The Essential Why?
The Essential Why?
People ask; What does it take to get published? It takes a number of things. One is certainly, luck. It is almost certainly the smallest factor, but present. Finishing a novel is another, and by finishing I don’t mean simply writing until you toss in “the end”, but polishing the delivery, making vocabularies internally consistent and appropriately varied, making sure that rooms, cars and hair don’t change colors, brands or sizes from one chapter to the next and of course that you’ve spelled your each characters name the same way throughout the novel. There is of course the minor step of circulating a novel, of which any number of writers and agents have talked about before. But before each of those, and more importantly than any is why.
Which why? All of them in the broadest sense, but one will do, two or three are better. Why should I as a reader care about the protagonist? Why should I submerge myself in this environment? Why will I find it internally consistent enough to finish it? Why is this book different from the hundred and fifty others with a similar setting, premise or main character? Why should I plop down my hard earned wages on this collection of ink and dead tree? Why, if the author has done their job, will I the reader be telling all my friends about this book, buying sequels, and other books by this writer? As many of these questions of why as possible should be answered and or strongly hinted at as quickly as can be managed.
Some examples:
“The zeppelin Hans Glucker left Calais at 9:15 in the evening on a cold night in March, 1899, bound for New Amsterdam, the jewel of British North America.” This is the opening line from Elizabeth Bear’s New Amsterdam. What do we learn from this sentence? Well, the fact that a zeppelin is in use tells us it is not quite the technology level of our world. The fact that it is a Germanic name implies we’re probably not anywhere in the more familiar literary stomping grounds of France or England, but doesn’t state this. The date tells us when we are and not to expect a one to one translation from present reality to present fiction. Then, our collective assumptions are whacked in the head with the words “for New Amsterdam, the Jewel of British North America.” Given that most of us recall that being the name of what is now the big apple a couple centuries back, this neatly states “pack your history books up for the duration”. First despite being British owned the name hasn’t changed, British North America says there are quite possibly other claimants, and of course that Washington and his contemporaries never arose to throw off the British mantle.
This ought to be enough to get most people interested, and tells us why the world is different, why the book deserves more attention and hints at more.
“Port Tinarana was like an old, decaying tart, her face lined with a myriad of streets and alleys, inexpertly caked with a crude makeup of overhanging buildings. The alleyways seemed to grow narrower and more choked in filth with the passing of each year. Judging by the ankle-deep slush, this dead end hadn’t had the garbage cleared in the last three hundred of those years. And in a few minutes his body would become yet another once-human part of it. ”
With the name of the city, and the description of it’s condition we know that we’re unlikely to be regaled with pretty princesses, devious dukes, and a tour of the writers small library on medieval fashion, cloth, architecture, heraldry and armor. We can probably guess the main character will not have had tutors from their third birthday. We know that the locals aren’t all that interested in maintaining an image of sparking prosperity. Law enforcement and possibly law itself also seem to be lacking in abundant fruitful activity. And last, we have a man who expects to die. One or two of these might act as a hook, as a set they are certainly going to draw the reader to at the very least finding out what happens next. That is the opening to The Forlorn by Dave Freer.
“I did two things on my seventy-fifth birthday. I visited my wife’s grave. Then I joined the army.”
Eighteen words, three short sentences, not even two full paperback lines and nearly everything you thought you knew is nuked off the face of the planet. We have an older character than most readers which is a rarity for non-elves and other immortals. We know he’s a widower, who is still in love with his wife. We know the army for some reason feels that a seventy-five year old man is worth having. This is clearly not the world as we know it.
“It was a dark and stormy night…
:Pah!: Warrl said with disgust so thick Tarma could taste it. :Must you even think in clichés?:”
What do we know here? Well, we know these two have a relationship close enough to tease each other. We have evidence of telepathy, we know one of the characters is thinking about something in the past. We also know that someone has a sense of humor, and that this is unlikely to be a fantasy as dark as something Robin Hobb might pen.
This is the opening to Mercedes Lackey’s Oathbreakers.
“The King was screaming in the throne room when the Protector’s Men arrived. He knew it was wrong; he knew he was being stupid. But he was frightened. When the booted feet of the soldiers sounded in the corridor outside, he belatedly came to his senses. Dropping to the floor, he crawled under the broad-seated thrown where the Emperor sat in judgement, next to God Sustainer. (Only there was no Emperor now, and Lord Urdhven, the Protector, made his judgments in his own council chamber. Did the Sustainer dwell there now? Or still upon the empty throne? Was there really a Sustainer? Would the Protector’s soldiers kill him, like all the others?)”
