Craft Notes
Michael Kimball Guest Lecture Series (1): Openings
[We’re very excited to have today and in coming weeks a series of guest posts from the one and only Michael Kimball, author of three novels included the much lauded Dear Everybody. Enjoy! — BB.]
I’m doing a talk-thing at a free writing conference and the talk is going to be called something like “The One-Hour Crash Course in Fiction Writing.” I’m going to try to cover ways to think about beginnings, language, syntax, details, voice, character, plot, story, revising, endings, etc. I had the idea because it has always been little bits of advice, something that I could hold in my head — whether from a teacher, from something I read, or from another writer — that were the most useful thing to me as I tried to figure out what I wanted to do as a writer. So this will be the first in a series of guest posts about some of the elements of fiction. The posts will include the ways that I think about different elements of fiction, the ways other writers and teachers do, and, hopefully, it will lead to a larger discussion – how you think about it, other ideas from other writers and teachers, etc. OK, here we go:
Openings, there are lots of ways to think about them. Chris Offut said, “The secret is to start a story near the ending.” Elmore Leonard said, “Never open a book with weather.” One of my old teachers used to talk about the importance of the first sentence, the need to overcome of the inertia of nothingness, to immediately capture the reader’s attention. She amended that to say that the first sentence needed to be declarative in some sense, to have a particular syntax and diction, to have resonant acoustical properties. Those first sentences that immediately come to mind, many of those are first sentences that do that. And there are lots of examples, below, from people who are thinking about first sentences.
This next method, I have always thought of it as the opposite of the first sentence method. I know other writers and teachers that suggest outlining the story and/or plot and then annotating the outline as much as possible before going back and creating scenes, filling in with dialogue and detail, etc. I tried this once and was bored before I ever finished the outline, but I’m mentioning it because I know it works for some writers, especially writers who get lost or stuck as they draft early material, and also for writers who need to feel comfortable with knowing the story and the characters before they render it (rather than finding out along the way).
Somewhere in between those two methods is a writer like Andrew Porter who writes “pages upon pages of raw content about the characters before going back and devising plot and structure.” I’m kind of fascinated by that method. It makes me think of how I steal pieces of people’s lives for my own fictional uses, but I suppose that’s another post.
Here are what a bunch of other writers have said or written about beginnings. Dawn Raffel: “I almost always start with a compelling visual image, something that’s emotionally charged for me in ways I can’t fully get my mind around. Then I have to try to find a way to translate that image to a sentence with an acoustical presence on the page. Writing becomes a means of investigation.”
J.D. Salinger: “If only you’d remember before ever you sit down to write that you’ve been a reader long before you were ever a writer. You simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart’s choice. The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it.”
Noy Holland: “I always thought I started with a sentence, or a sound, a mis-statement or a mishearing–as if such a thing arrives out of the blue. I still believe this, sort of. I have a little story in which a boy cannot say his l’s. Those l’s, the y’s that replace the l’s, are the animating oddity of the story. But grief or pity or love—some emotional state– precedes the sound, the sentence, or at least arrives at the same time. Emotional porousness, susceptibility—I think that’s what makes me listen and wish to speak.”
Gary Lutz: “What often happens is that a word will force itself into my mind and lodge itself there for a week or longer, and I won’t be able to shake it out. It is usually a common word, nothing fancy or obscure, most likely just something I fixated on while idling my way through a newspaper, but it’s as if I had never before beheld its singular weirdness as typographical matter. I’ll probably write it down, and a day later it might be joined by another word, another specimen of humdrum, workaday English, and these two words will start to pal around in my head and maybe decide that they’re together for the long haul. Then I will set them out on a line on the screen of my computer, and I’ll insert other words between them and see how well they can handle being separated and how politely they treat the interlopers. A usable phrase, and sometimes even a sentence, might result from that sort of instigation and manipulation. I never start with an idea-I am not a person who has ideas about anything-and I almost never start with even a glimmer of a situation or a plot.”
Lewis Buzbee: “You shouldn’t write a novel unless you have an idea for one.”
Sam Lipsyte: “The actual writing always starts with what some would call a lingual event, a word, or more likely a combination of words that sends me off. But I also think that moment is really a sort of uncorking of whatever has been welling up in me for a while. So I’m sure it begins with a feeling. I’m walking around with a feeling. A feeling in search of a song, maybe. But without the lingual event it will just stay buzzing in me, useless. Story really comes later. I never sit down and say, Boy, do I have an important story to tell about alienation and oppression in late capitalist society or something like that. I figure that shit forces itself in anyway, and if you keep writing some kind of story has to emerge. It can’t not emerge. And it’s probably the story you should be telling. It might not be a classical narrative, but we maybe have enough of those, anyway. Characters come to me as voices, different modes of speech. Who they are comes from there. I’m not really sure what plot is. Somebody told me once but I forgot.”
