Learning to write a strong opening begins with giving readers a reason to keep reading.
That principle applies to almost everything we write. A novelist has to make readers curious about a character, situation, or problem. A nonfiction writer has to establish what the subject is and why it matters. A freelance writer preparing an article, proposal, sales page, report, or email has to help the reader understand quickly why the words that follow deserve attention.
Learning how to write a strong opening begins with knowing what kind of promise you are making to the reader. The opening should establish direction, create interest, and prepare the reader for what follows without trying to accomplish the entire job in the first paragraph.
After more than six decades as a professional writer, I have learned that openings usually improve when writers stop trying to impress the reader and instead focus on engaging them.
Before writing the opening, decide what the piece itself is supposed to accomplish.
This follows the same principle I use throughout the POWER writing process: Prewrite, Outline, Write, Edit, Review. If you have not decided what the piece is about and where it is going, the opening will probably wander too.
For nonfiction, ask what readers should know, believe, understand, or do when they finish. For fiction, ask what experience you want readers to enter and what central question, tension, or situation should begin pulling them forward.
Suppose you are writing an article about reducing household expenses. The opening does not need to explain every way to save money. It needs to establish the problem and persuade readers that the article will offer useful answers.
A novel opening works differently, but the principle is similar. You may not reveal the main plot immediately, but the reader should sense that something worth following has begun.
Many weak openings begin too early.
A nonfiction writer may spend several paragraphs explaining the history of a subject before reaching the information the reader came to find. A novelist may describe a character waking up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, and driving to work before anything important happens.
Ask yourself where the interesting part actually begins. If the article concerns preparing for retirement, perhaps begin with the decision the reader needs to make rather than with a history of pensions. If your mystery begins when a body is discovered, you may not need three chapters describing the detective’s ordinary week beforehand.
This does not mean every story must begin with an explosion or every article with a startling claim. It means entering the subject near the point where something starts to matter.
A strong nonfiction opening usually tells readers what they will gain by continuing.
That promise may be direct:
If you know what your freelance services are worth, you can price them with more confidence and avoid working for less than the job deserves.
Or it may establish a recognizable problem:
Many beginning freelancers spend more time worrying about what to charge than they spend finding clients.
Both versions signal what the article will address. Your opening should not promise more than the piece delivers. “This one technique will make anyone a successful novelist” may attract attention, but it destroys credibility if the article cannot support the claim.
A useful opening creates an honest expectation and then fulfills it.
Fiction often works by creating questions in the reader’s mind.
Who is this person? What happened? Why is she afraid? What does he want? Why did that stranger arrive? What will happen if the character fails?
You do not need to state those questions explicitly. The situation should create them.
For example:
When Ellen opened the newspaper office Monday morning, someone had already left a photograph of her dead husband on her desk.
The sentence creates several immediate questions. Who left the photograph? Why? Why now? What does it mean to Ellen?
A quieter novel might begin with an emotional rather than physical disturbance. A son who has avoided his father for twenty years may receive a message asking him to come home. Nothing explodes, but something has changed.
A strong fictional opening gives the reader a reason to wonder what happens next.
Writers often try to introduce a fictional character by explaining the character. Usually, showing the person doing something is stronger.
Instead of beginning with several paragraphs describing how stubborn, independent, and suspicious your protagonist is, put the character in a situation where those qualities become visible.
A woman refuses help carrying an impossibly heavy suitcase. A detective ignores instructions from a superior. A businessman checks the restaurant bill three times before leaving a tip. Actions reveal character while also moving the story forward.
This connects directly with planning your novel. If you already know what your protagonist wants, fears, hides, and needs, the opening can begin demonstrating those qualities instead of summarizing them.
Readers learn characters gradually. Give them enough to become interested, then let later scenes deepen what they know.
One useful way to learn to write a strong opening is to study where successful pieces begin, not just how their first sentences are worded.
Setting matters, especially in fiction, memoir, travel writing, history, and narrative nonfiction, but description should serve the opening, not delay it.
Instead of pausing to describe every feature of a room, select details that affect the reader’s understanding.
A courthouse hallway smelling of wet wool and floor wax creates a different impression from one filled with television cameras and shouting reporters. A small-town café where everyone stops talking when the protagonist enters tells us something about both the place and the character.
