The past few weeks, I've been busy gearing up to teach creative writing for the fall semester. My writing time has, notably, taken a hit. I haven't sat down in the chair to write as much as I'd like. But, that doesn't mean I've been completely idle.
My brain tends to get into "writing mode" whenever I lay down in bed, which means I fall asleep an hour later than I'd like...but get ideas even if I'm not writing. And one thought that's been pestering me is the first line of The Engineer's Craft.
It's gone through a few iterations.
First, there was: "The day of the final accident began like most."
This isn't a terrible first line, but it isn't great either. The "day of the final accident" was my way of drawing the reader in, promising that something exciting would happen after they go through the slog of my slow-burn character and worldbuilding that I like to do at the beginning of a book. But "began like most" tells us nothing. It is inconsequential filler, and does not hook. Does not invite the reader to the next line.
Next, there was: "The morning of the final accident began quietly. "
But that ended in an adverb, and you know what some people say about that. I'm fine with using the occasional adverb, but it just felt wrong to put one at the end of the first line. Not a hook.
So I switched to: "The morning of the final accident began in quiet."
Eh. More of the same. It's been like this for a month or two now, and I still don't like it. It feels bland, like it isn't promising to take me anywhere. And the phrasing is awkward. Grammatically, "began in quiet" is not wrong to say. But it doesn't feel natural. More like the author is just trying to avoid an adverb.
And "quiet" without something "loud" to push against provides no tension or context.
Luckily, one of my late-night thoughts fiddled with the phrasing until it came to something that (I think) I'm more happy with. I'm going to play around with it here, to see if it works as well on paper.
As I edit this, I'm going to look at the entire paragraph. That will help me figure out where there is movement and tension in the beginning that I can use.
The morning of the final accident began in quiet.
Bartus Hecarri awoke early, while the hazy blue light of pre-dawn rested atop the sliver of ocean visible out his open window. All around him, the boarding house lay still. The other apprentices likely wouldn’t be up for another hour, sleeping off the ache of hauling lumber and hammering trenails for as long as they could. Down on the main floor, Mistress Hannele—the proprietress of the boarding house—had yet to wake either. Outside the window, the city slumbered, save for a lone gull wheeling low above lichen-covered shingles. As Bartus sat up from his straw mattress and rolled the stiffness from his neck, he couldn’t help but consider laying right back down and falling back asleep. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to let go of any obligation except for the sound of the shipyard bell that would ring in an hour.
Except that today might be the day.
Already, I note that the first two lines are slightly redundant. We don't need both "the morning...began" and "Bartus Hecarri awoke early." We can combine these two into a single sentence, and also move our main character's name earlier. Even when it's just a name and not yet a face, I think it helps to introduce the reader to our character as soon as possible. So:
The morning of the final accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke early...
Now we need some sort of tension. In the following paragraph, most everything is still. The only thing moving or that could provide some contrast to the stillness of the boarding house in the following paragraph is the seagull, which I added in a later revision (sensing, I think, the lack of movement). Let's pull the seagull out of the ending and put him here in the first line.
The morning of the final accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke early to the cry of a lone gull as it wheeled low over the lichen-covered rooftops outside his window.
I think I like it. This accomplishes a few things: (1) it gives movement to the line (2) it hints at an initial setting that is close to the scene, showing us rather than telling us that Bartus lives in a port-city (3) it restores the "rule of three" balance in the second paragraph, where three things are listed. Adding the seagull on my last round of edits always made this paragraph feel a little wordy. Speaking of wordy, I think this first line has now become a little unwieldy. I heard once that good first lines are around eight words long. That might be personal preference of a specific author, but in general I agree with it. Let's try this line but a little shorter, without losing the sense of movement.
The morning of the accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke early to the cry of a gull as it wheeled over the lichen-covered rooftops outside his window.
Mmm, I don't like that as much. The "final accident" gives more stakes, and the image of a lone gull mirrors Bartus well, as he is the only one awake in the following paragraph. I'm going to add those details back in, but try and do the trimming in the second half of the sentence.
The morning of the final accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke to the cry of a lone gull as it wheeled over the lichen-covered rooftop outside his boarding room window.
