I’m one of those people who’s seen The Office several times all the way through. 5, 6 times? Possibly my favorite scene from the series is in Season 8, between Erin, played by Ellie Kemper, with James Spader as the vampiric Robert California. It’s “better in person” as my friend Taylor would say, but here is the dialogue when Spader walks up to Kemper in the office:
Erin: Robert California. Let’s have a conversation.
Robert: Describe your day so far.
Erin: Well, I woke up. And I hit the snooze—
Robert: And when you recount your day, never say you woke up. It’s a waste of your time. That’s how every day’s begun, for everyone, since the dawn of man.
Erin: Very smart, very smart. Suddenly, I was awake.
As we begin yet again the turning of the wheel of the year, I thought we’d turn our attention to first lines—the doors of the room of your writing!
That is really all I want you to try: paying attention to opening lines. I just want you to start noticing. So many writers ask me, “How should I open this piece of nonfiction I am working on?,” sometimes feeling that they are stuck in an unconscious or received opening pattern.
If you write essays, a newsletter, or blog in the nonfiction universe of today, you may have fallen into the trap of the ‘opening anecdote.’
A writer I’ve worked with for over two years now observed last week, “Writing online… you’d think there’s no other way to open an essay than personal narrative!” It’s true, the sterilization of creativity in a productivity world has led to standardized structures based on formulas / tropes like “the hero’s journey’“ and “the power of personal narrative [to sell things].” (If not a personal story, you’ll be told to “make a novel, compelling, contradictory” statement to begin. Ok????) If you’ve gotten stuck in the habit, like my client, of going straight for an anecdote to ‘get in’ to your subject matter, or fretting over the meaning of contradiction, let’s start noticing—in our reading and writing—what other ‘ways in’ there are.
Ask yourself: What am I doing in my openings? Looking back, do I have a pattern? What’s the meaning of it / how do I assess it?
As you read writing you like and don’t like, simply begin to notice openings. These will give you inspiration for different things to try, and clarity about what you think is effective and exciting or boring or annoying in opening lines—remember, what we like is our style. And style can saturate first lines like the choice of shoe or color.
Back to my client. This man’s writing journey reminds me of the philosopher Wendell Berry—full of heart, deeply thoughtful, wrestling with modernity. So, in the interest of helping him explore introductions, after our last session I pulled a Wendell Berry collection off my shelf to see what the hell he did. Why not? Listen—this is not a list I got of ‘possible ways to open your nonfiction essay.’ Ok?? This is just what I am seeing in a book that exists by an author I like! You can do this too. To show you what I mean, here are nearly all the opening lines from the essays in Wendell Berry’s What Are People For (this link is to a free PDF of this book! You just have to create an account if you wish):
Setting up a desire or problem (Damage): “I have a steep wooded hillside that I wanted to be able to pasture occasionally, but it had no permanent water supply.”
Making a statement that needs to be explained (Healing): “The grace that is the health of creatures can only be held in common.”
A fact statement from history (A Remarkable Man): “‘Nate Shaw’ is the pseudonym of a black farmer born in Alabama in 1885.”
A fact statement from a personal history (Harry Caudill in the Cumberlands: “On July 15, 1965, a friend then living in Hazard gave me my first look at the strip mines of eastern Kentucky.”
Introduce a “works” or quote that you will explore (A Poem of Difficult Hope): “A poem by Hayden Carruth that I have returned to many times is the one entitled, ‘On Being Asked to Write a Poem Against the War in Vietnam.’”
Make a ‘we’ statement (Style and Grace): “Works of art participate in our lives; we are not just distant observers of their lives.”
A distant memory testifying to the significance of an idea in one’s life (Writer and Region): “I first read Huckleberry Finn when I was a young boy.”
As if in the middle of a conversation / introducing the topic in a way that admits one’s position or worry (The Responsibility of the Poet): “To speak of the qualities of literary works is risky, of course.”
