“We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.”
Hunter S. Thompson knew something most writers never figure out…
You have about fifteen seconds to grab someone by the throat and refuse to let go.
That opening from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas doesn’t waste time with backstory or setting up context or gently easing you into the narrative.
It throws you face first into chaos and dares you to keep up. By the end of that first paragraph, you’re already speeding toward Vegas with hallucinated bats diving at your head, wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.
That’s the job. That’s always been the job.
Yet most writers treat opening lines like they’re introducing themselves at a networking event. Polite, safe, forgettable. They think they have chapters to build momentum, pages to establish trust, time to slowly seduce readers into caring.
And the thing is. They’re so ignorantly wrong.
Your opening sentence is your only guaranteed shot. Everything after that is earned through the strength of those first words. Readers aren’t giving you the benefit of the doubt anymore.
There are too many other books, too many other distractions, too many easier ways to spend their time.
This is exactly like ad copy, except the stakes are higher. A bad Facebook ad costs you money. A bad opening line costs you your entire book. Nobody talks about this because it’s terrifying to acknowledge how much weight those first few words carry.
What you’re forgetting is that you’re making a promise about the experience ahead. Thompson’s opening promises chaos, danger, and a narrator who’s probably unreliable as hell.
It delivers on every word of that promise.
The best opening lines work like fishing hooks. They catch something in the reader’s brain and won’t let go. “Call me Ishmael.” “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Each one creates immediate questions that demand answers.
Finding great opening lines becomes addictive because you’re studying masters of the craft doing their most important work. You’re watching someone thread the needle between intrigue and information, between promise and delivery.
This is the type of thing I nerd out on.
Most writers bury their hooks under exposition and setup. They forget that readers don’t owe them attention. Attention must be earned, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph.
Every word counts. Every word needs to pay rent and the rent was due yesterday.
Stephen Walker.
If you haven’t read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. What are you doing with your life?