Hook Sentences

Life ran away with me. In fact, I forgot where to find this blog. 

So, here's the deal, I'm focused on writing and publishing these days, BUT I'm teaching again a couple days a month. When I do, I don't toss out word prompts and photos. I give lessons on the art of writing. Every day I learn more about this art.

I'm thinking maybe I'll put some ideas from lessons here in case it might be of benefit to anyone else. 

This week I'm talking about HOOK SENTENCES. 

Hook sentences encourage the reader to remain interested in continuing to turn pages. There are opening hooks and closing hooks.  

There is a hook sentence at the beginning of a book, which includes the first sentence of the first chapter, which is also the first sentence of the first scene. But, wait, there's more!  

The author needs to put a hook sentence at the start of every chapter, and every scene. If you have five scenes in a chapter, that's five opening and five closing hooks which include the opening and closing chapter hook. 

Why are hooks important? They make a reader want to continue with the story. 

Let's look at the first sentence of Andy Weir's book, The Martian: I'm pretty much fucked. If that doesn't make you want to find out what happens next, I doubt anything ever will. 

Jill sat on the couch. Yeah, that's no hook sentence ever. 

Of course, it isn't as simple as putting in hook sentences and then following up with badly spelled, punctuated, and boring drivel. We have to write to reader expectations of the genre. The hook sets the reader's expectations. Without the hook, the reader might not bother reading more than a line or two.

Imagine: I'm pretty much fucked. Dad took the car keys and I'm grounded for life. Guess I'll go upstairs and watch the Kardashians. Makes you want to dive right in, huh? 

You, dear author, must write with your book arc, chapter arc and scene arc in mind AND make sure you have strong hook sentences at the beginning and end of each segment, be it book, chapter, scene, or short story.  

Thus far, it's been the opening hook I've addressed. The next type is the last sentence in every scene that makes the reader want to continue reading to see what happens. If it wraps everything up in a nice, tidy bow, then why bother? 

Remember the first sentence of The Martian? I'm pretty much fucked. The closing hook of the first scene is: I don't blame you, and I'm glad you survived. There are other people out there. Where are they? 

What is the hook in the next scene of the first chapter? I guess I should explain how Mars missions work, for any layman who might be reading this. The reader is going to learn something, so they read on. That scene ends with: You can imagine how disappointed I was when I discovered the MAV was gone. And we're back to him being in trouble. It increases the tension and the need to read more. 

The next scene in chapter one begins: It was a ridiculous sequence of events that led to me almost dying, and an even more ridiculous sequence that led me to surviving. Again, it increases tension, and the reader wants to know what happened. This scene ends with: The last thing I remember was seeing Johanssen hopelessly reaching out for me. Oh, no, then what happened? More tension.  

I won't go through all the scenes in the first chapter. Buy or borrow the book. It's a great read. What's important is how Weir uses each scene to increase tension, give backstory, and propel the story arc forward and uses powerful opening and closing sentences to hook the reader into reading further. 

Today I compiled six pages of opening hooks from books by trad published authors and popular indie authors. 

Here are a few: 

• I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. – Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle 
• Don't look for dignity in public bathrooms. – Victor LaValle, Big Machine
• Men, Sima thought, can't live with them, can't beat them to death with a nine iron. – J.D. Robb, Festive in Death
• The building was on fire and it wasn't my fault. - Jim Butcher, Blood Rites.
• If at first you don't succeed, try again with a bigger gun. – Seanan McGuire, Chaos Choreography  
• The little man in the synthetic tweed jacket didn't look like a bomb. – Jack Chalker, Lilith: A Snake in the Grass

 See if you can find great hooks, average hooks and lousy ones and see how well the book did, whether indie or trad pub. 

Keep writing! 

 

 

 

 

We Didn't Mean to Fall in Love

New article published in The Next Chapter of the East Texas Writers Guild. It's a canine-human love story for all those dog lovers.

Is there a dog who has meant everything to you?  Is she just "the living end?"

Do you mean everything to your dog? <3

Not all Writing Exercises are Equal

Today I attended a writer's workshop and we had a flash fiction exercise. It involved each person in the room writing one related sentence on a piece of paper to make a story. 

I had a hunch when the first writer who got my paper said, "I see the words, but I don't understand them," that maybe I was in trouble. I did explain two mystery words. Nonetheless, the result of my starting sentence was somewhat like the end of a bad drug trip.  ;) 

Here's the story:

1. Chopin's Polonaise filled the air.  (That's my starting sentence. Chopin is a Polish composer and a Polonaise is a musical piece. I'm not sure saying: "Chopin Polonaise  Op 53" would have helped.) Its lovely, if  you'd like to listen while reading the rest of this. 

2. The sun broke through the clouds sending sparkling shafts to the ground. (What? Aren't these sentences supposed to be related and make sense?) 

