Fabulous First Lines for Aspiring Writers, Partie Trois

I suppose that I need to clarify that these encouragements are only for the first line of a novel. I am not giving advice for short stories, novellas, non-fiction, movie scripts, or anything else. Just Novels. Okay?

Let me expand on that just a smidge. Basically, I think you can do about anything with the first line of a short story. For instance, a recent story by Steven King which appeared in my beloved New Yorker magazine had this first line, “They’ve been married for ten years and for a long time everything was O.K.—swell—but now they argue.” And the story went on to explain that the wife died rather shortly thereafter and at a rather young age and that the husband was essentially rather happy about that. He accidentally killed the wife’s dog, too, at about the same time his wife fell over from a heart attack. He seemed rather happy about that, as well. Now, he could smoke anywhere in the house that he wanted. And she was really fat and the dog loved her. So, I think maybe that first line was the whole thing up front. Whoopee.

See, you can get away with anything on the first line of a short story. The reader has nothing to lose by reading a couple of pages. But for a novel you must have more. You must engage them for the long haul: for the big book, for the tome, for whatever it is you have in that three inch thick stack of paper on your desk. (Okay, in my case 0.5 mil of crap.)

I keep telling you vaunting novelists to keep things short: be concise and knifing with your first line. But if you cannot be, then you must have a first line that in and of its own essence is explanatory. More importantly, it must be a full story in a few words. Or, realistically, it must compel the reader to think of a story in only a sentence.

Hemingway was challenged to write a novel in this way. His response was: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn." And he judged this his best work. If you look at it as a full story, it is. That is about as short as it gets, too. So long as the readers’ imagination isn’t too short. Not many publishers would do much with that as a book, even with Hemingway’s name attached.

Thus, I am here to confide to you a great manner in which you should begin your novel.

Now, I mentioned earlier during this pitiful essay that a first line should be terse. It should be concise. Yet, many great novels have begun with a paragraph sentence. Okay. Okay.

Let me caution you: a long opening line must be a story in itself. Here is a favorite of mine from Saul Bellow and it comes at the beginning of Mr. Sammler’s Planet: “Shortly after dawn, or what would have been dawn in a normal sky, Mr. Artur Sammler with his bushy eye took in the books and papers of his West Side bedroom and suspected strongly that they were the wrong books, the wrong papers.” And I suspect that I think that is a great, great line because it is the first thing that I think upon waking every day. But, even so, it tells a complete story rather quickly. How often can you get away with that?

And here is a Proulx’ beginning to one of her classic Wyoming Stories: “Archie and Rose McLaverty staked out a homestead where the Little Weed comes rattling down from the Sierra Madre, water named not for miniature and obnoxious flora but for P. H. Weed, a gold seeker who had starved near its source.” It is a well told story. It might possibly have made a great novel if it had started better and weathered a few more pages. But for a short story, hey, that is a wonderful first line. It tells a rather good story standing by itself.

Charles Frazier wrote Cold Mountain, undoubtedly one of the best first novels of the last three centuries. His second try, Thirteen Moons, which I loved but was less well-received by anyone else had this first line: “There is no scatheless rapture.” Frankly, that could not be more powerful. Take a lesson from it. Five words.  Take a lesson from it.  Be concise.

Fabulous First Lines for Aspiring Writers, Part Deux

“Call me Ishmael” is the first line of Moby-Dick, published in 1851. It is perhaps the most remembered, the most recognizable, the most revered first line of any novel.

A year prior to this, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote “A throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments and gray, steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes.” This was the opening line for A Scarlet Letter. Sorry to say that I have often mixed this authorship around with Harper Lee. But Harper Lee had something to do with a book about killing a talkative bird or something like that. Sorry.

Now, you tell me, which of these lines would you rather have at the beginning of your novel? (Of course, you can use neither because that would be plagiarism. Bear with me here.) Obviously, Melville was a genius compared to Hawthorne when it comes to opening lines.