James Enge in the opening of his debut novel The Blood of Ambrose drops a ton of information in a touch over one hundred words. First, we know the king is not in control. Not of himself, not of his court and not of the Protector. We know that whatever the religion of the realm, the King isn’t too firmly wedded to it’s fundamentals. And of course there have been deaths, presumably at the behest of the Protector. I say presumably because we don’t know how reliable the King is, I mean he’s the King and he’s standing in his throne room screaming. So on top of a nice list of info about the current emotional state of the king, we have the question as to who is right, the King, the Protector, neither?
“A sea of mist drifted through the clodt forest: soft, grey, luminescent. On the high ridges the fog showed brighter as the morning sun began to warm and lift the moisture, although in the ravine a cool, soundless dimness still counterfeited a pre-dawn twilight.
Commander Cordelia Naismith glanced at her team botanist and adjusted the straps of her biological collecting equipment a bit more comfortably before continuing her breathless climb. She pushed a tendril of fog dampened copper hair out f her eyes, clawing it impatiently toward the clasp at the nape of her neck. Their next survey area would definitely be at a lower altitude. The gravity of this planet was slightly lower than their home world of Beta Colony, but it did not quite make up for the physiological strain imposed by the thin mountain air.”
Again, a ton of information that it will take a couple moments to parse. We know our narrators name, rank, roughly her age bracket (not a very high rank, but above entry level, and no grey or white hair) we know she’s in some sort of military or pseudo-military organization, and we know that this is supposed to be a peaceful mission. With no mention of the planets name, other people, cities or the other trappings of civilization we can guess that at least this part of the planet isn’t peopled. We’re also told that this isn’t their home world. We also know Cordelia is fairly well educated by how she describes what is going on around her, and how the gravity and air affect her. Lois Bujold’s Shards of Honor now part of Cordelia’s Honor.
“Cair clung to a spar floating in the open ocean, out of sight or scent of land.”
History speaks, even if its lips move not. Dave Freer has managed to one up John Scalzi in terms of brief, creative openings. With just seventeen words for the start of A Mankind Witch, he manages to tell us something bad happened. Given that we know a spar is generally a not a part of the ship that is readily detached, and that we know it is open ocean it had to be fairly catastrophic if that was all Cair could find to cling to, and that currently prospects are not so hot for returning to dry land under ones own power.
Some might call these all hooks, and it isn’t a bad term, but a hook is something that pulls you along often unwillingly. To me, openings this good are more a faucet, they can fill you up and float you away. The only way you will stop after something that grabs you like this will be when the tap runs dry.
People ask; What does it take to get published? It takes a number of things. One is certainly, luck. It is almost certainly the smallest factor, but present. Finishing a novel is another, and by finishing I don’t mean simply writing until you toss in “the end”, but polishing the delivery, making vocabularies internally consistent and appropriately varied, making sure that rooms, cars and hair don’t change colors, brands or sizes from one chapter to the next and of course that you’ve spelled your each characters name the same way throughout the novel. There is of course the minor step of circulating a novel, of which any number of writers and agents have talked about before. But before each of those, and more importantly than any is why.
Which why? All of them in the broadest sense, but one will do, two or three are better. Why should I as a reader care about the protagonist? Why should I submerge myself in this environment? Why will I find it internally consistent enough to finish it? Why is this book different from the hundred and fifty others with a similar setting, premise or main character? Why should I plop down my hard earned wages on this collection of ink and dead tree? Why, if the author has done their job, will I the reader be telling all my friends about this book, buying sequels, and other books by this writer? As many of these questions of why as possible should be answered and or strongly hinted at as quickly as can be managed.
Some examples:
“The zeppelin Hans Glucker left Calais at 9:15 in the evening on a cold night in March, 1899, bound for New Amsterdam, the jewel of British North America.” This is the opening line from Elizabeth Bear’s New Amsterdam. What do we learn from this sentence? Well, the fact that a zeppelin is in use tells us it is not quite the technology level of our world. The fact that it is a Germanic name implies we’re probably not anywhere in the more familiar literary stomping grounds of France or England, but doesn’t state this. The date tells us when we are and not to expect a one to one translation from present reality to present fiction. Then, our collective assumptions are whacked in the head with the words “for New Amsterdam, the Jewel of British North America.” Given that most of us recall that being the name of what is now the big apple a couple centuries back, this neatly states “pack your history books up for the duration”. First despite being British owned the name hasn’t changed, British North America says there are quite possibly other claimants, and of course that Washington and his contemporaries never arose to throw off the British mantle.
This ought to be enough to get most people interested, and tells us why the world is different, why the book deserves more attention and hints at more.
