Learning to hook a reader with the first lines of a story is a skill all authors need. Long ago, tradition dictated that most stories should begin with those four words.
Today, readers will accept the “once upon a time” opening only for myths or retold myths. Other stories need an opening that has elements common to the genre of that story.
Regardless of the genre or style of fiction, the beginning of the book is critical. Often, readers will pick up a book at the library or store and read the first few paragraphs before deciding to buy the book. If the first lines grab the reader, the book goes home. If the first lines of the book make the reader go ‘bleh,’ they put the book down and move on to something else.
If you’ve written and rewritten first lines and first chapters of your book, trying to achieve that perfect first impression, and are still struggling to create a great opening, it’s time to step away from the manuscript for a little study session.
Studying First Lines
In my personal quest for a great opening, I studied the first five pages of ten favorite novels. Obviously, the first five pages of ten different novels would make a very long post. So, for this, I’ve arbitrarily defined the opening of the story as the first 100 words. I will show you the process I used from three of my favorite reads. If you want to do this exercise for yourself, I recommend you choose two or more of your favorites that are in the same genre as you write.
Below are the openings of three of my favorite novels. In a moment, I'll have you tread them three times: once as a reader, once aloud and finally, read it as a writer. But first, let's discuss one way to systematically analyze opening lines for fiction.
Analyze
We know that the first lines need to “hook the reader.” What that doesn’t tell us is how. Different readers respond to different hooks. Different genres need to include specific tropes. Listing the expected tropes in your genre goes beyond the scope of this article. If you don’t know the tropes of your genre, I encourage you to search via your favorite browser. But don’t depend on your browser. Look at Trad published books and at Indie published books. Use books published recently, but don’t ignore older books.
But openings need more than tropes. When analyzing a published book’s openings, I look for answers to:
The hook: The hook doesn’t have to be the first sentence. Sometimes, the hook is more a mood or tone or voice that develops over a paragraph or two.
The protagonist: who does the reader think this story is about?
How the author introduces the protagonist: Look for more than descriptive words. Look for the when, what, where, as well as how.
Why this character? This one is tricky. It's often very subtle hints that you may not be able to see until you're further into the story.
Setting: This includes the things that put ground under the protagonist’s feet. Place, time of day, time of year, etc.
Why now? Does the reader get a hint of why we learn about this character now?
Sensory input: Look for all five senses and how naturally they fit in the story.
Mood: What emotions does the text create in the reader?
Hint of Conflict and Stakes: Often the conflict and stakes in the beginning are “smaller” than the story conflict and stakes.
Tone: This hints at the promise to the reader made through word choice, sentence structure and style.
Questions raised by the opening: What questions do you, the reader, have after reading the opening?
What is it you don’t like about this passage? This is your personal reaction. If your first reaction is I don’t like any of it, or I like everything about it, look again. Is there anything that could be stronger?
What do you feel is the strongest feature of this beginning? What is it that makes this beginning one of your favorites?
Not all writers will include all these things. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. That’s why I ask the last two questions. Sometimes an emotional reaction is the whole reason a story becomes your favorite.
Examples
Dune
by Frank Herbert, Ace Books, 1965
“In the weeks before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.
It was a warm night at Castle Caladan, and the ancient pile of stone that had served the Atreides family as home for twenty-six generations bore that cooled-sweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather.
The old woman was let in by the side door, down the vaulted passage by Paul’s room, and she was allowed a moment to peer in at him where he lay in his bed.”
Remember, read the passage as a reader, read it aloud, then read it as a writer.
My Analysis of Dune
There are 103 words in the first three sentences.
The hook: “In the weeks before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.”
The protagonist: Paul, the only named character.
How the author introduces the protagonist: “the boy, Paul” and “where he lay in his bed.”
Why this character? Since the old crone has an interest in Paul, the reader suspects there’s something important or special about him in particular.
Setting: a location (not Earth), a sense of place and time (ancient pile of stone, home for generations), a warm night, Castle Caladan- home to generations
Why now? It’s the moments before a big change in Paul’s life.
Sensory input: warm night, that cooled-sweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather.
