Last updated on January 21, 2026
I’ve just finished reading the submissions to the Spring, 2026 issue of Tales from the Crosstimbers, and it’s clear to me that authors would benefit from more clarity on what the editors are thinking about when they read the opening paragraphs of a story.
The two most important things for us about an opening are (a) it should hook the reader; and (b) it should orient the reader. To be clear, the readers we are talking about in this blog are us, the editors for Tales from the Crosstimbers. If your opening doesn’t accomplish these two basic tasks for us, it is unlikely we will be interested in it.
While it’s not specifically about openings, Roger MacBride Allen’s The Standard Deviations of Writing is well worth reading. He discusses in greater depth some of the things we mention below.
We’ve already blogged about the things an opening should do, so this blog is going to focus on some things that we think an opening should not do.
Don’t use an omniscient third-person narrator. This might be our personal bias, but we are almost certain to not accept a story that does this. We strongly prefer third person limited or first person narrators.
Don’t wait to establish the point of view. Do this as soon as possible, hopefully in the first sentence and certainly no later than the second paragraph.
Do not start with narrative— if at all possible, start with action.
Do not start with a disembodied voice speaking. Yes, I know, speaking is acting, but the reader needs context for speech—you must first orient the reader on who is speaking, who is hearing to the speech, and where the speech is happening. So, at a minimum, orienting the reader on point-of-view comes before someone speaks.
Do not confuse the reader. Sure, your point-of-view character might be confused. If they are, then show that through their words, deeds, and internal sensations. But, whatever you do, don’t confuse the reader! How could confusing the reader possibly be a good idea?
Don’t start with an info-dump telling the reader about stuff. In fact, avoid all narrated background. Readers don’t want to read an essay about social injustice in nineteenth century Paris. What they do want to read is Les Misérables.
Of course, if your story is about social injustice in nineteenth century Paris, showing that injustice is part of orienting the reader. So it’s necessary information to the story, but it’s information you need to show, not tell. Show Valjean sent to prison for stealing bread to feed his sister’s seven starving children, don’t tell us the laws are cruel.
Do not keep the name of the point-of-view character secret. I really don’t understand this one. We ineveitably have stores that ramble on for a couple of pages before we learn the POV character is named “Joe,” or some other inconsequential name. There’s a corollary to this one: don’t use a pronoun to refer to the POV character before we know their name. This mistake—a pronoun without an antecedent–isn’t a killer, especially if the name follows soon after. It’s just annoying.
Do not start with scenery or a weather report. Yes, I know, Raymond Chandler’s iconic opening to Red Wind is essentially a weather report about the Santa Ana winds. But it also brilliantly establishes the atmosphere of the Los Angeles of Chandler’s story and hence orients the reader. Unless you can write with Chandler’s skill (trust me, you can’t), then you can’t hook the reader with scenery. It’s more reliable to start with action. See above.
If you must start with scenery, do it in a way that also establishes or reinforces point of view by having your character interact in some fashion with your fictional world. In fact, giving your character internal sensations is a good way to establish the point of view.
If your story does any of the above things highlighted in red, it is unlikely to meet our expectations. In fact, it’s unlikely to make it past our initial screening and advance to our short list.
You might not agree with us about what makes an effective opening. That’s fine. We’re not saying that doing the above things always produces a bad story. Indeed, we can find examples of outstanding stories that do one or more of the above things–Red Wind being one example and Faulkner’s A Rose for Emily another. That’s not the point.
As editors, we are screening hundreds of submissions for each issue and looking for the ten that best fit our publication. Our time is limited. We necessarily use heuristics–“rules of thmb”–to screen stories. For better or worse, these are the heuristics we apply.