“Hi Rachel, I have a premise and character I’m fleshing out for my novel. Do you have any specific prompts or suggestions for how to begin a novel/when or where to begin?” Joanne, London
Best question in the world, because more than ever there’s no right answer. If we don’t know the story yet, we don’t know how it begins. The way we meet the story is by writing it, so even if I ‘know’ how my story begins right now, the ‘real’, eventual answer might be different to today’s.
We construct our beginning based on our end, that’s why hindsight is 20-20 and a to-do list ends up with the deepest most important things at the bottom. We’re a little afraid of the end. It’s so…final. And means it’s time to point it towards those readers we, in theory, have wanted so much to reach since before we began writing.
Okay, health warning/evasion over. Answer incoming.
If you can accept there’s no answer, and/or that the answer will change, the exam room becomes a games room. The blank page becomes an opportunity not a crisis. You let yourself enjoy the journey without being too worked up about the destination.
So here is this week’s creative dare. Try out a minimum of two of these as ‘the’ beginning to your story (knowing, of course, it’s just ‘a’ beginning).
The Rebecca manoeuvre
“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” This exquisite little rule-breaker of a literary/psychological thriller/horror/gothic romance/prototypical domestic noir uses a framing device to let you know all you’re about to see is the past, and the secret it keeps is what the hell the future is these events have led to. We can assume the protagonist whose name we don’t know (and – spoiler – never will) survived, and that’s more or less true, but like all of us growing up the question is what has she sacrificed to become the next version of herself?
The Jane Eyre manoeuvre.
“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day”. Stating a fact that doesn’t tell you anything: where, when, who, or even what. Yet it draws us in with that confidence. It also gives us a deep, instant sense of the understated approach to the emotional, social and cultural rollercoaster. Next time you’re tempted to pander to the reader with excess ‘telling’, just crawl deeper into your character’s head and let your reader watch, in natural time.
The Wuthering Heights manoeuvre.
''1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with.'' There is no story unless someone wants or needs to change and there’s nothing like false certainty in the viewpoint character’s voice to know that needs to happen. Have your character state a fact we can feel isn’t true – and is screaming to be shown up as such so there can be positive change (or, if it’s a tragedy, not).
So now, over to you – stick your ‘what the hell’ hat o and enjoy exploring your three beginnings, with no idea what they’ll look like before they arrive on the page.
Join me on 2 February, 12-1pm, for the Friday Writing Workout…