Good morning friends and writers!
I'm back from my trip to Mass. to deliver my dear daughter, Melanie, to Cambridge for her masters program in Music Therapy. She's already come and gone to a camp in New Hampshire for her orientation class, and is back in town getting everything situated for the coming school year.
Her place is cute - just off Mt. Auburn by the river and walking trails. Nice hardwood floors, lots of light. Small, but it's perfect for her. It's a safe, quiet neighborhood, and is only about a 5 minute walk from Harvard Square.
We had a rough day Friday. Oh, the drive out was easy, a nice straight shot from Rochester, about 412 miles. It was when we got to the city that things fell apart. I probably can chalk it up to not having driven much in Cambridge as a youth. It's been 27 years and I almost always took Mass. Ave from the southeast expressway, then parked and walked to the love-ins on Cambridge Commons. I'll always remember the bands that played there for free in the good old days - Alice Cooper, Chicago, and great local bands like Eden's Children. Anyway, we circled around for over an hour trying to locate and then access her street. Part of the problem was that street signs were missing, we didn't have a good Cambridge map in the beginning, and Mapquest's directions were less than ideal. We were challenged by one-way streets and the inability to get off Memorial Drive or take left turns when needed. You get the picture. My ancient knowledge of the city used to be based around my college (NU), and even when I had a car, I'd hop on the T to get downtown.
So, although I recognized some street names and of course the Harvard Square area, I was just as lost as any wide-eyed country boy in the big bad city. It took us about an 
hour and a half to find her place after arriving in town and we missed catching her roommate (she had to go to work), but she hid the key for us so we were able to get inside. Where there was a nice bathroom. Thank God.
We unloaded the van and fortunately there was a "prohibited" parking space we were allowed to occupy with a special permit that her roomate left out for us. We set up her bed and unpacked almost everything, but discovered there was no light in Melanie's room. Plus Toby's (her dog) retractable leash broke the minute we arrived. And she needed food - there wasn't much in the fridge!
So, with no one to guide us and a horrible lack of knowledge the area, I stopped folks on the street to ask about a local food market or a Walmart.
The first fellow I asked had just arrived from Rochester, NY. Can you believe it?
His daughter lives a few houses down from Melanie. Well, we found the Star Market (0.8 miles away) and then went on the adventure to find (in the dark and rain) Target at a nearby mall. We finally found it after a gazillion wrong turns and after stopping for the third time at a gas station. Ladies - don't believe the rumor that all men won't stop for directions. I couldn't WAIT to find someone to ask!
We grabbed a bite to eat, then went back to her place, which we couldn't approach the same way as before because of the no-left-turns and one-way streets, but at that point we had a street map and we found a "back way." By the way, you can't buy a street map of Cambridge in Rochester, NY, so we were relying on Mapquest maps to get us around initially. Big mistake!
We unloaded all the stuff we bought - and then I kissed my dear daughter goodbye and headed down around 9 o'clock to my mom's in Lakeville in the WORST thunder/rainstorm I've ever experienced. I couldn't see anything - and that was on top of not being familiar with the exits/new names/highways etc. Things are so different since 1981. After gripping the wheel so tightly I could barely feel my fingers, I made it to Lakeville, where I went through a HUGE lake in the middle of the road (couldn't see it, but how appropriate, driving through a lake in Lakeville!), but the engine didn't stall - and although I could barely see the road, I finally found her place.
I collapsed when I got there at 10:30. But, we had a wonderful four days with family after that - walks, gardens, cooking together, laughs, memories - a great time. I also got to work on FIRESONG: AN UNHOLY GRAVE, one of the my older books that will be coming out after MAZURKA is released this fall. More about that later.
Okay, so now that I've caught you up on the news, let's talk about writing. The following is a piece I wrote for you about the "hook," or opening page from your novel. Let's work on these like we did the synopses, shall we? And don't forget, you can still submit synopses to that article for us to help you with.
The Hook
How many times have you picked up a novel in the bookstore, read an intriguing blurb on the back cover, and gone to that final step before purchasing - the quick read of page one?
That's how I always do it, whether it's for a review request or if I'm buying for pleasure reading. If the first page has any awkward phrases, flat dialogue, or bores me silly, I put it back on the shelf. Why would I want to do that to myself? Literary torture. Not exactly something we should aim for, right?
