Source: http://writersdigest.com/article/3-secrets-to-great-storytelling/?et_mid=200836&rid=3047568

Written by:  Steven James

As a novelist and writing instructor, I’ve noticed that three of the most vital aspects of story craft are left out of many writing books and workshops. Even bestselling novelists stumble over them.

But they’re not difficult to grasp. In fact, they’re easy.

And if you master these simple principles for shaping great stories, your writing will be transformed forever. Honest. Here’s how to do it.

Secret #1:
CAUSE AND EFFECT ARE KING.

Everything in a story must be caused by the action or event that precedes it.

Now, this sounds like an almost embarrassingly obvious observation, and when I mention it in my writing seminars I don’t often see people furiously taking notes, muttering, “Man, are you getting this stuff? This is amazing!” But humor me for a few minutes. Because you might be surprised by how more careful attention to causation will improve your writing.

As a fiction writer, you want your reader to always be emotionally present in the story. But when readers are forced to guess why something happened (or didn’t happen), even for just a split second, it causes them to intellectually disengage and distances them from the story. Rather than remaining present alongside the characters, they’ll begin to analyze or question the progression of the plot. And you definitely don’t want that.

When a reader tells you that he couldn’t put a book down, often it’s because everything in the story followed logically. Stories that move forward naturally, cause to effect, keep the reader engrossed and flipping pages. If you fail to do this, it can confuse readers, kill the pace and telegraph your weaknesses as a writer.

Let’s say you’re writing a thriller and the protagonist is at home alone. You might write:

With trembling fingers she locked the door. She knew the killer was on the other side.

But, no. You wouldn’t write it like that.

Because if you did, you would fracture, just for a moment, the reader’s emotional engagement with the story as he wonders, Why did she reach out and lock the door? Then he reads on. Oh, I get it, the killer is on the other side.

If you find that one sentence is serving to explain what happened in the sentence that preceded it, you can usually improve the writing by reversing the order so that you render rather than explain the action.

It’s stronger to write the scene like this:

Cause: The killer is on the other side of the door.
Effect: She locks it.

Think about it this way: If you’ve written a scene in which you could theoretically connect the events with the word “because,” then you can typically improve the scene by structuring it so that you could instead connect the events with the word “so.”

Take the example about the woman being chased by the killer:

If written in this order, the sentence moves from effect to cause. However:

Here, the stimulus leads naturally to her response.

Of course, most of the time we leave out the words because and so, and these are very simplified examples—but you get the idea.

Remember in rendering more complex scenes that realizations and discoveries happen after actions, not before them. Rather than telling us what a character realizes and then telling us why she realizes it—as in, “She finally understood who the killer was when she read the letter”—write it this way: “When she read the letter, she finally understood who the killer was.” Always build on what has been said or done, rather than laying the foundation after the idea is built. Continually move the story forward, rather than forcing yourself to flip backward to give the reason something occurred.

One last example:

This paragraph is a mess. As it stands, at least seven events occur, and none are in their logical order. Here is the order in which they actually happened:

1.    Greg sits in the workshop.
2.    He realizes he’s heard all this before.
3.    Boredom ensues.
4.    Doodling ensues.
5.    Greg gets called on.
6.    Embarrassment ensues.
7.    He gulps and stares around the room

Each event causes the one that follows it.

Your writing will be more effective if you show us what’s happening as it happens rather than explain to us what just happened.

With all of that said, there are three exceptions, three times when you can move from effect to cause without shattering the spell of your story.

First, in chapter or section breaks. For example, you might begin a section by writing:

Immediately, the reader will be curious who is screaming, at whom she is screaming, and why. This would make a good hook, so it’s fine (good, even!) to start that way. If this same sentence appeared in the middle of a scene in progress, though, it would be wiser to move from cause to effect:

And the final exception is when you write a scene in which your character shows his prowess by deducing something the reader hasn’t yet concluded. Think of Sherlock Holmes staring at the back of an envelope, cleaning out the drainpipe and then brushing off a nearby stick of wood and announcing that he’s solved the case. The reader is saying, “Huh? How did he do that?” Our curiosity is sparked, and later when he explains his deductive process, we see that everything followed logically from the preceding events.

Secret #2:
IF IT’S NOT BELIEVABLE, IT DOESN’T BELONG.

The narrative world is also shattered when an action, even if it’s impossible, becomes unbelievable.

In writing circles it’s common to speak about the suspension of disbelief, but that phrase bothers me because it seems to imply that the reader approaches the story wanting to disbelieve and that she needs to somehow set that attitude aside in order to engage with the story. But precisely the opposite is true. Readers approach stories wanting to believe them. Readers have both the intention and desire to enter a story in which everything that happens, within the narrative world that governs that story, is believable. As writers, then, our goal isn’t to convince the reader to suspend her disbelief, but rather to give her what she wants by continually sustaining her belief in the story.

