A few thoughts on beginnings
And something from my writing notebook
My current big question is whether my first chapter is too boring.
Since agents require anywhere between the first five to the first 50 pages of your manuscript, that first chapter must be strong. And mine is! The first pages of my novel lay out all the themes, events and characters that will carry the story forward. The action starts soon after and there are enough pivotal moments to keep the narrative rolling along, but nothing “shocking” happens in that first chapter.
That’s the point, really. When a massive tragedy hits, followed by more tragedies, they carry more emotional impact because of how unexpected they are, of how violently they disrupt the normalcy that came before. Also, when the dust settles and the new status quo is established at the end, there is something satisfying about seeing how much has changed and understanding why it happened the way it did.
It’s a good story, well told. But is that enough?
This question gathered steam when I heard that Netflix had cancelled Kaos after just one season. Although the stunning retelling of Greek mythology with a swaggering Jeff Goldblum as Zeus quickly hit #3 on the platform’s top watch list, numbers just as quickly dwindled. The reason why became more clear when I listened to an interview with Martin Matte on Deux Princes, a French-language podcast about Québec culture.
Matte, a vastly successful comedian, actor, screenwriter and producer, spoke about the challenges of writing an original series for Amazon Prime. Namely, having to restructure his series to ensure that something happens in the first 6-7 minutes of each episode and ending each episode with a cliff-hanger. The data, he was told, shows that viewers quickly lose interest without these markers. The goal being, to create content that gets viewers to binge watch and share their views on social media.
Kaos features slower, more deliberate storytelling and there was no second season already available. The spectacular British cast probably didn’t help matters with U.S. audiences either. The series was as doomed as Prometheus.
It’s not crazy to think that a similar trend is happening in publishing. Having now spent a year browsing the wish lists of countless literary agents, I have noticed that some are more focussed on finding the next sexy fairy series or a women’s fiction title that could make it onto Reese’s Book Club Picks list. And there’s nothing wrong with that! Publishing is a business. High-minded ideals won’t put cheese in the fridge.
But for myself, this general trend to standardize storytelling in order to generate revenues narrows an already small field. Trying to secure literary representation is a long shot. Trying to do so for literary fiction is harder still. Am I supposed to rework my entire novel just so readers get a hit of instant gratification? I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to find a natural way to do so that actually improves the flow, but no joy.
All of the best novels I have ever read didn’t resort to gimmicks or emotional manipulation to hook me. The writing and the premise and the style engaged me on the first page and that was enough.
What about you, dear readers? Do you need that instant hit to keep going? What are some novels you’ve read that successfully pulled off that instant hit?
I have long been inspired by Summer Brennan’s “A Writer’s Notebook”, her Substack publication in which she sometimes shares her writing. Usually in the form of passages that didn’t make it into a larger, more formal project, but that she likes enough to share. These passages are so rich in detail and so evocative, reminding me not to get overly precious about writing, to share writing even if imperfect, because it doesn’t have to be perfect to make someone feel.
Here is a snippet from my notebook.
It has been a revelation to discover that discipline helps me feel more free. In the morning, I wake up with coffee and my word games, then I quietly move around my house, neatening up the places where pencils and paper have accumulated, washing all my favourite cups so they’ll be ready for drinking throughout the day. I light incense for my ancestors. Feed my starter. Take my probiotics and evening primrose oil. I line up my errant shoes on the rack. Spritz the plants. Take out the compost. Then when I sit down to work, purple nails click-clacking on the keys, the air around me feels clean and light. Everywhere I look, there is gentleness and order. There are no false emergencies to snatch my attention. No pile of unwashed clothing to make me tremble with vague guilt, pulling me away from these words. The autumn light rises and falls with the sounds of Leif Vollebekk. I let the slippers fall from my feet, stretch my legs under the table and I write.