Now, I'm not saying the words have to be beautifully crafted sentences that sing so loud you have to cover your ears. There's a place for that, like in Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas series (they are inserted like little gems throughout his works.) Just plain old good writing is fine with me. And if I "notice" the writing, that's usually the first clue that it might not be a good book. Sometimes folks try a bit too hard, and when they insert extra fancy words that don't need to be there, my brain stumbles a little. What I really want is simple. I need to be entertained with a good story, loveable characters, and seamless flow. I'm sure you know what I mean.
As I was working on FIRESONG during my vacation, I kept beating myself up.
"This stinks," was frequently uttered in the wee hours of the morning.
I wrote this book seven years ago and just recently realized how long it had been. No wonder it stunk. Well, maybe it didn't outright reek, but there were sections that were mildly odiferous.
Stepping out of your usual surroundings is a good thing. It brings a new perspective. When I read the same opening passage in chapter one that I'd tweaked and tweaked a thousand times, I suddenly realized it wasn't as good a "hook" as I wanted. At least I think so. Maybe you can help me decide.
I'm going to share this with you, but be kind, okay? (grin).
FIRESONG, one of the many "original" opening passages:
Chapter One
Reverend Nahum Hardina paused for breath and frowned at the ceiling. Hail clattered overhead in a devilish attempt to disrupt Sunday services in the East Goodland Methodist Church, one of the oldest establishments in upstate NY. He shrugged and smiled, smoothing his wispy gray hair. After only three minutes of preaching it was already tousled, signifying a powerful sermon.
I glanced up, wondering if the roof shingles would hold. Pine branches slapped hard against stained glass and the wind howled like a mournful coyote.
My grandson squirmed beside me. I shot him a warning glance. He blew his forelock in boredom, then pushed his nose into a pig snout, snorting so loud that everyone turned to stare.
"Johnny!" I said. "Shush."
He squealed and snorted again. I cringed and smiled an apology to our neighbors, but before I could catch him, he flung his arms over the pew and gawked at Dorothy Mason. A gentle sigh escaped her lips. This was the third time Johnny had turned to stare at her cornflower blue hair.
Pitching one leg over the backrest, he nearly toppled onto Dorothy. Sweating now, I locked my arms around him and dragged him back.
I stared intently into his mischievous eyes. "Johnny. Sit!" My words hissed over the congregation, bounced off the big crucifix in front, and returned with a sacrilegious sizzle.
He plopped onto the seat with shoulders slumped and eyes down.
Reverend Hardina shot me a glance of empathy, raising his voice over the wail of the wind.
"And now, let us turn to the quiet temple deep in our hearts. Prepare to worship the Lord from this region of inner peace. May the radiance of the Lord flow into your hearts and minds as our acolyte comes forward to light the candles."
***
Okay, that's the beginning of chapter one - last week's version. A tornado is about to hit, but I didn't want to make this article too long.
After being at my mother's to rest and relax a bit, this next version is what I came up with. Is it better? Am I fooling myself? My brain is never satisfied, so forgive my constant pursuit of perfection - a quest that is never fulfilled.
Chapter One
If I'd known what surprises Mother Nature had in store for us that summer, I might have been more prepared. As it was, the Boy Scouts would have turned their heads in shame. I was ambushed by the same force of nature that soothed me with her spicy-scented Asiatic lilies, the soft hoot of the mourning dove, and the tangy sweetness of Shiro plums. Who would expect such violence from Mother Nature, especially in upstate New York, during Sunday morning church services?
Nevertheless, pine branches tapped a tango against the antique stained glass windows of our church, as rhythmic as a frenzied woman beating a rug. I glanced up from my hymnal, wondering if the old glass would hold under the assault. The storm had kicked up in the last few minutes, and the unsuspecting farmers in the parish were hopeful-praying for rain after an uncommonly dry spring. At the end of June, the prospects for good cash crops were drying up as fast as the parched and shriveled corn withering in the rolling fields of the Genesee Valley.
Dirt devils skittered across the East Goodland Methodist Church parking lot, swirling sand and gravel in mini-cyclones of dirt and debris. The wind howled like a mournful coyote, hurling pellets of hail against the old wooden clapboards.
