroom just to get away from it. When she looks in the mirror, she’s horrified that there’s no reflection. Another girl comes out of the seemingly empty stalls behind her and comments on how pail she looks. Her best friend rushes into the bathroom after her to check on her at the request of her teacher. They look at her in awe as they realize she’s just begun to transition from human to vampire. And to top it all off, the popular girl group comes into the bathroom…

Of course, this is a really overplayed and cheesy cliché, but I’m sure you understand my point. I wouldn’t start a story like this with the weather or someone waking up, or going to sleep, and neither should you, although many, MANY stories seems to start in this fashion. In this example, the inciting incident is the main protagonist transitioning into a vampire. However, you could start this story with her sitting in class when this physical transformation comes on.

Get to the party late, leave early

This advice might not be the best for real life situations, but it works wonders for writing stories. The first part of this saying suggests you should open your story with a social gathering of some sort, or the party. All kinds of different people might find themselves at a party (or other social event, it doesn’t have to be a party. Consider how the event might be different if it were set in a fantasy story or murder mystery!) Think about what groups might attend this party and how your cast of characters fit into this backdrop. Consider where the party might take place and how you can use this sub-setting to establish your story’s greater setting. Present the stakes of the story by introducing the relationships among characters and how they interact with one another. If you haven’t read my blog post, “How to Develop and Write Compelling, Consistent Characters,” you should check it out. I discuss how setting can even be a character of its own and how characters drive the plot.

The second part of this saying refers to when your characters actually get to the proverbial party, i.e., when does the story start in reference to the inciting incident. As mentioned previously, you don’t have to start the story right before things change and set the story in motion, but it’s always good to start it as early before this as you can. Likewise, the latter part of the saying —leave early, reminds writers to close the scene early. Don’t end things prematurely, but definitely move on before things start to peter out and get boring for the reader. If your characters are at a party, don’t write until they’re standing around trying to say goodbye for half an hour after everyone else has already left. If it’s not interesting or crucial for character development, and doesn’t drive the plot forward, you don’t need it.

*The Hush, Hush Saga* by Becca Fitzpatrick. Photo by Payton Hayes.

Let’s talk about prologues

Prologues are great for some books and story-killers for others. For sci-fi and fantasy novels, prologues are typically told from an alternative point of view and/or story tense, i.e., third-person, past-tense. They serve as a great way to throw in extra worldbuilding lay the groundwork for systems and other aspects of your story. However, prologues don’t always give an accurate portrayal of what your book will be about, for this reason. Likewise, an unfortunate occurrence in the reader world, is that many readers just skip over the prologue entirely. One way I have found to get around this is to write a flashback/repeat prologue — where you start with a scene that will occur later in the book but will not make complete sense until the reader reaches that point in the story and puts the puzzle pieces together for his or herself. This can be tricky, however and depending on your plot/genre it might not make sense for your novel. If I do end up writing a prologue, I prefer to do it once the story is completed. Naturally, your story should be able to stand on its own without a prologue. I would check out prologues from popular stories in your genre or review prologues from your favorite books to get an idea of how to execute a successful prologue.

If you are going to write a prologue, here are some general tips.
Keep it short and sweet, but not too short of course.
It should align with the tone and themes of your story If it is told from a different tense or point-of-view, make sure its not a stark contrast from the rest of the storytelling so readers can get an accurate idea of the narrator’s voice for the rest of the story.

Prologues naturally slow down the pacing of a story, so consider whether your story really needs to have one. If the answer is yes, consider what information will be present and how you can weave it into the story later, to avoid readers missing crucial story details if they do decide to skip your prologue.

Examples of good openings:

Example 1: Hush, Hush by Becca Fitzpatrick

I’m going to start with my all-time favorite series —you guessed it, Hush, Hush, by Becca Fitzpatrick. (And you thought I wouldn’t, tsk, tsk tsk.)

Hush, Hush does have a prologue, but after that it starts off very domestic, or day-in-the-life but quickly grabs the readers attention on page one. I personally like to think of the first chapter as the true starting point of the story. While the elements in the prologue come back around later in the story, it could also do without it.

I’ve included this entire chapter for educational purposes only. All credit goes to Becca Fitzpatrick and Simon and Shuster Publishing.

