How to write a great first line
With examples, obvi
Although your first line is not necessarily the first thing you write, it is a question that hangs heavy in your mind. A good first line sets the tone for your novel and helps readers more quickly jump into the story. So it plays a crucial role.
For me, first lines have always arrived spontaneously, fully-formed and usually while I am lying in savasana or in the bathtub. A magic trick I can pull off, because I tried different approaches and tested various versions first. Seeds were planted and they eventually sprouted.
Since I’m currently in collecting and reflecting mode, I started questioning the nature of a great first line and what exercises we might engage in to plant those seeds.
The three most obvious starting points are:
Your main character
How does your main character describe themselves? How do they describe the world around them? If you’re writing from an omniscient point of view, what do you need readers to know about your main character and the challenges they will face in the pages to come?
Some examples for you:
That first line tells you everything you need to know about Demon and the lonely, arduous journey he embarks on. The second line unpacks it a little further. He isn’t overly educated (note the uneven grammar and punctuation), but he must have muddled through if he’s still alive to tell the tale. I know this will be a novel about resilience, survival, and learning to rely on others along the way.
Anxiety, heartbreak, despair at being ghosted, the pleading with God, the silent screaming at an inanimate object that refuses to ring. The fever pitch of her thoughts lets you know that it won’t end well, but as a reader, you commit because you want to follow this (all too familiar) emotional journey.
Your theme
What is the theme—or the broader, more complex problem—that your novel will address? Examples include: beauty, loyalty, justice, family, coming-of-age, etc. This approach is especially useful when you’re dealing with a cast of characters, all of whom contribute to the theme in different ways, and you’re not telling the story exclusively from any one perspective.
Any self-respecting Austenite will tell you that Pride and Prejudice is a novel about marriage. The first line lays it out with no hidden irony. Regency women could not secure an income or inherit family fortunes. Without a husband, they were bound for poverty. Men, meanwhile, needed sons to inherit the fortunes they amassed. In fact, marriages were often also mergers between wealthy families. Austen’s first line is quite a stinging commentary about the transactional nature of marriage. Don’t forget—even if Elizabeth and Darcy fall in love, when Jane asks her sister about it, Lizzie jokes, “I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.” It’s a delightful story about love, yes, but the money is never far behind.
If you’re reading Colson Whitehead, then you know what you’re in for. Racism, violence, the psychological trauma that persists long after the physical trauma, adversity and oppression. escaping hardship. The black male body causing trouble by existing and even when it no longer exists. Seven words that encapsulate hundreds of years of human history.
Your concept
This option is not for everyone, but when it’s done right, it’s great.
Kevin Lambert’s novel is about architecture, urban planning, gentrification, public spaces and the loss of heritage buildings. It’s also about celebrity, cancel culture, the phasing out of the Boomer generation and Quebec’s ongoing identity crisis. He uses this little breeze as a device to connect different voices and themes throughout the novel, appearing and reappearing at pivotal moments. Also, the lack of formal punctuation creates a reading experience as fluid as the little breeze. In this opening, you can already identify the themes he will continue to address throughout the novel.
The first line is so banal, you forget it as soon as you’ve read it. Its cleverness lies in how it sets an everyday scene that will soon be disrupted by unexplainable events. It begins in the very next line, when the musical choice is at odds with the current situation. And that disruption will only increase with every new page, with every new surprising event made even more surprising for how it contrasts with the banality of the regular world. Murakami establishes his rhythm from the very first line and you are immediately pulled in.
This is NOT an exhaustive list, obviously—and there are exceptions to every rule, of course. It’s merely a collection of my observations and insights thus far. If you have additional starters or observations, or even other examples of great first lines, please share and keep our conversation going.
Lastly, none of these approaches may work for you and that’s okay. You have a unique voice and your writing must reflect that. However, playing around with these options could lead you to the right place, so be open to following the words and don’t lock yourself into any one notion.