Editorial Notes = clarifying information, additional insight, annotations

Hiya Reader,

In my freshman year of high school, I remember a paper assignment for my English class — not the topic, but the writing process.

This was a time before personal computers were really a thing (not before they existed, but a thing) so I wrote everything in longhand before typing up the full essay, whiteout correction fluid near at hand.

(Sidebar, but relevant: You may or may not be surprised to know how many students in USA schools are eligible to earn high school diplomas despite never being assigned a paper to write or a full book to read — or both. Why?)

Beginning with the introduction, I wrote and rewrote and rewrote that first paragraph, striking out, circling sentences and drawing arrows to where they should be placed, rewriting from the beginning with changes incorporated, crumpling up each sheet of yellow legal pad as I went and tossing the balls next to me on the carpet. (Sorry, rainforests, for my young self's part in your destruction. We didn't talk about the environment then.)

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It was tedious, but I nevertheless loved this labor, rewriting as I went, making sure the opening said exactly what I wanted to say, in a way that was both clear and interesting.

For most of my life, even after personal computers did become a thing, I continued to draft my writing in longhand. There's something simultaneously visceral and thoughtful about the physical act of holding a pen or pencil and writing words on paper one stroke at a time.

I rarely compose in longhand now, but I will revise tricky passages this way — and I ALWAYS edit pen in hand.

However, I almost never begin at the beginning when drafting. Or to be more precise, the opening I write for the reader is always the last portion I finalize. (Possible only because we do have those computers now!)

Beginnings are too important to not revisit last.

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Example of the Week

Sometimes this is a good example—or a great one. Sometimes this is a bad example—or just a funny blooper. Sometimes a combination. You never know.

I've become a bit obsessed with opening sentences. A narrative — fiction, nonfiction, fantasy, mystery, horror, no matter — can reasonably and effectively begin at any of the infinite number of starting points. Where should it begin?

Well, what's the job of any first sentence?

Simple: to irresistibly entice (i.e. compel) the reader to continue reading. That's it.

For example, the following first sentences grab hold and don't let you go. You must keep reading. It's as inevitable and unescapable as the weather.

"Once a guy stood all day shaking bugs from his hair." from Philip K. Dick's A Scanner Darkly, plus 49 more memorable first lines on the Library of America's list.

"The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation." from Donna Tartt's The Secret History, and 17 more fantastic beginnings on the Penguin Books list.

"There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it." from C.S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and 52 more opening sentences on BuzzFeed's list.

First sentences are called hooks for a reason. 🪝 🐟 🎣

We need to make sure we're offering readers the yummiest bait possible.

Actionable Tip of the Week

A trick to add to your self-editing toolbox right now!

So, if the job of every first sentence is to compel the reader to keep reading to the second sentence, then to the third and fourth and so on, the vital importance of your opening

• Sentence (s)
• Paragraph(s) and
• Page(s)

cannot be overstated.

Researchers say that even the most focused among us have an attention span of 20 seconds, with the bottom end at around 2 seconds and the average hovering around 8 seconds, less than that of a goldfish.

Shocking statistics indeed. Are they true?

Forbes suggested the ability of so many to binge watch episodic television on a streaming platform proves this statistic false. I think we're comparing apples and orange-flavored Tang. But here are relevant questions for you to consider as you examine your own habits of attention when reading.

What makes you pay attention? What causes you to decide, yes, I will spend my time reading this particular piece of written content instead of the infinite number of other pieces of content I could choose to read instead.

And: how can you use this realization to make certain your writing commands your reader: Stay. Read me. This is good. It's interesting and relevant. Your precious, non-renewable time MUST be spent here, now. What deliberate methods of style, voice, syntax, and all the other aspects of language achieve this goal?

Put your beginnings under the microscope. All your beginnings: the first sentence of every paragraph, every section, every chapter, every new point, every entrance of a new character.

Focus your revision, your edits, your wordsmithing at each of those points.

Reader Question of the Week

Sophia wrote: I know you have a lot of pet peeves related to language, and so do I! Lately I've been hearing people use the phrase "flushing out" when they mean "fleshing out." This is happening frequently enough that I wonder if I missed something. Why do people find these confusing?

Sophia! In my experience, the issue is always the use of "flush" when "flesh" is meant, never the reverse. I can't offer much regarding why they are frequently used incorrectly. Perhaps, in addition to the similar sounds, it's because they both involve a sort of revelation.

"Fleshing out" is adding details, specifics, or clarity — the meat on the idea skeleton. "Flushing out," on the other hand, means more along the lines of forcing an idea out of hiding (or flushing bad ones down the proverbial toilet).

The phrase "flushing out a character" immediately brings to mind a wild-haired Baba Yaga, waving her broom and yelling, “Come out, protagonist! I know you're in there with your half-baked backstory!”

No definitive answer for you, I'm afraid. But I'm in solidarity with the annoyance!

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Link of the Week

Guess what! My course First Impressions: Craft Irresistible Beginnings that Grab Readers and Make Editors Say Yes! is available for preorder!

(That's three exclamation marks in a row, so you know it's exciting!) (Oops: four.)

As this week's newsletter covers in detail, the first sentence of your essay, story, novel, or memoir isn’t just an introduction— it’s a hook and a promise. This course is all about helping you nail your beginning, from that perfect opening line to the first pages that keep readers turning. With hands-on exercises, examples from standout writing, and live feedback sessions, you’ll leave with practical tools to make your all-important openings irresistible.

The deeply discounted preorder pricing won't last, so if this topic sparks interest and joy (and it should) grab your spot now and be notified the moment it's available!

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I ❤️ Hearing from You!

Comments? Just reply to this email or click this link. I respond to every email—that's a promise.

Thanks for reading!

~Helene, your writing sherpa

P.S.

Whatever the science says, you only have seconds to grab your reader and spur them on sentence by sentence. Learn how to make a killer first impression!

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