In the Beginning
I believe in the power of the first sentence.
Believe me or not, I have a lot more crazy ideas than I ever end up writing about. Back when I carried a PDA, I used to keep a special file on it for taking down crazy ideas. My mind is like a sieve; ideas may cascade like water off the broccoli of my brain, but they leak right out my ears unless I have somewhere to catch them. These days it’s a white board on my apartment wall.
But remembering that I have an idea is only the first step. Ideas take time—a gestation period—some ideas more, some less. If I don’t give an idea enough time, I can’t put it to words that don’t sound dumb or incoherent even to me, and even though they’re trying to be words for an idea I already know I like. The bad pun you are not expecting only takes a few seconds; just long enough that you’ll have to reach back to get it. The power of the first sentence has taken a lot longer. It wasn’t until I was reading something Holly wrote that these paragraphs came to term.
The first sentence is the filter on my mental output. When I can write the first sentence, I know that an idea is ready for words. I know that I have summoned at least enough succinctness to avoid being tedious, even if I don’t produce the eloquence to which I aspire. I know that I stand a decent chance of engaging your attention long enough to convey something for your consideration, amusement, or to whatever end I am writing.
I believe in the power of the first sentence because it’s the only sentence I can assume you will read.