Mood: The mood is anxious and foreboding (final scurrying, nearly unbearable frenzy, old crone, cooled-sweat feeling). The overall mood is of an in-between state; what was normal is ending, and the next state is unknown.
Hint of Conflict and Stakes: Their impending departure to Arrakis, a mysterious old woman, the ominous sense of imminent upheaval hint that the future will not be as safe as the past was. That implies there will be difficulties or dangers to come.
Tone: It has an epic/mythic tone. The language is formal. The words “their departure to Arrakis” treat the journey as a momentous, life-changing event. “Before a change in the weather” hints at impending upheaval. “Old crone” gives us a sinister fairy tale connotation. “Ancient stone” and referring to the number of generations living there, suggests the weight of long history is involved.
Genre: Arrakis, generations at Castle Caladan, ancient stone, and the old crone provide hints that this is an epic science fiction or mythic fantasy.
Questions raised: What and where is Arrakis, who is the old crone, why did she visit Paul’s mother? How old is the boy, Paul? What is so important about him is that he’s the only named character? Why are they leaving the castle that had been their home for generations? Why did Paul’s mother allow the old woman to peer in at him?
What is it you don’t like about this passage? Personally, the removed narrator in this isn’t a technique I like to read or use. But it serves a purpose in this story.
What do you feel is the strongest feature of this beginning? For me, it’s the tone and voice. There’s a foreboding and a rhythm that draw me in.
This is my analysis; yours may be different. That’s okay. No two readers or writers are alike. We each bring our own experience, knowledge, and skills to this process.
Okay. Let’s try another passage from another book.
Seventh Son
by Orson Scott Card, Tor 1987
“Little Peggy was very careful with the eggs. She rooted her hand through the straw till her fingers bumped something hard and heavy. She gave no never mind to the chicken drips. After all, when folk with babies stayed at the roadhouse, Mama never even crinkled her face at their most spetackler diapers. Even when the chicken drips were wet and stringy and made her fingers stick together, little Peggy gave no never mind. She just pushed the straw apart, wrapped her hand around the egg, and lifted it out of the brood box. All this while standing tiptoe on a wobbly stool, reaching high above her head.”
This beginning is 108 words and seven sentences long.
The hook: “Little Peggy was very careful with the eggs.”
The protagonist: Little Peggy, first two words and only named character.
How the author introduces the protagonist: Every phrase hints Peggy is young, used to living on a farm, and is trying to do her part. Examples: “very careful,” she roots through the straw, “bumped,” gave no never-mind, “wrapped her hand around the egg,” “on a wobbly stool, reaching high above her head.”
Why this character? Little Peggy appears very young, probably not even school-aged. That hints that there is something special about her.
Setting: She’s in a henhouse and thinks about a roadhouse (an American frontier phrase) where Mama never crinkles her nose at the “spetackler” diapers of babies with folk who stay at the roadhouse. The terms roadhouse, spectakler, and folk all hint at a rural American setting, possibly a historic or pioneer setting.
Why now? The details about the roadhouse and travelers and babies in diapers hint that someone is coming and that event will change Peggy’s life.
Sensory input: There is touch and texture and equilibrium in phrases like, “rooted through the straw”, “bumped something hard and heavy,” “chicken drips,” “wet and stringy and made her fingers stick together,” and “a wobbly stool.” And if you’ve ever been in a henhouse, you have an implied sense of smell.
Mood: Peggy’s concentration and determination to gather the eggs sets up some anxiety and expectation that something important is going to happen.
Hint of Conflict and Stakes: The extra care with which Peggy approaches the eggs hints she’s had past problems performing this chore and may have suffered some consequences. The travelers with babies hint at potential problems. We don’t get a strong sense of the stakes, though.
Tone: It has a rustic, down-to earth, and intimate tone that hints of a regional or folk story.
Genre: Potentially American frontier or pioneer fiction with a combination of the regional/folk storytelling tone, and the fairy tale style name, “little Peggy,” plus the detailed description of a child performing an adult task might suggest a historical fantasy.
Questions raised: Will Peggy gather the eggs without incident? Why is a small child gathering the eggs? Are there now or will there soon be travelers at the roadhouse?
