As writers, we’re often told that the first line of a story must hook the reader (particularly if that reader is an editor.) Implied is that readers and editors won’t buy the book if the first line isn’t great. But the hooky-ness of a first line is in the eyes of the beholder.
I started this series of blog posts to inspire my writing with these examples. I also hoped to inspire other writers and point readers to books they might enjoy.
This Month’s First Lines
One of my newsletter subscribers sent me the first first line below because she thought of my First Lines posts when she read it. You know who you are. Thanks!
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He woke up with no eyebrows and no idea how he’d gotten into such a position.
It wasn’t just that he couldn’t remember why he was lying on his back, or why there were tiny fires smoldering throughout the room. He couldn’t remember the room.
It was not the kind of room to be forgettable. The floor was made of black marble, with concentric silver circles embedded in it. The remains of an elaborate pattern of magical ruins and indeterminate squiggles, chopped around the outermost circle had been scuffed into partial eligibility a dagger whose death’s head, Paul gave him the willies lay coated in caking blood.”
Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis
Prologue.
Once upon a time…
It was an ordinary day when Evie met The Villain.
Another failed attempt at the job fairs in her village. Another day with no source of income. Another day she was letting her sick father and little sister down. Which was why her mind was preoccupied as she wandered to the trees lined like fences at Hickory Forest’s edge—and walked right in.
The forest had once been frequently populated, but was now the very last place anyone with common sense would choose to wander. Especially alone. Well, unless your name was Evangelina Sage and a forbidden forest seemed far more inviting than going home and admitting to your family that you’d finally found a job… And given it away.”
Assistant to The Villain, Assistant and The Villain Book 1,by Hannah Nicole Maehrer
A six-foot tall wolf I haven’t seen in 30 years, smiled at me from the doorway of my musty office.
“Hey, Simone.”
My head snapped up off my desk. I blinked at least a dozen times, rubbing crusty sleep out of my eyes and begging my brain to wake the hell up. He kept talking, his lips forming sounds that seemed a lot like words.
I gaped at him, my mouth dryer than a week-old muffin, which the amplified grumbling up my stomach told me I would totally eat if it were on a plate in front of me.
A wolf. Talking to me. On a Thursday.”
Witchful Shrinking, Midlife at the Magnolia Book 1, by Jen Lassalle
I should make it clear from the start that a bogle wouldn’t be my first choice of drug dealer.
And Arbuthnot be my first choice of bogle. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in a position to be picky.
I’ve spent the last three nights exhausting my other options, which was why I found myself standing in front of Arbuthnot in a dark, brooding nook, along Fleshmarket Close. I’ve known him for a dozen years, and I was certain that it had been at least another dozen years before then since he’d abandoned his natural countryside habitat in favor of the city. I’ve never asked him why he’d come to Edinburgh; in my experience, it is better not to know about the skeletons in other people’s closets. Those doors are shut for a reason.”
Tattered Huntress, Thrill of the Hunt Book 1, by Helen Harper
Bernie McKay coughed hollowly. Other coughs echo, here, and there, in the hollow room.
“Ah–men,” the Reverend Hallowell intoned, and a relieved Russell went through the Mariners. Bernie raised his head. Taking a breath and stealing himself, he looked toward the gleaming, solid copper coffin—no, “casket”—on the trestle. Beside him, Angie pretended to dab at her eyes, sniffed perfunctorily.
The first row filed out for the Viewing of the Remains, Uncle Albert’s brother and sisters.
Bernie felt his stomach tighten with tension, and hoped he wouldn’t start having cramps or something. He wished he’d applied double deodorant. He wished it weren’t so hot in here.
Murmuring, shuffling, the mourners filed forward. “Sir?” The discreet usher.” If you will, sir.” The second row now, nephews and nieces, including Angie.”
Black as Blood, Rob Chilson
Clarification
There are no affiliate links in this post. I don’t make a cent off of the books listed on this page. Usually I pull these titles at random. They are from Amazon, my personal library, my area public library, or other online booksellers.
Do You Want to Read More?
Which of these first lines made you want to read more? Will make it on your TBR list?Or is the book a nah, no thanks?