Choose a few specific details that establish mood, location, or conflict.
The same principle applies to nonfiction. If a place is important, show why. Do not include description merely because you gathered it during research.
Specificity creates interest.
Compare:
The company faced serious financial problems.
with:
By March, the company had enough cash to meet only two more payrolls.
The second sentence gives the reader something concrete.
Fiction benefits from the same technique. “The house was old” tells us very little. A porch sagging toward the road, a roof patched with mismatched shingles, or a front door that no longer closes properly creates an image.
Specific details also build credibility in nonfiction. They show readers exactly what the writer means rather than forcing them to interpret vague language.
As I emphasize in writing clearly, concrete words usually communicate more effectively than broad abstractions.
Writers sometimes need a paragraph or two to discover what they really want to say. That is perfectly normal during drafting.
The mistake is assuming those paragraphs belong in the finished piece.
Phrases such as “Since the beginning of time,” “In today’s rapidly changing world,” and “It is important to note that” often signal that the writer has not yet reached the subject.
During editing, examine the first few paragraphs and ask whether the piece would improve if you deleted one of them.
Often it will. This is one reason writing and editing should remain separate jobs. During the draft, give yourself permission to find your way into the subject. During editing, remove the footprints.
Knowing how to write a strong opening also means knowing when to cut material that delays the real beginning.
A novel does not need the protagonist’s complete childhood history on page one. A nonfiction article does not need every qualification, exception, definition, and supporting statistic in the opening.
Give readers what they need now. Save the rest for when it becomes useful.
This is especially important with backstory. In fiction, readers usually need to understand the immediate situation before they need to know everything that happened ten years earlier. In nonfiction, readers usually need the central idea before receiving detailed evidence.
Information becomes easier to absorb when it arrives when readers need it.
An opening makes a promise not only about subject but also about tone.
A humorous opening prepares readers for humor. A tense opening suggests suspense. A conversational introduction signals an accessible article. A formal opening creates a different expectation.
Do not open a serious article with a joke merely because someone told you every article needs a hook. Do not begin a quiet character novel with artificial danger that disappears after page two.
The opening should represent the work that follows.
Readers do not object to being surprised. They do object to being misled.
You do not always have to perfect the opening first. In fact, trying to do so can slow you down.
As I discuss in How to Write Faster, drafting and editing are different tasks. Write enough of the piece to discover what it really wants to become. Then return to the opening with better information.
Nonfiction writers often discover their strongest introduction after finishing the article. Novelists sometimes recognize the real starting point only after several chapters have been drafted.
There is no prize for writing the first paragraph first. The objective is to end with the right opening.
Once the draft is complete, read the first page on its own.
Ask what a reader knows after those opening paragraphs. Is the subject clear? Is there a reason to continue? Have you introduced unnecessary information? Is anything confusing? Does the opening sound like the rest of the work?
For fiction, ask whether the reader has encountered a character, situation, voice, conflict, or question worth following.
For nonfiction, ask whether readers understand what the piece offers and why it matters to them. Then read the opening aloud. Awkward language often becomes obvious when you hear it.
Finally, consider cutting the first paragraph. You may put it back. But the exercise forces you to decide whether it really earns its place.
Before you consider the opening finished, ask:
Does it begin close to the point where something matters?
Does the reader understand the general direction of the piece?
Does it give the reader a reason to keep going?
Is the promise appropriate for what follows?
Have I used specific, not vague, language?
For fiction, have I created a useful question or tension?
For nonfiction, have I established the reader’s likely benefit?
Have I avoided unnecessary backstory or explanation?
Does the tone match the rest of the piece?
Could I remove the first paragraph and make the opening stronger?
A strong opening does not guarantee a strong article, story, or book. The rest of the work still has to fulfill the promise made at the beginning. But without an effective opening, readers may never discover how good the rest is. Give them a clear direction, something worth knowing or wondering about, and a reason to read the next paragraph. That is the real job of an opening.
Want more practical help with writing? Download my free ebook, Working Writer Tips: How to Write Anything Better, Faster, Easier, and receive my weekly Advanced Writing Tips.
–Dan Ramsey, Working Writer