Ever heard this one?
“It starts off a bit slow, but don’t worry because it get’s really good.”
I always wonder where that chain starts, who was the first person to read through the boring bit to find out if it’s good or not?
After spending the last 5 years reading more than 6000 submissions for Elegant Lit, my preference is certainly for stories that create immediate interest and sustain it to the end.
Openings are hard. It’s one of the most talked about aspects of storytelling.
The first sentence…
The first paragraph…
The first 5 pages…
Establish voice, tone, genre, stakes, promise, worldbuilding, obstacles.
Tell us who the character is, their desire, fears, misguided beliefs. Give them agency.
But don’t use exposition or provide backstory.
Start with action, but make us care about the character or we won’t care about the action.
There are many opinions, some contradictory, and little practical advice besides do this and do that and read a lot, write a lot, practice practice practice and you’ll develop your own style.
I don’t think that’s good enough.
So I set out to determine what an opening actually is, what techniques you can use to write one that works, and just as importantly, diagnose one that doesn’t.
The result is two letters. The first—this letter—will discuss the architecture of an opening, what I call the Stakes/Clarity Thresholds. The second will get into specific strategies you can use to meet these thresholds, like The Anticipation Stack and Pressure Point Opening.
I’ll be focusing on novel-length stories in these letters, but the advice can translate to any other length.
And if you are keen to go deeper on story-openings, we are hosting a 12 week, limited-capacity, feedback-oriented course called Intro To Novel Writing, beginning mid-March. This is the first announcement, so if you want to learn more about it, join the waitlist by clicking here.
Now, let’s get into the Stakes/Clarity Thresholds.
(approximately 20 minute read)
Why Current Approaches Fail
Hook them with a great first line = gimmicky, and insufficient on the how.
Start with action = sometimes confusing, often fails to create investment, works better in movies.
The story finds it’s feet by chapter 3 = readers are already gone.
The opening of a story is too-often treated like a set-up for the actual story.
We want to avoid front-loading backstory and beginning with too much exposition, sure. That’s common advice, and the reason is simple: you’re adding more cognitive load than readers can handle before they have a reason to care.
Unless your prose is beautiful and the reader enjoys beautiful prose more than story, exposition and backstory are just asking them to learn facts about your story in order to enjoy it, and that’s backwards.
Starting with the character’s “ordinary life” is something I see recommended a lot, and it’s necessary so they can “return changed” at the end if you follow that story structure, but…
Ordinary doesn’t mean boring.
I read a lot of pieces where the character wakes up and begins their day—a boring, routine day that is the same as many of us have: brush teeth, make coffee, check phone.
No.
You want to establish their ordinary life, but you also want to establish the tone, style, and promise your story is making to the reader. The regular routine tells us nothing about what type of story this will be.
You can be both setting up the overall story and telling a story, at the same time.
How?
I prefer to think of the opening as having a measurable structure with specific milestones.
But don’t tune out if you’re a discovery writer! I’m not saying you have to plot anything in advance. Plotters can use this to guide their work ahead of time, and pantsers can use it as a diagnostic tool for a wandering openings after they finish writing.
So what is the structure and what are the milestones we want to hit?
The Stakes/Clarity Thresholds
The opening is not where you ease into the story.
It’s where you win the reader’s attention and trust, and earn their commitment.
You can build your opening with intention instead of hope, transforming it from mysterious intuition into solid craft.
You’ll know exactly where the opening isn’t working and reduce reader abandonment by delivering on promises at each structural milestone.
There are three thresholds we’ll be looking at: the micro, meso, and macro.
The Micro Threshold
The micro threshold is at roughly 250 words.
This is where you are fighting for their attention.
The goal is to establish voice, tone, and the promise of what the story will deliver. Spark their curiosity. Give them a reason to keep reading.
Let’s look at the openings of two books published nearly 200 years apart: Pride & Prejudice (1813) and The Hunger Games (2008).
P&P by Jane Austen first:
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife, impatiently.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
This was invitation enough.
