One of the most reliable ways to capture a reader’s attention from the very first line of your manuscript is to show a character doing something unusual. Not necessarily dangerous or dramatic, but unusual enough to make the reader pause and ask a simple question: Why is this happening?
Curiosity is the reader’s kryptonite, drawing them into your story. When a character behaves unexpectedly, readers pay attention. That’s the element of surprise. Readers want to understand the motivation behind the action, the circumstances surrounding it, and the consequences they expect to follow. A strong opening like this does not explain the story; it demonstrates it.
“Unusual” doesn’t mean extreme. Writers often assume that unusual behavior must be shocking or explosive. They imagine they need to start their manuscript with gunfire, car crashes, or physical danger. While these moments can work, unusual behavior doesn’t require the spectacle of a nuclear explosion. Sometimes the most compelling openings involve small but meaningful actions: a teacher burning a stack of graded papers before sunrise, a farmer digging a hole in the middle of winter, a child refusing to enter a house everyone else considers safe, a librarian locking the doors earlier than usual without explanation, even when asked. (By the way, these are all things I saw as a child; of course, they made me curious.) These moments are unusual because they disrupt my expectations. Readers recognize that something is wrong or different, and that recognition fuels curiosity. The unusual behavior invites questions, and those questions keep readers reading to find out why this is going on.
Beginning writers often start stories with description. They describe landscapes, history, physical objects, or places before introducing action. While description matters, readers connect more quickly with aberrant behavior, as I did as a child, than with observation or the act itself. Here are two paragraphs of the same scene in my mind. Read both and decide which one works for you:
John was a cautious man who feared change.
or
John stood at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the river, clutching a suitcase he had packed but never opened.
The second example shows behavior. It gives me an image and evokes emotion. What I’m not getting is an explanation. You may disagree, but I think readers will learn more from his action in the second paragraph than from the simple narration in the first. Action builds a connection with the reader. John, standing on the edge of the bridge, asks several questions. The second version is the one I would start this manuscript with.
The purpose of the unusual action is not to impress readers with how clever we are as writers. We certainly do not want to trick readers. Whatever John is doing needs to relate clearly to what comes next in the story. The second paragraph is designed to do one thing: provoke curiosity. Why is John doing this? What led him to be where he is? What’s he going to do next? These questions create narrative momentum. A woman scrubbing blood from a kitchen floor before sunrise raises immediate questions. Readers wonder how the blood appeared, what caused it, who may be dead, whether the act is concealment or survival, perhaps stemming from a relationship the woman is in. These questions create tension.
Conflict is the foundation of storytelling. Without it, stories feel static. Nothing happens. Unusual behavior, however, often signals that conflict already exists. We jump right into the action. Something has gone wrong, something has changed, something requires a response, or someone is doing something they shouldn’t be doing. When a story begins with an unusual action, readers immediately understand that the narrative is already in motion and that synergy propels both the reader and the story forward. A mechanic refusing to repair a familiar customer’s vehicle for no reason suggests tension. Why? we ask. Something about the situation has changed, and our gut tells us it is probably not something good. Conflict may not yet be visible, but its presence is felt. Unusual action becomes the first sign, right in the first sentence of your manuscript, that something in the story is being disrupted.
Strong action openings do more than capture attention. They introduce meaning, the fullness of it, which may still be yet to come. The unusual opening action should connect to the story’s deeper theme. If your story explores loyalty, the opening action might involve a character unexpectedly protecting someone. If your story examines independence, the opening action might involve a character rejecting help. If your story addresses loss, the opening action might involve a character protecting something fragile. You get the point. Meaning, though it may be explained or understood best later, is introduced by these actions.
Many writers feel pressured to describe the setting immediately. I’m not sure this is necessary, or what it accomplishes that can’t wait. These writers want readers to visualize the world before the action begins, but the setting becomes more engaging when revealed through action. Save the setting for the second paragraph, or even the fourth. Instead of describing a dusty barn in detail, show a character dragging a heavy trunk across its floor. Instead of describing a crowded city street, show a character weaving through pedestrians while clutching an envelope. This kind of movement reveals both the location and the action, pulling a reader in. What is he doing?
