The first and most important technique for getting a reader hooked on your novel:  Voice

• The voice is the soul of the book
  • You know how you have that friend who will always find the silver lining in everything, or the friend who will always drag the conversation back to his problems?
  • A narrative voice has that same type of personality in the type of jokes it might tell, the kind of details it will offer, what it talks about, what it doesn’t say.
• And the first Rule of Engagement is that the narrative voice is a person the reader wants to spend time with.
  • Not necessarily because you trust it or it’s a good or likable person
    • Have any of you read Lolita? Humbert Humbert is reprehensible, but he has possibly the most brilliant narrative voice ever
  • But you enjoy the voice, it’s interesting, it gives pleasure.
  • And that, in the end, is what all literature must do.
• So I’m going to read some first lines or first paragraphs, which will also be up on the overhead here, without telling you the book or the author. I have a big bag of Hershey’s Dark Chocolate Kisses, and if you think you recognize the first line, raise your hand, wait to get recognized, and I’ll throw you a Kiss if you’re right.
• The first one:
• I have been accused of being anal retentive, an overachiever, and a compulsive perfectionist, like those are bad things. My disposition probably has a lot to do with the fact that I am technically a genius. Unfortunately, this label seems to precede me wherever I go.
  • Millicent Min, Girl Genius by Lisa Yee
  • Listen to Millicent’s vocabulary and diction:  big words; long, complex sentences; formal tone. Millicent the character isn’t being pretentious; that is actually the way she thinks and speaks. You get her whole character from those three sentences, and even though Millicent tells us she’s a genius, the way she tells us actually shows us it’s true.
  • I love this voice because it has that truth and because it makes me laugh—I want to keep reading.
• Onto something very different:
• Claudia knew that she could never pull off the old-fashioned kind of running away. That is, running away in the heat of anger with a knapsack on her back. She didn’t like discomfort; even picnics were untidy and inconvenient:  all those insects and the sun melting the icing on the cupcakes. Therefore, she decided that her leaving home would not be just running from somewhere but running to somewhere.
  • From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg
  • Third-person, but again note how well the details establish character:  “all those insects, and the sun melting the icing on the cupcakes.” You know from that that Claudia is a very fastidious girl, and that the novel is going to follow her point of view.  I love the economy of that.
• This next one I’m throwing in just for fun:
• You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice—they won’t hear you otherwise—“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell:  “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone.
  • If on a winter’s night a traveler by Italo Calvino
  • Are any of you familiar with this novel? It’s a story of a Reader, the “you” here, who buys a book, starts to read it, and discovers he has only the first chapter. So he returns it to the bookstore, gets a replacement, discovers it’s a completely different book from the first book he bought—but then there’s only the first chapter in that one too. So it alternates second-person “you” chapters with the first chapters of ten different novels. It’s a wonderful book if you love reading and thinking about reading.
• The key quality these three voices share is authority:  A sense that the writer knows where he is going and what she is doing; the feeling that the reader is in good hands. Authority comes from
  • Specificity of language:  Look at how E.L. Konigsburg characterized picnics:  “all those insects, and the sun melting the ice on the cupcakes.” Suppose she just said “bugs and sticky food”?
  • Not wasting the reader’s time:  The voices tell you the information you need to know and move on; they don’t include detail that isn’t relevant at this point in the novel.
  • Recognizability:  The reader believes in this voice because the things it says or the way in which it speaks chimes with real human experience
• And because of that, the thing these voices do is establish a believable, authoritative, interesting character and world.

• So the voice is the foundation on which your whole novel is built—or again, the soul with which you fall in love.
• But we all know that love does not survive on soul alone
  • There has to be some sort of development, some action, some deepening of what begins with that connection
• So I’m going to go on and quote a few more first lines here and talk about what makes them work
• But even though these are all first lines, I hope you’ll consider how the techniques they demonstrate are applicable to your novel as a whole. They’re qualities of good writing, not just great first lines.
• And the Chocolate Kiss offer still stands. So:

• When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression.
  • The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
  • This is what I think of as a description beginning, where the writer describes the main character or the setting as an introduction to the action
  • If you’re using a description beginning, be careful that the description is relevant and intriguing, and that it doesn’t go on too long before it gets to some action.
  • I want to point out the “It was true, too”—the narrative voice insinuating itself in there to say “Yup, she really is that awful. I am somebody you can trust because I’m giving you the straight and terrible truth about this girl.”
  • But what really captures me here is the fact that there is a straight  and terrible truth—Mary Lennox is “disagreeable-looking” with a “sour expression.” This book is called “The Secret Garden,” for goodness sakes, it ought to be about bunnies and kittens and happiness and flowers. The fact that it doesn’t start out like that, that Mary is actually a bad-tempered brat, is so different and refreshing that of course I want to read more.
  • Rule of Engagement:  Be surprising.
  • If you feel yourself writing something that’s been written before—the plucky fantasy heroine battling the evil overlord, the kid grieving for her dead grandmother—think of all the ways you can reverse that, and try something else instead. Maybe the heroine is shy. Maybe the overlord is her father (though that’s Star Wars). Maybe the grandmother was really mean, but she left the child a huge amount of money that got her out of poverty, so the child’s relief is mixed with guilt. Invert the clichés.
• Next example:
• My name is India Opal Buloni, and last summer my daddy, the preacher, sent me to the store for a box of macaroni-and-cheese, some white rice, and two tomatoes and I came back with a dog.
  • Because of Winn-Dixie, by Kate DiCamillo
  • This is a situation beginning, where she just lays the opening situation right out for you, then backtracks to explain in detail how she got into this situation and what happened next.
  • Note the specificity: 
    • “My name is India Opal Buloni.” What an intriguing name, and where would she get a name like that? I want to know.
    • “My daddy, the preacher”:  Huh. I don’t see a lot of novels with preachers as characters. That’s different and surprising.
    • “a box of macaroni-and-cheese, white rice, and two tomatoes”: I love what this tells you about their lives:  plain but good
    • But the thing I love the most about this line is the lack of a comma after “tomatoes.” You just tumble right forward into “I came back with a dog,” and how can you not read the rest of the book after that?
  • Rule of Engagement:  Be real.
  • Even if your novel is fantasy or historical fiction, or even if it’s an animal story and the characters aren’t human, the characters’ behavior must be anchored in real human psychology and behavior. This sounds obvious, but those little recognizable gestures—like going to the store to get macaroni-and-cheese—establish the humanity of your characters.
  • And if they do something that’s contrary to the established reality—like, say, if India said she was going to the store to get foie gras and Evian water—the reader notices, and you better be able to explain the disjunction that creates pretty darn quickly and believably.
• Moving on to another statement of reality:
• It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
  • Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, of course.
  • This is an insight beginning:  It offers a truth that makes the reader laugh or nod in recognition, and boom, they’re hooked.
  • Rule of Engagement:  Tell emotional truths, either right out like this or through the action. (Sort of the emotional corollary to “be real” above.) I love it when a writer articulates an emotion for me, so I have the pleasure of seeing my experience put into words—it’s one of the most comforting and connecting things in the world, because it means someone else has had that experience too (even if they’re only fictional).
• And of course sometimes the pleasure is having experiences you’ve never had before:
• Lyra and her daemon moved through the darkening hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen.
  • The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman
  • This is an action beginning, where from the very first line you’re in the middle of what’s going on.
  • The action beginning is a little dangerous because the reader doesn’t necessarily care about the characters or know what the world is like, so you have to establish these things quickly and well—which Philip Pullman indeed does here.
  • Rule of Engagement:  Take action. Your main character must do things, either in response to the circumstances thrust upon him or to drive the action himself. That’s why he deserves to be your main character.
    • Are any of you familiar with Artemis Fowl? I’ve only read the first book, and frankly I hated the writing, but even though Artemis behaves badly, he’s undeniably attractive because he goes after what he wants, even if it’s illegal—and he’s proud of it.
  • Coming back to the Golden Compass example: This demonstrates another Rule of Engagement: Have mysteries.
    • 1. Lyra and her daemon don’t want to be seen—why?
    • 2. The really big question:  What’s a daemon? You can bet I’m going to read until I find out.

I want to think about mystery a little more, because it’s probably the most effective plot technique for hooking a reader.

¨      Have a secret, let the reader know there’s a secret, and then don’t tell them what it is until it absolutely serves your purpose to do so.

• Classic childhood strategy, the equivalent of dancing around your reader saying “neener-neener-neener.” Or if we were indeed talking about falling in love, this would be “playing hard to get”
• It could be a secret the narrator knows and is keeping from the reader, like Lemony Snicket
• Or it could be a secret the characters have to find out—for instance, who is the murderer in a mystery novel
• Mysteries in novels fall into two categories:
• One hundred and thirty-six days before
  • Looking for Alaska by John Green
• A plot mystery; the big question is “136 days before what?”
  • This is a section title in Looking for Alaska, and every entry in the book has a title like this, until you come to the big event. Then it says “One day after,” “Five days after,” “Ninety days after,” etc.
    • For the record, publishers and booksellers love gimmicks like this because they set a novel apart and make it easy to handsell.
    • But they only work if they’re necessary and organic to the story.
• A good plot mystery develops—it has clues that lead you to the answer;
• It has stakes that matter to the reader (most often, what will happen to the main character given the answer or the situation);
• And it has to pay off:  The answer has to have a significance equal to the effort the reader has invested in it.
• Note that “effort”:  Mysteries are a terrific tool because they make the reader an active participant in the novel—they make ‘em work.
• Not with the writing, which should always be clear and direct,
• But by figuring out what’s going on in this world and in the characters’ heads. What are these people trying not to reveal? What’s their real goal? You the writer should know all these things.
  • Readers love this. It basically explains Harry Potter.
• The other kind of mystery is emotional mystery
• It is the first day of high school. I have seven new notebooks, a skirt I hate, and a stomachache. The school bus wheezes to my corner. The door opens and I step up. I am the first pickup of the day. The driver pulls away from the curb while I stand in the aisle. Where to sit? I’ve never been a backseat wastecase. If I sit in the middle, a stranger could sit next to me. If I sit in the front, it will make me look like a little kid, but I figure it’s the best chance I have to make eye contact with one of my friends, if any of them have decided to talk to me yet.
  • Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson
  • She has a stomachache. Okay, it’s the first day of school. But “if any of them have decided to talk to me yet”—why wouldn’t her friends talk to her? Why is she in such a bad mood? This is the secret the main character’s keeping that drives the whole book.
• One of the great things about Speak is that the emotional mystery is also the plot mystery—that is, the secret of why her friends hate her is also the secret of why she’s depressed; and her first step out of that depression is her admitting the secret to herself and the reader, which she can’t do at the beginning. And it is devastating.

• And that experience demonstrates a Rule of Engagement that’s been proven again and again and again: In the end, what will hook and keep a reader most is caring about the characters.
• You have also probably noticed that all of these examples demonstrate more than one Rule of Engagement—and that’s because all of those other Rules serve this one:
• Through the reality of the character’s insights, their voices, the pleasure we take when they surprise us, we come to care for and identify with them;
• we fall in love with them, you could say.
• And because of that, everything else in the novel has meaning.
• The ultimate engagement is when readers care so much for the characters that they feel everything the characters feel in the action of the novel:  Their triumph, their love, their excitement, their pain.

On to Part Two | Skip to Part Three