The distinction isn’t just a matter of semantics; it’s a matter of understanding the mindset and expectations of your readers. Readers want to immerse themselves in deep belief. We need to respect them enough to keep that belief alive throughout the story.

Let’s say you create a world in which gravity doesn’t exist. OK, if you bring the world to life on the page and through your characters, the reader will accept that—but now she’ll want you to be consistent. As soon as someone’s hair doesn’t float above or around her head, or someone is able to drink a cup of coffee without the liquid floating away, the consistency of that world is shattered. The reader will begin to either lose interest and eventually stop reading, or will disengage from the story and begin to look for more inconsistencies—neither of which you want her to do.

All else being equal, as soon as readers stop believing your story, they’ll stop caring about your story. And readers stop believing stories when characters act inexplicably.

When I’m shaping a story, I continually ask myself, “What would this character naturally do in this situation?”

And then I let him do it.

Always.

Why?

Because the reader, whether he’s conscious of it or not, is asking the same question: “What would this character naturally do?”

As soon as characters act in ways that aren’t believable, either in reference to their characterizations or to the story’s progression, the reader loses faith in the writer’s ability to tell that story.

In a scene in my first novel, The Pawn, my protagonist is interviewing the governor of North Carolina, and the governor is responding oddly. Now, if my hero, who’s supposed to be one of the best investigators in the world, doesn’t notice and respond to the governor’s inexplicable behavior, the reader will be thinking, What’s wrong with this Bowers guy? There’s obviously something strange going on here. Why doesn’t he notice? He’s a moron.

So, I had Bowers think, Something wasn’t clicking. Something wasn’t right.

Then the reader will agree, Ah, good! I thought so. OK, now let’s find out what’s going on here. Rather than drive the reader away from identifying with the protagonist, this was a way of drawing the reader deeper into the story.

So when something that’s unbelievable or odd happens, don’t be afraid to let your character notice and respond: “I never expected her to say that,” “What? That just doesn’t make sense,” or, “Obviously there’s more going on here than I thought when I first found the necklace.”

If a character acts in an unbelievable way, you’ll need to give the reader a reason why—and it’d better be a good one. Remember: Always give the reader what he wants, or something better. If you don’t give the reader what he wants (believability), you must satisfy him with a twist or a moment of story escalation that satisfies him more than he ever expected.

Secret #3:
IT’S ALL ABOUT ESCALATION.

At the heart of story is tension, and at the heart of tension is unmet desire. At its core, a story is about a character who wants something but cannot get it. As soon as he gets it, the story is over. So, when you resolve a problem, it must always be within the context of an even greater plot escalation.

As part of the novel-writing intensives that I teach, I review and critique participants’ manuscripts. Often I find that aspiring authors have listened to the advice of so many writing books and included an engaging “hook” at the beginning of their story. This is usually a good idea; however, all too often the writer is then forced to spend the following pages dumping in background to explain the context of the hook.

Not a good idea.

Because you’ve killed escalation.

This is also why dream sequences typically don’t work—the protagonist thinks she’s in a terrible mess, then wakes up and realizes none of it was real.

So, things weren’t really that bad after all.

That’s the opposite of escalation—and the death of the forward movement of the story.

Tension drives a story forward. When tension is resolved, the momentum of the story is lost. I’ve heard writing instructors differentiate between “character-driven” and “plot-driven” stories, but the truth is that neither character nor plot really drives a story forward—only unmet desire does.

You might include page after page of interesting information about your character, but that won’t move the story along; it’ll cause it to stall out. Until we know what the character wants, we don’t know what the story is about, and we won’t be able to worry or care about whether or not the character’s desires are eventually met.

Somewhat similarly, plot is simply the casually related series of events that the character experiences as he moves through a crisis or calling into a changed or transformed life. So you might include chase scene after chase scene, but eventually the reader could care less that one car is following another down the street. Until we know what the stakes are, we don’t care. A story isn’t driven forward by events happening, but by tension escalating.

All stories are “tension-driven” stories.

Now, to create depth in your characters, typically you’ll have two struggles that play off each other to deepen the tension of the story. The character’s external struggle is a problem that needs to be solved; her internal struggle is a question that needs to be answered. The interplay of these two struggles is complementary until, at the climax, the resolution of one gives the protagonist the skills, insights or wherewithal to resolve the other.

To some extent the genre in which you write will have expectations and conventions that’ll dictate the precedence of the internal or external struggle in your story. However, readers today are very astute and narratively aware. If you intend to write commercially marketable fiction, you’ll need to include both an internal struggle that helps us empathize with the protagonist, and an external struggle that helps drive the movement of the story toward its exciting climax.

