I've rewritten the opening scene of this particular story so many times I've lost track. I started with a basic setup and rewrote that first version over and over. Changed the main character's age. Changed the POV of the entire story. Then decided to drastically chop the opening scene after lots of feedback pointing to the story starting too soon.
Of course I swung too far the other direction. At least I only went through one really horrible version of that intro. Unfortunately, that was the intro I used to enter a contest. In some ways it worked out anyway, though, because that contest let me know that I had really screwed up the beginning quickly so I didn't waste as much time on it.
On to the third try, and I think I've struck the balance I need. I've resigned myself to the fact that this particular story doesn't lend itself to starting off with a bang; it's advice I've heard before, but I hadn't consciously realized that I was trying so hard to start with a bang. For Emily's story to work, the reader has to get inside her head a little more before her world starts to fall apart around her. It's more subtle. Starting with a huge action scene is great for some stories, but sometimes it's okay to take a step back. If the reader is investing in a character more than a series of dramatic events, then the reader has to get to know that character and start to care about her/him first. So that's where my story starts now, and I'm loving it.
Hopefully other people will too. Here's the first page of Emily's story:
I knocked on the
door to Room 113, but no one answered. Just to make sure, I rapped harder. Still
nothing.
I wiped my
clammy hands on my jeans before grabbing the bronze doorknob, half-hoping it
would be locked.
No such luck. It
gave easily, and the door swung inward without a sound.
“Ms. Briggs? You
asked me to meet you after school…” My voice trailed off as I saw that the classroom
was empty.
Well, except for
the antiquated beast sitting on top of my desk. Curious, I stepped inside.
A note stuck out
of the machine, addressed to me in sweeping blue cursive.
“Emily,
I’ve decided what to do about your uncharacteristically irresponsible behavior
on Monday. You have one chance to make up your final exam. You have until the
15th to write a complete novella of at least 30,000 words, or you
will fail the final and the class. As part of your punishment, you must use
this typewriter instead of your computer to write the story. I hope you will
find the creative experience illuminating, perhaps even enjoyable.”
I eyed the metal
monstrosity. A typewriter? Writing a novella in two weeks was going to be hard
enough, but using a typewriter? Ms.
Briggs must have been more upset with me than she’d let on.
My muscles
groaned as I scooped up the bulky machine. Once I found my balance I made my
way to the bus stop, lurching through the halls like something out of an old horror
flick.