Behind the pulpit, Reverend Nahum Hardina paused for breath and frowned at the ceiling, as if the hail clattered in a devilish attempt to disrupt his service. He shrugged and smiled, smoothing his wispy gray hair. After only three minutes of preaching it was already tousled, a sure sign of the compelling sermon to come.
My three-year-old grandson squirmed beside me. I shot him a warning glance. He blew his forelock in boredom, then pushed his nose into a pig snout, snorting so loud that everyone turned to stare.
"Johnny!" I said. "Shush."
He squealed and snorted again. I cringed and smiled an apology to our neighbors, but before I could catch him, he flung his arms over the pew and gawked at Dorothy Mason. A gentle sigh escaped her lips. This was the third time Johnny had turned to stare at her cornflower blue hair.
When I turned my head for a second, my grandson pitched one leg over the backrest and nearly toppled onto Dorothy. Sweating now, I stood and locked my arms around him to drag him back to his seat.
His brown eyes glinted with hints of mischievous deeds to come. I lowered my head to his level and stared intently at him.
"Johnny. Sit!" My words hissed over the congregation, bounced off the big crucifix in front, and returned with a sacrilegious sizzle.
He plopped onto the pew with shoulders slumped and eyes down.
Reverend Hardina shot me a glance of empathy, raising his voice over the wail of the wind.
"And now, let us turn to the quiet temple deep in our hearts. Prepare to worship the Lord from this region of inner peace. May the radiance of the Lord flow into your hearts and minds as our acolyte comes forward to light the candles."
Okay - that's it. Let me know what you think, and if you have a novel or short story you'd like us to take a look at - copy and paste the first page into the comment section, below. We can offer (kindly) and unbiased opinions that might help add zing to it, or perhaps inspire you to write an even better hook.
***
If you'd like to read any of Aaron's books, step over to his website(s) at:
http://www.legardemysteries.com/
http://www.mooremysteries.com/
http://www.murderby4.blogspot.com/
http://www.aaronlazar.blogspot.com/
***
Angela A's opening:
Being the only son of one of the most powerful Dukes of the realm could be awfully tedious at times.
Brandon stared distractedly into his freshly poured brandy from the sideboard of his father's library.
This had been his third glass in over an hour. He realized he would need all the liquid fortification he could stand in order to continue to listen as his father, the Duke of Wesley, droned on about his duty of producing an heir for about the thousandth time.
While his lordship remained safely ensconced in his throne on the opposite side of the room and doled out his usual demands, Brandon became so bored that his mind drifted to his closest friend Gregory Hughes, the son of the Earl of Rochester who would be at this time waiting patiently for him to play a round of cards at White's.
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Comments: 40
I have spent the better part of an hour this morning skimming through old Writer's Digests and doing a little research on an online writing class from a WD advertisement when I thought..."Hey! I wonder what my gang at Gather is up to and what they'd recommend as far as writing courses!" This is how I came across your article.
Your comparison's are EXACTLY an example of what my friend and I were just talking about! Which was basically "What is more interesting...getting right to business...or "painting" a scene to put the reader in the setting.
Personally, as a reader, I prefer getting right into the story.
Your observations and descriptive abilities are wonderful and important and could easily be dispersed throughout the chapter.
In comparison...I was actually more interested in a reverend named Nahum Hardina pastoring a Methodist Church than the weather!
Consider this...the weather is a living thing and another character in this story...let this character reveal itself as it grows building on its intensity in the same sublte way you introduced the reverand.
Now...Get back to work! ;)
Geri
I went to an 18 inning baseball game a couple years ago with my sister and future brother-in-law who commented at the I end. "I feel like I played in that game." That's what "the hook" does. It puts the reader in the game. It's not just your story anymore. It's theirs too.
WIth regard to that opening hook, I supposed I shouldn't use, "It was a dark and stormy night...."?
London: 1823
Prologue
Being the only son of one of the most powerful Dukes of the realm could be awfully tedious at times Brandon decided as he stared distractedly into his freshly poured brandy from the side board of his father's library.