So, as you shape your novel, ask yourself, “How can I make things worse?” Always look for ways to drive the protagonist deeper and deeper into an impossible situation (emotionally, physically or relationally) that you then eventually resolve in a way that is both surprising and satisfying to the reader.

The story needs to progress toward more and more conflict, with more intimate struggles and deeper tension.

The plot must always thicken; it must never thin. Because of that, repetition is the enemy of escalation. Every murder you include decreases the impact that each subsequent murder will have on the reader. Every explosion, prayer, conversion, sex scene means less and less to the reader, simply because repetition, by its very nature, serves to work against that escalation your story so desperately needs.

Strive, instead, to continually make things worse for the protagonist. In doing so, you’ll make them better and better for the reader.

All three of these storytelling secrets are interwoven. When every event is naturally caused by the one that precedes it, the story makes sense. As characters act in ways that are credible and convincing in the quest for their goals, the story remains believable, and the deepening tension and struggles keep the reader caring about what’s happening as well as interested in what’s going to happen next.

By consistently driving your story forward through action that follows naturally, characters who act believably, and tension that mounts exponentially, you’ll keep readers flipping pages and panting for more of your work.

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Source: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2010/09/07/TakingRisksInPoetry.aspx

Article written by: Robert Lee Brewer

Over this past weekend, Tammy and I read at the Decatur Book Festival. You can read about it on my personal blog (click to continue). I was invited at the last minute by JC Reilly, and it was a great experience.

*****

Anyway, I’m not a person who usually does poetry readings, because it’s much easier for me to face a blank page than a blank face. But I’ve done a few this year, and I’m really starting to enjoy them. For one thing, it helps me understand how my writing sounds. Plus, it’s a great way to receive instant encouragement from other living and breathing poets. I admit I expect to receive The Hook each time I get up to read, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Reading your poetry in front of an audience is just one way to take a risk as a poet. Here are a few other risky options available to a poet (and note that none of these should be life threatening activities):

• Write poems using poetic forms. I know so many poets who do not touch forms, because they limit creativity. I think this is insane, because forms force creativity, especially if you’re trying to follow the rules and write an interesting poem. (Click here to check out a short list of poetic forms.)
• Write poems without poetic forms. Just as there are many poets who don’t touch forms, there are many poets who hide out in them. If you’re such a poet, try writing in free verse. Play with line breaks, slant rhymes and the freedom to use a long line sandwiched between short lines. Have fun with it.
• Write prose poems. I admit that this form of poetry is one I enjoy reading when done well, but I’m often afraid to wander into that poetic forest. Lately, I’ve been forcing myself to try it out, and I haven’t been completely disappointed with the results. Read some good prose poets like Nin Andrews and Robert Bly if you’re not familiar with prose poems; then try it for yourself.
• Share poems with an audience. There are many Poetic Asides readers who do this every week and in the months of April and November. However, I’ve met and communicated with many other poets who have admitted they’re afraid to share their work. Don’t be afraid. I can totally empathize, because I’ve been afraid myself. If you just can’t read your poems at an open mic, share them online. Think about it; you’re separated from your audience by the virtual curtain of the Internet. You can even use a pen name until you feel comfortable revealing your true identity.
• Tackle difficult subjects. Maybe you have a troubled past. Maybe you have a minority view on a certain topic. Maybe you want to shed light on that elephant in the room that no one wants to discuss. Don’t shy away from getting your voice out there, because there are probably others who can relate and have been waiting for someone brave enough to say it.
• Imitate other poets. Over the past few years, I’ve discovered a love of cooking. When I started cooking, I was stealing other recipes. While I’m still nowhere near a master cook, I’ve already started modifying those recipes to make them mine. All artists do this. They start off by imitating techniques before making them their own. If you notice something you like in the work of another poet, try pulling off the same trick in your own work (without plagiarizing, of course). Even Shakespeare imitated the works of others.

Another way to take a risk is to submit your work to online and print publications. (Click here to learn more about the 2011 Poet’s Market, edited by yours truly.) Many college-run journals open up for submissions in the months of August and September–as students and faculty return to universities–so right now is an opportune time to begin submitting your work. If you want to be published, this is a risk that you’ll need to take (and I hope you do).

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

The 2011 Poet’s Market lists hundreds of publishing opportunities and includes articles on the craft and business of poetry, including pieces on building an audience and giving the perfect reading.

Click here to learn more.

