Secrets of a Successful First Chapter
Why do many opening chapters fail to get an agent/editor's attention? How do you break the habit of throat-clearing?
News from my writing world: My second novel, A Woman’s Guide to Search & Rescue, released in October, was favorably reviewed in Blueline, the literary journal dedicated to the spirit of the Adirondacks. It was also chosen for Literary Aviatrix book club as the feature for August, and became a finalist for both the 18th National Indie Excellent Awards and the Ann Bannon Popular Choice Award. I worked very hard on that book and I’m so glad it’s getting recognition. My newest novel, Last Bets, is out now, and it was a bestseller on Amazon. “Readers will get lost in Moore's beautiful prose, her impeccable plotting, and her outstandingly relatable and multi-layered characters. Beautifully wrought story of two women artists outrunning their demons,” said Booklife/Publisher’s Weekly who made it an Editor’s Pick.
First chapters have a few requirements:
They must engage the reader through language, character, place, or action.
They must provide momentum to launch the story.
They ideally create consequences.
First chapters, because of all this, are often hardest to write. Writers have a tendency to use their early drafts to warm up (I do!) but then neglect to notice that their first chapter is actually further into the manuscript.
That’s dangerous, if you want to catch an agent’s attention. Or an editor’s. My editor, after publishing, shared a scary fact: Their editorial team gives a new manuscript just five pages to engage. Five pages, to determine whether to read on or reject now.
In other words, the first chapter. Not even all of it.
Whew.
It’s only a “whew” if you feel you need to write a stellar first chapter right out of the gate. I never do. I draft it as well as I can, then I circle back to revise and revise and revise again.
I’m after all those requirements: language that catches the attention, a character you want to follow, and some compelling action that drives the story forward.
Learn from writing short
I learned how to do this—and the sanity-saving technique of circling back to revise—when I wrote a weekly newspaper column for the Los Angeles Times syndicate. My column was sent to 86 newspaper editors across the U.S. each Monday. The editors would scan all the syndicate’s offerings for that week, including mine, then choose which to run.
To keep my job, my column needed to be chosen.
Even though it was only 600 words, I used the three first chapter requirements to create this. The opening paragraph, called the “lede” in journalism, captured the attention with its language, the voice (character coming through), and what was at stake (my topic and why it might be interesting to readers).
Each sentence and paragraph in that opening was a make or break. Agents reading five pages aren’t unlike those 86 editors reading my lede and deciding yes or no.
What kind of opening are you writing?
To get a good opening, I had to know the point of what I was writing. What was I trying to accomplish or provoke in the reader?
Engagement, yes. But on what level?
There’s the head opening—where the writer attracts a reader via a surprising fact or information.
There’s the heart opening—where empathy is created for a human dilemma; for instance, where we engage with the character or voice.
There’s the sensory opening—where a place, an ingredient, a situation (like a walk by a river) pulls the reader in via senses and feeling.
There’s the conflict opening—where an action creates enough tension and momentum that we have to read on.
You might want to try all of them, but sometimes they don’t mix. They just confuse the reader with multiple purposes and it’s harder to enter the piece of writing.
For my weekly column, I chose a different entry point each week, testing out which appealed to which editor. I read their papers, saw their choices, and adjusted my approach to that lede. In journalism, you balance your fascination with the your topic with the pacing needed to keep a reader reading. Not that different in other genres.
During this learning curve, I also became aware of when I was just talking to myself. When my fascination took over and I was no longer inviting the reader into the conversation.
Talking to ourselves
But this is normal! You know this as well as I do: we writers start out by telling ourselves the story. We aren’t always inviting the reader in right away. We have to figure out what we’re really wanting to say. Absolutely fine. Good, in fact. We need the incubation of self-talk to get deeper into our topic and find its uniqueness.
But the warm-up is not something the reader needs. They are ready to launch right in. In early drafts, though, I let myself tell myself what I was going to talk about. Such as, “Today I want to think for a while about why pomegranates are so fascinating to me.” No way that would make it through revision.
So the danger is only this: believing those self-talk sections are worth retaining in the final version. Believing warm up is the real communication.
How long do you warm up?
How long do you warm up? Each writer, I’ve learned, needs a certain time on the page to clear their throat and figure out the writing’s point and purpose.
When writing a weekly column, I warmed up for about 250 words (a page or less). My real lede was buried after that.
My job, as I matured as a writer, was not to change this habit of warming up. I needed it! Especially with challenging topics. Especially when I was feeling less than stellar that writing day. I just trained myself to stay constantly aware of my self-talk. To not be lazy about revising, beguiled into believing this was good enough to be my real opening.
When I moved into fiction, same thing happened. I needed to warm up. And with books, it can extend into chapters, not just opening paragraphs.
Warm-up chapters
Agents and editors I’ve talked with over the years say many writers aren’t aware of their throat-clearing. It’s hard for writers to realize that their drafts may contain a predictable number of warm-up chapters before the real chapter 1 appears.
