Steal This Strategy

Evan Swensen
January 31, 2025

A reader picks up a book with the same anticipation as opening a wrapped gift. The cover’s weight, the pages’ texture, and, most importantly, the first few words all whisper promises. Will this story thrill, teach, or console? The opening of a book carries a staggering burden—it must convince the reader that this is the world they want to inhabit, these are the characters they’ll grow to love or loathe, and this is the journey worth embarking on. As an author, you stand at the precipice of infinite possibilities, with a single task before you: to make them turn the page.

The truth about openings is not shrouded in mystery. The principles are clear, almost deceptively simple, yet endlessly nuanced in execution. What makes an opening captivating is its ability to evoke curiosity, create an emotional connection, and establish trust between author and reader. Authors often agonize over this, but crafting a compelling beginning doesn’t have to feel like pulling teeth.

Begin with a Promise

The opening of Moby-Dick begins with three simple words: “Call me Ishmael.” That single sentence accomplishes two critical feats. First, it establishes the narrator’s voice—direct, unpretentious, and slightly enigmatic. Second, it invites the reader into an unspoken contract: this is not just a story about a whale but about identity, obsession, and humanity. This is the essence of a great opening: a promise of something deeper than what initially meets the eye.

Authors should ask themselves, “What promise am I making to the reader?” It doesn’t need to be explicit. The most intriguing promises are subtle—delivered with a whisper, not a shout. Take the opening of George Orwell’s 1984: “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” The dissonance of clocks striking thirteen introduces a world where the familiar is warped, drawing readers into its unsettling strangeness.

Start with Action—But Be Strategic

Many writing guides will tell you to “start with action.” While this advice holds merit, it’s often misunderstood. Action does not necessarily mean explosions or car chases. It can be as small as a character’s hurried footsteps echoing down a dimly lit corridor or as intimate as a mother braiding her child’s hair while silently weeping. The goal of action is not to shock but to immerse.

Consider the opening of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Katniss Everdeen awakens to a grim yet tender scene of her family’s daily struggle for survival. The opening isn’t loud—it’s rooted in her world’s small, tactile details: her sister’s curled-up form and the rough texture of her hunting boots. Yet these details immediately convey the stakes of Katniss’s life, her resilience, and the dystopian world she inhabits.

Action, when used effectively, should propel the reader into the story’s world without overwhelming them with exposition. This leads to the next principle: balance.

Avoid the Exposition Trap

One of the greatest pitfalls of an opening is drowning the reader in backstory. The temptation to explain why everything is happening often robs the story of its natural rhythm. Readers don’t need to know the protagonist’s childhood traumas or the intricacies of a fictional economy on page one. What they need is enough information to feel oriented—a breadcrumb trail, not a full-course meal.

J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone masterfully introduces readers to the Dursleys’ ordinary, slightly absurd world before pulling the curtain back on the magical. The reader is intrigued by the mundane—the “perfectly normal” lives of the Dursleys—before a stray cat reading a map raises questions about the extraordinary.

Subtlety is your ally. Trust readers to piece together clues as the story unfolds. This creates a sense of discovery—far more engaging than being handed all the answers upfront.

Anchor the Reader Emotionally

Beyond curiosity and intrigue, the opening must also establish an emotional connection. Readers invest in stories when they care about the characters or the stakes. Often, this is achieved through vulnerability. A character’s fear, joy, or longing resonates universally because it reflects our shared humanity.

Take the opening of To Kill a Mockingbird: Scout Finch recalls her brother’s broken arm, weaving childhood innocence with a hint of foreboding. The tone is warm yet laced with tension, pulling readers into a deeply personal narrative while foreshadowing the profound societal conflicts that will unfold.

When crafting your opening, consider: What emotion do you want to evoke in your reader? Whether it’s laughter, sadness, or unease, ensure your first page is an emotional anchor.

Experiment Until It Feels Right

Perhaps the most reassuring truth about openings is that they don’t have to emerge fully formed. Many authors rewrite their first lines dozens, even hundreds of times. Neil Gaiman once said, “The process of writing is that of discovering what story you are telling as you tell it.” Your first draft opening may only serve as a guidepost that evolves as your story takes shape.

The key is to remain open to experimentation. Try starting in the middle of the action. Begin with a line of dialogue. Frame the opening around an arresting visual. Play with structure until you find the version that sings.

Closing Thoughts

The book’s first page is a portal that beckons readers to step through and explore an unfamiliar world. By starting with a promise, weaving subtle intrigue, and anchoring the narrative in emotion, authors can craft an opening that lingers in readers’ minds long after the book is closed.

Remember, writing isn’t about perfection. It’s about connection. And that connection begins with a single, compelling line.

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