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Source: http://www.writersdigest.com/article/karin-slaughter-10/?et_mid=177118&rid=3047568

[1] Sometimes, when I’m cutting a deadline too close, I’ll set the TIMER ON THE STOVE and tell myself I’ll write for at least an hour. Rarely have I heard the chime and wanted to stop. And I always feel good about actually using the stove for something.

[2] EATING SNACKS VERY SLOWLY gives a great opportunity to look out the window and contemplate character development. I do my writing in a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and there’s a pasture across the creek that has cows, wild turkeys and baby donkeys. This probably explains why in almost every one of my books, someone at some point brays with laughter, drinks Wild Turkey and/or chews gum like a cow chewing its cud.

[3] While work is important, at some point it’s good to stop whatever you’re doing and ASSIST YOUR CAT IN GROOMING. Cats love this.

[4] NAPS are a good way to rest your brain, even if you’ve only been up long enough to eat breakfast. I try not to nap past “Oprah” o’clock because then it’s harder to fall asleep at night. Plus, lots of times Oprah has pedophiles and murderers on, and that, my friend, is what we in the biz call “research.”

[5] HGTV, THE DIY NETWORK AND FINE LIVING are great because they remind you that your characters live in houses and give you ideas for how to describe these spaces in interesting ways. For instance, in Triptych, it’s said that Will put down tiles in Angie’s bathroom on a 45-degree angle to make the space look larger. In Broken, I talk a lot about different kinds of trees and plant life. Thank you, “Yard Crashers.”

[6] I love watching BOX SET DVDS OF CABLE TV SHOWS because, like “Oprah,” they can be a shortcut to actually having to research what you’re writing about. Like, I learned a lot about cooking meth from “Breaking Bad,” and “The Tudors” caught me up on basically everything worth knowing about English history. (I studied history in college, and they never mentioned all the hot sex people were having back then. It makes me understand why Texas wants to change their textbooks to make them more historically accurate.)

[7] You can’t get caught up in writing and let the BUSINESS part slip. Sometimes, when I’m stuck on something, I’ll call up my agent and talk about important matters, like whether the license for my Serbian editions will expire in April or May.

[8] If I’m truly desperate, I’ll GO FOR A RUN ON THE TREADMILL and listen to my gym music, which generally includes Madonna and Beyoncé. This might explain why a lot of the women in my books tell men they had better “put a ring on it.”

[9] Sometimes, it’s good to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE and find a change of scenery. Since all of my writing is done in a very rural area, getting grocery staples like milk and cupcakes means a 30-minute drive into town. I’m sorry—I’ve kind of lost the thread here. I think the point is that I really like cupcakes.

[10] MMM … CUPCAKES …

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Source: http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2011/03/03/7ReasonsWhyYouShouldBeInAWritingGroupGuestPostByBruceNiedt.aspx?et_mid=177118&rid=3047568

Written by: Bruce Niedt

Since I rediscovered my love of writing poetry about 12 years ago, I’ve been in a number of poetry groups. Some are poetry “circles” or “communities” whose primary focus is more sharing than critique. They have their benefits, but it wasn’t until I joined a writing and critique group that I really began to grow as a poet. Currently I’m a member of the Quick and Dirty Poets, a small but active group in southern New Jersey. We hold monthly meetings to share news and critique each others’ work, publish an annual journal (Up and Under: The QND Review), and host monthly readings at a local coffee shop.

Why should you join a poetry writing group? I can think of at least seven reasons:

1. Evaluation: A good writing group offers frank and constructive critique within a positive framework. Our group critiques one poem from each member at every meeting.
2. Inspiration: Group members can be a source for ideas, or offer writing assignments and prompts. Friendly competition with others can motivate and inspire you to become a better writer.
3. Education: You can learn a lot from other poets–whom they have read, how they write, and what they write about. One of our group members is an excellent formal poet and editor of a formal poetry journal. She is often our “go-to” person for questions and advice on writing in form.
4. Information: Getting tips and information from fellow members on publications, contests, conferences, workshops, and academic programs is one of the most valuable perks of a writing group.
5. Publication: I’m lucky to be in a group that includes two poetry journal editors and a chapbook publisher. But any poetry writing group can encourage working toward publication with advice from more experienced and successful members. Some groups, including mine, even publish their own journal or anthology.
6. Promotion: A writing group can help you promote your work. Our group’s monthly reading series exposes the community to accomplished local and regional poets, but we also use it as a venue to read our own work and offer an open mic to other attendees. The readings are also an opportunity to promote the featured poet’s publications as well as our own books and journals.
7. Socialization: One of the most rewarding benefits is the joy of sharing, collaborating, and forming friendships with fellow poets. Our merry band has attended conferences and festivals together, but we’ve also socialized outside the poetic milieu at parties, barbecues and camp outs. They say writing is a solitary art, but there’s nothing like hanging out with your artistic buddies.

