The Absolute Curse of Opening Paragraphs

Maybe it’s just me, but I doubt it. I find that the opening of anything… be it the book itself, the first few lines of any chapter, the first line of each paragraph… they’re all freaking annoying.

But the worst, I think, is the opening paragraphs of each chapter. I think this is partly because these are usually descriptive paragraphs, and I think exposition is where most writers are most at risk of losing track of the voice of their characters (and injecting their own), and where we’re most likely to put in all the wild COOL stuff that we love so desperately, that so very badly needs to be whacked.

To give you a bit of context, I need to give you a little bit of sense of my character, so let’s start by giving you an opening snippet of her voice from my first chapter (which is relatively well dialed in at this point).

I love the thrill of a good chase, and after years flipping off the law they finally decided to give me one. It figures they’d do it right around the time I was planning to retire. Stupid cops. I’d been robbing Boston’s wealthy and influential since I was in my late teens, and never once had anyone pieced together that all the crimes might be related. That is, of course, until Dirty Harry took the case.
Cases, actually.
Lots of them.
And no, the cop’s name wasn’t really Dirty Harry- though that would be awesome- but he was a cop, and I needed a convenient handle to stick to his gorgeous head, and that was the best I could come up with. It was either that, or Barney Fife, and Don Knott’s ass wasn’t nearly up to the challenge.
Of course, enjoying a good chase was one thing, but standing outside my victim’s mansion and peering through the windows of the darkened study to check out the investigating officer’s butt was probably asking for more thrills than were good for my health. Or at least for my long-term prospects of not viewing the world through a row of iron bars. And yet, there I was, up on tiptoes in the October night, outside in the cold so long my ass was starting to freeze, craning my neck to get a better look. Brilliant, Candace. Just fucking brilliant.

So what do we have here?  Someone who’s quick, sharp, pointed and sarcastic. She’s confident in some things, but sees some of her own faults and  is painfully aware of them. In short, she’s a lot of fun, but a very hard character to write.

Later on in the book, she does a thing that pretty much rocks her to the core. This chapter I am working on now is the one that immediately follows it. This is what I had originally written for the opener:

I walked.
I didn’t know how long, or exactly how far, but I was dimly aware of the repeated passage of the sun and moon. My shattered psyche wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and whimper. My angelic senses, however, had other ideas. They jumped around like an excited puppy, rollicking in the newness of life, pointing out exciting details that I had never before noticed, and would much rather ignore.
Countless trees stood in their silent judgment as I tread across how many thousands of fallen leaves, dead now, unable to feel the pain of my grinding them further into the ground.
Deep into the forest, I heard the snap of a twig from somewhere behind me. It was intentional, of course. He would never have made the sound- any sound- by accident.
Michael had started following me shortly after I had left Purgatory, and had been within thirty feet of me ever since. I tried to ignore it, but my trained puppy of a mind made it impossible. Look! Look what I found! Isn’t it exciting! What should we do! What should we do! I’ve never been the kind to kick a puppy, but boy oh boy I wanted to do it now.
I stopped, listening to nothing but the sound of autumn, feeling the presence of Michael weaving through the silence, until finally he spoke.
“You knew him?”

Not awful in some respects, but let’s break it down a little.

First, the language is wrong. Candace tends to use words that are basic and unflowery. I would describe her approach to communication as largely pragmatic… why use three syllables when two would work just as well? But in here we have a lot of more flowery stuff… “shattered psyche”, “countless trees … in silent judgment”, etc.

Second the mood is not quite right for her. Yes, she’s miserable, but this is Candace. Candace rages. Even when she knows she’s wrong, she still fights. Candace in a miserable state is more like a surly velociraptor. This bit is closer to a depressed teenager. This is one of those things that is sort of hard to see in some respects, and winds up being what I would describe as “the feeling you get when reading something and you scowl at it because you feel like it just did something it wasn’t supposed to, but you can’t put your finger on what.”