1
COLDWATER, MAINE, PRESENT DAY
At my side, Vee Sky said, “This is exactly why the school outlaws camera phones. Pictures of this in the ezine would be all the evidence I’d need to get the board of education to axe biology. And then we’d have this hour to do something productive— like receive one-on-one tutoring from cute upperclass guys.”
“Why Vee,” I said, “I could’ve sworn you’ve been looking forward to this unite all semester.”
Vee lowered her lashes and smiled wickedly, “This class isn’t going to teach me anything I don’t already know.”
“Vee? As in virgin?”
“Not so loud.” She winked just as the bell rang, sending us both to our seats, which were side by side at our shared table.
Coach McConaughy grabbed the whistle swinging from a chain around his neck and blew it. “Seats, team!” Coach considered teaching tenth-grade biology a side assignment to his job as varsity coach, and we all knew it.
“It may not have occurred to you kids that sex is more than a fifteen-minute trip to the backseat of a car. It’s science. And what is science?”
                “Boring,” some kid in the back of the room called out.
                “The only class I’m failing,” said another.
                Coach’s eyes tracked down the front row, stopping at me. “Nora?”
                “The study of something,” I said.
He walked over and jabbed his index finger on the table in front of me. “What else?”
“Knowledge gained through experimentation and observations.” Lovely. I sounded like I was auditioning for the audiobook of our text.
“In your own words.”
I touched the tip of my tongue to my upper lip and tried for a synonym. “Science is an investigation.” It sounded like a question.
“Science is an investigation,” Coach said, sanding his hands together. “Science requires us to transform into spies.”
Put that way. Science almost sounded fun. But I’d been in Coach’s class long enough not to get my hopes up.
                “Good sleuthing takes practice,” he continued.
                “So does sex.” Came another back-of-the-room comment. We all bit back laughter while Coach pointed a warning finger at the offender.
“That won’t be part of tonight’s homework.” Coach turned his attention back to me. “Nora, you’ve been sitting beside Vee since the beginning of the year.” I nodded but had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Both of you are on the school eZine together.” Again I nodded. “I bet you know quite a bit about each other.”
Vee kicked my leg under our table. I knew what she was thinking. That he had no idea how much we knew about each other. And I don’t just mean the secrets we entomb in our diaries. Vee is my un-twin. She’s green-eyed, minky blond, and a few pounds over curvy. I’m a smoky-eyed brunette with volumes of curly hair that holds its own against even the best flatiron. And I’m all legs, like a bar stool. But there is an invisible thread that ties us together; both of us swear that tie began long before birth. Both of us swear it will continue to hold for the rest of our lives.
Coach looked out at the class. “In fact, I’ll bet each of you knows the person sitting beside you well enough. You picked the seats you did for a reason, right? Familiarity. Too bad the best sleuths avoid familiarity. It dulls the investigative instinct. Which is why, today, we’re creating a new seating chart.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Vee beat me to it. “What the crap? It’s April. As in, it’s almost the end of the year. You can’t pull this kind of stuff now.”
Coach hinted at a smile. “I can pull this stuff clear up to the last day of the semester. And if you fail my class, you’ll be right back here next year, where I’ll be pulling this kind of stuff all over again.”
Vee scowled at him. She is famous for that scowl. It’s a look that does everything but audibly hiss. Apparently immune to it, Coach brought his whistle to his lips, and we got the idea.”
“Every partner sitting on the left-hand side of the table—that’s your left—move up one seat. Those in the front row—yes, including you, Vee—move to the back.”
Vee shoved her notebook inside her backpack and ripped the zipper shut. I bit my lip and waved a small farewell. Then I turned slightly, checking out the room behind me. I knew the names of all my classmates … except one. The transfer. Coach never called on him, and he seemed to prefer it that way. He sat slouched one table back, cool black eyes holding a steady gaze forward. Just like always. I didn’t for one moment believe he just sat there, day after day, staring into space. He was thinking something, but instinct told me I probably didn’t want to know what.
He set his bio text down on the table and slid into Vee’s old chair.
I smiled. “Hi. I’m Nora.”
His black eyes sliced into me, and the corners of his mouth tilted up. My heart fumbled a beat and in that pause, a feeling of gloomy darkness seemed to slide like a shadow over me. It vanished in an instant, but I was still staring at him. His smile wasn’t friendly. It was a smile that spelled trouble. With a promise.
I focused on the chalkboard. Barbie and Ken stared back with strangely cheerful smiles.
Coach said, “Human reproduction can be a sticky subject—”
“Ewww!” groaned a chorus of students.
“It requires mature handling. And like all science, the best approach is to learn by sleuthing. For the rest of class, practice this technique by finding out as much as you can about your new partner. Tomorrow, bring a write-up of your discoveries, and believe me, I’m going to check for authenticity. This is biology, not English, so don’t even think about fictionalizing your answers. I want to see real interaction and teamwork.” There was an implied Or else.
I sat perfectly still. The ball was in his court—I’d smiled, and look how well that turned out. I wrinkled my nose, trying to figure out what he smelled like. Not cigarettes. Something richer, fouler.
Cigars.
I found the clock on the wall and tapped my pencil in time to the second hand. I planted my elbow on the table and propped my chin on my fist. I blew out a sigh.
Great. At this rate I would fail.
I had my eyes pinned forward, but I heard the soft glide of his pen. He was writing, and I wanted to know what. Ten minutes of sitting together didn’t qualify him to make any assumptions about me. Flitting a look sideways, I saw that his paper was several lines deep and growing.
“What are you writing?” I asked.
“And she speaks English,” he said while scrawling it down, each stroke of his hand both smooth and lazy at once.
