Have you ever found yourself immensely bored by the opening scene of a book or movie, unable to connect with the characters or the situation they find themselves in? Chances are, you have been witness to the deathknell of a story – an uninspiring beginning.

Beginnings are very, very important to a story. Very important. One of the most important things about the story. Did I mention they were important? The beginning is what will grip your reader, make her unable to put your book down, make her just have to stay awake til two in the morning to find out whether your hero and heroine really do get together. It will also get an editor to take a deeper look at your manuscript and your reader to buy your book. If you haven’t captured your reader within three paragraphs, you’re in a wee bit of trouble.

One of the main problems with beginnings is writers don’t know WHERE to begin. You have these wonderful characters that have had fantastic lives and you know what? Your reader should really know about those lives. So you put in the first chapter that your hero was abandoned at an early age to be raised by a Himalayan Mountain Goat herder, while also managing to get a degree in astrophysics. And your heroine got a degree in Psychic Phenomena at University, where she also joined the chess, science and maths clubs while becoming the most popular of cheerleaders, and organised a social that was the smash occasion of the year. Meanwhile, you are now up to chapter five of a ten-chapter book and your heroine and hero have yet to reach their moment of change. Actually, they’ve yet to meet! It is important that you know your characters’ backstory. What you need to realise is this backstory MUST be woven into your manuscript, not given in big chunks at the beginning.

It is imperative that you begin at the moment, the very second, a change occurs in your hero and heroine’s lives. This is the driving force behind the story, the reason your readers love your stories. The journey from the moment they realise something is lacking to the moment they gain it is why we read. The change can be anything – a realisation, a meeting, an event – but it must be significant to your characters.
So what makes a good beginning? Picture your hero and heroine. How do they meet? What is the impetus that brings them together? Say they are involved in an arranged marriage and you want to explore how they handle that marriage. Where do you think you should begin? With how they met, the circumstances behind that meeting? With the arranging of the marriage, which if a historical, could have occurred when they were children? Or should you begin it in the MIDDLE of the event happening to them, on the wedding night or shortly after they are married? When picturing your beginning, imagine the scene and then begin in the MIDDLE of it. This draws a reader into the scene immediately. Why are these people here? What are their reasons? How do they relate to each other? What has brought them to this point? These are immediate questions that lead your reader into the rest of the story in search of them.

It is said in films that you must know everything you need to know within the first five minutes. Characters, situations, conflicts, everything should be set up and ready to go. Strap yourself in, the ride’s about to begin! The same is true of novels. Within the first few pages, you want to hook your reader, grab her by the throat and never let her go. You have to intrigue her, titillate her, entrance her. A prime example of how this works is the film The Matrix (1999).

In the opening scene, we see a telephone trace programme running on screen, the green numbers running against a black background as an unknown element traces the line. We hear characters talking over the image, a phone conversation between a man and a woman. The man asks why the woman has relieved him, to which she says she felt like it. He replies “You like to watch him.” Ignoring him, she asks if the line is tapped and he assures her it isn’t. From this very brief scene, no more than 45 seconds, we gain a lot of information. It might not make sense at the minute, but the importance of it becomes obvious as the film progresses. Several questions are raised. Who are these people? What are they doing? Who is tracing them? Who are they talking about? It also sets up some very important conflict between the man, the woman and the person they are talking about. Sorry this is so vague. I have recently become aware that some people actually haven’t seen The Matrix and I’d hate to ruin it for those people! It really is a movie you can’t describe, you have to see it for yourself. I highly recommend you do. It is a fantastic example of good writing.

Now, what about a beginning line? Dialogue, action, mood, all are valid ways of beginning your story. You must choose what is most appropriate for your plot, your characters, the situation they find themselves in. Consider the following examples:

“Get down!”

Sarah whipped her head around, trying to see who was yelling. “What, what?” she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

“Just get down, woman.” A hand slammed into her back, the force of the blow pushing her to her knees, her arms braced in front of her.

She opened her mouth, about to berate the bastard who had pushed her when a strong hand clasped her over her mouth. She turned furious eyes to see intense green ones staring back at her.

“Shut up if you want to live,” he said.

Dialogue is a great way to convey the frantic nature of a beginning. Short, static sentences create a mood of frenzy, impetuousness, rush. Action in a beginning throws your reader in amongst the characters and takes them along for the ride.

This example immediately throws you in to Sarah’s situation - who is this man, what’s he talking about? Why is her life in danger?
What is also important is that a problem has been presented. Something is not right with Sarah’s life, or she would not be in danger. Even if it’s a case of mistaken identitiy, Sarah’s life has been disrupted and the only way to find out what’s going on is to experience the journey with her.

Another way to begin is with a descriptive passage.

The sun beat down on the unrelenting surface of the building, the red brick walls absorbing the heat into themselves. The windows glittered, reflecting back with rays of its own the sun’s yellow glare. The building seemed to shimmer in the intense heat, the imposing structure made vulnerable by the wavering ribbons of air in front of it. It seemed vaguely obscene the sun should be shining on such a day. After all, the master of this grand structure had finally died.

Descriptive beginnings are less frantic than the other kinds. They slowly introduce a reader to the situation. But they do create a wonderful sense of menance. Take, for example, what is perhaps the most atmospheric beginning of all.

Last night I dreamt I went to Mandalay again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. (Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier)

Or there is the short, sharp and shiny:

Right about the time her parachute failed to open, Matty pondered the folly of learning to sky dive.

So play around, experiment. Start your story in the middle of a sentence, a scene, a catastrophe and see if you can create a compelling, forceful and gripping beginning to enthrall your reader.