Oh and the kicked puppy thing… first, Candace would never even think of kicking a puppy. Angry though she is, she is actually genuinely very kind, and puppies have an innocence she would never touch. Plus, she’s never really interacted with puppies, so they’re not really the kind of thing that would be foremost in her mind. PLUS (see the fun we’re having here?), the puppy analogy is spunky and fun and the mood of the section is morose. Even if I could make the puppy thing work better, it still wouldn’t fit the mood of a sarcastic, angry, “fight everything” person who just went through something awful.

Now the rest of this chapter is actually pretty much ok, so I initially skipped over this bit because it was just too grueling and spent a couple hours tuning it. I got it pretty well where it needed to be and then took a deep breath … and came back to fix the opening. (It’s like taking a test- answer the easier questions first, then come back to the tough stuff.)

And so I spent about an hour and a half working on THREE FREAKING PARAGRAPHS… and came up with this…

I walked.
I didn’t know for how long, or exactly how far, but I was dimly aware of the repeated passage of the sun and the moon. Some time back, early on in my aimless plod, I had stepped into a forest of mostly-barren oaks and elms. They stood in silent judgment as I trod upon who knows how many thousands of their brightly-colored dead. Little did they know that their looming presence was as much boon as blight, since it also shielded me from the sun, protecting me from its warmth. But now something had changed, and I winced in surprise when a burst of sunlight hit me square in the face. I slowed, looking around, my hand coming up to block the blinding attack. The trees were thinning, pulling away from me as if they had realized that their shadow wasn’t the only shroud surrounding me, and that the other was far darker.
That’s really all I was at that point. Nothingness. Darkness. A shadow. Little more than a dim after-image of whoever and whatever I had fabricated as “my self” through my entire stupid life. I’d been ripped open and hollowed out, every bit of me that was once Candace Roberts thrown to the ground, as if someone had scraped out the inside of a pumpkin with a fork, leaving behind nothing but a shredded husk. All of that inflated bullshit that was once the superstructure that kept my hardened shell in place was now lying in the corner of some cold back-alley, next to the body of a man I had once hoped to care about. A man who I dreamed might be the key to the lock that would expose the greatest and most unattainable treasure of my life. Normalcy.

Well… better in some ways… but not quite.

I think that I fixed the emotional logic and flow of the thing, but I still had huge problems with the language. In fact, I’d say the language got even worse. “boon” and “blight” being the ridiculously obvious examples, but there’s still also lots of the melancholy poet in there… shrouds surrounding her, dim after-images, etc. Also the personification of the trees, I now realize, is kinda’ pushing the envelope just a little. Candace does do this but it’s just so moody, whereas usually the observations are sharper. And because the whole thing is so steeped in moodiness, it just becomes way too much.

There’s also some problems with the logical transition from one paragraph to the next, because at the end of the first paragraph, our moody trees are pulling away from a shroud surrounding her, and in the next paragraph, she talks about her being the shadow. That’s not necessarily a problem, but the transition in imagery requires a bridge, and it’s possible that this is a bridge too far.

We also see some darlings in here that may need to die. I really love the imagery of her walking on the dead offspring of the trees and them watching her silently and being judgey. I also love the pumpkin hollowed out with a fork bit. It’s just great.

And the other problem here is her whole thing about that hollowed out bit lying in a heap next to the man she just killed, the tie into her desire for normalcy, etc. It’s actually okay, but it’s just really heavy-handed. Candace is not super introspective and far from a calm and chill human being, and her self-analysis here is just a little too surgical and on the nose.

Ok, so let’s spend another hour on it the next day. (okay, maybe two…)

