These are the first sentences of Little, Big by John Crowley:

On a certain day in June, 19–, a young man was making his way on foot northward from the great City to a town or place called Edgewood, that he had been told of but had never visited. His name was Smokey Barnable, and he was going to Edgewood to get married; the fact that he walked and didn’t ride was one the conditions placed on his coming there at all.

And this is the last:

Even the weather isn’t as we remember it clearly once being; never lately does there come a day such as we remember, never clouds as white as that, never grass as odorous or shade as deep and full of promise as we remember they can be, as once upon a time they were.

Here are some thoughts on strategies I noticed in the first sentences:

• The first phrase both promises a “certain day” and ignores that promise by including only the month and century. The first seven words contain a degree of tension between the abstract and the specific, maybe between the certain dates of history and a more general nostalgia. Tension between what is objectively before us and what might be imagined in the past and the present and the consequences of moving back and forth are probably themes of the novel.
  • This tension continues with the unnamed and abstract, but capitalized, City
  • and the “town or place” called, more specifically, “Edgewood.”
• The main character immediately has a task, something they are doing, and that character is moving forward into an unknown area bit by bit, like the reader. If I’m remembering well, If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino begins similarly but much more explicitly.
• In the second of the first sentences, the character is named. Readers might have read on just to discover the character’s name. It is a slightly odd name. Odd names raise implicit questions: “What kind of person has that name?” “What kind of person names their child this and how has this name shaped him?” Characters beyond the named character are suggested.
• The second of the first sentences also suggests the reason for the task, for the process, the character is involved in: a marriage. And, interestingly, conditions have been placed upon the successful completion of the task. More implicit questions follow: “Who would expect this? Why?” “What will happen along the way?” “Will he be tempted to ride and how will he respond to the temptation?” “How did they meet?”

The last sentence is interesting because it makes a traditional, nostalgic beginning part of the end of the book. At the same time, it warns against nostalgia with three “nevers” and calls for it with three “remembers.” With “once upon a time,” it evokes fairy tales and the possibilities imagination suggests.

Consider trying some of these strategies in what you write next.

This sentence is from “Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin: “For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, it always must be heard. There isn’t any other tale to tell, it’s the only light we’ve got in all this darkness.”

An awesome pair of sentences from an awesome story. What might we learn from them as writers?

1. Don’t be afraid, or not too afraid, to address big questions. The rest of the story, at least in one reading of it, leads to this assertion about why we make art. The rest of the story provides the personal context for a character to make this statement. I don’t say that to minimize the other big questions in the story: race, relationships, ethics and others, but these sentences address aesthetics directly.
2. The sentences also appear very organically as a part of the story, as a comment on a blues performance. They are in the middle of the paragraph in which they appear and it is possible to miss them. This possibility, it seems to me, makes them more valuable when found.
3. The sentences are also in the language of a specific character, who comes to think this in a specific situation that is part of a larger specific relationship. I don’t think Baldwin started with these sentences, but the story seems almost build around them. Perhaps this third point is just a way of restating the first two.
4. To get even more focused, one elements (a tale), which contains others (suffering, delight, conditional/optional triumph), is described (never new) in ways Pound, for example, might be critical of, and its necessity is also stated (it always must be heard). The second sentence, fused with a third, justifies the first sentence and its assertion.

Here is an interesting sentence: “Surprise is the drug of editors.” It’s from The Artful Edit by Susan Bell, an excellent book about sentence-level editing.

If I’m reading like a writer, this sentence can teach me several things. For example, it’s an example of surprise because of the interesting comparisons it makes. Most readers probably won’t have thought of surprise as a drug. Whether its user is an addict or in need of healing, drugs are desired. Surprise is part of what editors–and readers–want and Bell provides that insight. It’s presented so directly and gracefully, it makes me smile.

Finally, the sentence demonstrates the power of brevity. Not to go on too long, but part of the appeal of the sentence is how memorable it is. It’s memorable because it is both short and good advice.

For writers then: make your comparisons interesting and be concise.

These two sentences are from Gilead by Marilynne Robinson: “I told you last night that I might be gone sometime, and you said, Where, and I said, To be with the Good Lord, and you said, Why, and I said, Because I’m old, and you said, I don’t think you’re old. And you put your hand in my hand and you said, You aren’t very old, as if that settled it.”

Some sentences just make me happy. These do. Why, though? What can we learn from them as writers?

• The first sentence characterizes two characters. It shows what the characters want (to prepare another person for an absence/death due to being with “the Good Lord” and for the relationship to continue, though stated indirectly, “I don’t think you’re old”). It shows these desires through reported dialogue.
  • There is a degree of tension between the two sentences but especially within the first.
    • Much of this tension is a result of the captured dialogue, specifically the shortness of the second speaker’s first two replies: where and why.
    • There is also tension because of the content of the first sentence as well: I’m old! and, no, you’re not.
    • Also, because this is reported dialogue, it is recalled dialogue. The speaker is not trying to forget it. Readers might read it as recalled with fondness.
  • Readers are also likely to be asking the same questions as the second character in the first sentence. Where are you going? I’ve barely started reading about you! Why are you going to be with the Good Lord?
• In the second sentence, readers continue to be shown the relationship between the characters. The sentences, to paraphrase a cliche, complete each other. The second sentence continues characterization with an action, more dialogue, and a reaction.
  • The action is a variation on a cliche. Specifically, the variation expands “you put your hand in mine” to “you put your hand in my hand.” This allows “hand” to be repeated; the same sound is heard twice. The repeated shard sound, at the same time, is preceded by your and mine, suggesting similarities coming together despite differences.
  • The recalled dialogue in the second sentence is a revision of dialogue from the first sentence, from “I don’t think you’re old” to “You aren’t very old” in the second. This is kind of a concession, from unambiguously old to not very old. Given some of the content of the first sentence (death and going to the Good Lord) it seems hopeful.
  • The reaction, “as if that settled it,” raises all kinds of almost philosophical questions. “How can human love stand against time?” “What does it mean to ‘face reality?'” “How do we reconcile the joy possible in the present moment with the anxiety of our last moments, even if we can expect the be with the Good Lord? If we can?”
• There are five “ands” and a period in the first sentence. Then two “ands” a period in the second.
  • Conjunctions and punctuation matter.
  • They shape momentum and end it.
  • They help control readers’ experiences with writers’ words.

Certainly more could be said about these sentences. What do you think? What do these sentences make you want to try?