I can remember few openings to books. Endings, the good ones, stick with me forever.
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I can remember few openings to books. Endings, the good ones, stick with me forever.
When it comes to movie scripts as an example I always read the same kind of advice "you have to grab the audience's attention in the first few minutes", as if the movie is going to tank if you don't.
Do you feel it's a must to create a memorable opening sequence?
Same here, Brian.If I come across a random book that I'm considering buying, my ultimate decision is 90% based on the Amazon sample portion.
If the writer doesn't capture my attention quickly, I'm off to the next book.
There are exceptions to the above:
1. The book is from an author that I read.
2. The book comes highly recommended to me.
If I come across a random book that I'm considering buying, my ultimate decision is 90% based on the Amazon sample portion. If the writer doesn't capture my attention quickly, I'm off to the next book.
There are exceptions to the above:
1. The book is from an author that I read.
2. The book comes highly recommended to me.
So your approach should be the standard?
Having to immediately capture someone's attention speaks of them possibly having a short attention span to begin with, hence writing that requires a mental investment will bore them if it doesn't have the literary equivalent of car crashes and giant explosions.
So your approach should be the standard?
Having to immediately capture someone's attention speaks of them possibly having a short attention span to begin with, hence writing that requires a mental investment will bore them if it doesn't have the literary equivalent of car crashes and giant explosions.
Um, but the main point of a good book is that it captures your interest.....So, a book that doesn't snag you quickly is likely not very interesting. A good author can hook you right off the bat, and the hook doesn't even have to be the "literary equivalent of car crashes and giant explosions". Hooks can be subtle, like small worldbuilding snippets that rouse your curiosity.
So...shouldn't the tone of the opening sort of set the reader's expectations for the story? If a book does that (as I hope mine does, not by showing an explosion, but a contemplative scene), and Brian puts it down, let's say, wouldn't that simply enough just mean he doesn't like that sort of opening, not that it's "wrong?"
Some people have called my opening interesting and others have said they didn't feel connected. I guess that's why I began this thread--to understand whether it's good or crap, and how to determine which it is? Maybe it's simply BOTH.
1 Vendetta (Revenge)
Hay Moon 18
Before the summer’s afternoon heat gave way to dusk’s mildness, an old woman slipped quietly into a hidden corridor, intent on parleying with her son’s father, a man she hadn’t seen since he’d exiled her. There was a time when visiting her old friend–the religious leader of the republic–didn’t evoke such enmity. In those days, she didn’t give the private mercenary security a second thought, either.
The cathedral’s teal-caped Edrian Guards would make quick work of an intruder if they spied her sneaking through the halls. Even if they didn’t know her face, they’d know her name–or the one her old friend, Lazaro Marcello, bestowed upon her.
Merciless Doll–originally, he’d meant it as a term of endearment–a dichotomy he found amusing.
In a republic run by wealthy families, names held power. That name held power for another reason. After six years in hiding, returning to Kanassa had been a mistake. She realized it the first time she heard the name again–even before Marcello killed their son.
Breath came in shallow puffs and the tingling edge of fear sapped strength from her already shaking legs and hands. She waited in the darkness, taking a moment to compose herself. At first, she knew what she wanted to say, but each step brought with it a little more rawness to her wound, a little more anger and disgust.
One, two, three… the numbers ticked by in her head. It was Lazaro Marcello who taught her to count when nervous. “Patience,” he always said, “is Rada’s greatest virtue. If you want the gods to guide you, give them a chance to intervene.”
He’d been speaking of stealth–knowing when to move and when to keep to the shadows–but what a versatile lesson it was. A lesson she was happy to show she’d learned, considering the dagger at her hip might have to suffice for the words she wasn’t sure she could say.
Pulling the false painting inward, she crawled through the frame, into the private office. Bright wainscoting surfaced the walls and thick draperies cascaded from rods to pool on the tiled floor in graceful puddles.
Portraits of the vain cleric bedecked the office and one might infer from the very specific style he admired, that Lazaro Marcello deified himself. Or, he and The Holy Light, Rada, shared very similar facial characteristics. He sat at his desk, partly obscured by a stack of books.
Deep wrinkles lined a plain face bearing a prominent nose. Whether it had been broken in his youth or the gods bestowed the unsightly feature for a reason, it only added to the cleric’s sinister appearance. Irregular, misshapen, and askew, that nose epitomized the old man.
An ill-boding scowl converted his passive expression when he saw her approaching. “Have you no good sense left, Doll?”
“You know me, Lazaro,” she said. “I’ve the good sense to keep to myself when I’ve been told to **** off and never return.”
“So it’s something other than good sense that brings you to my office.”
Yvette slipped quietly into a hidden corridor. Pulling the false painting inward, she crawled through the frame, into the private office. Bright wainscoting surfaced the walls and thick draperies cascaded from rods to pool on the tiled floor in graceful puddles.
Lazaro sat at his desk, partly obscured by a stack of books. Deep wrinkles lined a plain face bearing a prominent nose. Whether it had been broken in his youth or the gods bestowed the unsightly feature for a reason, it only added to the cleric’s sinister appearance. Irregular, misshapen, and askew, that nose epitomized the old man.
An ill-boding scowl converted his passive expression when he saw her approaching. “Have you no good sense left, Doll?”
“You know me, Lazaro,” she said. “I’ve the good sense to keep to myself when I’ve been told to **** off and never return.”
“So it’s something other than god sense that brings you to my office.”