I walked.
I didn’t know for how long, or exactly how far, but I was dimly aware of the repeated passage of the sun and the moon. At some point in my numb meandering, I had wandered into a forest of mostly-barren trees. They pressed in, towering over me, shrouding me in their accusing shadows as I tread upon who knows how many thousands of their brightly-colored dead. But the joke was on the them. They were doing me a favor. This was what I wanted. This was what I deserved.
But then a stream of sunlight hit me square in the kisser, like someone had slapped a hot towel over my face. I gasped, staggered, slowed, my hand coming up too late to deflect the blow. I allowed my eyes focus for just long enough to work out why my bubble of misery was being poked with a stick, and my brain quickly assembled the clues. The trees were different here- thinning, pulling away from me as if they had realized that theirs wasn’t the only shadow oppressing me, and that the other was far greater, and far darker.
A few moments later and I had stepped into a small clearing, and in the trees behind me, off to my right, I heard the snap of a twig. The noise was intentional, of course. He would never have made the sound- any sound- by accident. Michael had started following me shortly after I had stormed out of Paul’s office, and, as far as I knew, had been within forty feet of me ever since. I had tried to pretend like I hadn’t noticed him, but my hyper-aware mind had buddied up with my angelic senses, and the two of them were hurling observations at me like a pitching machine gone rogue.

So this is not perfect, but I think it’s getting closer.

In many areas here, I am employing a little bit of a trick, which is pulling in broader exposition into single adjectives and verbs that get most of the idea across before you realize it was a more flowery word.  For example, rather than [para] “trees standing in silent judgment”, Candace is now [para] “shrouded in their accusing shadows”.  Mind you, “shrouded” is still really pushing it, but one of the interesting things about voice is that if you have enough of it in there, it’ll distract the reader from you slipping in an occasional word or phrase that pushes it a bit. It can’t outright break it, but it can certainly push it. And that’s what I’m doing when I slip into “The joke is on them. This is what I wanted. This is what I deserved.” That’s very on-point for a moody Candace… you get the pain, but before the pain, you get a touch of defiance.

And there’s more of her voice here… “square in the kisser” (she tends to use dated phrases because she watches a lot of old re-runs), “bubble of misery being poked with a stick”, “hurling observations at me like a pitching machine gone rogue”.  That’s all good stuff. The bit about the pitching machine gone rogue is also good. It’s quick and sharp and builds an weird image in your head before you are ready to take it in. That’s Candace, through and through. If I can ever get the “Wait. What? Oh!” reaction from a reader, I’ve done my job.

You will notice, however, that I stripped out the entire section about her being hollowed out and all that stuff. It was interesting, but it was just too much of a moody drag and I feel like we’ve already made the point that she’s numb, shadowed in gloom, etc. So I just cut it entirely. And, big shock, cutting made it stronger. That did leave a small gap in the explanation of what was happening, though so I had to add in “A few moments later and I had stepped into a small clearing…” to give us a runway to Michael appearing on the scene.

The connecting tissue, however, is still a bit too much “Chris is describing this in writerly language, so my next pass will be trying to pare that down, strip out me and replace it with more of the same information in the quick and biting manner that Candace delivers it.

So I’ll likely come back to it again (and I’ll add an update to this when I do), but for now… I must feed on something other than the thick soupy misery of my unending failure.

Keep at it!

[time passes and I wind up sitting here mulling over this more instead of getting food]

Ok, so I think I have it closer, and have pulled in some elements of Candace that had been lacking before.

I walked.
I didn’t know for how long, or exactly how far, but I was dimly aware of the repeated passing of the sun and the moon. At some point in my numb slog over hill and dale, I had wandered into a thick forest of mostly-barren trees. They pressed in around me, towering over me, drowning me in their accusing shadows as I stomped on who knows how many thousands of their brightly-colored dead. But the joke was on the them. The fuckers were doing me a favor. This was what I wanted. What I deserved.
But then a stream of sunlight hit me like a hot towel across the face. I gasped, slowed, my hand coming up too late to fend off the attack. I let my eyes focus for just long enough to work out why my misery bubble was being poked with a stick. My brain, scoffing at the ease of the puzzle I had tossed at it, quick assembled the obvious clues. The trees were thinning here, pulling away as if they had realized that theirs wasn’t the only shadow, and that the other was far darker.
A few moments later and I had stepped into a small clearing, and, in the trees behind me and off to my right I heard the sharp snap of a twig underfoot. The noise was intentional, of course. He would never have made the sound- any sound- by accident. Michael had started following me shortly after I had stormed out of Paul’s office, and, as far as I knew, had been within forty feet of me ever since. I had tried to pretend like I hadn’t noticed him, but my hyper-aware mind had buddied up with my angelic senses, and the two of them had been filling their idle time by hurling observations at me like a pitching machine gone rogue.