What is it you don’t like about this passage? I got so enchanted with little Peggy; I had a tough time figuring this out. It isn’t something I don’t like as much as it’s something I think could be better. The author could have given us a stronger sense of the time and place. However, its softer approach did not lessen my enjoyment of this beginning.
What do you feel is the strongest feature of this beginning? The voice of little Peggy sucks me in big-time.
Leviathan Wakes, The Expanse Book 1
By James S. A. Corey, 2011
Prologue
The Scopuli had been taken eight days ago, and Julie Mau was finally ready to be shot.
It had taken all eight days, trapped in a storage locker, for her to get to that point. For the first two, she remained motionless, sure that the armored men who put her there had been serious. For the first hours, the ship she’d been taken aboard, wasn’t under thrust, so she floated in the locker, using gentle touches to keep herself from bumping into the walls or the atmosphere suit, she shared the space with. When the ship began to move, thrust giving her weight, she stood silently until her legs cramped, then sat down slowly into a fetal position.
This beginning is 108 words and seven sentences long.
The hook: “The Scopuli had been taken eight days ago, and Julie Mau was finally ready to be shot.” We assume the Scopuli is some kind of ship or place. The phrase “been taken eight days ago” implies some yet-to-be-identified person or persons has hijacked or overrun her ship or simply kidnapped her. And “finally ready to be shot” suggests she has endured much and is ready to give up.
The protagonist: The protagonist in the prologue is Julie.
How the author introduces the protagonist: “Julie Mau was finally ready to be shot.”
Why this character? This moment is when Julie’s life changes; she’s ready to give up and be shot.
Setting: In a storage locker on a ship called the Scopuli. Since she floats in the locker until the ship moves her weight,” we rightly assume it’s a spaceship.
Why now? Julie, a prisoner of someone, is ready to give up. That tells the reader that something important is about to happen.
Sensory input: She floats, keeps from bumping into things with gentle touches, her legs cramp. There than that, there is little sensory input which makes sense because she’s trapped in a locker.
Mood: The words finally ready and trapped hint at anxiety and fear and a desperate situation.
Hint of Conflict and Stakes: In the first sentence. “Armored men” put Julie in the locker, and she states she is in life-threatening danger.
Tone: Desperate, determined.
Genre: Science fiction / space opera
Questions raised: Who took her? Why? Is she really ready to die? Will she get out of this predicament?
What is it you don’t like about this passage? I find many prologues are unnecessary, so I rarely read them. However, the prologue is integral to this story. If you skip the prologue and start reading from chapter one, like I did, you’ll come back to read the prologue to figure out what you missed.
It is risky to start with a prologue, and Corey increased that risk in the first sentence. The reader has no emotional investment in Julie and her plight in the first sentence. However, his second and the following sentences introduce us to a strong female character we care about.
What do you feel is the strongest feature of this beginning? The character Julie’s desperation is conveyed, and though she says she’s ready to be shot, we also learn she’s desperately clinging to hope that she won’t be killed.
Compare the Openings
Now, look at what these opening passages have in common. They each have a strong sense of character, and a tone and mood that promises something big is about to change these characters’ lives.
Armed with this information and my genre's tropes, I can now go back to my manuscript. I know the elements I want in my story’s beginning, and I can re-craft my opening to make the first words count.
Your Turn
Copy the openings of your favorite books into your word processor or journal or onto a piece of paper. (I use the dictation feature on my computer to make the process quicker.)
Read as a reader. What that means to me is read for pure entertainment. Try not to analyze. Let the words color your reactions the story’s beginning.
Read the passages aloud. Listen to the cadence, the rhythm of the words.
Analyze the opening. Look for character, place, time, mood, and foreshadowing. Notice words that pique your interest.
Then return to your manuscript. Look for what it has in common with your favorite books. Strengthen those things, and I’ll bet you will have a much more engaging beginning. In fact, you may even craft first lines that your readers will favorite.
Share the best line of your favorite read and tell us what you think is the strongest feature of its beginning.
