I’ve read editors claim that if a story doesn’t grab them in the opening paragraph, they don’t bother reading the rest. Whether that’s true or not, let’s play around with opening paragraphs.

I’ll pick a movie…let’s go with Die Hard. It’s hard to describe the influence Die Hard had on action films because it has been copied so much it may seem standard to today’s viewers. Suffice it to say, when Die Hard showed up in cinemas in 1988, it came in like a breath of fresh air. Everything about the movie was the same when it came to the action genre…but different. The cinematography was different; the characters were different; the action was different; and it was glorious.

But I digress, let’s write an opening paragraph based on the movie Die Hard. The opening paragraph needs to grab the reader’s attention and give them a taste of what is coming up. Die Hard opens with a plane landing in the bright glare of the sun, delivering our hero into the arena.

Here is my first attempt at an opening paragraph:

The plane swooped down like a gliding hawk. The sun glared off its polished surfaces with heat that burned the eyes but not the skin. Smoke rose from its tires as it hit the tarmac. The sound of its engines squealed, and in its belly, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Bam! We have a rough draft to work with. I’m not attached to any of it. It’s merely a starting point. Let’s start breaking down and revising sentence by sentence. I will try to show the entire morphing process from first draft to last.

The plane swooped down like a gliding hawk.

The plane dropped onto the tarmac like a hawk dropping onto a mouse.

An airliner dropped out of the sky, its landing gear like the claws of a hawk.

An airliner swooped out of the sky. Its landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk.

I’m going with the last one for now. Next sentence…

 

The sun glared off its polished surfaces with heat that burned the eyes but not the skin.

The sun glared off its sheet-metal skin and turned its edges molten.

Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun.

Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the California sun.

The last one establishes location. That’s my pick at this stage of the game. Next sentence…

 

Smoke rose from its tires as it hit the tarmac. The sound of its engines squealed…

Its tires squealed as they bit into the tarmac. Smoke rose and was torn apart by the plane’s whining engines.

That reaches a general level of adequacy. Last sentence…

 

And in its belly, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

I like this enough to stick with it.

 

Let’s regroup then. Here’s where we are at:

An airliner swooped out of the sky. Its landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk. Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the California sun. Its tires squealed as they bit into the tarmac. Smoke rose and was torn apart by the plane’s whining engines. And in its belly, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

We’re getting there, but it doesn’t flow quite right. Time for more polishing:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky. Its landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk, and its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun. Tires squealed as they bit into the tarmac. Smoke rose and was torn apart by roaring engines. Within the belly of the jet, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Next polishing pass:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky. Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun. Landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk, and tires squealed as they dug into the tarmac. The plane’s engine blades ripped the smoke of burned rubber to shreds. Inside, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Next polishing pass:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky. Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun. Landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk; tires squealed as they dug into the tarmac; and the plane’s engines ripped burned-rubber smoke to shreds. Inside, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Again:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky. Its sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun. Landing gear extended like the claws of a hawk; tires squealed as they dug into the tarmac; the plane’s engines ripped burned-rubber smoke to shreds. In its belly, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Again:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky. Sheet-metal skin gleamed molten in the setting sun; hawk-claw landing gear extended; tires squealed as they dug into the tarmac; engines ripped burned-rubber smoke to shreds. In its belly, John McClane clutched the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

Again:

An airliner swooped out of the California sky, sheet-metal skin molten in the setting sun. Hawk-claw landing gear extended; tires squealed against tarmac; engines ripped burned-rubber smoke to shreds. In its belly, John McClane clutched the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come…

I’m calling it good to go for now. More tweaks will likely be made during the final edit (really, though, the first paragraph often ends up being tweaked and retweaked throughout the entire writing process). In addition, looking at what I wrote a day or two later will reveal additional fine-tuning. Once I revise something as many times as above, it is memorized and echoes in my head when I try to read it. I need that memorization/echo to go away so I can read it objectively to make the last adjustments.

(Editor’s note: after sleeping on it, I’m back yet again [a couple of times actually]. Here is what I did:)

A 747 flew in on the rays of the setting sun. Hawk-claw landing gear extended; tires rabbit-squealed against tarmac; engines ripped burned-rubber smoke to shreds. In its belly, John McClane clutched the arms of his seat like he somehow knew the worst was yet to come.

McClane’s seatmate looked over with a bemused expression. “You don’t like flying do you…”

McClane refrained from punching the man in the face. “What gives you that idea?”

I removed a word or two, added a word or two and tried to more fully relate the plane landing to a hawk snatching up a rabbit and eating it. This sets the tone for the rest of the story. McClane is the rabbit, and circumstances are going to come down on him hard. I then continued further into the movie a bit to see how the opening paragraph moves into the rest of the story. Seems okay. Also, I am aware the prose is a bit on the purple side. I’m on the fence about changing that for now.  The purpleness in question (hawk-claw, rabbit-squealed and burned-rubber) kind of has a rhythm to it that knowingly wallows in its purpleness. That maybe fits the tone of the entire story. Plus, everything after the purpleness is plain Jane. Have to see…

For reference, here is the first draft one more time:

The plane swooped down like a gliding hawk. The sun glared off its polished surfaces with heat that burned the eyes but not the skin. Smoke rose from its tires as it hit the tarmac. The sound of its engines squealed, and in its belly, John McClane grasped the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come.

 

Some random notes on what was done (but not necessarily kept):

The “gliding hawk” became a “hawk’s claws” because it sounds more dangerous.

I eventually simplified the first sentence more and more. “Swooped” never seemed right to me so it became “flew.” “Airliner” also seemed like an awkward word. Finally, I like the lyrical relationship between “747” and “setting sun.”

“Polished surfaces” became “sheet-metal skin” because it sounds more vital.

“Heat that burned the eyes but not the skin” didn’t really make sense within the context, so it became a simpler concept — “molten.” There is eloquence in simplicity.

Engines stopped “squealing.” That sounds weak. Rather, they “ripped smoke to shreds.”

“Burned-rubber smoke” invites one of the five senses into the proceedings and further solidifies the dangerous feel of things.

Using semicolons and fewer words gives the landing a more relentless feel, like a plane’s real-life runway approach (one way or the other, things are going down).

“Grasped” became “clutched” because “clutched” is more white-knuckle. Then it simple became “white-knuckled.”

Ultimately, the only thing I liked about my first attempt is about the only thing that didn’t get tweaked. “In its belly, John McClane clutched the arms of his seat like the worst was yet to come” means the relentless, dangerous feel of the landing is only the beginning. It also shows that John McClane is not a flawless hero. He has weaknesses.

And that’s all she wrote on the lesson of an opening paragraph via Die Hard. It also helps illustrate one of life’s great truths:

Writing is not writing. Writing is revision.