I leaned as close to him as I dared, trying to read what else he’d written, but he folded the paper in half, concealing the list.
“What did you write?” I demanded.
He reached for my unused paper, sliding it across the table toward him. He crumpled it into a ball. Before I could protest, he tossed it at the trash can beside Coach’s desk. The shot dropped in.
I stared at the trash can a moment, locked between disbelief and anger. Then I flipped open my notebook to a clean page. “What is your name?” I asked, pencil poised to write.
I glanced up in time to catch another dark grin. This one seemed to dare me to pry anything out of him.
“Your name?” I repeated, hoping it was my imagination that my voice faltered.
“Call me Patch. I mean it. Call me.”
He winked when he said it, and I was pretty sure he was making fun of me.
“What do you do in your leisure time?” I asked.
“I don’t have free time.”
“I’m assuming this assignment is graded, so do me a favor?”
He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. “What kind of favor?”
I was pretty sure it was an innuendo, and I grappled for a way to change the subject.
“Free time,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I take pictures.”
I printed Photography on my paper.
“I wasn’t finished,” he said. “I’ve got quite a collection going of an eZine columnist who believes there’s truth in eating organic, who writes poetry in secret, and who shudders at the thought of having to choose between Stanford, Yale, and … what’s that big one with the H?”
I stared at him a moment, shaken by how dead on he was. I didn’t get the feeling it was a lucky guess. He knew. And I wanted to know how—right now.
“But you won’t end up going to any of them.”
“I won’t?” I asked without thinking.
He hooked his fingers under the seat of my chair, dragging me closer to him. Not sure if I should scoot away and show fear, or do nothing and feign boredom, I chose the latter.
He said, “Even though you’d thrive at all three schools, you scorn them for being a cliché of achievement. Passing judgment is your third biggest weakness.”
“And my second?” I said with quiet rage. Who was this guy? Was this some kind of disturbing joke?
“You don’t know how to trust. I take that back. You trust—just all the wrong people.”
“And my first?” I demanded.
“You keep life on a short leash.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re scared of what you can’t control.”
The hair at the nape of my neck stood on end, and the temperature in the room seemed to chill. Ordinarily I would have gone straight to Coach’s desk and requested a new seating chart. But I refused to let Patch think he could intimidate or scare me. I felt an irrational need to defend myself and decided right then and there I wouldn’t back down until he did.
“Do you sleep naked?” he asked.
My mouth threatened to drop, but I held it in check. “You’re hardly the person I’d tell.”
“Ever been to a shrink?”
“No,” I lied. The truth was, I was in counseling with the school psychologist, Dr. Hendrickson. It wasn’t by choice, and it wasn’t something I liked to talk about.
“Done anything illegal?”
“No.” Occasionally breaking the speed limit wouldn’t count. Not with him. “Why don’t you ask me something normal? Like … my favorite kind of music?”
“I’m not going to ask what I can guess.”
“You do not know the type of music I listen to.”
“Baroque. With you, it’s all about order, control. I bet you play … the cello?” He said it like he’d pulled the guess out of thin air.
“Wrong.” Another lie, but this one sent a chill rippling along my skin. Who was he really? If he knew I played the cello, what else did he know?
“What’s that?” Patch tapped his pen against the inside of my wrist. Instinctively I pulled away.
“A birthmark.”
“Looks like a scar. Are you suicidal, Nora?” His eyes connected with mine, and I could feel him laughing. “Parents married or divorced?”
“I live with my mom.”
“Where’s dad?”
“My dad passed away last year.”
“How did he die?”
I flinched. “He was—murdered. This is kind of personal territory, if you don’t mind.”
There was a count of silence and the edge in Patch’s eyes seemed to soften a touch. “That must be hard.” He sounded like he meant it.
The bell rang and Patch was on his feet, making his way toward the door.
“Wait,” I called out. He didn’t turn. “Excuse me!” He was through the door. “Patch! I didn’t get anything on you.”
He turned back and walked toward me. Taking my hand, he scribbled something on it before I thought to pull away.
I looked down at the seven numbers in red ink on my palm and made a fist around them. I wanted to tell him no way was his phone ringing tonight. I wanted to tell him it was his fault for taking all the time questioning me. I wanted a lot of things, but I just stood there looking like I didn’t know how to open my mouth.
At last I said, “I’m busy tonight.”
“So am I.” He grinned and was gone.
I stood nailed to the spot, digesting what had just happened. Did he eat up all the time questioning me on purpose? So I’d fail? Did he think one flashy grin would redeem him? Yes, I thought. Yes, he did.
“I won’t call!” I called after him. “Not—ever!”
“Have you finished your column for tomorrow’s deadline?” It was Vee. She came up beside me, jotting notes on the notepad she carried everywhere. “I’m thinking of writing mine on the injustice of seating charts. I got paired with a girl who said she just finished lice treatment this morning.”
“My new partner,” I said, pointing into the hallway at the back of Patch. He had an annoyingly confident walk, the kind you find paired with faded T-shirts and a cowboy hat. Patch wore neither. He was a dark-Levi’s-dark-henley-dark-boots kind of guy.
“The senior transfer? Guess he didn’t study hard enough the first time around. Or the second.” She gave me a knowing look. “Third time’s a charm.”
“He gives me the creeps. He knew my music. Without any hints whatsoever, he said, ‘Baroque.’ “ I did a poor job of mimicking his low voice.
“Lucky guess?”
“He knew … other things.”
“Like what?”
I let go of a sigh. He knew more than I wanted to comfortably contemplate. “Like how to get under my skin,” I said at last. “I’m going to tell Coach he has to switch us back.”
“Go for it. I could use a hook for my next eZine article. ‘Tenth Grader Fights Back.’ Better yet, ‘Seating Chart Takes Slap in the Face.’ Mmm. I like it.”
At the end of the day, I was the one who took a slap in the face. Coach shot down my plea to rethink the seating chart. It appeared I was stuck with Patch.
For now.