About Lynette
Lynette M. Burrows is an author, blogger, writing coach, and Yorkie wrangler. She survived moving seventeen times between kindergarten and her high school graduation. She contends that alone qualifies her for writing stories of characters who struggle against the odds.
Book One, My Soul to Keep, and Book Two, If I Should Die, of her Fellowship Dystopia trilogy tell the story of a young woman in Fellowship America, where even the elite can be judged unbelievers and hunted by the merciless Azrael. The first two books are available at your favorite online bookstore. Book Three, And When I Wake, will be published in December 2025.
When Lynette’s not writing, she avoids housework and plays with her two Yorkies. They live in Dorothy’s home state of Kansas. You can follow Lynette on her website or on her Facebook page or sign up for her newsletter.
We tend to think of fear as the monster under the bed or the Big Scary waiting in the shadows to grab us. But fear can also look a lot quieter—and sneakier—than that. It’s the voice that says “don’t try, don’t trust, don’t hope,” because those things might get you hurt. Characters use fear to protect themselves, and that false safety can ruin their lives long before any villain gets the chance.
Somewhere in your protagonist’s past, fear went to work on their personality and probably did some serious damage. It whispered lies about what it takes for them to stay safe, and they believed every word. Maybe it convinced them to stop taking risks, to avoid love, or to control everything around them. Fear became their coping mechanism, and they’ve clung to it even as it holds them back.
Fear is what keeps a protagonist stuck at the start of the story, and what pushes them to grow by the end.
Every character has a belief that feels true because something happened that made it feel true. Maybe they asked for help and were rejected, so they learned to rely only on themselves. Maybe they loved someone and lost them, so they decided never to love again. Or maybe a parent or trusted adult told them, over and over, that they were worthless or unwanted—until they believed it.
That fear-based belief is the lie that keeps them safe from ever facing that pain again. But it also keeps them from being happy and leading a fulfilling life.
Most emotional arcs follow a similar progression, no matter the genre:
1. Fear controls the character.
At the start, fear runs the show. The protagonist believes the lie and avoids whatever might trigger that old pain. Readers see the gap between who they are and who they could be, and what needs to change for them to be happy.
2. Fear gets tested.
The plot pushes them into uncomfortable territory, and each new challenge forces them to face situations that test their belief and make avoiding or denying it harder. Think of the story problems as chances for the character to learn the lesson they need to learn to overcome their fear and realize the lie is a lie.
3. Fear backfires.
What once protected them now causes harm. Broken trust, lost opportunities, emotional fallout. The “safe” way starts to hurt more than the risk they’ve been avoiding. Maybe it costs them a relationship, an opportunity, or a piece of self-respect, but there are cracks in the fear’s so-called protective bubble around them.
They don’t become fearless—they become braver. The same situation that once froze them now gives them a chance to act differently. The victory isn’t that they no longer feel afraid, but that they choose to act anyway. Often, you’ll see them embrace the lessons of the story and use those lessons to defeat the antagonist, save the day, or finally cast off the fear and the lie they once believed.
Basically, this is all the emotional version of cause and effect. Every scene becomes a small test of courage until one day, the protagonist can finally pass the biggest one at the climax.
If your character fears failure, early scenes might show them over-preparing, overworking, or micromanaging to stay “safe.” But over the course of the story, that perfectionism creates problems—alienating others, missing opportunities, or self-sabotaging. By the end, they can’t succeed unless they risk failing.
If they fear abandonment, they might push others away to avoid being left again. At first, maybe they refuse to connect to anyone at all, then the plot puts them into situations where they can’t succeed on their own, and they have to trust someone, even if there’s a chance that person will abandon them, too, forcing them to risk connection and trust.
The trick is to design choices that pit the character’s goal against their fear.
Ask yourself:
What situations would force my character to face their fear head-on?
What choices would scare them most, but also teach them something new about themselves?
Pay attention to your story’s major turning points. Those are the moments where fear and growth typically collide and escalate the stakes in some way. And speaking of stakes…
Using Fear to Create Emotional Stakes
Fear raises more than pulse rates—it also raises emotional investment. Readers connect most deeply when they recognize the fear beneath a character’s choices.
