I think one of the things I look for most in a new to me author, when I pick up their book, is the ability to hook me into the story, and then when I’m there, keep me wanting more. Hooks and hangers in every chapter are so important, but it's that all important opening, many authors sweat over.
One of my favorite authors who’s got great hooks, is
Jim Butcher, and my personal favorite opening is in his novel, Dead Beat.
But what of my own. I always strive to have engaging
openings. Here are a few of my favorites, in no particular order.
Blown Away/Happy Trails:
Happy trail: That sexy little strip of
hair that runs from a man’s belly button to his—towel. Jenna stared at
the fluffy white barrier that blocked her gaze from traveling any further
south. She’d enjoyed the scenic route, visually devoured the hard ridges of his
six pack abs and the way the water trickled over his flesh while it took the
path of least resistance. She knew she shouldn’t stare. It was inappropriate to
ogle the higher-ranking beefcake, but she couldn’t stop. What woman in her
right mind would be able to?
This Endris Night/1Night Stand series:
The cold
kissed Shiya’s cheeks as the sled raced through the night, gliding across the
snow in the Alaskan wilderness. Yeah, she could have arrived like the other
guests, by bush plane, but the siren’s call of the icy world had been great,
and she needed access to the wilds to put her plan in motion.
It had been too long since she’d last come home.
Northern lights danced across the horizon, playing off icicles that gleamed on
bent pine boughs—nature’s Christmas trees. Overhead the stars glittered,
something she’d rarely seen because of the city lights.
Finding Mercy/A Prepper novel:
If he
didn’t know better, he’d think the end of the world had arrived. Will Evans
tightened his grip on Bear’s and Sadie’s leashes and tuned in for any cries for
help. The fresh smell of rain mixed with the industrial stink of spilled fuel
and the ozone from a nearby lightning strike pounded reality home.
Even though they’d merely begun, his bones ached.
Fifteen years before, he would’ve torn through the wreckage and pulled out
survivors without hesitation. Now, he could only survey the destruction and
fight the tears that tugged on his eyes. The scene brought back another time he
couldn’t stomach, when he’d seen the Grim Reaper rip a hole between life and death,
as he’d done this day.
My Boogie Woogie Bugle Guy/1Night Stand:
Grace lay on her belly, her cheek pressed into the
lush grass, staring at a shot-glass of liquid. It sat at the base of her
brother’s tombstone, as if someone waited for him to take a drink.
George
Daniels, born June 18, 1987, Died August 8, 2011. Hero, Son, Brother.
Whoever left the whiskey, had set it on an ace of spades.
Probably one of the Green Berets Geordie had served with. They’d liked to play that
game. She smiled, remembering the stories her brother had told her about his
downtime while deployed, the heated spades matches, the stomach churning dares
to eat creepy crawlers, the roach races, anything to keep them entertained between
patrols.
“I miss you.” She sniffed and wiped a tear from her
cheek. It had been a year since she’d lost him, and the hole still gaped open,
raw, unbearable.
She wouldn’t be off shift for another thirty minutes,
but on the anniversary of his death, she hadn’t been able to stay away. She'd
needed to talk to him. So, she’d sprawled over his grave in her uniform,
getting grass stains on her elbows from the freshly cut lawn, telling him about
how much her life sucked without him.
“For my next number, I’m gonna play something a
little more laid back.” A slurry voice rang out over the headstones, echoing
through what was supposed to be a closed graveyard. A trumpet began to play. Dah, dah, dum. Dah, dah, squawk.
So tell me, what are some of your favorite hooks,
the ones you loved writing or reading.
D L Jackson