“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”
“What is his name?”
“Bingley.”
“Is he married or single?”
“Oh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”
In 270 words, the promise is pretty clear. There’s a rich man coming to town, and the Bennets want one of their daughters to marry him.
The tone is ironic and wry, slightly restrained.
The narrator’s voice is authoritative and formal. It’s a serious tone of voice, which creates a nice irony when contrasted with the silliness of the idea that the Bennets already consider Bingley the rightful property of one of their daughters (doesn’t even matter which one!).
It’s contrasted further by the characters’ voices. Mrs. Bennet is excited, a bit breathless, comes off a little frantic. Mr. Bennet is quietly amused and speaks minimally. He’s sardonic and dry. The friction between the three different voices creates a comedic effect.
The narrator presents a social assumption like it’s a law of nature or philosophical certainty, mimicking moral authority while exposing the social absurdity. This is the second promise: it’s a story about love and marriage, but it will be ironic and poke fun at the social institutions of the time.
There’s plenty more we can unpack from this, but it clearly indicates the voice, tone, and promise of the story, giving the reader a good understanding for what they’re in for if they keep reading.
It’s still ordinary life for the characters, but packs in far more information than a description of their routine could provide.
Let’s look at The Hunger Game by Suzanne Collins next:
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.
I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mothers body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. He hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.
In 270 words, Collins also sets up promise, voice, and tone, but in a different way.
Here the narrator and character voice are one and the same. It’s practical and competent. It reveals a love of family without being sentimental, and demonstrates a survival mindset. Katniss is also straightforward, not beating around the bush or asking for sympathy when talking about drowning the cat to save food.
The tone has a quality of restrained tenderness, layered over some obvious economic hardship. This is underscored by dread: something bad this way comes.
And that brings us to the promise, which is less clearly stated the Pride & Prejudice but still completely shown to the reader.
“This is the day of the reaping” is like a ticking clock in this story. Reaping could mean a harvest of crops, but based on the focus on hunger and survival, and Prim’s bad dreams, we can assume it’s not. It’s something sinister, and it’s happening soon.
The information we know by the end of the micro-threshold tells us everything. Katniss loves Prim. She wants to protect her, and Prim is innocent and vulnerable. Whatever the reaping is, it’s almost sure to threaten their relationship. We know resources are scarce and morality is shaped by hunger, implying hard choices are normal for Katniss. And because her voice is competent and self-aware, Collins is telling us we are in the hands of a capable protagonist who will act when the threat appears.
Our expectations of this story are set.
Also, note how well the worldbuilding is handled in this brief passage. No exposition dumps. No history lesson taking up valuable real-estate. We start with Katniss, in her ordinary life (that we know is about to change or be threatened), but details like the shared bedroom, the mother’s beaten-down nature, and cleaning a kill give us a sense of the character’s situation without over-explaining.
Your job as the writer is to not just begin the story, but set up the voice, tone, and promise of what’s to come.
Both of these excerpts start with ordinary life, but also with something that will obviously push the characters out of the ordinary in short order.
As an exercise, try copying your first 250ish words into a blank document and read it in isolation, looking specifically for those markers.
The Meso Threshold
The meso threshold is at roughly 1000 words.
You grabbed the reader’s attention by the micro, told them what type of story it is and what to expect if they keep reading.
Now we need to clarify who the character is, what they want, what’s stopping them, and why it matters.
After around 1000 words, if the reader doesn’t know the who, what, and why, you risk them becoming unmoored. They begin to wonder where this story is going and why they should care.
It’s time to earn their trust.
Let’s have a look at the next 750 words from The Hunger Games:
Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prims gift to me on reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside.
Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn’t until two. May as well sleep in. If you can.
Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the woods, in fact enclosing all of District 12, is a high chain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops. In theory, it’s supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live in the woods, “packs of wild dogs, lone cougars,” that used to threaten our streets. But since we’re lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, it’s usually safe to touch. Even so, I always take a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live. Right now, it’s silent as a stone. Concealed by a clump of bushes, I flatten out on my belly and slide under a two-foot stretch that’s been loose for years. There are several other weak spots in the fence, but this one is so close to home I almost always enter the woods here.
As soon as I’m in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Electrified or not, the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh-eaters out of District 12. Inside the woods they roam freely, and there are added concerns like venomous snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow. But there’s also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.
Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most are not bold enough to venture out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep well hidden in the woods, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. My father could have made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they’re as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they’re among our best customers. But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never have been allowed.
In the fall, a few brave souls sneak into the woods to harvest apples. But always in sight of the Meadow. Always close enough to run back to the safety of District 12 if trouble arises. District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety, I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, even in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.
When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?
Did Collin’s provide the information we needed to pass the meso threshold?
Who is Katniss? She’s a hunter, a rule-breaker, and a black market trader. She’s also a protector and provider, and emotionally disciplined. She’s traumatized from her father’s death, and appears to be the main provider for her household.
What does she want? As mentioned earlier, it’s clear she wants to keep Prim safe and keep the family fed. But she wants to do this while maintaining their current stability, without drawing attention to themselves. Just as importantly, she doesn’t seem to want revolution, adventure, or recognition. She wants the system to leave her alone.
Her want is survival, for herself, for her family.
What’s stopping her?
It’s two-fold: the institution and the environment. On the institution side, The Capitol, severe penalties for poaching, public executions, and the hinted at Hunger Games, are keeping her family in poverty. The environment–poor working conditions, starvation, and scarce resources like electricity–doesn’t make things easier.
But the more immediate obstacle is the reaping. It’s not explained what it is yet, but we get the sense it’s out of her control. She can hunt for food, she can avoid talking about the social issues, but the reaping is unavoidable (and obviously a big deal).
Finally, why does it matter?
We know who Katniss is, we know what she wants, and we know what’s causing problems for her. Even though we don’t yet know the Reaping is a lottery that sends children to fight to the death, we understand it’s serious and dangerous.
If it effects Katniss, Prim will be left vulnerable. If it effects Prim, Katniss will lose her purpose. It threatens the fragile stability she has currently, which is what she wants to maintain.
If you’re a reader who likes the type of story promised in the micro threshold, and enjoy the voice and tone of this, then by the meso threshold you understand who the character is, what they want, and what’s in their way. It’s enough for you to know why it matters, and more importantly, if it matters enough to you to keep reading.
Not all readers will want the story you’re offering.
But it’s better you give them enough information to make that choice instead of losing readers who would have liked it, if only it had gotten good before chapter three.
Now on to Pride & Prejudice:
“How so? How can it affect them?”
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.”
“Is that his design in settling here?”
“Design? Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as soon as he comes.”
“I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go—or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the party.”
“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”
“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”
“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.”
“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”
“But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account; for in general, you know, they visit no new comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him, if you do not.”
“You are over scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls—though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.”
“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others: and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her the preference.”
“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he: “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.”
“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.”
“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.”
“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”
“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”
“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”
“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.”
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married: its solace was visiting and news.
CHAPTER II.
Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with,—
“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”
“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother, resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”
“But you forget, mamma,” said Elizabeth, “that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.”
“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.”
Austen does something differently than Collins. If you’ve read P&P, you know Elizabeth is the main character, but she has a considerably delayed introduction, especially when compared to Katniss.
Instead of highlighting the main character, the family unit takes center stage. The passage gives us a pretty solid idea of who the Bennets are.
We already got Mr. Bennet’s voice but now we see more of his personality. He’s ironic but responsible. He mocks the social game but still plays it. He essentially pranks his wife by always planning to visit Bingley but telling her the opposite.
Mrs. Bennet is anxious, socially obsessed, and not too smart.
Elizabeth is intelligent, Jane is beautiful, Lydia is good-humored.
These are the “who” of the story.