I’m like Sam in some ways. I’m always looking for a voice, particular way of speaking, a narrator who says particular words in particular way, a narrator who maybe has a skewed way of perceiving the world. I can have an idea, but it never gets very far unless I have a voice to narrate the idea. With The Way the Family Got Away, it wasn’t until I switched the voice of the narrator from an older man, a grandfather, to that of a little boy and a little girl that the story began to really get told. With Dear Everybody, I started with just a few letters, but there was a distinct, skewed voice there and the rest of the novel came out of that.
So tell me, how do you think about openings?
Tags: crash course, fiction writing, michael kimball
intuitively
intuitively
that’s not a very intuitive response
that’s not a very intuitive response
This is great. More lectures!
I’ve never written a novel, but what starts as the beginning of a poem or short story is usually not there when I am done with the piece. Meaning, I disagree with Lewis Buzbee and hold with Kerouac, who said ideas are a dime a dozen. As long as the idea is fleshy once all in, you don’t have to start with it. But that means that, once all in, the opening will probably have nothing to do with the rest of the piece.
This is great. More lectures!
I’ve never written a novel, but what starts as the beginning of a poem or short story is usually not there when I am done with the piece. Meaning, I disagree with Lewis Buzbee and hold with Kerouac, who said ideas are a dime a dozen. As long as the idea is fleshy once all in, you don’t have to start with it. But that means that, once all in, the opening will probably have nothing to do with the rest of the piece.
I tend to hit the first sentence pretty hard, with enough info/”feeling” that someone who feels like re-reading it after reading the story can tell/get a feeling where things were headed. Sometimes I have to scale back, way back in fact, so I don’t give up the ghost.
A “perfect” first line for me (in the context of how it sets up the story magnificently) is Kevin Wilson’s first line in “Hail Vulgar Juice of Never Fading Pine” (from Juked) – “The summer after my mother died, I began to understand that my father was becoming, or perhaps had always been, gay.”
Elmore Leonard’s quote is wonderful.
Is there an old woman crawling on your ceiling, Michael, like in Exorcist 3 or Legion?
I tend to hit the first sentence pretty hard, with enough info/”feeling” that someone who feels like re-reading it after reading the story can tell/get a feeling where things were headed. Sometimes I have to scale back, way back in fact, so I don’t give up the ghost.
A “perfect” first line for me (in the context of how it sets up the story magnificently) is Kevin Wilson’s first line in “Hail Vulgar Juice of Never Fading Pine” (from Juked) – “The summer after my mother died, I began to understand that my father was becoming, or perhaps had always been, gay.”
Elmore Leonard’s quote is wonderful.
Is there an old woman crawling on your ceiling, Michael, like in Exorcist 3 or Legion?
Yes, I have lots of ideas that never amount to much, a few lines, something that gets filed away in my “ideas” folder. That is, unless there’s a voice to go with it, a way of talking, so to speak, that I can follow, then I never get very far.
Yes, I have lots of ideas that never amount to much, a few lines, something that gets filed away in my “ideas” folder. That is, unless there’s a voice to go with it, a way of talking, so to speak, that I can follow, then I never get very far.
Always a way of saying.
I like your mention of feeling, David. I should have said something about feeling because it always feels like something, exciting at least, maybe compelling or expectant, when there is that great opening. Feelings, it also makes me think of Suzanne K. Langer’s writings on feelings, especially those in Feeling and Form, a book I read over and over when I was first starting to write.
Always a way of saying.
I like your mention of feeling, David. I should have said something about feeling because it always feels like something, exciting at least, maybe compelling or expectant, when there is that great opening. Feelings, it also makes me think of Suzanne K. Langer’s writings on feelings, especially those in Feeling and Form, a book I read over and over when I was first starting to write.
The sentence, first sentence, is tested: Interesting Enough?
The voice mostly swells to become unbearable unsaid.
The sentence, first sentence, is tested: Interesting Enough?
The voice mostly swells to become unbearable unsaid.
Thanks, Michael. I’ll have to check out Ms. Langer’s work.
Exactly, my favorite stories immediately make me feel excited or expectant, even if I’m not sure I could say exactly why…they just do.
Another story that nails what I think I’m trying to say is Tim O’Brien’s first two lines of “The Things They Carried” — “First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack.” All of that comes into play later on in the story…and it “feels”, to me, so damn sad and hopeful and as a reader I remember feeling like Oh no Jimmy its not gonna happen with Martha.
