Punchy first lines. Overrated?

This image is relevant. I promise!

In my opinion, yes.

Now—that doesn’t mean a great first line isn’t effective. I’ve been reeled in by many a fantastic line. That said, the first line is by no means the determining factor of whether I finish a book beyond the first scene. I especially don’t find them very effective as a writing tool, at least not during the initial drafting phase. For me, a great story doesn’t start with a great first line. It starts with a strong first point of focus.

What’s the distinction? Let’s set some definitions:

Punchy first line: A single sentence that establishes intrigue in the reader and encourages them to keep reading.

First point of focus: An immediate tension source (or sources) established in a short space, but not necessarily contained to a single sentence.

Can a punchy first line contain a powerful first point of focus? Absolutely. Can that point of focus be built upon and give the best of both worlds? Of course. But not all first points of focus fit inside one sentence, nor should they. It depends on the tension sources you need to establish.

Tension sources: Otherwise known as “conflict.”

I prefer the term “tension sources” over “conflict.” Something about it encourages my brain to think smaller—down to the tiny tensions a character might feel throughout their day. We face lots of tiny tensions in real life: the noisy neighbor, the pickle jar that won’t open, the boyfriend who forgot to defrost the chicken, finding forgotten lunchmeat expired in the back of the fridge, the coworker who won’t. stop. chewing. gum. These “in the moment” tensions are, in my experience, the difference between a good book and a great one. They squirm beneath the book’s major conflicts.

To start a novel, it’s important to introduce one small but intriguing tension source that takes the reader by the hand and leads them to the next one. Then the next. Then the next. Until the reader turns the last page. These can be anything: A unique visual, a big emotion, a foreboding setting, etc. If done well, the tiny tension feeds into bigger tensions and bigger stakes. Maybe that pickle jar refuses to open and leaves your character hangry enough to scream at their coworker, which gets them fired. Now they’re jobless, and WOW maybe it’s a good thing that chicken didn’t get defrosted because there’s only one more paycheck coming and it’s more economical to sheepishly ask the noisy neighbor for a slice of bread to make a sandwich with the lunchmeat that just expired.

Well, that escalated quickly, didn’t it?

So, what first point of focus will best carry the reader forward?

One that’s customized to your story.

Let’s look at an example from one of my favorite recent releases:

Some say the heavens dictate the rise and fall of empires. Clearly, those peasants have never met me.

My abilities as a strategist have earned me many sobriquets, from the Dragon’s Shadow to the Tactician of Thistlegate. Rising Zephyr is my personal favorite. “Zephyr” will do, if you please.

“Peacock!”

Unless you’re Lotus. Then it’s too much to ask for.

I struggle to steer my mare around; horses don’t appreciate genius.

—Strike the Zither by Joan He

Masterful, right? Let’s tease out the tension sources in the order that He introduces them: 1) A solid percentage of this world’s population is religious. 2) Zephyr is offended that they credit her accomplishments to the heavens. 3) She basks in the titles she’s been given and expects to be referred to as such. 4) A character named Lotus is particularly unimpressed. 5) The two regularly butt heads. 6) Zephyr struggles to ride horses. 7) Zephyr blames the horse.

That’s seven tension sources. In just 71 words, Joan He establishes not only who Zephyr is, but she establishes a vivid microcosm of the conflict around her. Do you notice how each sentence builds on the knowledge established in the previous sentence? He carefully spirals the story outward from the intrigue introduced via Zephyr’s ego.

Think of it like building an onion. Read that again: Building an onion, not peeling it. Starting with the tiny center and adding progressive layers is more manageable for the author and more digestible for the reader.

To be fair, Strike the Zither has punchy first lines too—but that’s not the point. The point is that He followed through. Following through on the first point of focus—the promise of those first sentences—is the most vital part of maintaining reader interest.

Let’s look at an example that doesn’t have a punchy first sentence:

Wet ash splats beneath my leather boots as I secure my gloves and turn the charred body on its back. No clothes. Flaky skin. In the mud, a small piece of silver glints in the moonlight. A slayer badge—a crescent moon encircling twin suns—identical to the one on my chest.

—Fire to the Stars by Morgan J. Watchorn

Yes, I used my upcoming debut as an example of something that doesn’t hit hard in the first sentence. But I didn’t need to do anything intricate, and you’re about to read why. (A caveat: As of this post, that passage has not gone through line edits and may not end up exactly the same in the final book. However, it sold to Knopf Children’s/Penguin Random House in a six-figure deal, so it definitely did its job!)

The tension sources: 1) A major fire moved through this area. 2) The main character is searching for someone in the aftermath. 3) That person was burned alive. 4) That person held the same occupation as the main character.

Remember what makes a strong first point of focus: Customization. My goal with this paragraph wasn’t to be catchy or witty, or sell you the whole book in one breath. My goal was to promise the reader that my try-hard dragon slayer is already teetering close to death on page one. Talk about high stakes! And the stakes can only get higher. (In the following paragraphs, that customization extends further as he internalizes the death of the specific slayer in question and how it threatens his redemption quest, but you’ll have to read the book to see the rest!)

Formula: World detail —> Character detail—> How that character detail clashes with that world detail.

This formula is by no means a requirement to write a strong opening. Writing is inherently flexible, and every rule is bound to be broken effectively. But I wanted to articulate my feelings on first lines because I wish I’d recognized this formula sooner. I would’ve saved myself the agony of crafting a killer first line only to have to cut it later because 1) it made my job freaking difficult, and 2) it wasn’t even relevant. Hopefully this tip breaks things down easier and helps you build your onion!

What I’m reading: A Door in the Dark by Scott Reintgen, Midnight Strikes by Zeba Shahnaz

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