3. Makalesh, the long brown-haired Coon Cat, at first lazily pawed at the light streaks, blocking them then releasing them creating strobelike effect. (Okay, we're doing light here...) 

4. With the appearance of the rainbow, the shards of light came alive and danced with Makalesh to the sound of the music. (Hey, we have someone who figured out that "filled the air" might mean music.)

5. Perhaps there will be a treasure at the end of this rainbow. (And thus ends the polonaise, cat and light show.) ROFL 

This goes to show how important it is that the reader has the faintest idea what you are talking about to begin with.  Elsewise, we have a lot of "sound and fury signifying nothing." (Shakespeare) 

Next time my sentence will be: Stop! 

I can think of so many things that could follow.

1.  Stop!
1. In the name of love!
2. Put the cookie down!
3. Hands in the air!
4. Don't stop!

Bridges

Bridges - 2016 Anthology: Selected works by the East Texas Writers Guild is now on sale through Amazon. 

This is a 374 page book by selected writers of the Guild. It has the most consistently good work of any anthology I've run into. I'm not saying that because I'm one of the authors. I'm saying that because the selection committee found authors who produce good quality work. It is as simple and as difficult as that. 

Unlike many anthologies (I'm not generally a fan of anthologies) there is a thread of quality that runs through it. There is no OMG this is so horrible selection nor is there a Pulitzer prize winner. What it offers is good, solid writing.

All of it. 

How do I know? I  read it.  Slowly. I've taken time to reflect on the quality of the writing. I was surprised at how good it was. I just met these folks a year ago. I didn't know them from Adam except as people who, like me, write. 

The children's stories are entertaining. The poetry (again, I'm not a huge fan of poetry) is surprisingly good. It contains fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and memoir. Everything from science fiction to stories about a child's imaginary worm friend. I love that children's story! 

This is a book that should be sold in airports. You can read complete stories on short hops or several on longer flights. It is a beach book. A nighttime book. A book to share with children or grandchildren. It is a book to give for a birthday to a friend who loves short stories. 

The quality of the printing and cover design is excellent. 

I wish there was a Kindle version. There is not. Maybe next year. 

Post-apocalyptic Visions

I peer through the blinds, like others of my species. We and our companion animals have retreated inside. The droids are here. Again

My dog whines and her body shakes in reaction to the sounds of the mechs as blades hack through vegetation, gathering in the harvest. A large ginger cat crouches under a low bush. Maybe he will be safe. If not, there's a plastic box on the second story landing to hide in. His eyes glitter at me as if wondering if I'd open the door for him. I would since he's never attacked my dog. Instead, he crouches farther back. The droning machine moves past and the danger passes.

A large blowing machine moves in next, but it is pointless. Droids don't recognize that the heavy

rains last night have left everything sodden. It is nearly impossible to move cut material into windrows. Before long another droid arrives, hacking at woody vegetation, toothed blades scissoring together. The cat takes flight, vanishing up a rotting metal stairway.

I peer out again to see branches being piled up as if for a bonfire. What the branches will be used for I don't know. Kindling? Do droids use kindling? They are not sufficient for building. Or will the creatures with hooded capes reminiscent of Jarwa use them for some purpose?

Rain arrives again in a fine mist and still the droids move deliberately, leaving deep black furrows in the thick ground vegetation. From prior history, I know the scars will heal, but the ground will have ridges. "Ruffles have ridges," I say to no one in particular and turn away from the blinds.

Tatooine? Nah, too much vegetation. Endor, home of the Ewoks? Or is it the gardening crew back for their weekly visit? 

Life and Disjunction

Life and disjunction. Nothing seems to hang together the way it should. Or could. While some of the players remain the same - parents, siblings, peripheral relatives, kids and grandkids - there is a distinctly disjunctive theme to life. My life, at any rate.

I've lived thither and yon, sometimes at the needs of a parental unit - as my daughter now refers to the individuals who give rise to and raise children - and sometimes at my own needs or whims. I'm no longer sure which is which - the need or the whim. Is it wanderlust or the absolute need to relocate for some truly viable reason? A job. An educational institution. A marriage. Career advancement. Running away from home - perhaps this is whimsy, although it might also be survival.

What is disjunctive in life gives rise to that which we end up dwelling upon with intimates, therapists, spiritual counselors, and others. It is what propels me to write, to figure out the why, the what next, the what would have happened if, the how things could have been different.

What is it that brings you to place pen to paper? Fingers to keyboard? Or perhaps an eye to the lens in order to capture some moment in a visual mode? Is it the bits of life that don't fit together easily? Those bits that flow smoothly like a slow moving river? A few years ago I caught this young enjoying the warm July day at Castle Island Park in South Boston. Is there a disjunction between his activities or a smooth flow? We never spoke. I wonder - a cell phone to take a call from a friend, take a photo of his kite, or because he didn't want to fly a kite and is sneaking in a call while a parent isn't looking?

It will always be a mystery and the picture will always be open to interpretation.