Thanks, Michael. I’ll have to check out Ms. Langer’s work.
Exactly, my favorite stories immediately make me feel excited or expectant, even if I’m not sure I could say exactly why…they just do.
Another story that nails what I think I’m trying to say is Tim O’Brien’s first two lines of “The Things They Carried” — “First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack.” All of that comes into play later on in the story…and it “feels”, to me, so damn sad and hopeful and as a reader I remember feeling like Oh no Jimmy its not gonna happen with Martha.
thank you for the post michael.
thank you for the post michael.
More great Chris Offutt advice: “Frontload the exposition, then get the fuck out of the way.”
More great Chris Offutt advice: “Frontload the exposition, then get the fuck out of the way.”
I find a lot of first sentences, much better ones than those originally written, buried in paragraph 2, 3 or 4 of a rough draft…and that the first paragraph of most of my first drafts can usually be cut. With a rough story idea already in mind, it feels like trying to find the right place to jump into a story that’s already unfolding.
I find a lot of first sentences, much better ones than those originally written, buried in paragraph 2, 3 or 4 of a rough draft…and that the first paragraph of most of my first drafts can usually be cut. With a rough story idea already in mind, it feels like trying to find the right place to jump into a story that’s already unfolding.
Yes, David, love that opening. I also love this from Amy Fusselman’s The Pharmacist’s Mate: “Don’t have sex on a boat unless you want to get pregnant.” Also, the openings to lots of Carver’s stories, many of Faulkner’s novels, almost any of Will Eno’s plays.
Yes, David, love that opening. I also love this from Amy Fusselman’s The Pharmacist’s Mate: “Don’t have sex on a boat unless you want to get pregnant.” Also, the openings to lots of Carver’s stories, many of Faulkner’s novels, almost any of Will Eno’s plays.
nor a tactful one. i was at work and time-strapped. i shouldnt have commented. i thought a little bit about how i think about openings and all i came to was intuitively.
to expound, maybe at least the idea that as long as the process is a mystery to me, it works.
‘if the process isnt new, than what you’re making probably isnt new’ p glass
sorry though, i know the intention of this thread wasnt about this.
nor a tactful one. i was at work and time-strapped. i shouldnt have commented. i thought a little bit about how i think about openings and all i came to was intuitively.
to expound, maybe at least the idea that as long as the process is a mystery to me, it works.
‘if the process isnt new, than what you’re making probably isnt new’ p glass
sorry though, i know the intention of this thread wasnt about this.
Yes, I’ve had that happen different ways. Sometimes the first drafted sentences get cut — they were just a way to get to the real first sentences. Other times, I’ve realized that I need to start somewhere earlier in the story and moved the original first sentences back into the middle somewhere.
Yes, I’ve had that happen different ways. Sometimes the first drafted sentences get cut — they were just a way to get to the real first sentences. Other times, I’ve realized that I need to start somewhere earlier in the story and moved the original first sentences back into the middle somewhere.
This is a great post. I’m with David. When a first sentence makes me excited to read the rest (excited in a way that I can’t exactly pinpoint) I am in and rolling.
I love first sentences that speak to the rest of the work (to specific isolated moments, or to the work as a whole). First sentences that resonate in mysterious and unexpected ways– that explode, enrich, or redirect the meaning of the work, whether you return to that first sentence halfway through or at the end.
The first sentence of “Little Peg” by Kevin McIlvoy: “I quietly ask myself, ‘Who is it?’ before entering even my own home.”
This is a great post. I’m with David. When a first sentence makes me excited to read the rest (excited in a way that I can’t exactly pinpoint) I am in and rolling.
I love first sentences that speak to the rest of the work (to specific isolated moments, or to the work as a whole). First sentences that resonate in mysterious and unexpected ways– that explode, enrich, or redirect the meaning of the work, whether you return to that first sentence halfway through or at the end.
The first sentence of “Little Peg” by Kevin McIlvoy: “I quietly ask myself, ‘Who is it?’ before entering even my own home.”
That’s a nice way to say it, Joseph. I also forgot to include something in the post that gets to that, from the writer’s perspective. It’s from Carver’s essay, “On Writing.” “I once sat down to write what turned out to be a pretty good story, though only the first sentence of the story had offered itself to me when I began it. For several days I’d been going around with this sentence in my head: ‘He was running the vacuum cleaner when the telephone rang.’ I knew a story was there and that it wanted telling. I felt it in my bones, that a story belonged with the beginning, if I could just have the time to write it.”
