For many beginning writers, a good opening for a book turns out to be very difficult — sometimes outright impossible.
One Hundred Percent Ready?
It seems like everything is in place. The core of the book is there. The knowledge and the thoughts you want to convey to readers have taken shape. All that’s left is to write down what’s already long been ready inside you. But… You have to write the opening, and how to write it is completely unclear.
At first glance, it might seem the opening doesn’t carry the same weight as everything else the book contains. As if nothing depends on it at all. But I can sincerely assure you: getting around having one isn’t going to work.
Not Rules — Necessity
The point isn’t some invented system of mandatory rules. Creative work grants enormous freedom, which means anyone can write a book however they like. To the author personally, the book may seem perfect even without an opening. And it will go on seeming perfect right up until the moment that book ends up in the hands of its first reader. A reader who, five minutes ago, was busy with their own life, in a completely different state, with their attention placed somewhere very far from your creative work. This person lives in one world, and the book is offering them another. And if you drop the reader into that other world too abruptly, they will close themselves off — or they simply won’t understand how this entirely foreign thing in front of them could possibly be of interest to anyone.
That’s exactly the reaction you’ll get from the absence of an opening. It won’t be formulated as a clear demand: “Give me an opening, immediately.” Instead, the reader will simply set the book aside and never come back to it, because in their memory it will register as something inedible.
A Bridge to Another World
Why does this happen? Because the opening performs a very important function: it builds a bridge. Step by step, gently, unobtrusively, it leads the reader into the world of the book — in such a way that they themselves don’t notice when they forgot their actual life and focused all their attention on wherever they’ve been led.
That’s how a good opening works. Now it’s time to talk about how to write one. Someone might bring up the universal methods I generally lump together under the phrase “it was a dark and stormy night.” Over years of consulting with beginning writers, I’ve seen plenty of that — and not once has it actually worked.
Generic Doesn’t Work
A universal opening for a unique book with its unique world? It’s not going to happen. I always say it like this: either we make something exceptional, or we admit that what we have is a mediocre book that won’t even try to stand out from the rest.
That’s exactly why, however much you’d rather not, you’ll have to write your own. Of course, I can’t hand you a set of openings in this article. It would be very strange to talk about uniqueness and then offer templates. But while form and content can vary widely, the core of how an opening is built remains the same.
Practical Advice
So what should it be like? Let me start with what not to do.
First. Don’t make it long. You may well find long openings in this or that classic work from past centuries. But times change, and today’s writer doesn’t have the kind of room earlier writers had. Everything has gotten faster — movement, action, the demand for results. Where writers once could afford a three-page description of a clearing with a stream in the forest, just to make absolutely sure the reader was in the right mood, today that approach is wildly out of step with how people read.
The broad audience wants to be interested immediately, and you have to accept this as fact. That’s why writing a good opening has gotten significantly harder for modern writers — there’s little room, and usually there’s a great deal that needs to be shown.
Examples
Second. And this follows directly from the first. Start with something that sparks interest right away.
If it’s an action novel, say, start with a fight.
“Dmytro struck his opponent across the head with all his strength, watching with satisfaction as the man flew back and dropped — and didn’t get up again.”
You’re plunging the reader straight into action, and at the same time you’re starting to reveal Dmytro as a character who enjoys hitting people.
If it’s a philosophical, worldview-driven book, lay out either a broad problem —
“Every one of us has experienced the moment when even someone very close to us doesn’t understand what we’re saying. Where’s the problem? In the distance of those around us — or in our own inability to convey an important thought, an important way of looking at life?”
— or hook the reader with something good in the longer term:
“Imagine that every move you make and every interaction you have brings you new opportunities and improves your life. Imagine that this is going to be available to you fairly soon, without any superhuman effort. All you have to do is change…”
A business book is going to require something about money.
“This book definitely won’t be of interest to anyone who doesn’t want, within just a couple of years, to own their own private island or a multi-million-dollar bank account.”
Expert literature has to declare that the author is, in fact, an expert worth reading past the opening.
“It’s commonly accepted to do this in the following way, and this is categorically wrong. Unfortunately, even within the expert community, far from everyone understands that this approach leads to… What I’m proposing is an entirely different option, one that, first and foremost, demonstrates its effectiveness in actual practice. How do I know? Read on.”
All of this should, with a certain dynamic and adequate pressure, immediately convey to the reader that this book is going to be interesting, useful, profitable, and so on. Depending on what exactly the book is meant to convey and what it emphasizes.
The Most Important Reader
Third. Listen to yourself. No one knows better than you what you feel and how you relate to what’s going to be written in this book. A great deal of what you’re capable of writing may slip past your conscious mind altogether — surfacing from somewhere deep in your subconscious straight onto the page, in the form of letters and words.
The Defective Ones
When I was writing the literary novel The Defective Ones, I knew for certain there would be higher powers in it. I could already feel how I was going to write about them. I knew it would be a fairly cynical work, with a particular angle of vision. But at the same time, my fingers ran across the keyboard and wrote:
“A man was striding rapidly down the corridors of a vast office. Striking. Dressed in a perfectly tailored, very expensive business suit. His polished shoes beat out a rhythm of energy and aggression.
The man was filled with rage, and you could see it. The emotions overflowing from him moved outward as an invisible force, filling the entire space. Wherever their owner passed, lightning began to dance in the air, and a smell of something burnt appeared.”
A classic professional entry into a story about higher power. Right at the threshold, it presents a demonstration of force and reveals the character of one of the main figures. But it was done intuitively. And done correctly.
Superhero
Or another example — the short story Superhero:
“Zhenya let go of the mouse, pushed the keyboard forward, and tiredly rubbed his eyes. The day had not been an easy one. Exhaustion was rolling over him in waves. He desperately wanted, right now, this very second, to fall into the unmade bed standing nearby and sleep for an entire eternity.
By an effort of will, he pushed away that one-second impulse dictated by weakness. Ahead of him lay a mass of urgent and extremely important matters. There was no time to rest. Zhenya smiled the sad smile of a person who has already seen everything and was carrying, with pride, a burden no one else was left to carry. If you have to, you have to. There was, categorically, no one to replace him.”
A play on contrast, paired with a mystery that still has to be solved. It’s also a kind of active opening, but it’s delivered through atmosphere and contradiction — which is an excellent stimulant for attention.
In both cases — the first book and the second — these openings weren’t built to a template. But they can perfectly well be analyzed and verified for whether they serve their function and carry the right substance. Most likely, if I had tried from the very start to do something according to a plan, I wouldn’t have managed it. Even with many years of writing behind me.
To Try Hard, or Not to Try Hard?
And finally, one simple piece of advice that’s also very difficult. Don’t try too hard. Don’t set yourself in opposition to the creative act. Don’t separate yourself from it. And then, sooner or later, you’ll merge with it and write a wonderful opening. Possibly even the best opening in the world.
— I write fiction on commission. If you have a story you want to see told, here’s how we can work together. More on writing and the craft of books — in the blog.
Vasyl Kovalchuk, 30.04.2026
