Few writing tasks are harder for me than rewriting my opening chapter. I end up stuck to my opening lines like a suction cup, afraid to break the book by reimagining how it might open. It’s where I’m least willing to kill my darlings, but I’ve realized why my first chapter, of all places, can’t be a safe haven for favorite phrases, descriptive passages, or belches of backstory.
The story’s opening is like a cross-section of the book: it lets the reader glimpse elements that run right through the narrative, all the way to the climax. Anything in chapter one must earn its place through multiple rigorous edits.
I know this. Or, I thought I knew this. Still, I’ve found myself clinging to descriptive passages in particular, and to favorite bits of character background. The need to hold onto these things has felt almost superstitious, as if these elements are good luck charms that hold my book together. My chapter-one rewrites end up being hugely frustrating experiences as I leaf over earlier drafts, fretting over phrases I’ve left behind and thinking, wrongly, that reinserting them will reignite the magic.
For me, there’s only one way to find the magic: get right back inside the character’s head and be honest with myself about what they’re most preoccupied with, and what their deeper fears are (things that need only be hinted at, here in the early pages).
I’ve just finished a couple hours on my opening chapter, forcing myself to keep the character’s main preoccupation in focus, but it’s terribly hard. What a temptation there is to plonk in my good-luck-charm phrases and descriptions. I’ve known the phrase “kill your darlings” for years, but this morning was the first time I understood why it makes sense to do so. Holding onto those darlings can pull me away from the moment, out of the character’s genuine mindset as I strain to write towards a piece of imagery or backstory-memory that I’ve told myself I must include.
It’s like preparing spontaneous anecdotes in advance of an important social event, terrified of running out of things to say when the stakes are so high. But that never really works, does it? It’s much better to stay in the moment, react to stimuli, and allow pertinent facts to bubble to the surface in a natural way.
Last month I had a similar experience, realizing the need to stay in the moment later in the manuscript, where I introduce a second main character. This girl was truly starving, but spent an unnatural amount of time — and wordcount — resenting her father. When I looked hard at the scene, the hierarchy of needs dictated what I (if I were her) would be thinking, feeling and prioritizing in that moment. I went with the hunger, and her thoughts about her dad sort of leaked out later in the scene, in a much more natural and narratively helpful way.
How do you deal with darlings in your revisions? I’d love to hear any insights or challenges you experience, in the comments below.
Photo by victory of the people on Flickr