Let’s talk about a perennially frustrating conundrum that every writer faces: how do I begin my writing? What are my first words going to be? Where do I find the right words for the idea in my head? We have all been there. Whether we are writing a letter, a story, or an essay, we spend inordinate amounts of time and effort coming up with the perfect line that can catch the reader’s eye. Stephen King in fact claims taking weeks, months, and even years coming up with the perfect opening paragraphs for his work. He compares writing a good opening line to “trying to catch moonbeams in a jar.”
So, what is it about openings that make them so elusive? Why do we fret so much over our first words? The answer probably lies in the truism, “First impression is the last impression.” More so in the world of writing, where the attention span of readers is directly proportionate to the captivating power of the words on the page. A reader in this frenzied, revolutionary age of information is assailed by a myriad of textual forces, all vying for his eye. The first few lines decide whether you have the reader “hooked” or lost forever.
The most important sentence in any article is the first one. If it doesn’t induce the reader to proceed to the second sentence, your article is dead.
William Zinsser (On Writing Well)
A strong hook, also called a lede, keeps readers glued to your writing until they have voraciously devoured every word. Your battle is half won, your success sealed in those first few lines. Once the first stumbling block is overcome, your creative juices flow like the fountain of Pirene.
This post (exclusively on descriptive writing) is going to be the first in a series (not necessarily in a chronological manner) on finding the perfect opening for any genre of writing. A word of caution: the following list is not intended to be a comprehensive compilation. Nobody can put a cap on creativity; these are a few of the tried and tested methods.
Anecdotes, Vignettes or Recollections
Kick off spectacularly by writing a short anecdote or conjuring a memory of the subject. Stories are the universal language of mankind. They contextualise a subject, or in other words, provide flesh and blood to it, pulling the reader into the tangible or the here and now.
An effective anecdote contains details relevant to the rest of the writing and presents them in a vivid fashion (show not tell). To write an anecdote, you need the following ingredients: a focalised event (who, what, where, when) accompanied by the resulting sensations and thoughts. Gather all the mentioned essentials, throw in some sensory words and flavour them with a bit of emotive language to create a rich first impression.
When I think of John, I am always reminded of his big bang entry three years ago in my life. The day had started with the most boring subject: history. Most were trying to stifle their yawns as the new, enthusiastic teacher, unfortunately mistaking our mournful silence for awe, droned on and on about the War of the Roses. The summer heat and the constant hum of history were pulling me into a deep reverie. Bang! The door flung open and brought everyone back from the dead past to the present. A boy with dishevelled auburn hair and half-moon spectacles stood in the doorway, his nose in the air and his beady eyes studying our faces with conspicuous scorn. Despite appearances, he was soon to become my best friend.
John has not much changed since then. A predilection for being the centre of attraction colours all his actions even now.
If space constraint (three to four hundred words only) is a factor, then rather than writing a full-fledged anecdote, you can create a vivid snapshot (in a line or two) of the most enduring impression of the subject. This image could be the time you lost your first baby tooth or the last time you saw your grandmother.
A scruffy girl with ugly blue bruises on her knees and a diabolical smile on her freckled face stood between the burly bullies and my petite, shadowy figure. Anabelle, my best friend, saved me then and forever.
A good descriptive essay balances physical characteristics of a subject with the sensations and memories it evokes. Often, for lack of space or time, one is sacrificed at the cost of the other. Beginning a descriptive piece with an anecdote or a brief recollected image ticks one essential off your list of requisites.
Deferral or Procrastination
Cowering inside a discarded shopping bag and seeking shelter from the pelting rain was a white furry ball of cuteness. It found me. My feline friend, Scooter.
I bit into the succulent ripeness of the apple, savouring its mellow sweetness. When I opened my eyes again to take another bite, I saw a glittering milky pearl surrounded by a couple of ruby red drops. And just like that the endless agony of the last few days was over: I had lost my first tooth.
Note the above given examples. What do they have in common? Answer: delayed introduction of the subject. In both the examples, the reader is left wondering who the author is talking about. You can write one enigmatic paragraph, playing hide and seek with the reader before revealing the identity of the subject in the opening of the second paragraph. An opening that does not provide easy answers instantly piques the reader's curiosity exponentially. The reader has no choice but to get at the bottom of things. (Be careful of stretching this technique beyond the patience of the reader)
In Medias res
Out with the predictable “Once upon a time”; the middle is the new opening. In medias res, a Latin phrase meaning “in the midst of things,” is immensely popular in the literary world as a storytelling technique to defer the subject and tease the reader into unbearable curiosity. In medias res doesn't waste time and space on exposition. It hooks the audience immediately, shoving him into the middle of the action.
William Golding’s Lord of the Flies doesn’t open with the description of the plane crash; it jumps straight to the action on the island:
The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon.
Gabriel Garcia Marques begins his celebrated novel One Hundred Years of Solitude, not with the founding of the village of Macondo, but with the distant childhood memory of one of the central characters facing a possible death:
Many years later as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buenda was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.
Why not try something similar in a descriptive essay? Begin not at zero coordinates but some way far off on the descriptive scale.
The books were a month overdue. With tremulous hands, I opened the ponderous oak door and stepped into the library. (Opening for a descriptive essay on a library)
So here are a cluster of creative precepts for dynamic openings in descriptive write-ups. In our next blog, we’ll continue the discussion and roll out a couple of techniques more on this topic.