That’s a nice way to say it, Joseph. I also forgot to include something in the post that gets to that, from the writer’s perspective. It’s from Carver’s essay, “On Writing.” “I once sat down to write what turned out to be a pretty good story, though only the first sentence of the story had offered itself to me when I began it. For several days I’d been going around with this sentence in my head: ‘He was running the vacuum cleaner when the telephone rang.’ I knew a story was there and that it wanted telling. I felt it in my bones, that a story belonged with the beginning, if I could just have the time to write it.”
I’m glad you liked it, Jereme.
I’m glad you liked it, Jereme.
The story turned out to be “Put Yourself in My Shoes.”
The story turned out to be “Put Yourself in My Shoes.”
This is a great (and logical) start to a broader discussion on choices we make while writing, and I’m looking forward to more. Thanks for the expansive springboard, Michael.
For me, the first sentence is about setting the tone of the narrative, which, I’d argue, is intimately connected to voice and idea and language. Sounds like a lot to load onto a first line, but I don’t think the line necessarily has to be jammed with info or excessive clauses or imagery or whatever to fairly introduce the “world” of the work. I agree with others, though, that it does have to make the reader want to read more, obviously, and at least convey the where or what (*is*-ness?… like, what *is* this?) of the story (in a very small nut) and this has to be curious enough to compel further reading. In my vocab, that’s tone.
This is a great (and logical) start to a broader discussion on choices we make while writing, and I’m looking forward to more. Thanks for the expansive springboard, Michael.
For me, the first sentence is about setting the tone of the narrative, which, I’d argue, is intimately connected to voice and idea and language. Sounds like a lot to load onto a first line, but I don’t think the line necessarily has to be jammed with info or excessive clauses or imagery or whatever to fairly introduce the “world” of the work. I agree with others, though, that it does have to make the reader want to read more, obviously, and at least convey the where or what (*is*-ness?… like, what *is* this?) of the story (in a very small nut) and this has to be curious enough to compel further reading. In my vocab, that’s tone.
One of the coolest experiences was hearing Amy read from that book at the Tx Book Festival. She, Arthur Bradford and Neal Pollack were reading for McSweeney’s…she was so cool and gracious afterward to talk to! And, yeah, that book is great. Parts take place in Cincy, which was cool as I went to school there.
One of the coolest experiences was hearing Amy read from that book at the Tx Book Festival. She, Arthur Bradford and Neal Pollack were reading for McSweeney’s…she was so cool and gracious afterward to talk to! And, yeah, that book is great. Parts take place in Cincy, which was cool as I went to school there.
ever heard of tyranny of the new?
ever heard of tyranny of the new?
no. what is tyranny of the new?
no. what is tyranny of the new?
ok i kind of googled it a little. how does it apply here?
ok i kind of googled it a little. how does it apply here?
Great series. Looking forward to more.
Great series. Looking forward to more.
I like that, Jesus. And I like the idea of sentences doing as many things as possible — tone, voice, language, story, etc. — more on that coming in a future post.
I like that, Jesus. And I like the idea of sentences doing as many things as possible — tone, voice, language, story, etc. — more on that coming in a future post.
I know writers who when they have a good first sentence or maybe a good idea or a good something that won’t write that thing down for days or weeks. They’ll just think about it, let it well up, swell up until they have to write it down and then hope to follow all that swelled out into a story or a novel.
I know writers who when they have a good first sentence or maybe a good idea or a good something that won’t write that thing down for days or weeks. They’ll just think about it, let it well up, swell up until they have to write it down and then hope to follow all that swelled out into a story or a novel.
Thanks, Ken. There will be more next week.
Thanks, Ken. There will be more next week.
For all of the longer stuff I’ve worked on, that’s what has happened.
Although there have only been maybe ten sentences/voices that have seemed to have a longer future. All the others seemed to have their length built in.
For all of the longer stuff I’ve worked on, that’s what has happened.
Although there have only been maybe ten sentences/voices that have seemed to have a longer future. All the others seemed to have their length built in.
I like Salinger’s reminder that writers are also readers. this seems both obvious and necessary.
As a reader, because I am insanely unforgiving, the beginning is all many books get from me. Some folks grant works a dozen pages or a chapter or more to gain their interest. Not me. If the first sentence doesn’t make me want to read the second sentence, I begin to pull away. Usually I give a work maybe a paragraph, sometimes a page. And if there is no magic, I close it.
This plays into how I approach openings as a writer: I am acutely aware of the need to bring the magic instantly. There is no time or space for set up, for perfunctory crap.