—Becca Fitzpatrick, Hush, Hush.

Fitzpatrick, Becca 2009. Hush, Hush, 7-17. New York, Simon and Shuster.

Sorry in retrospect for the long excerpt, but I just had to include Hush, Hush. How could I not?

Anyway, this opening scene absolutely nailed it in all the areas it needed to for it to be an interesting, gripping, and memorable start to one of the most well-known romantic thrillers.

✔️ Established compelling characters

Nora, Vee, and Patch are the prevailing main characters here. They all have interesting and unique personalities that not only set them apart from one another, but even in this short first chapter, the reader can tell these characters are going to be entertaining to watch interact with one another.

✔️ Outlined the story’s core conflict

Nora versus Patch —that is, as far as the reader knows, the story’s main conflict. Nora is creeped out by her new class partner, who seems to know so much about her and refuses to shed any light on himself.

✔️ Introduced the setting for the story

This story takes place in Coldwater, Maine, and is set in the present day. The reader quickly learns that the story is currently being told from the setting of a high school classroom. Based on the supporting characters, tone, and how the students interact with the coach, readers can infer that this story takes place in the 2000’s or later, thanks to the dialogue. It is likely many readers themselves can relate to this type of Sex-ed class setting and I for one, can certainly connect with the idea of having a high school sports coach double as a professor as that happened to me more often than I would have liked.