“Port Tinarana was like an old, decaying tart, her face lined with a myriad of streets and alleys, inexpertly caked with a crude makeup of overhanging buildings. The alleyways seemed to grow narrower and more choked in filth with the passing of each year. Judging by the ankle-deep slush, this dead end hadn’t had the garbage cleared in the last three hundred of those years. And in a few minutes his body would become yet another once-human part of it. ”
With the name of the city, and the description of it’s condition we know that we’re unlikely to be regaled with pretty princesses, devious dukes, and a tour of the writers small library on medieval fashion, cloth, architecture, heraldry and armor. We can probably guess the main character will not have had tutors from their third birthday. We know that the locals aren’t all that interested in maintaining an image of sparking prosperity. Law enforcement and possibly law itself also seem to be lacking in abundant fruitful activity. And last, we have a man who expects to die. One or two of these might act as a hook, as a set they are certainly going to draw the reader to at the very least finding out what happens next. That is the opening to The Forlorn by Dave Freer.
“I did two things on my seventy-fifth birthday. I visited my wife’s grave. Then I joined the army.”
Eighteen words, three short sentences, not even two full paperback lines and nearly everything you thought you knew is nuked off the face of the planet. We have an older character than most readers which is a rarity for non-elves and other immortals. We know he’s a widower, who is still in love with his wife. We know the army for some reason feels that a seventy-five year old man is worth having. This is clearly not the world as we know it.
“It was a dark and stormy night…
:Pah!: Warrl said with disgust so thick Tarma could taste it. :Must you even think in clichés?:”
What do we know here? Well, we know these two have a relationship close enough to tease each other. We have evidence of telepathy, we know one of the characters is thinking about something in the past. We also know that someone has a sense of humor, and that this is unlikely to be a fantasy as dark as something Robin Hobb might pen.
This is the opening to Mercedes Lackey’s Oathbreakers.
“The King was screaming in the throne room when the Protector’s Men arrived. He knew it was wrong; he knew he was being stupid. But he was frightened. When the booted feet of the soldiers sounded in the corridor outside, he belatedly came to his senses. Dropping to the floor, he crawled under the broad-seated thrown where the Emperor sat in judgement, next to God Sustainer. (Only there was no Emperor now, and Lord Urdhven, the Protector, made his judgments in his own council chamber. Did the Sustainer dwell there now? Or still upon the empty throne? Was there really a Sustainer? Would the Protector’s soldiers kill him, like all the others?)”
James Enge in the opening of his debut novel The Blood of Ambrose drops a ton of information in a touch over one hundred words. First, we know the king is not in control. Not of himself, not of his court and not of the Protector. We know that whatever the religion of the realm, the King isn’t too firmly wedded to it’s fundamentals. And of course there have been deaths, presumably at the behest of the Protector. I say presumably because we don’t know how reliable the King is, I mean he’s the King and he’s standing in his throne room screaming. So on top of a nice list of info about the current emotional state of the king, we have the question as to who is right, the King, the Protector, neither?
“A sea of mist drifted through the clodt forest: soft, grey, luminescent. On the high ridges the fog showed brighter as the morning sun began to warm and lift the moisture, although in the ravine a cool, soundless dimness still counterfeited a pre-dawn twilight.
Commander Cordelia Naismith glanced at her team botanist and adjusted the straps of her biological collecting equipment a bit more comfortably before continuing her breathless climb. She pushed a tendril of fog dampened copper hair out f her eyes, clawing it impatiently toward the clasp at the nape of her neck. Their next survey area would definitely be at a lower altitude. The gravity of this planet was slightly lower than their home world of Beta Colony, but it did not quite make up for the physiological strain imposed by the thin mountain air.”
Again, a ton of information that it will take a couple moments to parse. We know our narrators name, rank, roughly her age bracket (not a very high rank, but above entry level, and no grey or white hair) we know she’s in some sort of military or pseudo-military organization, and we know that this is supposed to be a peaceful mission. With no mention of the planets name, other people, cities or the other trappings of civilization we can guess that at least this part of the planet isn’t peopled. We’re also told that this isn’t their home world. We also know Cordelia is fairly well educated by how she describes what is going on around her, and how the gravity and air affect her. Lois Bujold’s Shards of Honor now part of Cordelia’s Honor.
“Cair clung to a spar floating in the open ocean, out of sight or scent of land.”
History speaks, even if its lips move not. Dave Freer has managed to one up John Scalzi in terms of brief, creative openings. With just seventeen words for the start of A Mankind Witch, he manages to tell us something bad happened. Given that we know a spar is generally a not a part of the ship that is readily detached, and that we know it is open ocean it had to be fairly catastrophic if that was all Cair could find to cling to, and that currently prospects are not so hot for returning to dry land under ones own power.
Some might call these all hooks, and it isn’t a bad term, but a hook is something that pulls you along often unwillingly. To me, openings this good are more a faucet, they can fill you up and float you away. The only way you will stop after something that grabs you like this will be when the tap runs dry.