First Lines: How to create zingers

One of my subscribers asked about crafting first and last lines, and today I’m going to discuss first lines. My next blog post will tackle last lines.

Of course, there is no formula for writing memorable first lines, but there are some best practices that can help you get there.

                                    + Hook the writer with an element of mystery.
                                    + Use the appropriate tone or voice.
                                    + Write something shocking or simply surprising.
                                    + Keep in mind genre, and if possible, hint at it.

For me, personally, first lines are a lot harder to write than last ones because as I move through a scene or chapter, a rhythm is established, and the words often naturally wind down and eventually lead to an organic end.

Even so, I’ll end up having to rewrite and revise until it feels just right. But at least I have something to work with.

The beginning of something, on the other hand, is a much colder start. The first line can be anything, and that’s a lot of possibility. It can help to put yourself in your narrator’s shoes—and their mind. What are they thinking or feeling in this very first moment? What is the prevalent emotion, sight, scent, touch that you as the writer want to impart? What does your character want to do, to accomplish, to have?

Working with the narrator or main character isn’t the only way to begin, though. You may want to describe setting—always a good idea—and the importance of where the main character or narrator is. What is the state of the world around them?

1 - The straightforward statement. This is my go-to method of starting a chapter. It’s a short, forthright observation or declaration that sets the scene and/or places you directly in the mind of the chapter’s speaker. It’s often in media res, which gets the ball rolling immediately.

+ Some believed she was born of the earth’s core. This is the first line from my book The Cold Light of Fate. The novel begins with the introduction of Dayana, a new character in the series. It starts with her backstory and segues into her current moment.

+ Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. First line from Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca. It implies the narrator has not been to Manderley in some time but is possibly longing to go back there.

+ Marianne answers the door when Connell rings the bell. First line from Sally Rooney’s Normal People. A simple, easy-to-read description of two people coming together, which is what they try to do throughout the book.

+ “Mrs. Sullivan?” This is the start of a chapter in Shelby Van Pelt’s Remarkably Bright Creatures. It doesn’t get much shorter than this, and it’s a line of dialogue, so right away we wonder who said it.  

+ I am the vampire Lestat. First line from Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat, the sequel to Interview with a Vampire. Lestat is speaking to us, and we are going to listen.

+ The lookout lowered the telescope and rubbed his weary eyes. First line from my book Staked: A Vampire’s Tale. This one tells us that we’re on a boat, and the lookout has been gazing at the surrounding sea.

The short, straightforward statement is good for quickly pulling a reader into the narrative. The idea is to make it easy for readers so they’ll continue reading down the page and into the chapter and hopefully through the entire book.

2 - A sentence that piques curiosity is always welcome at the start of a chapter as well. If the statement conjures a question to the reader’s mind, it will propel the reader forward in search of an answer.

+ In the early days, the wall of thorns had been distressingly obvious. From T. Kingfisher’s Thornhedge. A wall of thorns? Where was it, and why was it there?

+ Later he’d told me he’d been afraid to show me the painting. From Christina Baker Kline’s A Piece of the World. Why would he be afraid to show her a painting? Who or what was pictured in that piece of artwork?

+ That Veronica and I were given keys and told to come early on a frozen Saturday in April to open the school for the Our Town auditions was proof of our dull reliability. From Ann Patchett’s Tom Lake. Who are these teenage girls who are willing to rise so early on the weekend for an audition?

+ All day long there are glaring omens that go undetected. First line from Barbara Gowdy’s The White Bone. Glaring omens hint that something big is going to happen, and I want to know what it is.

3 - Longer sentences can work, too, especially when establishing the voice of a first-person narrator.

+ If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me. First line from J. D Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye. An interesting narrative voice that draws you in with its honesty.

+ I’m still here, like one of those child stars who’s been around forever, one who, five nervous breakdowns into her career, people are astonished to learn is only twenty-eight. First line from Maggie Thrash’s Rainbow Black. The sentence tells us a lot about the narrator in a short space. We’re all familiar with child stars who have difficulty as adults, so it’s something we can relate to.

+ He was the color of blood, not the springing blood of the heart but the blood that stirs under an old wound that never really healed. A chapter starter from Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn. It’s a poignant description of a massive bull sent to destroy the unicorn.
 
When you set out to write the first line of any chapter, get into the same loose, easy mindset you’d use to do any kind of creative writing. Consider the character and setting, where they are mentally and physically, and then step into their shoes, that environment, the forward-moving action.

You may have to write a few lines before you get to the one that will work as the very first, but that’s okay. You can always cut or rearrange. Once you have something down on paper, it’s yours to refine.
 
Next time I’ll discuss last lines.