How do you find a poetry writing group? Contact your local library or bookstore–many of them host such activities. Check out the arts section of your local newspaper for announcements on readings and meetings. Your local college or university may have writing programs open to the public. And of course there’s always the Internet. Or start your own group–all you need is two or more interested poetic friends and a place to meet.

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Source: http://www.millermosaicllc.com/sell-more-books

Written by:  Phyllis Zimbler Miller

Your goal is to sell more books – and sell those books without spending a lot of money.  Therefore, your number one goal is to make it easy for people to find you and say yes to you:

•    Yes to buying your book
•    Yes to reviewing your book
•    Yes to having you on their radio show

To make it easy for people to find you and say yes to you – you must be where these people are.  Where they can “meet” you, like you, and want to help you promote your book.

Here are seven good ways to do this:

1.    Join social networking site Twitter.com and use Tweetbeep.com to alert you when people on Twitter talk about book marketing or their books.

If appropriate you can join in the conversation.  Thus people on Twitter will start to pay attention to you as a book author.

2.    Have a call-to-action book website (call-to-action to buy your book or books).

Share one or more chapters on your site.  Let people get hooked enough to buy the book NOW.  And, of course, have a BUY THIS BOOK NOW option on every page of the website.

3.    Blog about your nonfiction book’s topic or a related topic to your novel.

Many elements in a novel can spawn blog posts – from recipes of the book’s locale to posts on the construction work your protagonist does to all kinds of things.  If you’re a novelist, you make up stories.  Use your imagination to think of blog posts that connect to your novel.  Showcase your writing and make an emotional connection with people who can buy your book.

4.    Leave comments on other book authors’ blog posts where appropriate to lead readers of similar books back to your own book blog or website.

If you choose wisely where to leave worthwhile comments, you’ll be reaching fans of the type of book you’ve written.  This is another way for people to learn about you and then find your online “home” where they can visit you.

5.    Join LinkedIn and then search publishing groups and writing groups to join.

Get email notifications of the questions posted in those groups and answer those questions if you can add something of value.  Extra tip: Try to be one of the first to answer.  If several people answer before you do, your response may be buried too far down for most people to see it.  Share your information with others, which will help attract people to you.

6.    Consider which of the numerous book sites such as Goodreads.com and Shelfari.com fit your personality and time commitment schedule.

It’s better not to spread yourself too thin over so many book sites that you can’t be a real presence on any site.  Choose one or two book sites and go deep (make connections).  Engage in conversation about your book whenever it’s appropriate as long as you share about other books too.  People want to know what other books you like.

7.    Join one or two other online communities whose mission has an affinity with your book.

If you write about a medical condition, join one or two sites focused on that condition.  If you write graphic novels, join one or two sites focused on this type of fiction writing.  Becoming known in the online community is important, followed by sharing of what you do and how this might interest the community’s members. — P.Z.M.

Phyllis Zimbler Miller is a National Internet Business Examiner at http://www.InternetBizBlogger.com as well as a book author, and her power marketing company http://www.MillerMosaicLLC.com combines traditional marketing principles and Internet marketing strategies to put power in your hands.

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Source: http://www.wheatmark.com/index.php?/blog/entry/using-your-book-to-keep-your-leads-hot/

Written by Sam Henrie

So you’ve got a thousand leads in your database. That’s a thousand people who’ve given you permission to communicate with them about your products or services. Guess what? The vast majority of them are not ready to buy from you right now, but will likely buy from you sometime in the future. If you don’t want these leads to go cold, you must have follow-up systems that keep you in front of them over time. Periodic and consistent follow-up via mail, email, phone, and/or text messaging is essential. For this you need content, and lots of it. That’s where your book comes in. It can provide content for your follow-up systems in two powerful ways: as a source of excerpts, and as a generator of announcement-worthy news.

In all likelihood most of the thousand leads in your database haven’t read your book and don’t own it. They aren’t familiar with the great expertise-confirming content it contains. Give it to them! If your book is about weightlifting, excerpt individual exercises each month and include them in your e-zine or printed newsletter. If your book is about codependency, excerpt a poignant story of overcoming it. Passages from your book are incredibly powerful in this context, because while you’re reminding your leads that you’re out there, you’re also providing them with proof of your competence and know-how.

Every author is, simply by virtue of having published a book, also an expert and a celebrity. As an author/expert/celebrity you are yourself an unending source of announcement-worthy news. You hold book events. You get book reviews. You do radio interviews. You win book awards. People blog and tweet about your book. One very successful client I work with sends email notifications to her entire leads database every time her book gets any kind of mention in the media or the blogosphere. She also sends them invitations to her book signings and events, and notifications of upcoming media appearances. This puts her in front of her leads month in and month out.