And what does this family want? Despite the different wants of the parents moment to moment, the structural want–the want shared by adults and daughters alike–is to secure at least one of the daughters an advantageous marriage.
The obstacle is of course that the marriage market is competitive and nothing is guaranteed. Minor obstacles are presented, like the social protocol that men must initiate introductions, and the spread of positive traits among the daughters. Mrs. Bennet is also portrayed as having less-than-ideal social behaviour, which ends up becoming an obstacle later in the story.
Why does all this matter? While Austen leaves the explanation of the inheritance, entailment, and financial issues the Bennets face for the macro threshold, the marriage plot has a sense of urgency.
Mrs. Bennet is not treating it like a romantic opportunity. We’re told about rival families, the scramble to meet Bingley first, and the obsession with his income. It’s obvious marriage is economically decisive and readers can infer that not securing a marriage would be a big problem.
So now we have clarity on the stakes this family faces, and know enough to trust the trajectory of this story. We have the information needed to decide to keep reading.
The exercise for your own work is the same. Isolate the first 1000 words and make sure you can check off the boxes for who the story is about, what they want, what’s in the way, and why this matters.
And remember, the excerpts I’ve provided are from polished, published novels. You’re first draft doesn’t need to be this tight yet, but it’s a good idea to keep these markers and thresholds in mind.
When you’re ready to go further, the lesson Make Your First Pages Shine, from literary agent Kaitlin Katsoupis in Elegant Literature’s AuthorHQ is a good place to start.
The Macro Threshold
You got the readers attention at the mirco threshold.
You earned their trust and their engagement by the meso threshold.
You’ve bought yourself some breathing room.
The reader has a character to follow, an expectation of what will happen, and an understanding this is the type of story they will enjoy.
They’re willing to stick with you a while to see if you deliver on the promises you’ve made.
Now comes the macro threshold, and I place it at roughly 50 pages.
Why 50 pages? Because math.
260 x 60 / 300 = 52
The average silent reading speed for an adult reading fiction is 260 word per minute.
The average word count per page in a printed fiction book is about 300.
This means that in 1 hour they will read 52 pages.
One hour of reading is enough time to experience the start of a narrative arc, get a sense of the book’s pacing, and see whether the promises the author made are being fulfilled.
The reader expects the stakes to be escalating and the characters to be making consequential decisions.
People start to lose patience and disengage if the central conflict of the piece doesn’t have forward momentum after an hour of reading.
But because words per page differs between printed books and manuscript, lets talk actual wordcount.
52 pages = 15,600 words.
That’s 15.6% of a 100,000 word novel. Here’s what that means for some popular story structures:
Story Circle → You’ve moved through “You” and “Need” and are well into “Go”.
Standard 3-act → You moved through Hook Opening, Set Up, Inciting Event, and are into the Build Up phase.
Movie Plot → You’re through Opening Image, Theme Stated, Set Up, Catalyst, and into the Debate.
You’re over halfway into Act 1.
That’s a lot of breathing room.
What does Austen do with it in Pride & Prejudice?
Chapter 8 ends on page 51, so let’s see what’s happened:
The daughters attend a ball and Bingley dances with Jane twice, and they clearly like each other. Mr. Darcy, Bingley’s friend and another possible suitor for the daughters, refuses to dance with Elizabeth, calling her only “tolerable,” which establishes their mutual dislike.
While Bingley’s sister tries to flatter Darcy, he becomes intrigued by Elizabeth’s wit and intelligence, despite her lower social standing and his arrogant pride.
Jane gets sick while visiting the Bingleys, forcing her to stay at Netherfield. Elizabeth walks there through mud to take care of Jane, which makes the Bingley sisters scorn her but earns her some respect from Darcy.
Throughout all this we see the social machinations of the society. We see the cunning plans of Mrs. Bennet, sending Jane to the Bingley’s house by horse so that when it rains she’s forced to stay over.
Does Austen meet the macro threshold?
Absolutely. The marriage market is now in full swing, which is the driving engine of the story.