Alright, I made it longer. But I got rid of "early" because that information will come in the following paragraph as we realize that Bartus is the only one awake and see the dull light out the window. I originally added in "bedroom" to describe window, but it felt too homey. This is a boy away from home, and the majority of the story is about a boy away from home and his relationship to his home. Calling it his "boarding house window" puts a good distance between him and this place, maybe even suggesting that he's reticent to call this place home--the only "home" he can imagine is the Engineer's Guild. Still, "boarding room" feels a bit wordy, but I think for now I'm going to keep it.
Now, let's see if we can't polish up the second paragraph to provide that tension/contrast I was looking for:
The morning of the final accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke to the cry of a lone gull as it wheeled over the lichen-covered rooftop outside his boarding room window.
Around him, the rest of the house lay still. The other apprentices wouldn’t be up for another hour, given the narrow sliver of pre-dawn light hovering over the ocean's horizon. Instead, they would sleep off the ache of hauling lumber and hammering trenails as long as the sun and the shipyard bell allowed them. Down on the main floor, Mistress Hannele—the proprietress of the boarding house—had yet to begin banging around in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. As Bartus sat up from his straw mattress and rolled the stiffness from his neck, he couldn’t help but consider laying right back down. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to let go of any obligation except for the bell as it signaled the beginning of the apprentices' workday.
Except that today might be the day.
Mostly, I like it! The apprentices part is a little wordy, but I'm always so reticent to give up things I really enjoyed writing like the "hauling lumber and hammering trenails" line. Plus, the word "trenails" does a lot of work for letting the reader know what kind of book this is. Set in a historical time period, and a narrator that at least attempts to use language accurate to the period. But...let's see what it's like trimmed.
Around him, the rest of the house lay still. The other apprentices wouldn’t be up for another hour, waiting until the bluish sliver of pre-dawn light on the ocean's horizon had become a sunrise before leaving their rooms. And down on the main floor, the kitchen was silent, hinting that even the early-rising Mistress Hannele--proprietress of the boarding house--had not yet begun preparing breakfast. As Bartus sat up from his straw mattress and rolled the stiffness from his neck, he couldn’t help but consider laying right back down, leaving the stillness uninterrupted. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to let go of any obligation except for the sound of the shipyard bell as it signaled the beginning of the apprentices' workday.
Not sure this is really much shorter, but I think I like it better. There's a bit more rhythm to it, and it tempts omniscience a little less by giving us a reason for knowing why Mistress Hannele isn't awake yet. And the mention of the shipyard should be enough to tell us a bit about the time period? Maybe not.
Around him, the rest of the house lay still. The other apprentices wouldn’t be up for another hour, waiting until the bluish sliver of pre-dawn light on the ocean's horizon had become a sunrise before leaving their rooms. And down on the main floor, the kitchen was silent, hinting that even the early-rising Mistress Hannele--proprietress of the boarding house--had not yet begun preparing breakfast. As Bartus sat up from his straw mattress and rolled the stiffness from his neck, he couldn’t help but consider laying right back down, leaving the stillness uninterrupted. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to let go of any obligation until the shipyard bell rang out, calling the apprentices to come haul lumber and hammer trenails.
I think this is the one. It has those details, but in a way that feels more applicable to Bartus (somehow). Here's the thing in full; let's see how it all works together...with a few edits:
The morning of the final accident, Bartus Hecarri awoke early to the cry of a lone gull as it wheeled over the lichen-covered rooftop outside his boarding room window.
Around him, the rest of the house lay still. The other apprentices wouldn’t be up for another hour, waiting until the bluish sliver of pre-dawn light on the ocean's horizon had become a sunrise before leaving their rooms. And down on the main floor, the kitchen was silent, hinting that even the early-rising Mistress Hannele--proprietress of the boarding house--had not yet begun preparing breakfast. Bartus sat up on his straw mattress and rolled the stiffness from his neck, half-wondering if he shouldn't lay right back down, leaving the stillness uninterrupted. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to let go of any obligation until the shipyard bell rang out, calling the apprentices to come haul lumber and hammer trenails.
Except that today might be the day.