Whether you are using excerpts or your status as an author/expert/celebrity to follow up with your leads, having a book helps keep those leads HOT—and you might earn you some royalties too!

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Source: http://writersdigest.com/article/8-ways-to-write-a-5-star-chapter-one/?et_mid=156106&rid=3047568

Written by  Elizabeth Sims

When you decide to go to a restaurant for a special dinner, you enjoy the anticipation. You’ve committed to spending sufficient time and money, and now you’ve arrived, and the place looks good and smells good. You smile and order an appetizer. When it comes, you enjoy it as a foretaste of the larger, more complex courses that will follow, but you also savor it for what it is: a delicious dish, complete in itself. If it’s a truly great appetizer, you recognize it as an exquisite blend of flavor, texture and temperature. And you’re happy, because you know you’ll be in good hands for the entire evening.

Isn’t that what it’s like to begin reading a terrific book?

The first chapter is the appetizer—small, yet so tremendously important. And so full of potential.

As an aspiring author, the prospect of writing Chapter One should not intimidate, but excite the hell out of you. Why? Because no other part of your book can provide you with the disproportionate payoff that an excellent first chapter can. Far more than a great query letter, a great Chapter One can attract the attention of an agent. It can keep a harried editor from yawning and hitting “delete.” It can make a bookstore browser keep turning pages during the slow walk to the cash registers. And yes, it can even keep a bleary-eyed owner of one of those electronic thingamajigs touching the screen for more, more, more!

Fiction, like food, is an art and a craft. Here’s how to blend inspiration with technique and serve up an irresistible Chapter One.

#1: RESIST TERROR.
Let’s be honest: Agents and editors like to make you quiver and sweat as you approach Chapter One. All those warnings: “Grab me from the opening sentence! Don’t waste one word! If my attention flags, you’ve failed—you’re down the toilet! In fact, don’t even write Chapter One! Start your book at Chapter Four! Leave out all that David Copperfield crap!” From their perspective it’s an acid test. They know how important Chapter One is, and if you’re weak, they’ll scare you into giving up before you begin. (Hey, it makes their jobs easier: one less query in the queue.)

Here’s the truth: Agents and editors, all of them, are paper tigers. Every last one is a hungry kitten searching for something honest, original and brave to admire. Now is the time to gather your guts, smile and let it rip.

Your inner genius flees from tension, so first of all, relax. Notice that I did not say agents and editors are looking for perfect writing. Nor are they looking for careful writing. Honest, original and brave. That’s what they want, and that’s what you’ll produce if you open up room for mistakes and mediocrity. It’s true! Only by doing that will you be able to tap into your wild and free core. Let out the bad with the good now, and you’ll sort it out later.

Second, remember who you are and why you’re writing this book. What is your book about? What purpose(s) will it serve? Write your answers down and look at them from time to time as you write. (By the way, it’s OK to want to write a book simply to entertain people; the noblest art has sprung from just such a humble desire.)

And third, if you haven’t yet outlined, consider doing so. Even the roughest, most rustic framework will give you a sharper eye for your beginning and, again, will serve to unfetter your mind. Your outline could be a simple list of things-that-are-gonna-happen, or it could be a detailed chronological narrative of all your plot threads and how they relate. I find that knowing where I’m headed frees my mind from everything but the writing at hand. Being prepared makes you calm, and better equipped to tap into your unique voice—which is the most important ingredient in a good Chapter One.

#2: DECIDE ON TENSE AND POINT OF VIEW.
Most readers are totally unconscious of tense and POV; all they care about is the story. Is it worth reading? Fun to read? But you must consider your tense and POV carefully, and Chapter One is go time for these decisions. It used to be simple. You’d choose from:

a) First person: I chased the beer wagon.

b) Third-person limited: Tom chased the beer wagon.

or

c) Omniscient: Tom chased the beer wagon while the villagers watched and wondered, Would all the beer in the world be enough for this oaf?

… and you’d always use past tense.

But today, novels mix points of view and even tenses. In my Rita Farmer novels I shift viewpoints, but limit all POVs to the good guys. By contrast, John Grisham will shift out of the main character’s POV to the bad guy’s for a paragraph or two, then back again. (Some critics have labeled this practice innovative, while others have called it lazy; in the latter case, I’m sure Grisham is crying all the way to the bank.) It’s also worth noting that studies have shown that older readers tend to prefer past tense, while younger ones dig the present. (If that isn’t a statement with larger implications, I don’t know what is.)