Common core fears often appear across genres:
Loss of control (thrillers, mysteries)
Rejection or unworthiness (romance, contemporary)
Failure or insignificance (coming-of-age, drama)
Identity and belonging (fantasy, science fiction)
The genre may change how fear looks, but the emotion remains universal. Readers aren’t just wondering if the protagonist will win—they’re wondering if they’ll stop running from what terrifies them.
Fear and the Moment of Truth
The climax is where fear and choice collide and neither side is taking any prisoners. Your protagonist can’t win—inside or out—without facing the thing they’ve avoided all along.
If they fear being seen, they must reveal something true.
If they fear failure, they must risk everything on a plan that might not work.
If they fear love, they must open up even though they could get hurt.
You’ll often see this mirrored in the opening and closing scenes. The character starts out dealing with this fear and failing because of it. Then in the end, they face a similar situation, but with a new mindset that allows them to succeed. Maybe the book starts with them walking away from someone who needs help and ends with them choosing to stay. Readers get that sense of, “They couldn’t do this before, but they can now,” and are happy for them.
The movie Finding Nemo is good example for all this.
Marlin’s fear is loss, rooted in trauma. After a barracuda attack kills his wife and their cache of eggs, he clings to his surviving son, Nemo. His lie: “If I can control Nemo, I can keep him safe.”
But control doesn’t protect Nemo—it isolates him. Every problem and conflict in the film forces Marlin to loosen his grip, trust others, and face the unpredictability of life, both for him and his son. By the end, he hasn’t defeated fear—he’s learned to live with it. He’s still cautious, but now he can breathe and let Nemo go.
Fear gives your story emotional resonance. It connects the external events to the internal journey and makes every choice the protagonist makes matter.
Remember…Characters don’t change because they want to. They change because staying the same finally scares them more than taking the risk.
EXERCISE FOR YOU: Identify your protagonist’s core fear and the lie it created. Now, brainstorm three story moments that directly challenge that fear—one early, one mid-point, one near the climax. What happens when the coping strategy that once kept them safe starts to fail? Those are the moments where growth begins.
What fear is holding your characters back? Is it part of their character arc? If so, how?
OR Tips on How to Edit or Review Someone Else’s Work
by Sarah Sally Hamer
So, you publish a book and wait anxiously to see what other people think about it. But, instead of the kudos and praise and coveted stars you are sure the book deserves, you get told that your baby is ugly and you dress it funny. Somebody doesn’t like the name of one of your characters, or they don’t appreciate the research details. Or maybe they are just being mean.
Sigh. Of course, it sends you into a tizzy. Of course, it feels like you’ve just been kicked in the teeth. And, of course, you feel terrible. How dare they rip your book – and therefore you, yourself – apart?
Where does critique meet kindness? Whether it’s a review or edit, whether you are giving or receiving, there is a place where we can practice just being nice to a fellow writer. Even when you really, truly hate whatever that writer has written.
A manuscript is a person’s interior landscape—work made visible, risk taken, voice offered. To edit or review is to foster that offering, not to bulldoze it. After all, a critique or review is nothing more than an opinion. Like noses, we all have one and, like noses, some smell better than others.
Unfortunately, critiquing and reviews are sometimes used to boost egos or purposely harm others. I actually sat near enough to an award-winning, multi-published author to hear her tell her friend that the easiest way to keep someone from asking her to read for them was to destroy them in critique. That was after she’d tried to destroy me and my writing. Thank goodness for good, kind, and caring critique partners! Otherwise, I may never have written anything again. Her confession from years ago does, however, give me pause when I am critiquing someone else. It reminds me of the opportunity to find kind words.
Other reasons for someone to purposefully give bad reviews could be frustration with our own writing or feeling forced into doing something we really don’t want to do. It could also be that what we’re reviewing really is awful. It could also mean that the person reviewing the book just really doesn’t know what they’re doing.
But are those good enough reasons to be cruel or unkind?
So how can we review or critique someone else’s stories, and give clear, practical ways by being both honest and kind? How can we help the writing grow instead of shutting the writer down? Here are some things to think about, regardless of your perspective:
Start with the right mindset – are you in an available space to review or critique? Or to be reviewed or critiqued?