We have our excuses as writers. We feel the reader needs to be prepared for the shock, excitement, revelation, whatever of our opening.
Actually, they don’t.
It took me a big lesson to realize this. I sent my first novel manuscript to a host of agents and editors throughout 2008. I had spent years on it before then, including an MFA education. So many rejections! It was very hard to keep going.
The best rejections educated me about my warm-up chapters, how they were not necessary to anyone but the writer. One editor was kind enough to send me a rejection letter of many pages, with a suggestion that changed my writing life: “Your story really starts at chapter 5,” she wrote. “Try cutting the first four chapters.”
I didn’t realize how incredibly lucky I was to get such feedback. Instead, I was aghast at this idea. I’d slaved over those first four chapters. I’d also spent a lot of money on them (the MFA education).
I kept sending out the manuscript as it was, and it kept getting rejected. For years. Finally, I shrugged. I’d try her idea. I cut the first four chapters, made chapter 5 into chapter 1, and wove the deleted material into later scenes. It all felt way too edgy, to me. Wouldn’t the reader need a softer entry into the conflict of the story? But I wanted to test this theory, so I gritted my teeth and sent it out.
It sold to a publisher within two months. And was published a year later.
Moveable feast
Opening chapters are moveable feasts. They are often spread in bits and pieces through your early drafts. It becomes a treasure hunt to find them. How fast they come together depends on how experienced a writer you are: how long you’ve been practicing the craft, how much feedback you’ve received, how much editorial help.
Most writers learn these truths about first chapters the hard way, through many rejections. I’ve made note of the following truths, for me.
My reader (agent, editor, etc.) doesn’t need or want the soft entry of backstory, history, extensive setting, characterization. They want something at stake immediately.
It’s fine to warm up with a handful of scenes or chapters that allow me to process my point and purpose. But this is backstage stuff, not for my reader at all (see point 1).
My opening is often buried, sometimes scattered. I may not know it until I write more and figure out the point and purpose.
Over time, I learn my tendency and look for my opening around chapter 4 or 5 of my early drafts.
Having these truths in my back pocket made it easier to write early drafts with full engagement and enough detachment. I now welcome warm up in my early scenes and chapters.
I just don’t pretend they are the real opening.
Your Weekly Writing Exercise
Read your opening chapter of a work-in-progress and ask yourself if enough happens on the page to provide momentum for the rest of the book.
If not quite, or not at all, you may be caught in warm up. Scroll ahead one, two, three, even four chapters and ask yourself what happens here. Could it be that, like me, you need to start later?
Share what you discovered.
Shout Out!
A hearty shout out to these writing friends and former students who are publishing their books! I encourage you to pre-order or order a copy to show your support of fellow writers and our writing community.
(If you are a former student and will publish soon (pre-orders of your book are available now), or have in the past two months, email mary[at]marycarrollmoore[dot]com to be included in a future Shout Out! I’ll keep your listing here for two months.)
Jim Hight, Moon Over Humboldt (Black Rose Writing), August release
Darrell J. Pedersen, Who Will Carry the Fire? More Reflections from a North Woods Lake (River Place Press), August release
Jan Skogstrom, The Light Shines in the Darkness—A Spiritual Journey (Itasca Books), August release
Megan Lindhal Goodrich, Beyond Terminal: Processing Childhood Trauma to Reclaim Self (Wise Ink), September release
Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew, The Release: Creativity and Freedom after the Writing Is Done (Skinner House), October release
Morgan Baylog Finn, The Gathering: Poems (Finishing Line Press), November release
I’m a lifelong artist, and I love to inspire and support other creative folk, which is why I write this weekly newsletter. My goal with these posts is to help you strengthen your writing practice and creative life so it becomes more satisfying to you.
I’m also the author of 15 books in 3 genres. My third novel, Last Bets (Riverbed Press), was published in April, after becoming an Amazon bestseller during pre-orders. My second novel, A Woman’s Guide to Search & Rescue (Riverbed Press), was published in October 2023 also and became an Amazon bestseller and Hot New Release from pre-orders. For twelve years, I worked as a full-time food journalist, most notably through my weekly column for the Los Angeles Times syndicate. My writing-craft book, Your Book Starts Here, won the New Hampshire Literary Awards “People’s Choice” in 2011 and my first novel, Qualities of Light, was nominated for PEN/Faulkner and Lambda Literary awards in 2009. I’ve written Your Weekly Writing Exercise every Friday since 2008.
Great tips. Like you, my experience includes freelance newspaper writing. One day, my editor called to say that she thought my article really started on paragraph four. I thought: Ha! I teach this stuff about a “take off” start. You can’t tell me that I dawdled for three paragraphs!” When I open my doc, I could see right on my screen that she was…RIGHT! I had done warm up exercises that the reader did not need—or want.
This was incredibly fascinating and enlightening. I love the way you said that writers need to warm up or clear their throat, so to speak. Thanks for sharing.