Simply introducing a topic of curiosity (God and Country): “The subject of Christianity and ecology is endlessly, perhaps infinitely, fascinating.” (Then going on to say why it is fascinating or worth pursuing).
Introducing a fact about oneself that shapes one’s approach to or experience with the topic / sets up a journey to the topic (An Argument for Diversity): “I live in and have known all my life the northern corner of Henry County, Kentucky.”
Introducing a ‘take’ one will proceed to disagree with (What Are People For?): “Since World War II, the governing agricultural doctrine in government offices, universities, and corporations has been that ‘there are too many people on the farm.’”
Making a statement of identity (Waste): “As a country person, I often feel that I am on the bottom end of the waste problem.”
Rhetorically addressing a group that may or may not be who will read it (Economy and Pleasure): “To those who still uphold the traditions of religious and political thought that influenced the shaping of our society and the founding of our government, it is astonishing, and of course discouraging, to see economics now elevated to the position of ultimate justifier and explainer of all the affairs of our daily life, and competition enshrined as the sovereign principle and ideal of economics.” (*Why do you think this is by far the longest intro sentence in the book?)
Asking or sharing a question (The Pleasures of Eating): “Many times, after I have finished a lecture on the decline of American farming and rural life, someone in the audience has asked, ‘What can city people do?’”
A statement of togetherness / admittance of a perceived failure or disappointment / statement of a problem or internal contradiction (Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer): “Like almost everybody else, I am hooked to the energy corporations, which I do not admire.”
Referencing a previous work (Feminism, The Body, and the Machine): “Some time ago Harper’s reprinted a short essay of mine in which I gave some of my reasons for refusing to buy a computer.”
A quote (Work and Flesh): “Toward the end if As You Like It, Orlando says: ‘I can live no longer by thinking.’”
Making an observation from one’s unique position / an insightful observation introducing people to a place / way of thinking they are unfamiliar with (Nature as Measure): “I live in a part of the country that at one time a good farmer could take some pleasure in looking at.”
My client just so happens to be German, so perusing my shelves I also pulled off German writer W.G. Sebald’s, The Rings of Saturn. This book is a travelogue that also travels the landscapes of thought. Unlike in Berry’s collected essays, which are diverse, Sebald has a very deliberate pattern in his opening lines. Each chapter opens with a statement about the landscape, weather, or season:
In August 1992, when the dog days were drawing to an end…
It was on a grey, overcast day…
Three or four miles south of Loewstoft the coastline curves gently into the land.
The rain clouds had dispersed, when…
Not far from the coast…
It had grown uncommonly sultry and dark…
These are just a few of the opening chapter lines from this book, which nearly all follow this pattern. The effect is clear and appreciated—they are full of mood, moving us through a landscape over time, showing also how he was inspired to move in his thoughts by the landscape to certain ideas and histories he will discuss. Mood is everything, the landscape as the door to our thoughts being the point of the writing in this case. See now if you can recognize any patterns in introductory sentences or set-ups from writers you read!
What else can be said today?
Happy birthday this week—another new beginning—to my dear friend Tobi Ogunnaike of Wandering the Grey. I wanted to share his amazing new piece on creativity, “Shuck the shell, follow the funk.” Give it a read—and check out Tobi’s opening lines for lessons in style!
Writing Club is next Friday, Jan 31 at 12pm EST! Sorry for the late announcement, but we are meeting and we hope you’ll join us! I’ll send a reminder email out next week.
I do describe the essay as a room, or series of rooms, you walk someone through. There are infinite rooms in the universe, and as many doors. If it helps to think of the opening line as a door, think of it as a door. What do you picture? Does picturing the door to a piece you want to write help you in any way? Does it help you ascertain or articulate the mood of the thing you are writing? What other metaphors for beginning feel fun or helpful to think about? Share in the comments or email me, rachel@racheljepsen.com! This is the kind of thing we’d talk about in writing club, too ; ) All are welcome—people and ideas!
Yours in writing etc,
Rachel