A writer’s voice is often associated with the language they use, the way they structure their sentences, and what they observe, but it can also appear through action. A character who slams doors introduces tension. A character who whispers while performing unusual tasks introduces secrecy. A character who jokes during difficult situations introduces humor. The behavior at the beginning of the book conveys the voice without explanation.
One of the most common mistakes writers make is explaining unusual behavior too soon. They set it up, then deliver the punch line right away. Don’t rush. The most common reason I hear from writers is that they fear readers will get confused without context. Confusion is part of it. When controlled, confusion creates curiosity, which is exactly what a writer wants from the reader. Allow readers to witness the action before understanding its cause. Instead of explaining why a character hides an object, show the hiding first. Let readers experience the mystery before revealing the explanation.
When looking at beginnings, vague actions weaken openings. Specific actions make openings clear and strengthen them.
Before leaving the house, she did something strange.
Or
She removed the house numbers from the front door and put them in her coat pocket.
Both set up a mystery, but the specifics in the second paragraph create vivid imagery. It’s the imagery that, once again, pulls the reader in. You’re showing the character in action, not just describing it. This specificity transforms action into experience.
Even unexpected behavior has to feel purposeful. Nothing should be gratuitous. Readers should sense that the character has a reason for the actions they are first shown taking, even if the meaning of that reason remains hidden until later. I sometimes see things in prologues that really bother me. They are trite teasers, and, frankly, I’m tired of seeing them, even if they create meaning later. Random action feels artificial. Intentional action feels meaningful. A character tearing photographs suggests emotional conflict, like me many years ago, when a girlfriend dumped me and I wanted every remnant of her out of my life. Or maybe it is a character rearranging furniture at midnight, like my other used to do, that gives a sense of urgency, if not deep questions. Whatever someone does, though, they need to feel motivated, and the payoff needs to come later with purpose, not at the end of the gratuitous prologue, but within the story itself.
While unusual action creates curiosity, clarity is always vital. Readers must understand what is happening, even if they don’t understand why. Avoid confusing descriptions or excessive ambiguity. I’m of the mindset that if the reader feels ambiguity, it’s not because of the writer’s cleverness; it is a failure of the writer. Readers may see a character lock a door, burn a letter, or bury an object, and the motivation and the why may remain temporarily hidden, but the action itself, locking a door, burning a letter, or burying an object, needs to remain clear and understandable. Mystery creates curiosity; uncontrolled confusion does not.
Here’s a practical exercise for you. To strengthen your ability to begin stories with action, write five opening sentences that show a character doing something unusual. Focus on the behavior rather than the explanation. A baker throwing away fresh bread before sunrise. A teenager hiding shoes beneath the floorboards. A gardener planting flowers at midnight. A firefighter refusing to answer a call. A musician locking an instrument in a trunk, yet leaving the instrument case empty. These sentences all show a character doing something unusual. Write your own five. After writing these sentences, ask yourself several questions as though you were a new reader. What questions do these actions raise? Which action feels most intriguing? Which of these five has a deeper implied conflict? You might find a jumping-off spot for a great story here or a new opening for your current work-in-progress.
Stories start best with action. Stories have energy when they move forward from the very first moment, driven by a character’s actions. Readers can immediately sense direction, even if the details are hidden until later. When readers encounter unusual action at the beginning of a story, they sense that the story is already underway, that it has already begun, and that they have been dropped into it just at the right time to witness it.
Every story has to begin somewhere, but the most effective beginnings start with motion, and they work best when that motion is unexpected. When characters act in unexpected ways, readers notice, wonder, anticipate, and are in the game, playing along. Show your character doing something unusual, and the story begins before the reader even realizes she is inside it. And that’s exactly where you want the curious reader to be.
