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Your opening is the first thing the examiner reads. In those first two or three sentences, they form an impression of you as a writer. A strong opening makes them think, "This is going to be good." A weak opening makes them think, "Here we go again..."
Think about it this way: when you pick up a book in a shop, you read the first page. If it grabs you, you keep reading. If it does not, you put it back. Examiners are the same — except they have to keep reading. But if your opening is dull, they are already expecting a dull story, and that makes it harder to impress them.
The good news is that there are six reliable techniques for writing a powerful opening. Learn them, practise them, and you will never struggle with a blank page again.
graph TD
A[6 Types of Opening] --> B[Action]
A --> C[Dialogue]
A --> D[Description]
A --> E[Question]
A --> F[Flashback]
A --> G[In Medias Res]
Start with something happening. Drop the reader straight into the middle of an event. This creates immediate energy and excitement.
How it works: Begin with a verb. Show your character doing something — running, hiding, discovering, falling.
Model Opening (Prompt: Write a story about a journey that goes wrong):
Mia's foot slipped on the wet rock and she grabbed at the cliff face, her fingers scraping against cold stone. Below her, the river roared. Above her, the path she had been following had crumbled into nothing. She was stuck — halfway up a cliff, with the rain hammering down and no way to call for help.
Why it works: The reader is immediately drawn in by the danger. We want to know: Will Mia be okay? How did she get here? What happens next?
Start with someone speaking. This brings your story to life instantly because we hear a character's voice from the very first word.
How it works: Begin with a line of speech that raises a question or creates intrigue.
Model Opening (same prompt):
"Whatever you do," said Dad, gripping the steering wheel, "do not look at the map again." He said this in the voice he used when things were going very, very wrong. I looked at the map. We were heading straight for a road that, according to the faded lines on the page, did not exist anymore.
Why it works: The dialogue is intriguing — why should they not look at the map? The father's tone tells us something has gone wrong. The last sentence raises a big question.
Start by painting a vivid picture of the setting. This works especially well if the atmosphere is important to your story.
How it works: Use sensory details — what you can see, hear, smell, feel — to create a strong sense of place.
Model Opening (same prompt):
The train station smelled of diesel and damp concrete. A single bulb flickered above the empty platform, casting long shadows that jumped and shivered against the walls. The timetable board was blank — every destination wiped clean, as if the rest of the world had simply stopped existing. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then fell silent.
Why it works: The setting creates an eerie, unsettling mood. The blank timetable board is mysterious. The reader senses that something is very wrong.
Start with a question that makes the reader curious. This is a simple but effective technique.
How it works: Ask a question that the reader wants answered. It should be specific and intriguing, not vague.
Model Opening (same prompt):
Have you ever made a decision so small, so seemingly insignificant, that you barely noticed yourself making it — and then watched it unravel your entire day? That is what happened to me on the morning of July 14th, when I turned left instead of right at the end of Maple Street, and everything changed.
Why it works: The question draws the reader in. We immediately want to know: what was the decision? What happened? The specific date and street name make it feel real.
Start at the end or after the events, then look back. This creates a sense of mystery because the reader knows something dramatic happened but does not yet know the details.
How it works: Begin with your character reflecting on something that has already happened.
Model Opening (same prompt):
If I had known what was waiting for us at the end of that road, I would never have got in the car. I would have stayed at home, eaten toast, watched television, and lived a perfectly ordinary Saturday. But I did not know. Nobody ever does. So I climbed into the back seat, put on my seatbelt, and smiled — because I still thought it was going to be an adventure.
Why it works: The narrator is looking back, which tells us something went wrong. The contrast between the character's cheerful ignorance and the narrator's hindsight is powerful.
This is Latin for "in the middle of things." You start your story halfway through the action, with no explanation. The reader has to piece together what is happening.
How it works: Drop the reader into a dramatic moment. Do not explain how the character got there — let the story unfold.
Model Opening (same prompt):
The life raft was leaking. I could feel the cold water seeping through the rubber floor, soaking through my jeans and numbing my legs. Around me, the sea stretched in every direction — grey, endless, and utterly empty. The ferry was gone. I was alone.
Why it works: We are immediately in a crisis. The reader has dozens of questions: How did they end up on a life raft? What happened to the ferry? Will they survive? This creates powerful forward momentum.
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