This had been his third glass in over an hour after realizing he would need all the liquid fortification he could stand in order to be able to continue to listen as his father the Duke of Wesley droned on about his duty of producing an heir for about the thousandth instance in his lifetime.
While his lordship remained safely ensconced in his throne on the opposite side of the room from him and doled out his usual demands, Brandon became so bored that his mind drifted to his closest friend Gregory Hughes the son of the Earl of Rochester who would be at this time waiting patiently for him to play a round of cards at White's.
Gregory with his deep brown hair and silvery grey eyes always sparkling with mirth exuded so much charm that every lady of his acquaintance chased him with the equal fervor that caused them to cling to the hope that the prince regent himself would garner them one ounce of his own favor.
But to the chagrin of his Gregory's long suffering aunt Agatha his friend refused to be caught in any debutante's matrimonial web. In that respect, he and Gregory were of like minds.
"Brandon hullo!.. Brandon are you listening to me?"
Brandon started and slowly lifted his piercing catlike green eyed gaze toward the wooden desk where his father sat. Despite the fact that Johanathon's girth had expanded over the years and he could barely fit in his chair did not distract from his stern over bearing features which could sear a person like being raked over hot coals.
As he stared into the same colored eyes as his, Brandon shivered as Johnathon shook his blond locks abruptly shooting him a glare of dismay.
"I am getting on in years boy. I would like to see a grandchild before I die."
Brandon grimaced as he continued to stand unmoved from his spot. "You are rather young yet father. As you well know I am already the heir to this ramshackle place! Why would you desire yet another one?"
"For the very reason I have presented to you before. That if you should god forbid cock up your toes, then who pray tell will run this estate? I would most certainly not wish it to be your wastrel of a cousin Martin. I would much rather be thrust into the flames of hell itself first."
If he closed his eyes at this very moment he could very well imagine the future with his cousin gambling every last farthing and losing everything they held near and dear. That vision within itself made him shudder visibly in distaste. But envisioning himself leg shackled to some milksop debutante at only four and twenty was truly not to be borne.
"Father as I have informed you before I am much too young to be thrust into your role. You have many good years before you old man." Brandon grinned hoping that now the conversation would be at an end.
Instead, his father enfolded his six foot frame from his chair and his unsmiling countenance warned Brandon that he would not care for his father's next demand.
"Brandon I am most serious about this matter. If I have to I will cut you off." Pausing most dramatically his father stared at him in the most hardened manner.
"I will cut you off, financially."
Brandon's eyes widened in shock his hand gripping his glass until his knuckles turned white. It had been the most preposterous thing he had ever heard in his whole entire life. "You wouldn't dare!"
Mockingly serious, Johnathon's eyes and clasped hands behind his back military style told him everything Brandon needed to know before the older man spoke once more.
"I am daring you to finally give your future the thought it deserves. You will have one year in which I will parade available misses either here at our home or anywhere else that I see fit. And, you my son will choose one to be your bride."
One of Brandon's eyebrows rose slightly in an imitation of his arrogant father. "But what if I do not wish to wed one of these paragons? What if none of them meet with my approval?"
Johnathon snorted laughing rather shortly. "I hope you do not have any romantic notions in your head. They are all the same when you bed them between the sheets."
Brandon could only gawk not believing his father had said those words and he could not say a word as Johnathon continued.
"My terms remain firm. If after one year has passed and not one of the ladies sparks your fancy then I shall do the choosing for you. And if my choice displeases you then I have only one decision that I can make."
Brandon waited, muscles tense his body numb with perpetual shock as he anticipated the final words that would seal his fate.
"You will be cut off! That means no more funds for clubs, horses or even the women you have given generously to over the years.
And furthermore...
I will no longer have a son."
Well, here's the beginning of my novel, the Prologue, for The Duke's Plans go awry.
Thanks for reading, and telling me how I can polish this. I've gotten advice from others and would love to hear your opinion.
The first paragraph is good, but doesn't have the "hook" that the second one does....you can brake it down and insert bits and pieces later on....
As to driving in the Boston area........... Oh, how I remember.....! It took over an hour to finally find the Paul Revere House as I kept driving around and around being sent through one way streets going the wrong way from where I wanted to go and finally finding Hanover going the way I wanted to go!!!!