Terse, be TERSE, I say, and Melville does it exceptionally well. The name Ishmael is the treasure here. Put that in any sentence and you’ve got a keeper. Who would suppose that this fellow is from Manhattan? It would have been pure suicide to write “Call me Ishmael, I’m from Manhattan.” So I think Melville got it right the first time.

Now, as to your Fabulous First Line, you can certainly take a lesson from Melville. You will not want emulate his prose on this issue, but you will want to have something on the order of a verb—possessive pronoun—noun structure. Please feel free to send me suggestions and I will be happy to critique those here.

I’ve got a good first line for you in this vent. Feel free to use it.

“Watch my ducks.”

It’s a perfect beginning for any novel. (And I am sure that the purists among you will inform me that “my” is an adjective.)

Fabulous First Lines for Aspiring Writers

If your novel begins "Torrential rain was falling on the tropical island of St. Thomas as Bob murdered his mother." ...You have problems.

I am here to help.

There are two elements in this first line that will capture the readers attention immediately, murder (1) in an exotic setting (2). Bad weather is not necessary. And this line is too complex. It would be wise to avoid the name Bob here. And for better names I will not suggest Norman. Perhaps Elliot would do. Elliot is a less likely murderer and yet still open to suspicion.

The essence here, for the first line of this novel, is murder. The location is interesting and important, but not crucial. This can be fleshed out later. Perhaps this first line can be distilled to, "Elliot killed his mother." Certainly never, "Bob killed his mother." And the rest will follow because the reader has been captured by that one, terse bit of information.

Now, practice more and get back to me with your next Fabulous First Line for your novel. I am here to help.

Reflections on Returning from Istanbul

My flight back, Istanbul to JFK, was awful. I was sitting with a swarm of teenagers who never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped taking flash photos of each other, constantly blocked the aisles and tried to pile four people into any one seat. The flight was full. Not a moment of rest for twelve hours... Well, they had fun, good for them. I don't resent that. It was their first trip to the United States. They went nuts upon seeing NYC from the air.

My re-entry into the United States was the best ever. Usually, I get treated rather roughly by my own country. I guess it is because I speak the same language and they can grill me. And, usually, my entry into any other country is smooth and pleasant in comparison, go figure. This time upon re-entry I was ready with a little speech about how stupid it is to question me and prod me as a US citizen. But I didn't need it. They just waved me through with a single question. (I've not been asked any questions when entering France, Italy, Japan or Turkey...) The question that I was asked only had to do with the type of business that I was doing. It was fair and easy for once. In previous re-entries, I've been grilled about where and when I went to school, exactly what I was doing abroad, who paid for it, where I was going in the US, where I visited, where I lived, what is my favorite color and how to spell colour. And many others...

The people in Istanbul were very friendly. I never felt at home, but I never felt threatened or frightened. (Well, scratch that, the traffic scared me to death. Even walking on the sidewalk was death defying.) But the people were really sweet to me. Now, to each other? Not so much. I heard several very heated exchanges (in Turkish) between people who were clearly exasperated with each other. I cannot understand a word of Turkish, but I do know how an argument sounds in any language. And they can certainly do that with each other in a flash.

I can certify that per day, I get treated much worse here in the United States than anywhere else. That is a certifiably unfair statement, too, because I am out-of-country only a few weeks each year. The rest of the time I live near Indianapolis, Indiana, and it is really nice here. Go figure.

I was in a microcosm for the most part. Istanbul is a city of fifteen million people and I only saw a couple thousand people during my week there. I stayed in an English speaking hotel with several hundred other English speaking people (from all over the globe). I walked within a couple of miles of the hotel and this area was all well above poverty levels. I toured just a little and that was in a popular tourist destination. So, how much did I see?

Not so much. Most of the time I was working at the hotel...

But if all I got were glimpses of the city, they were impressive visions. It's huge and old and crowded, spanning the continents of Europe and Asia. Daily, I could hear the lovely call to prayers from nearby Mosques. I saw the only Mosque in the world with six spires. (My tour guide would be ashamed of me if I didn't mention that.) I was in the Hippodrome and saw the Sultan's museum. I ate things that I could not identify and loved it.

And I searched for shoe strings and was given them for free from a clothier.