✔️ Presented the story’s stakes

Nora doesn’t want to fail this assignment and she seems to think Patch doesn’t care either way. The stakes are high because Nora doesn’t want her grade to drop but Patch gets under her skin so easily. Him leaving his phone number on her hand, acts as an open invitation to see what he’s all about. Will Nora bite, just for the sake of her grade? This question is what drives the reader further into the story.

It’s dynamic, interesting and ultimately pushes the reader further along in the plot in a way that feels organic. ✔️

Example 2: Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Another example of book that opens at just the right time is Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. While I don’t particularly enjoy dystopian fiction, I can’t deny I was hooked from the first page of the series. I’m not including an excerpt for this one, because it is very likely we all know how this story starts out.

Here’s a recap:

Hunger Games opens with main protagonist Katniss Everdeen on the morning of The Reaping. It all starts out very domestic and day-in-the-life as Katniss gets is getting ready and taking care of her family. It demonstrates the level of poverty they are living in and sets the tone for the YA dystopian fiction. As the story progresses, we learn more about this world, how the systems inside this setting work, the characters and their relationships and ultimately, how they are impacted by said systems. Katniss eventually goes out hunting, and her interactions with Gale —them discussing their concerns about The Reaping and their desire to protect and provide for their families —really introduce these characters and their values. This is a series of scenes that lay out the story for the reader and very neatly drive them towards the Reaping. By the time the reader reaches that point in the story, he or she already knows the characters, their values, the oppressive nature of the world they live in, and when everything happens with the reaping, it evokes an emotional reaction from the reader. When Katniss wanting to do whatever it takes to protect her family conflicts with her sister being selected to fight in the Hunger Games, the reader can’t help but wonder where the story can go from here. The fact that the Hunger Games are so terrible that Katniss is willing to take her sister’s place, but she trembles with complete fear as she volunteers as tribute, absolutely tugs at the readers heart strings and forces them to keep reading to see how it all plays out.

However, it might not evoke such a strong emotional reaction had the story started say, in the months or weeks leading up to the Reaping because the story’s pacing would have been too slow to keep the reader invested. Likewise, it could have turned the reader away out of confusion if it had started right with the Reaping or the Hunger Games instead, because there isn’t enough information on the characters or their situation to make the reader care.

Example a of lackluster opening scene from my writing

In this excerpt from a short story I am working on, I have a pretty solid start to an opening scene. It has compelling characters, introduces immediate conflict while also providing backstory to the characters and their struggles. However, this story opening lacks stakes and it happens too quickly. While this is a work in progress, I can already tell that I am going to have to add more to make it more convincing and interesting to the reader.

