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Allie Reynolds runs through the effects she creates in the first pages of her debut thriller, Shiver

One of my favourite books on writing is The First Five Pages: a writer’s guide to staying out of the rejection pile, by Noah Lukeman. It explains why you need to grip the reader (or agent or publisher) in your opening pages, and how to go about it doing it. In honour of this book, here’s my commentary on the first five pages of my thriller Shiver.

Firstly, a disclaimer. I’m no writing coach. There are way more qualified and experienced people than me out there to give you writing advice. I’m at the start of my career, a debut author who got incredibly lucky in that my novel went to auction. But I love to hear about other people’s writing process, so for what it’s worth, I’m sharing mine.

1 It’s that time of year again.

you like this I got your full attention.

Plus Shiver is a thriller so I wanted to get the mention of bodies in early.

2 There’s one particular body that I’m waiting for

The last line of the prologue. If the narrator is waiting for a body, I figured the reader would be too and hoped this would propel them through the first chapters, where I describe the setting and characters. The pace slows here, but at least we have a body to look forward to.

3 Prologues seem to divide readers

Apparently some people don’t even read them. Personally I love prologues – they can set the mood: ominous, spooky, a sense of jeopardy or whatever.

On a whim, I’ve sometimes picked up books by authors I haven’t read before – or haven’t even heard of – and been compelled to read on by the power of the prologue. A good example of this is See You in September by Charity Norman, which has one of the most doom-laden and atmospheric prologues I’ve ever come across. Read it and I swear you’ll want to read on.

I hoped the prologue to Shiver would transport the reader

The first line of my prologue. I figured readers might assume we’re talking about Christmas. A happy and festive time. As first lines go, this one nearly sends you to sleep.

Or lulls you into a false sense of security. Because then you read the second line:

The time the glacier gives up bodies.

I’m hoping this is the last thing you expect. That by surprising

to the icy new world of a glacier. I kept it short, just 120 words, hoping that even readers who don’t like prologues would tolerate it.

4 “Hello?” My shout echoes around the concrete cavern.

This is the first line of Chapter One. I wanted to set the mood with my main character feeling alone and sensing something’s not quite right. I hoped to capture the isolation of the setting and foreshadow what might come next.

By starting with Hello I also wanted to send a message to the reader: no fancy language here. No frilly bits; no pretention. I’m a massive fan of Lee Child-esque writing: clean and simple, where it’s all about the story and the words are only there to tell the tale.

Writers always talk about how hard the first lines are to get right. So much hangs off them. In my previous projects, my first line has changed over and over as I struggle and fail to get it right.

This time round I came up with the prologue and first line one night whilst lying in bed. Having learnt from bitter experience that I never remember them in the morning, I turned on the light and got out of bed to write them down. I’m glad I was sleepless that night.

5 I hug him tightly back. All those cold nights I spent in his bed.

This is what Milla Anderson, the main character does when her ex-boyfriend shows up on the scene. Tightly is an adverb, and writers are often advised to avoid adverbs but I felt this was a place that needed one. We know from the way Milla hugs him how she feels about him.

An earlier draft read: I feel a wave of affection for him. All those cold nights I spent in his bed.

But writers are often advised to avoid ‘telling’ words, like feel/ see/hear, and instead to ‘show’ us what the characters feel/see/hear. (If you haven’t heard this advice before, there are lots of fantastic articles online about it. Google: avoid filter words in fiction.) Instead of telling the reader about the affection, I showed you it with the tightness of the hug. This was hopefully more powerful.

It calls on the reader to do a little brainwork, but that’s a good thing, as detailed in another of my favourite books on writing: The Emotional Craft of Fiction by Donald Maass, which explains that by forcing the reader to read through the lines and work things out for themselves, we engage their brains and keep them engrossed in our story.

Maass’ book, Save The Cat by Blake Snyder, and numerous other books on writing also recommend showing the main character caring about someone early on. This reveals their human side, helping the reader relate to them and also helps make the character seem likeable. Milla’s competitive nature makes her unlikeable at times but I hoped that by showing her caring about her ex-boyfriend early on (and repeatedly throughout the novel) helps to offset that.

It ups the stakes for the reader as well, because if the main character cares about someone’s welfare, the reader will too.

Another rule I try to keep in mind: never use two words where one would do, and never use two sentences where one would do.

A different draft read: A wave of affection hits me. I hug him tightly back.

The first sentence can be cut because the second sentence says it all.

6 Dale’s previously wild hair is stylishly cut, his piercings removed, his trendy skate shoes don’t even look skated in. I guess he’s been Heathered.

I hoped I’d get a smile here. After all, we read to be entertained. Shiver is a thriller, but it doesn’t mean every line has to be tense and scary. One of the things I love most about Lee Child thrillers is the occasional moments of humour. They catch the reader by surprise and they’re all the funnier for it.

I have no idea how I came up with Heathered. Later in the writing process, I considered changing Heather’s name but I didn’t want to lose this line. Not many other names would work. He’s been Joyed? Dawned? Clared? It doesn’t have the same effect. I’m not even sure why Heathered works, except perhaps its similarity to ‘tethered.’

7 There are various ‘hooks’ in the first pages. In brackets are the questions I hope the hooks provoke.

I feel bad for not getting in contact with him. But after what happened… (What happened?)

A flood of guilt hits me. She will never walk again. (Did the main character cause someone to be injured? How?)

Instead of rising up the mountain, it’s like we’re travelling back in time. And I don’t know if I’m ready to face the past. (Why? What happened?)

For him, I dragged myself back to the place I swore I’d never return to. (For God’s sake tell me what happened!)

I’m hoping the reader will be compelled to read on to learn the answers to these questions.

For more examples of hooks, check out Jane Corry’s fabulous thriller, Blood Sisters. Her first chapter has more hooks than any novel I’ve read and I swear you’ll be totally gripped.

8 I submitted my first chapters to several literary agents and got rapid rejections.

I found myself cutting words – and entire lines – that I didn’t actually need. The more I cut, the more I liked it. I submitted the revised chapters to several more agents. Within 24 hours, all of them offered to represent me.

If there’s fluff in the first pages, the chances are the agent or publisher, who has another 10,000 such submissions in their inbox, will lose interest and move on to the next one. So that’s my final piece of advice. Trim, trim, trim.