I really like the way Holland, Lutz, and Lipsyte all draw our attention to minutia: a word, a sound, a sentence — rather than big picture issues, which is why I’d completely disagree with Lewis Buzbee’s assertion — I would say, you shouldn’t write a novel if you have an idea for one. If you have an idea and then write the novel, then you are merely transcribing something that has already been created. What Holland, Lutz, and Lipsyte seem to be encouraging is the opposite: a process of creation, a process of discovery, a process of bringing to life.
Anyhow, great first lecture, Michael. Looking forward to the next one!
I like Salinger’s reminder that writers are also readers. this seems both obvious and necessary.
As a reader, because I am insanely unforgiving, the beginning is all many books get from me. Some folks grant works a dozen pages or a chapter or more to gain their interest. Not me. If the first sentence doesn’t make me want to read the second sentence, I begin to pull away. Usually I give a work maybe a paragraph, sometimes a page. And if there is no magic, I close it.
This plays into how I approach openings as a writer: I am acutely aware of the need to bring the magic instantly. There is no time or space for set up, for perfunctory crap.
I really like the way Holland, Lutz, and Lipsyte all draw our attention to minutia: a word, a sound, a sentence — rather than big picture issues, which is why I’d completely disagree with Lewis Buzbee’s assertion — I would say, you shouldn’t write a novel if you have an idea for one. If you have an idea and then write the novel, then you are merely transcribing something that has already been created. What Holland, Lutz, and Lipsyte seem to be encouraging is the opposite: a process of creation, a process of discovery, a process of bringing to life.
Anyhow, great first lecture, Michael. Looking forward to the next one!
love the story behind the story and really enjoyed that essay a long time ago. i’d “forgotten” about it until now. will have to re-read it. must have read it in college or something. I remember the part, distinctly, about the vacuum.
love the story behind the story and really enjoyed that essay a long time ago. i’d “forgotten” about it until now. will have to re-read it. must have read it in college or something. I remember the part, distinctly, about the vacuum.
Great post & discussion, thanks. One of the most useful things I picked up somewhere is to come into a scene or story as late as possible. Wish I could remember who to credit.
Great post & discussion, thanks. One of the most useful things I picked up somewhere is to come into a scene or story as late as possible. Wish I could remember who to credit.
I hear a voice. Then follow it. Which usually means a lot of writing before I get the opening. For most really short pieces (750 words or so) the ending usually comes with the opening. I don’t know how exactly. But I’m grateful for that.
Thanks, Michael. Great stuff. No surprise. Are you sitting by the Island of Sodor? I have one in my garage.
I hear a voice. Then follow it. Which usually means a lot of writing before I get the opening. For most really short pieces (750 words or so) the ending usually comes with the opening. I don’t know how exactly. But I’m grateful for that.
Thanks, Michael. Great stuff. No surprise. Are you sitting by the Island of Sodor? I have one in my garage.
I like that, Mark. I think it’s a variation on the Offut, above. Also, the Carver hints at that, starting in a situation, so to speak, a point that offers some difficulty or complexity.
I like that, Mark. I think it’s a variation on the Offut, above. Also, the Carver hints at that, starting in a situation, so to speak, a point that offers some difficulty or complexity.
Yes, Chris, I always try to remember that I read more than I write (thousands of books v. three). And the Holland and Lutz and Lipsyte, there will be more of that stuff in these posts because I come from that side of things too. Still, I’m trying to include the Buzbee and others because I know that that works for others (or at least Buzbee).
Yes, Chris, I always try to remember that I read more than I write (thousands of books v. three). And the Holland and Lutz and Lipsyte, there will be more of that stuff in these posts because I come from that side of things too. Still, I’m trying to include the Buzbee and others because I know that that works for others (or at least Buzbee).
Jane, we’re the same with voice. Maybe I recognized that in your writing so many years ago? And I hope you’ll think more about that bit on the ending coming with the opening and weigh in when we get to that post.
Jane, we’re the same with voice. Maybe I recognized that in your writing so many years ago? And I hope you’ll think more about that bit on the ending coming with the opening and weigh in when we get to that post.
[…] let’s say we have a great opening and maybe even a good idea or an interesting voice to go with it. Now what? How does the writer […]
[…] Michael Kimball (Gigantic #2) made two films with Luca Dipierro— I Will Smash You and 60 Writers/60 Places. He regularly contributes interviews to The Faster Times, and was interviewed himself by Madeleine Brand. He hosted Baltimore’s recent Literary Death Match, and currently blogs as a guest lecturer at HTMLGiant. […]
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