1
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, PRESENT DAY
My knuckles are snow-white, clasped around the small paper cup of airport coffee in my hands, as I strive for some sense of warmth and normalcy. I hold it together until the last person passes through the airport terminal and break down only once I’m in the relative privacy of the car park. I slump onto the cold, steel bench, set my coffee beside me, and drop my head into my hands, sobbing.
I’ve just been through something so crazy that I’m still shaken up over it, three days and a flight later. I lost someone I cared about deeply, all because of my own emotions getting the best of me, and by lost, I mean literally.
My name is Stephanie Powers, and no, the irony of my last name is not lost on me -we’ll come back to that later. I’m twenty-four years old, brunette and blue-eyed, and I’ve just landed my first real job after graduating with my Bachelor’s in Mass Communication a year ago. Sounds normal, right? Well, my new normal is going to make this look boring.
***
The alarm clock blares for the fifth time and I’m about ready to throw it out the window when switch it off for good this time. I’ve been up for an hour now- I woke up on time and somehow, I’m still running late, and obnoxious alarm clocks aren’t making me get ready any faster. I shimmy into a pair of matchstick jeans and grab my sweater from the pile of clean clothes growing in the chair. I’m walking out the door when I realize I’m missing shoes, which I run back into my room to find. At this point, my room is looking like a tornado came through and showed mercy on absolutely nothing- clothes everywhere, makeup and hair products strewn about on any and every previously open surface available, and on the floor, there’s a graveyard of empty water bottles that unfortunately didn’t make it into the trash bin. I catalogue the damage and make a mental note to tidy up later, but it’s unimportant now. After finding my shoes, I grab my sweater and bag and race out the door, smacking into him.
“Fox!” I shriek, stumbling backwards through the doorway, almost landing on my rear. Fox catches me, with that familiar, yet sinister smile on his face, and pulls me to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I say.
“Good to see you too, Steph.” Fox says sarcastically.
I pluck a rogue strand of hair from my lip gloss and stand up straighter.
“Good to see you too,” I say, “Not to be rude, but I’m running a bit late.”
“For?” he asks.
An impatient sigh escapes my mouth before I can stop it.
“It’s my first day at the paper, and I want to make a good impression.”
He looks me up and down briefly then smiles wider. “You’ve made a good impression on me, so far.”
“Yeah? Falling on my ass, does it for you?” I say.
He rubs his chin as if considering this. “Yeah, your ass does it for me.” He said, then winked. Actually winked.
Fox Wilder has been my neighbor and childhood friend for as long as I can remember. He’s a whole head taller than me, with blonde shaggy hair and a tan that reminds me of a stereotypical surfer dude. Throw in a shell necklace and the look is complete. Growing up, he lived three doors down from me and we went to all the same schools together, including Washington State University.
I move to check my watch and realize I’m not wearing it, so I pull my sleeve up over my wrist and tuck my hair behind my ear.
“I have to go.” I say looking around him to my 98’ Volkswagen Jetta, parked in the driveway. His Avalanche was boxing it in. Taking the hint, he fished his keys out of his pocket and went to move his car. I shouldered my bag and climbed into my own, then turned the keys in the ignition. The engine sputtered several times before dying. I tried again, to no avail.
“Great, just great,” I say, “as if I needed any more bad luck already.”
Fox raps on my window and I roll it down manually.
“Car problems again?” he asks, knowingly.
I sigh. “Yeah. At this rate, I’ll never make it to work. Impression: not good.”
“I can take you.” he offers with a smile.
“Really?” I say, almost too enthusiastically.
His smile widened. “Yeah, hop in.” He gestures to his car and a wave of relief washed over me. I might make it to work on time after all. He backs the Avalanche out of the drive and makes for the highway.
Of course, I was grateful, but I couldn’t help thinking, Fox saves the day, yet again. Adding to my mental to-do list, I vow to take my car into the shop after work. I’d get a ride with Fox for the next few days if I could and then be back behind the wheel in no time.

— Payton Hayes, “Stockholm Heroes, a Work in Progress” 😂

Glad we’re done with that part, whew! But do you see what I mean? The short scene at the beginning launches readers into the action with a very fly-by type of introduction to the main character. This scene is really more of an info dump, something which you should really avoid during the exposition. Readers can smell them from a mile away and they absolutely kill pacing. The second scene is where some magic happens. Readers learn about the characters, their immediate struggles, and the setting. However, once again, its too short. Everything happens so fast, and then is over with the snap of a finger. While this scene is so visually appealing and relatable, it might not make sense to start in either of these parts in the story’s timeline. Instead, I should pick one or the other to start with and spend more time fleshing it out.

Go with your gut

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It all comes down to your story and the plot that you’re working with. There’s truly no one-size-fits-all approach to writing an opening to a novel, but if you go with your gut and think about your story and what kind of pacing you’ll need to deliver it best, you can come up with a fantastic opening scene at just the right time. Think about slice-of-life scenes that you can use to introduce your characters and think about the events leading up to the inciting incident so you can select the best time to drop the reader into the story. Develop a scene that shows off character, setting, conflict, and stakes. Consider different ways to achieve this without massive info dumps and inorganic dialogue.

There is of course, always exceptions to the rules, but this is how I go about writing opening scenes in my novels. It’s certainly not a hard-and-fast—rules approach but these are just a few guidelines for creating an organic and enthralling opening scene that will keep your reader turning pages. I hope this blog post helped you and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a comment with your thoughts below! At the bottom of this post, helpful/related blog posts are linked for your convenience.

—Payton

Freelancing, Book Writing 101Payton HayesDecember 4, 2020book beginning, book start, where to start your book, 2020, book timelines