An encounter with God, a God moment

So we have this lovely little dog named Molly. We got her January 1, 2009 and she was born September 24, 2008. It was cold and snowy at the time and she was absolutely untrained and still afraid of the dark. We took her home. She was trembling, frightened and hungry. She became happier in a few days and we worked at training her and making sure that she was happy.

Then Theresa was injured severely and required a nasty surgery and a prolonged recovery. I was scurrying around taking care of her and this puppy. I lost ten pounds... Really, I did. Anyway, our lives revolved around Theresa and this puppy for quite awhile.

Things got better. Well, there were lots of drugs in the house and one fell on the floor and the dog got it. She had to be flushed at the pet hospital. That involved a few days of puppy puking. And she had a hernia following the spay and that involved a week in the pet hospital. We've been through a lot together and I do love this puppy.

Theresa has been getting better through weeks and weeks of physical therapy. But she nor I have had the time to spend decently with this puppy. It hasn't been fair to the dog. No fault, but it just hasn't been fair. We try and try to play and train Molly. But I'm gone alot. And so is Theresa. When Theresa has to start teaching again in August, this would only get worse. The dog would be alone ten hours each day, perhaps more. We live in a condominium and Molly cannot run freely. It is obvious to us that she really wants to run around without a leash.

Molly is a good dog and seldom makes pee-poopy mistakes. But she began to "act-out" in response to inactivity. Barking. Barking and more barking. She was trying to train us. The barking was her only way to communicate to us that we were not paying enough attention. Unfortunately, the neighbors became upset.

We talked about this and decided that we could not be proper parents to this little girl and to give her to a good home. We have no yard for her to run in and we are gone too much. I placed an ad in the paper for a GOOD home for her and that ad will go into print tomorrow. Tomorrow.

During last night, Molly was acting very badly and very loudly. There was pounding on the wall next door. I could not get Molly to quiet down.

Here is what happened today: I was upset with the dog and with myself. I sat down and prayed to God for guidance and forgiveness for my bad patience. I specifically asked for a good thing for Molly.

Not long after that the plumber called and said he would be there to service the water heater. He came and did his stuff. Meanwhile, Molly was all over him and loving him to death. I mentioned to him that I needed an adoptive home for Molly and I told him why. It turned out that he has a big, fenced-in back yard and four children who all want a dog. I told him that he really needed to talk to his wife and his response was that his wife wanted a dog. I insisted that he talk to her first. He did. She loved the idea.

Molly went home with him to his family. She has all her toys, favorite food, stuff. She is getting constant attention. And she has a big yard with NO leash. She is nearby and we can go there. I've called twice to let them know all sorts of things about her. She still has her health insurance. I've left this open and she will come back here immediately if rejected. So far, I hear that she is thrilled with the new experience.

Here is exactly why I believe this is a God moment: I never called for a plumber. I didn't even know that I had a plumber due to check the water heater. Heck, I didn't even know that I had a service contract on it. They called me and told me that the plumber was coming. I think that is a God call.

I asked God for help and I got it. And there is more to it than just that. My neighbors need my help... Everything is related. Nothing is accidental.

A tad more from Istanbul

My meetings are over, yah!

I slept really late, for me. No breakfast. Got up and went to the lobby for a bit. And then started walking toward the sea. Well, I'm not really clear on the route I took but I ended up on the Bosphorus.

Lots of shops and cafes and stuff. Tons of people. And the traffic was as always stuffed. I was sweating and getting parched. I was trying to pick out a cafe that might speak my gibberish. Went past the Burger King, the KFC and McDonalds. Walked by the Shell station.

When I got down by the harbor I was just wishing for a breeze. I found a wonderful place to stand for awhile. There was a stout breeze down a lovely path into a courtyard in an old building. I stood there until I was dry. Got tired of the odd looks that I was getting. So I went into the courtyard. It was an entrance to a lovely Mosque. So, I sorta turned around and left before I disturbed anyone.

Have I mentioned how hard it is to cross the street? As far as I can tell, the greatest danger here is Istanbul is the traffic. A person on the street is nothing less than a target for the myriad vehicles. Well, I got lucky and found a cross-over walk.