Many writing gurus tell you to keep a first novel simple by going with first person, past tense. This approach has worked for thousands of first novels (including mine, 2002’s Holy Hell), but I say go for whatever feels right to you, simple or not. I do, however, recommend that you select present or past tense and stick with it. Similarly, I advise against flashbacks and flash-forwards for first novels. Not that they can’t work, but they seem to be off-putting to agents and editors, who will invariably ask, “Couldn’t this story be told without altering the time-space continuum?”

The point is, you want your readers to feel your writing is smooth; you don’t want them to see the rivets in the hull, so to speak. And the easiest way to do that is to create fewer seams.

If you’re still unsure of your tense or POV choices, try these techniques:

Go to your bookshelf and take a survey of some of your favorite novels. What POVs and tenses are selected, and why do you suppose the authors chose those approaches?

Rehearse. Write a scene using first person, then third-person limited, then omniscient. What feels right?

Don’t forget to consider the needs of your story. If you plan to have simultaneous action in Fresno, Vienna and Pitcairn, and you want to show it all in living color, you almost certainly need more than one POV.

And if you’re still in doubt, don’t freeze up—just pick an approach and start writing. Remember, you can always change it later if you need to.

#3: CHOOSE A NATURAL STARTING POINT.
When you read a good novel, it all seems to unfold so naturally, starting from the first sentence. But when you set out to write your own, you realize your choices are limitless, and this can be paralyzing. Yet your novel must flow from the first scene you select.

Let’s say you’ve got an idea for a historical novel that takes place in 1933. There’s this pair of teenagers who figure out what really happened the night the Lindbergh baby was abducted, but before they can communicate with the police, they themselves are kidnapped. Their captives take them to proto-Nazi Germany, and it turns out there’s some weird relationship between Col. Lindbergh and the chancellor—or is there? Is the guy with the haircut really Lindbergh? The teens desperately wonder: What do they want with us?

Sounds complicated. Where should you start? A recap of the Lindbergh case? The teenagers on a date where one of them stumbles onto a clue in the remote place they go to make out? A newspaper clipping about a German defense contract that should have raised eyebrows but didn’t?

Basically, write your way in.

Think about real life. Any significant episode in your own life did not spring whole from nothing; things happened beforehand that shaped it, and things happened afterward as a result of it. Think about your novel in this same way. The characters have pasts and futures (unless you plan to kill them); places, too, have pasts and futures. Therefore, every storyteller jumps into his story midstream. Knowing this can help you relax about picking a starting point. The Brothers Grimm did not begin by telling about the night Hansel and Gretel were conceived; they got going well into the lives of their little heroes, and they knew we wouldn’t care about anything but what they’re doing right now.

If you’re unsure where to begin, pick a scene you know you’re going to put in—you just don’t know where yet—and start writing it. You might discover your Chapter One right there. And even if you don’t, you’ll have fodder for that scene when the time comes.

Here are a few other strategies that can help you choose a starting point:

Write a character sketch or two. You need them anyway, and they’re great warm-ups for Chapter One. Ask yourself: What will this character be doing when we first meet him? Write it. Again, you might find yourself writing Chapter One.

Do a Chapter-One-only brainstorm and see what comes out.

The truth is, you probably can write a great story starting from any of several places. If you’ve narrowed it down to two or three beginnings and still can’t decide, flip a coin and get going. In my hypothetical Lindbergh thriller, I’d probably pick the date scene, with a shocking clue revealed. Why? Action!

It’s OK to be extremely loose with your first draft of your first chapter. In fact, I recommend it. The important thing at this point is to begin.

#4: PRESENT A STRONG CHARACTER RIGHT AWAY.
This step might seem obvious, but too many first-time novelists try to lure the reader into a story by holding back the main character. Having a couple of subsidiary characters talking about the protagonist can be a terrific technique for character or plot development at some point, but not at the beginning of your novel.

When designing your Chapter One, establish your characters’ situation(s). What do they know at the beginning? What will they learn going forward? What does their world mean to them?

Who is the strongest character in your story? Watch out; that’s a trick question. Consider Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day. The main character, Stevens, is a weak man, yet his presence is as strong as a hero. How? Ishiguro gave him a voice that is absolutely certain, yet absolutely vacant of self-knowledge. We know Stevens, and because we see his limitations, we know things will be difficult for him. Don’t be afraid to give all the depth you can to your main character early in your story. You’ll discover much more about him later, and can always revise if necessary.

#5: BE SPARING OF SETTING.
Another common error many aspiring novelists make is trying to set an opening scene in too much depth. You’ve got it all pictured in your head: the colors, sounds, flavors and feelings. You want everybody to be in the same place with the story you are. But you’re too close: A cursory—but poignant!—introduction is what’s needed. Readers will trust you to fill in all the necessary information later. They simply want to get a basic feel for the setting, whether it’s a lunar colony or a street in Kansas City.