The stakes have escalated: Jane is in favor with Bingley, but his retinue look down on her family’s social standing, and his best friend is developing a love/hate relationship with Elizabeth. They are all trapped in close proximity by Jane’s illness.
Mrs. Bennet is actively manipulating events to attain her desire to marry Jane and Bingley. Various relationships have formed and are already changing. Elizabeth makes the decision to walk to Netherfield and be with her sister, trapped with people who don’t like her.
The promise of social satire and marriage competition is fulfilled, and the novel has shifted from marriage generally to Jane and Bingley specifically, with the central romantic tension being between Elizabeth and Darcy.
It’s no longer just a comedy about the marriage market, but a specific story about their particular romantic rivalry. And we now know if none of the daughters get married before their aging father dies they will lose the house, their money, and any chance of a future with high social standing.
We’ve moved from premise to interaction. From the abstract stakes of “get one of the daughters married” to the specific romantic conflict between these two families.
We have a central relationship and several minor ones.
There’s emotional friction, and we anticipate further obstacles in the form of Bingley’s sisters, Darcy’s pride, and social etiquette.
Putting the book down now feels like walking out of the theater mid-performance. Most readers who bought into the story at the meso threshold will feel satisfied and be willing to commit fully to the rest of the book.
All that in roughly one hour of reading time.
What about The Hunger Games?
By page 52 we are part way through chapter 4.
We learn the history of their dystopian world and what The Hunger Games are, and that only two people from their district have ever won, of which only one still lives.
The reaping happens, Prim is chosen, and Katniss volunteers as tribute.
The people she must leave behind promise to take care of Prim and her mother. There are hints of rebellion in the three-fingered salute and the mockingjay pin. She leaves District 12 and boards the train to the Capitol. They meet Haymitch and learn they must play the political game to get sponsors and increase their odds of survival, which are already slim.
Does Collin’s meet the macro threshold?
Again, yep.
The promise of the reaping causing problems for Katniss is fulfilled. The conflict is escalated: The Hunger Games are now on the horizon and her primary want of survival is threatened, as is the welfare and protection of her family.
Also, notice how the things she doesn’t want (adventure, recognition, rebellion) are being forced on her.
There’s no turning back either, once volunteered as the tribute she can’t back out. Talk about a consequential decision by our main character.
Forward momentum in the story is obvious. We follow a clear trajectory: ordinary life, reaping, volunteering, goodbyes and departure, train, meeting the mentor, discussing strategy for arriving in the Capitol.
Stuff is happening fast, for both Katniss and the reader.
The central conflict–the driving engine of the story–is locked in. Katniss versus The Hunger Games, and by extension, the entire oppressive system. If our hero is to survive, this seems (and is) unavoidable.
By the macro threshold we have characters making life defining choices, a solid genre premise, a clear antagonist (in this case not a single person but the system), and a crystallized expectation on the next phase of the story.
Bring on the dystopian children death match arena.
If that’s your thing then you know enough to commit to reading the rest of the book.
Check Your Own Work
Read your first 15,000ish words. Can you identify:
In the first 250ish:
- Tone
- Narrative voice
- Character voice (if different)
- Any promises being made
In the first 1000ish:
- Who the character is
- What they want
- What’s stopping them
- Why that matters
In the remaining 14,0000ish:
- An active core conflict
- The protagonist making or being forced to make a defining choice
- Explicit stakes and what happens if the protagonist fails
- Evident momentum
If so, huzzah!
You are hitting some necessary milestones and setting your story up for a good run.
You will have grabbed the readers attention, earned their trust and engagement, and finally won their commitment to reading the rest of the story.
That’s the job of an opening.
Again, if you enjoyed this, I’m writing another letter on some specific techniques you can use to meet the Stakes/Clarity Thresholds with style.
In the meantime, go deeper with our 12 week, small group, feedback-oriented course. Intro To Novel Writing begins March 16th, and you can join the waitlist here.
Happy writing!