Lots of little nuances have changed…

• “At some point in my numb meandering, I had wandered…” is now “At some point in my numb slog over hill and dale, I had wandered…” The “meandering” has been replaced with slog, saving us three syllables. Perfect. Also the “over hill and over dale” thing is very much in line with the way she thinks. Little random references to television, songs, and media. And usually very dated and just a bit obscure… but not so obscure that the reader can’t roll with it if they don’t get the reference. (not easy to do!)  This is a reference to a song “The Caissons Go Rolling Along”. 
• “They pressed in, towering over me, shrouding me in their accusing shadows as I tread upon who …” has now turned into “They pressed in around me, towering over me, drowning me in their accusing shadows as I stomped on who…” I got rid of the towering bit because I felt it wasn’t adding a lot. They’re trees. They’re tall. We get it. The “shrouding” thing is a lovely image, but it’s way too bookish for Candace, but “drowning” is great… it brings in water, which is something I use a lot, it’s  a suffocating image, which has a good lonely and unpleasant feeling, and it winds up being more oppressive than concealing, as a shroud is often somethin one hides in.
• I also tossed in a “fuckers”. Candace swears a lot and her rough language is part of what she uses as both weapon and shield against the world. There’s far less of it in this chapter because she’s sort of collapsing a bit, but it gives that opening point more of a defiant edge. And an obviously ineffectual one as well, so … perfect.
• “But then a stream of sunlight hit me square in the kisser, like someone had slapped a hot towel over my face.” has now become “But then a stream of sunlight hit me like a hot towel across the face.” This is mostly just tighter. It’s saying the exact same thing with fewer words. I also try very hard to avoid using the “like” and “as” things, and I was tempted to do something like “A stream of sunlight hit me- a hot towel across the face.” I think either works well, so I left it as is.
• “block the attack” is now “fend off the attack”… just more like her in ways probably only I can understand. The former is more “D&D” and more mechanically descriptive, the latter is more emotional, almost flailing.
• “bubble of misery” is now “misery bubble”. One less word, one less syllable. Better.
• Here’s where I break one of my rules, but for a reason. “and my brain quickly assembled the clues.” has become much longer… “My brain, scoffing at the ease of the puzzle I had tossed at it, quick assembled the obvious clues.” Candace’s brain is very important in this story and it has a personality all its own… and this is an opportunity to show that even though Candace is being a poop, that her brain is basically on ready-5, and not only that… but is like “really? you didn’t see this? moron!”, which highlights how disconnected Candace is at the moment, because usually she is receiving and processing the information from her brain very actively.  So I spent some syllables, but I got a lot out of it, versus many of the ones I shed, which granted us nothing.
• I added “sharp” and “underfoot” to this line “my right I heard the sharp snap of a twig underfoot.“. Sharp was a nice adjective add-on for the imagery, particularly since a lot in here is cold and wet, so this is intrusive. “Underfoot” is a nice nuance because it tells us that 1> some animal or person broke the twig, and 2> may raise in the reader’s mind how Candace would know it was underfoot, but Candace is like this… her perceptions of the world around her were effectively supernatural, even before she became supernatural. Subtle clues. Big impact.
• I added “filling their idle time” to the line about her senses and her mind, because I was concerned that the way I had it before implied that they were totally off-hook during this time, when it was evident that they were not (because Candace queried her brain on what had changed). So the point I’m making here is that her brain is going so fast that it has time to just be throwing baseballs of observation around and still pull in to give Candace some obvious information when asked.

And now I think this is relatively close to on-point. But you can see all the freaking nonsense it takes to drive these little nuances into place and make sure that the opening paragraphs are doing as much as they need to do, and as much as they CAN do, while still keeping steady with the voice of the character, the emotion of the situation, etc.

As my friend and I often lament… writing is hard, why the hell do we keep doing it?

But, as I say, keep at it.