Where Does the Story Really Begin?

When I was a graduate student at Arizona State University, majoring in English, I was fortunate to land a job teaching Freshman Composition. I had already taught middle school English, so I was comfortable with the subject matter. I soon became aware that a problem I saw in the work of my middle school students, and in my own writing, was also present with these students. Typically, the first few paragraphs of a student essay was a warmup, then at about the third or fourth paragraph, the story began. Those initial paragraphs often contained too much detail, little meaning or feeling, and did not draw me in. In my own memoir in progress, my third book, I am facing that same challenging question—Where does the story really begin? To answer that I need to become the reader, rather than the writer.

It is often hard to address this dilemma because those first paragraphs or sections we write may contain essential information that is valuable to us; it could be the setting, the family structure, the landscape. But perhaps none of that is the beginning of the story. I have a wonderful friend, a first-time writer who was creating a powerful novel dealing with the threat of climate change through the eyes of a young, brilliant and visionary scientist. As I read his early draft, I waited for that moment when the story would capture me and draw me in. It was when the young boy rode on horseback up to a mountain top where he gained his first glimpse of his future. All the information that preceded this could come later, that scene was the beginning of The Scientist.

A similar challenge arose in my own novel, CeeGee’s Gift. Again, the beginning was not descriptions of her home or family, but the day she went to help an old man with his garden and a friendship began that would change her life. And in the current memoir I am writing, Hang on to Your Hat, it isn’t even the first paragraphs that fail to begin the story, it is the first chapters, focused on parents, siblings, front and backyards, my bedroom, the swimming pool, the garden. Not elements that will engage a reader, only my own valuable memories. Then I recalled the day I saw my mother crying on the front porch. She told me her friend had died, from suicide. Then she told me the reason—she hated being a woman. With this statement of the challenge of being a woman in mid-century America, the story began.

So, I offer this learned wisdom to authors, go ahead and write all the information you need to write to begin your story. Then edit it, sharpen it, and finally pause and read and look for it. Where does the story really begin? It may not be on the first page, or even the first chapter, but it is there waiting for you to find it.