Begin by believing the person doing the work tried their best, aims to improve, and will benefit from what you say. That stance changes the tone of every comment you make.
Separate the work from the author. Critique the text; never critique the writer’s worth or intent. Language like “this passage needs…” keeps the focus on craft.
Adopt curiosity, not certainty. Replace “You must” with “Have you considered” or “What if.” Curiosity invites collaboration; certainty closes it. On the receiving end, try to see the reason for the comment, even if you don’t agree with the comment itself. It could be that there is a problem but the reviewer didn’t know how to express their thought.
Remember the manuscript’s stage. A first draft needs encouragement plus big-picture guidance. A final draft deserves precision. Match your kindness to the work’s developmental needs.
Lead with what works. Open with one or two concrete strengths. This isn’t cheap praise; it orients the writer and creates receptivity.
Prioritize issues. Use a short list: “Top three things to fix.” Writers can’t do everything at once; prioritize clarity, structure, and emotional truth in that order unless otherwise necessary.
Frame problems as opportunities. Instead of “this is confusing,” say “this could be clearer if…” Then offer a concrete way forward.
Use “I” statements for impact. “I got lost after paragraph two” beats “You lose the reader.” It reflects the reader’s experience without blaming.
Be specific with examples and listen to what it is that the reviewer is saying. Quote a sentence and show a revision, e.g., “Try: ‘The house held its breath’ instead of ‘The house was silent’ to tighten the image.” Concrete rewrites teach craft.
Avoid absolute language. Words like “never” and “always” escalate defensiveness. Replace them with “this part” or “here.”
Name the effect you want. Instead of “Make it stronger,” say “Aim for more immediacy here by shortening sentences and adding sensory detail.”
Don’t moralize taste. When you dislike something, say what you felt and why, not that the choice is wrong. “I felt distance in this scene because the narrator steps back; consider a closer point of view” is better than “This POV is wrong.”
One-line summary. Open with a brief neutral summary of what you think the piece is about. It shows you’ve read with attention.
Line/edit examples. Provide three targeted line edits or passages rewritten to model your advice.
Tone & voice note. Comment on voice consistency and whether the emotional register matches the material.
Encouragement & next steps. Close with a short encouraging sentence and a suggested next step, e.g., “Try a pass focusing only on verbs” or “Let’s rework the opening paragraph together.”
Kindness as Craft
Being nice while reviewing is not about softening every critique; it’s about creating conditions where the writer can actually use your honesty. Kind editing is rigorous and clear. It assumes the writer’s good faith, names specifics, offers options, and preserves agency. The result is feedback that repairs and illuminates rather than deflates.
If you want a simple checklist to keep beside you while you edit, use this:
Did I start with strengths?
Are my top priorities clear and limited?
Did I offer at least one concrete rewrite or example?
Is my language specific, nonjudgmental, and actionable?
Did I close with encouragement and a next step?
Kindness in editing and in writing reviews is a discipline, not a soft skill. It asks you to hold both the truth of the text and the dignity of its maker. When you do that, your words become gifts: precise, rooted in care, and built to help a manuscript or a published book stand taller.
Have you reviewed other authors' work? Have you had a particularly good or bad experience you'd like to share?
Sally and several others of our amazing WITS folks will be presenting at the Pen and Potential virtual writing conference on October 24th and 25th: "Creating Creativity: The Soul of the StoryTeller." There's still time to sign up!
About Sarah (Sally)
Sarah (Sally) Hamer, B.S., MLA, is a lover of books, a teacher of writers, and a believer in a good story. Most of all, she is eternally fascinated by people and how they 'tick'. She’s passionate about helping people tell their own stories and has won awards at both local and national levels, including two Golden Heart finals.
A teacher of memoir, beginning and advanced creative fiction writing, and screenwriting at Louisiana State University in Shreveport for over twenty years, she also teaches online for Margie Lawson at www.margielawson.com and for the No Stress Writing Academy at https://nostresswriting.com. Sally is a freelance editor and book coach, with many of her students and clients becoming successful, award-winning authors.