Pack punch into a few details. Instead of giving the history of the place and how long the character has been there and what the weather’s like, consider something like this:

He lived in a seedy neighborhood in Kansas City. When the night freight passed, the windows rattled in their frames and the dog in the flat below barked like a maniac.

Later (if you want) you’ll tell all about the house, the street, the neighbors and maybe even the dog’s make and model, but for now a couple of sentences like that are all you need.

But, you object, what of great novels that opened with descriptions of place, like John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath or Edna Ferber’s Giant? Ah, in those books the locale has been crafted with the same care as a character, and effectively used as one. Even so, the environment is presented as the characters relate to it: in the former case, man’s mark on the land (by indiscriminate agriculture), and in the latter, man’s mark on the sky (the jet plumes of modern commerce).

Another way to introduce a setting is to show how a character feels about it. In Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov seethes with resentment at the opulence around him in St. Petersburg, and this immediately puts us on the alert about him. The setting serves the character; it does not stand on its own.

#6: USE CAREFULLY CHOSEN DETAIL TO CREATE IMMEDIACY.
Your Chapter One must move along smartly, but in being economical you cannot become vague. Difficult, you say? It’s all in the context.

The genius of books as diverse as Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote and Robin Cook’s Coma lies in the authors’ generosity with good, authentic detail. Cervantes knew that a suit of armor kept in a junk locker for years wouldn’t merely be dusty, it would be corroded to hell—and that would be a problem to overcome. Likewise, Cook, himself a doctor, knew that a patient prepped for surgery would typically be given a calming drug before the main anesthetic—and that some patients, somehow, do not find peace even under the medication, especially if they have reason not to.

If you’re an expert on something, go ahead and show that you know what you’re talking about. One of the reasons my novel Damn Straight, a story involving a professional golfer, won a Lambda Award is that I know golf, and let my years of (painful) experience inform the book. I felt I’d done a good job when reviewer after reviewer wrote, “I absolutely hate golf, but I love how Sims writes about it in this novel. …”

Let’s say your Chapter One begins with your main character getting a root canal. You could show the dentist nattering on and on as dentists tend to do, and that would be realistic, but it could kill your chapter, as in
this example:

Dr. Payne’s running commentary included the history of fillings, a story about the first time he ever pulled a tooth, and a funny anecdote about how his college roommate got really drunk every weekend.

Bored yet? Me too. Does that mean there’s too much detail? No. It means there’s too much extraneous detail.

How about this:

Dr. Payne paused in his running commentary on dental history and put down his drill. “Did you know,” he remarked, “that the value of all the gold molars in a city this size, at this afternoon’s spot price of gold, would be something on the order of half a million dollars?” He picked up his drill again. “Open.”

If the detail serves the story, you can hardly have too much.

#7: GIVE IT A MINI PLOT.
It’s no accident that many great novels have first chapters that were excerpted in magazines, where they essentially stood as short stories. I remember being knocked to the floor by the gorgeous completeness of Ian McEwan’s first chapter of On Chesil Beach when it was excerpted in The New Yorker.

Every chapter should have its own plot, none more important than Chapter One. Use what you know about storytelling to:

Make trouble. I side with the writing gurus who advise you to put in a lot of conflict early. Pick your trouble and make it big. If it can’t be big at first, make it ominous.

Focus on action. Years ago I got a rejection that said, “Your characters are terrific and I love the setting, but not enough happens.” A simple and useful critique! Bring action forward in your story; get it going quick. This is why agents and editors tell you to start your story in the middle: They’ve seen too many Chapter Ones bogged down by backstory. Put your backstory in the back, not the front. Readers will stick with you if you give them something juicy right away. I make a point of opening each of my Rita Farmer novels with a violent scene, which is then revealed to be an audition, or a film shoot or a rehearsal. Right away, the reader gets complexity, layers and a surprise shift of frame of reference.

Be decisive. A good way to do that is to make a character take decisive action.

Don’t telegraph too much; let action develop through the chapter. It’s good to end Chapter One with some closure. Because it is Chapter One, your readers will trust that the closure will turn out to be deliciously false.

#8: BE BOLD.
The most important thing to do when writing Chapter One is put your best material out there. Do not humbly introduce your story—present it with a flourish. Don’t hold back! Set your tone and own it. You’re going to write a whole book using great material; have confidence that you can generate terrific ideas for action and emotion whenever you want.

If you do your job creating a fabulous appetizer in Chapter One and follow it up well, your readers will not only stay through the whole meal, they’ll order dessert, coffee and maybe even a nightcap—and they won’t want to leave until you have to throw them out at closing time.

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