Awakening the Muse with First Lines
Awakening the Muse with First Lines: Ellison, Homer, Bradbury, King & Campbell
A man standing on a rock watching the sun set from the edge of the ocean The light is illuminating from behind the clouds and the sun is casting an orange flow on the water in his direction. The water is among rocks at the edge of a sea cliff. Photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash
Photo by Kelly Brito on Unsplash
O, Divine Poesy,
Goddess, daughter of Zeus,
sustain for me this song
-Homer, The Odyssey
The above lines are Homer’s call to the muse — the creative force, the goddess. I had glossed over these lines before and now they are like a guiding light. Perhaps these words gave Homer strength. It is incredible to ponder that we can share inspiration with someone thousands of years apart, someone transformed into legend. It is one of the beautiful mysteries of creativity, and one of the saddest things too, for we think of Homer as a god, when he admired humans much more I believe. Maybe he is transformed into the muse of creativity. Or maybe by becoming legend he makes the plight of humans more understandable, bestowing on us a human gift.
Photo by Kelly Brito on Unsplash
The first lines of a story set something in motion on the page: commitment. It relieves any sense of angst. It creates an actual direction, like a compass pointing north.
Despite knowing their power, I had skipped over my first lines because I knew I was missing a unifying force in my story. Other elements had come together almost automatically- but this missing part created chaos through my narrative.
So I wrote the first lines of my novel today — which, for me, is the hardest thing to write. Writing holds analogies for life. I realized that to move forward, I had to return to the beginning.
The new beginning destroyed some of my old ideas. Yet, the plot changed and my characters were released from unnecessary constraints. I was reluctant to throw away the old story, but it has freed me to consider other elements. The story feels different- it is more alive.
“The scariest moment is always just before you start.”
― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
Many writers had advised me to make the plight deeper, one that could hold empathy, one that we would care about, one that held pain. But I was reluctant. I suppose this is a bit strange, but writers are immensely empathetic, maybe even to fictional characters. I find it acceptable to cry when I read. So why not also cry when I write? I allowed that to happen. It is okay to cry for your characters, and with them. Sometimes we take our characters to painful places. It is ok to feel that. Maybe by making them human, we save them and in the process, we save ourselves too.
When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature. ― Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon
The first lines give birth to the character’s plight, and sometimes the writer, in knowing what is to come — wants to hold back that pain, but writing is telling the most profound truth — even when it is hard. Today I accepted that the pain was necessary for the story — so I allowed it to happen to them.
Photo by Ricardo Rocha on Unsplash A road illuminated by light amoung the snowy mountains and the stars in the dark of night.
Some stories begin this way. We know immediately that the first lines will set in motion a tragedy or reveal something that holds immense pain.
The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison begins with the lines,
“I am an invisible man.”
We can immediately feel drawn to those lines and we establish empathy for the character. It establishes the whole premise of the story and the character’s plight. He goes on in the second line,
“No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms.”
Here, we see that the character is describing a real person treated as completely invisible by society.
When examining the first lines of many works of art, one can find clues about the author’s creative process.
Hamlet begins with the simple lines, “Who’s there?” This line sets the tone for the play — it is the guard, Barnardo, taking over the watch, who is supposed to be a protector, asking this question of the guard on duty, Fransico, in fear and with an aggressive challenge requiring actors to strike a balance in tone (Arthur 2019, in Who’s There A Vulnerable Reading of Hamlet in Literature and Medicine). The line is said in the context of the King being poisoned by his brother — and this line captures the uncertainty, suspense, and suspicion that unfolds.
Many literary experts agree that it is an allusion to the ghost of the King, and it begs the larger question of who Hamlet is himself. The play is one of inquiry, posing questions to the audience. The tone of Hamlet mirrors the angst of English society when Elizabeth was nearing the end of her reign without a successor (Smith-Bernstein, Elizabethan Context for Hamlet). Despite the work’s specific historical context, Hamlet stays with us through the ages. He stays in our hearts, by staying true to himself.
Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes―characters even―caught in the fibres of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you.― Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale
The opening lines of Fahrenheit 451 create a similar feeling of uneasiness with the lines:
“It was a pleasure to burn.” — Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
A photo of fire showing orange flames Photo by Amador Loureiro on Unsplash
Here we are presented with a strange knowing that something is very wrong with the world in the opening sequence. We must read on to find out what is happening.
You take people, you put them on a journey, you give them peril, you find out who they really are. ― Joss Whedon
In ‘The Hero’s Journey’ Campbell calls this “the Call to Adventure.” Simply put, it is setting the story into action, deciding what the hero is called to do. This call can present itself in different ways, but it seems to align with a deep-seated human truth — Campell warns that often this call is met with resistance and may require the help of a mentor or guardian.
Stephen King calls this the “What if” this happened, and he often thinks of strange scenarios where different things might happen:
What if vampires invaded a small New England village? (Salem’s Lot)
What if a young mother and her son become trapped in their stalled car by a rabid dog? (Cujo)
— Stephen King
No matter how we conceptualize this beginning, it is a critical part of storytelling. The Iliad starts “medias res” in the middle of things, in mid war. To begin, there is an invocation to the goddess to allow the writer to tell the story of Achilles.
The Iliad, Book I, Lines 1–15
RAGE:
Sing, goddess, of the anger of Achilles, son of Peleus,
Accursed, which brought countless pains upon the Achaeans,
Hurled to Hades many strong souls of heroes,
Served them up as carrion for the dogs and all the birds –
The will of Zeus being fulfilled — since the son of Atreus, lord of men,
And godlike Achilles first feuded and quarreled. Translation by R. Lattimore
To explore other translations, see this link, and to hear Morgan Freeman read the first lines, go here.
Photo by Tayla Kohler on Unsplash A modern day recreation of a trojan horse
Much like the Odyssey, The Iliad begins with the evoking of the goddess, the muse, to tell the story of Achilles’ rage. The first lines beyond this describe Achilles in hiding and the argument between the gods, followed by a scene depicting the loss of human life to the dark of Hades, in the horror of war. Even today, The Iliad continues to touch us. In the words of Charlotte Higgins, whose article in the Guardian is quite insightful, “The Iliad is the first great book, and the first great book about the suffering and loss of war.”
We are brought into this world through the goddess, the muse— so that perhaps we can remember through her song on the cries of those on distant battlefields three thousand years ago. Homer was indeed successful beyond words, his work reaching through the hands of time and into our hearts.
Penny University — CoffeeHouse Discussion:
What is your favorite first line, and why does it inspire you?
Please feel free to add below to create a discussion
Do first lines scare you as they do me?
What first line stays with you?
When do you write these lines?