Went to a Naval Museum and wondered around in there for awhile. Nothing spectacular, but a nice break from the busy streets.

Still no food and I was feeling rather dehydrated. Bought water from one of the millions of people selling it.

Since I was sweating and exhausted from the long walk, and knowing that the walk back would involved on LONG hill, I gave up and got a Taksi.

This was one interesting drive... This guy was an expert driver. That's code for speed demon. I suppose they all are. I was just slumped in the back seat with my water wondering if I could possibly be the next candidate for an airlift from a massive wreck. And then he delivered me to the hotel and didn't charge much.

I got some nice kebab at a place called Kebabis. The best way to eat the food here is to cut it all up and combine it. They certainly know how to grill things. So, bits of tomatoe plus lamb plus pepper plus that other stuff is really good. The peppers can be a mixed bag: either tasty or tasty plus lava spicy hot. If you accidentally inhale some of the spicy hot ones you might die. So, it is always good to have something like cucumbers in yogurt (awesome) to wash the heat away.

The food here is excellent, if not always identifiable, still good.

My business meeting in Istanbul

Today I presented some business to the total group, about three hundred people?, and got a couple of laughs. That helps when you are in these extremely serious groups... The rest of the day was the usual boring meeting and it went a little long. Must be my fault since I was running that meeting. Not too long though. I will have a little work to do tomorrow, but for the most part I am done with this one.

Went for a stroll to find some shoe laces. This involved walking down Karayolu Street in the Gayrettepe area (not that I know what that means) to a shopping mall called something or other. It is difficult for me to get across the street here. You have to have nerve. Everyone else here is perfectly familiar with getting charged by Tak Si s and scooters and buses and cars loaded like the circus clowns do. I am not. The scooters think nothing of darted in, around and between vehicles in what appears to be about ten inches of space.

The noise became incredible: a cacaphony of tires, engines, squeals, honks, blares, sirens, diesel trucks, people yelling. And it got rather normal for me to think that everyone was staring at me because they were. The crowd got so thick around me that I got a little paranoid.

I found the "mall" which was just a bizarre and a bunch of stores that didn't have shoe strings. Decided to push back to the hotel and get some food. On the way I stopped at a store and bought some crackers for the hotel room. This place is called Migros and it is a franchise store kinda like a Kroger or something--but no shoe strings. (It's easy to ask for shoe strings. You just show them a broken one on your shoe and they get it.) They have a lot of really good looking meat there and I wished I had a grill with me.

These stores expect Turkish liras, which I've got. And on the street they love euros, which I'm saving because my car back to the airport expects only euros. My car back is a priority, so I'm locking up my euros in the hotel room. And then US dollars are okay sometimes, depends on what is being sold. If you don't have euros and tell 'em it's got to be lira, they almost double the price, which is actually fair if the first price was fair which it never is. It is next to impossible to get a receipt if you don't pay with a bankcard. That makes life hard for a person on a business trip.

I stopped at a restaurant for supper that was very nice and almost empty. This is typical for people like me that eat before seven PM. It's easy to get a table and they are very happy and friendly with you. The tab isn't always what you would expect and at this restaurant I know they talked about how much to charge and then came out to me with a number. It was one of the more reasonable numbers I've seen this week so I said okay, paid and left. Very pleasant.

I'm in a nice hotel in a decent area and it takes a bit of a walk to get into poorer areas (see above). The hotel charges outrageous amounts for simple things but they are also outrageously curteous and helpful. The room is small, but how much can any single person do in a hotel room? It is adequate and clean.

I don't know much as yet about Turkish people, really. So far they have been almost nothing but nice to me. They are especially nice if I speak a little French. Or perhaps I'm just imagining that. But nice is nice and they are nice. I've had one event with a fellow on the street who wanted to give me a pamphlet and he got rather upset with me for not taking it. I wouldn't do anything differently now though. And I'll do the same tomorrow.

I do love the stray cats and dogs. They are absolutely comfortable in their station. And friendly animals are always my favorite. The most irritating animals are the Tak Si s. Ha.