The first chapters of a novel are often the most edited ones and with good reason. The first few pages are a litmus test for the reader. If they like them, they’ll likely buy or borrow the book. If not, they’ll put it away for good. Short stories leave even less space to impress. You’ve got a few sentences at best to get the reader’s interest and attention.

But how does one know where to start?

The answer is anything but simple. Story beginnings will differ depending on the format, genre, and personal preferences. As a writer, you might want to come in early, sneak into the story before the scene is even set and get to know the characters. As a reader, you’ll prefer to arrive at the point where things get interesting and might not have a lot of patience to linger on background stories and details.

The story begins with a promise.

A promise of a story, that is. And what exactly is that? It’s the first scent of change, the gut feeling that offers a glimpse into the future. While you don’t have to start your story exactly when things are getting heated, you’ll want to include a promise of things to come. A promise has one foot firmly in the now and the other one in what if. In story structure, this translates into the ‘inciting incident’, the first indicator that the status quo is being disrupted.

Let me give an example. In my short story, ‘A Stroke of Luck’, a journalist, Andrew, visits Belgrade to dig out more information about a bar where mobsters meet. He’s interested in one mobster in particular, so he decides to go a step further. I could have started this story at several points, say, when Andrew first heard about the bar or the mobster in question, or at the moment when the Editor-in-Chief gave Andrew the mission.

However, none of these events sounded particularly exciting, and I wanted to give the reader a taste of what’s coming, a glimpse into the promise of a story. So I started three quarters in, when Andrew was already deep in trouble, then rewound back to tell how he got there.[1]

That’s the good part about fiction, that it can bend time depending on the needs of the story.

Okay, I hear you say, but what does this mean in practice? Let’s say you’re writing a general fiction story about Alice, a teacher who needs to reinvent her life at fifty-five. Let’s suppose the following events will unfold at the beginning:

• Alice loses her job which she liked in the small town where she lives.
• there aren’t any other jobs available at a short distance and to keep teaching, she’d need to move away.
• Alice realises her friends have drifted away and her closest people are her now former colleagues. Moving away would mean losing them, too.

There are several potential beginnings, none are completely wrong or right as they all depend on the story you want to tell and its genre. Here are some considerations to illustrate how each of the beginnings might affect the story.

You start with the summer holidays. Alice is sipping wine with her friend and colleague, having a light-hearted humours conversation about which one of them is going to get the trouble-making students.
It’s the end of the year and Alice is exhausted and ready for the holidays. She’s been working harder than usual to avoid having to deal with some personal issues which she hopes will disappear by themselves. The headteacher invites her for lunch and she knows he wants to talk. But about what exactly? Is it a date or something serious?

Alice is in the HR office expecting to sign the contract for next year, a formality she’s familiar with, only to find out that her contract won’t be extended. All three options are valid starting points, depending on the story you want to tell. Let’s say your story is about Alice’s personal transformation and soul searching, in which she has to address some long-buried issues. Now let’s unpick each of the potential beginnings and see how it would unfold to the reader.

Beginning 1: The summer holidays

Starting with the status quo is a standard start in fiction because it gives the reader a chance to meet the character in their normal world before it’s about to change. This way, the reader gets a chance to make a first connection with the characters and learn something about them. It’s too early in the narrative to expect the reader to care for the characters, but we can already plant the first seeds to make the connection.

In this scenario, we see Alice being certain about what her next year will look like, which will make the fall stronger once her plans crumble. The downside is that summer holidays aren’t particularly exciting unless you’re having them. Reading about two friends speculating about the year ahead might be too light and dull to hold the reader’s attention. Remember that the reader doesn’t know Alice or her friend yet. While this start shows the friendship between Alice and her colleague, which might play an important role later in the story, the starting scene doesn’t give us enough to care about it.

Though this beginning is a valid choice, it might deter some readers because it starts too early in the story.

Beginning 2: Lunch with the headteacher

This option shows Alice in her everyday world slightly before it’s about to change. The unexpected invitation for lunch with the headteacher surprises her and gives the reader a reason to speculate. Is this a personal invitation, or a potential date? Or perhaps there have been parental complaints and the headteacher is giving her a slap on the hand? Or is there something more to this?

This beginning gives the reader a glimpse into Alice’s internal turmoil and the first taste of her personal challenges. The readers want to like the characters and don’t wish horrible things upon them. Pointing towards the trouble early on helps build sympathy for the character even though the reader doesn’t know Alice yet. This is a good starting point because it makes the reader want to know what happens next.

Beginning 3: Meeting with HR

The third option brings us in right before Alice loses her job, at the cusp of a conflict. Unlike the previous two beginnings, this one brings the reader late into the story. However, it is still the beginning and the reader doesn’t know Alice yet. Seeing her sitting in the HR office, waiting to learn what this is about, provides space to give a glimpse into Alice’s inner world before things escalate, strengthening chances for the reader’s connection with the protagonist.

Starting a story at this point leaves too little space to build sympathy for Alice, which might work better for some readers than others. Still, this beginning can work perfectly if done well.

The choice where to start the story is always yours. Keep in mind that while readers want to care for the characters, they will also need sufficient information and enough space to do so. Fast-paced and action-packed genres will allow you to arrive much later in the story than general or literary fiction. More so, the readers will expect you to open with something impactful.

The things that often need to be cut out from the beginning are heavy scene-setting or character descriptions, backstories, and longer chunks of information dumped on the reader before they know what the story is about.
If you’re still not sure where to start your story, test your beginnings. For example, share the overall story idea with a friend or a fellow writer and observe where their attention drops. Change the beginning and tell the story to another friend. Does it work better? At what point did they start paying more attention?

Take notes, rewrite, and repeat.

Once you have your story down, ask a few trusted readers to read it. Ask where the story gets interesting. If more people will point at the same point and that isn’t your beginning, consider changing it.
Note the comments, rewrite, and repeat. And that’s more or less all there is to it.

To get more tips about writing, watch this space or sign up for my newsletter.


[1] To find out how the story ends, check out my culinary noir collection ‘Pass the Cyanide’ published under Karmen Špiljak.