Driving here is REALLY weird. I drive a lot! Thunderstorms are the pits. This week I've been to Andover, Plymouth and closer haunts.
I agree with the others, dump the the first paragraph of the second version, and start straight with the second paragraph. (minus the word "Nevertheless")
I liked the second version. It didn't seem as wordy somehow. But, still, I found there to be too much description in that version as well. I know you have to get to character development, plot development and the like, but you've already said that Mother Nature is bringing something on. When I as a reader, read something like that, I hate it when authors drag things out. It makes me skip over entire paragraphs until I get to the action again. I frankly find all the descriptions boring.
I love Dickens and Twain, but I do this to their writing as well. I like the action. There is a way to write action with description without losing reader interest. James Patterson comes to mind immediately. I never want to put one of his books down. He always leaves you hanging with a great cliffhanger.
Your daughter is lovely and you have every reason to be very proud.
"Captain Ahab was neither my first husband nor my last."
Ahab's Wife or the Star Gazer by Sena Jeter Naslund
Anyway, trying to catch up now - thanks again for your insightful suggestions. When this one comes out, you can feel you had a part in it!
Brandon stared distractedly into his freshly poured brandy from the sideboard of his father's library.
This had been his third glass in over an hour. He realized he would need all the liquid fortification he could stand in order to continue to listen as his father, the Duke of Wesley, droned on about his duty of producing an heir for about the thousandth time.
While his lordship remained safely ensconced in his throne on the opposite side of the room and doled out his usual demands, Brandon became so bored that his mind drifted to his closest friend Gregory Hughes, the son of the Earl of Rochester who would be at this time waiting patiently for him to play a round of cards at White's.
While I see the simplicity you are striving for, it seems like it's missing a few things.
What I gave you was the whole prologue, and not a paragraph like I was supposed to.
I know what the first sentence is missing. It's missing a word or two.
It might flow better with your advice with one or two tweaks.. Like this...
Being the only son of one of the most powerful Dukes of the realm could be awfully tedious at times. Brandon decided this, while he stared distractedly into the freshly poured tumbler of brandy. The sideboard of his father's library is where he had decided to immerse himself while his father, the Duke of Wesley droned on about the duty of marrying and siring an heir for about the thousandth instance in his lifetime.
This third glass still rested chill against his palm, the liquid, provided the much needed fortification to withstand the tedium, of the sound of his Lordship's droning monotone.
The Duke, remained firmly ensconced in his throne, on the other side of the room, giving Brandon the time to escape into the corners of his mind. He became so bored, that his thoughts drifted to his closest friend, Gregory Hughes, the son of the Earl of Rochester, who would now be waiting patiently for him to play a round of cards at Whites.
Whew.. That really helped! Thanks.
Now, see how this sounds, my work mixed with yours.
Angela - good work! Isn't this fun? Keep it up and let us know how you do with the whole process. ;o)
You need to be clear on who's narrating, whose story it is and the conflict in the first para. So let the minister look at the GF of Johnny, and make the third sentence be the first para of the second opening. And then go on to present the conflict, whatever it is. WE don't know from either of these openings what the book is about.
By the by, Johnny is a much over used name, and conveys a certain lack of intelligence. Not sure that's where you're headed.
Also - Johnny is a special name to honor a very close childhood friend. The boy he honors was quite intelligent, as is my little character. Hopefully this example will change your opinion about the name itself. ;o) Thanks again!
Hope Mel has a great year.
Your revised opening is definitely better than the first. I find, as I get older, that I have LESS patience for a slow opening and a leisurely pace, unless the writing is really something to savor, like dark chocolate.
This is probably why most of my stories are...short. ;)
If you're daughter would like to discuss MT with Melanie, just let me know. She's up on it and the best institutions to consider, etc. And she's here's on Gather and started her own Music Therapy group. Feel free to have your daughter join if you think it's appropriate.;o)
Gather Broadcasting: Have it your way
This takes you in the front door, and this takes you in the back door. If you’ve been, don’t click again.
I'm glad you found her place at last...and the bathroom!
I'm sure you had a wonderful time.
I like the first one, but without the first sentence. You could bring the Reverend in the second. Frankly, both are fine.
Thanks for sharing.