What's your best intro?

[tomlitilia]

On a site like literotica, where readers can just move on if the first paragraph doesn't capture their interest, the intro is highly important if you want readers to keep reading. I struggle with this. What are the intros (a paragraph or so) that you're most happy with, and why?

I'm reasonable happy with this one (from https://www.literotica.com/s/what-she-deserves-3 ) because I think it worked to set the premises of the story without just listing information like history book.

---
"Hi, I'm Paul."

Fiona didn't hide her skepticism as the man in the bar stool next to her introduced himself. She looked him over quickly. Handsome guy, nice suit, probably there for some conference just like herself. In a different life maybe...

"And you are?" he continued, giving her a friendly smile.

"I'm married," she said shortly, wiggling her ring finger.
---

 

[lovecraft68]

See now for me? That opening doesn't match the title "What she deserves" in the loving wives category? I'm thinking burn the bitch all day long. Meaning this woman who looks like a good wife by that opening must not be and she's being set up by the husband for the serious abuse that gets off all those woman haters there.

Now, I could be wrong. This could be the rare LW story where 'what she deserves' is meant in good terms. Maybe the husband can't make her happy and wants her to have some fun?

I don't know and never would because I gave you my initial knee jerk reaction and that would make me roll my eyes and say, yeah okay, something is going to go bad here for her and soon.

I could be 100% wrong and I'm sure I tend to think more than many readers, but that's how I work.

Openings are like anything else here. I didn't like it-in context to title and category-someone else would love it.

Everything here really falls under the one man's trash is another man's treasure.

My stories tend to start slowly, not good for a porn site you would think, but I've never complained of what I get for attention here.

 

[tomlitilia]

See now for me? That opening doesn't match the title "What she deserves" in the loving wives category? I'm thinking burn the bitch all day long. Meaning this woman who looks like a good wife by that opening must not be and she's being set up by the husband for the serious abuse that gets off all those woman haters there.

Now, I could be wrong. This could be the rare LW story where 'what she deserves' is meant in good terms. Maybe the husband can't make her happy and wants her to have some fun?

I don't know and never would because I gave you my initial knee jerk reaction and that would make me roll my eyes and say, yeah okay, something is going to go bad here for her and soon.

I could be 100% wrong and I'm sure I tend to think more than many readers, but that's how I work.

Openings are like anything else here. I didn't like it-in context to title and category-someone else would love it.

Everything here really falls under the one man's trash is another man's treasure.

My stories tend to start slowly, not good for a porn site you would think, but I've never complained of what I get for attention here.

Hmm... this seems slightly off topic, and more concerning how I picked my title. But I believe your knee jerk reaction need to be calibrated. I'm not going to give you a rundown of the entire story, but the final line, as spoken by her husband is :

"Babe, you're the best. You deserve to be bad."

But indeed, a fair amount of Anons seems to have been hoping for what you expected.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

This one is typical for me:

Tyrone stared into the flashlight beam. Jackie Bajavez lifted her blonde head off the pillow to look, too.

"Hey nigger? Ever hear of 'the man'?" Jackie recognized the familiar voice.

"Uh huh," the black man replied and stared at the light.

"Go away! Jack!" Jackie demanded.

"Well, I'm 'the man'," Jack Bajavez replied as he shot the man in the chest. The woman in the bed, Jack's wife, screamed.

The black man was in bed with Jack's wife at a cheapo motel. I was in the room next door and heard the whole confrontation. Jack then said, "I can't stop you from fucking niggers, but I can stop niggers from fucking you when you do it under my nose."

 

[NotWise]

We had a very similar thread recently. You might find more ideas in The Hook

 

[lovecraft68]

Hmm... this seems slightly off topic, and more concerning how I picked my title. But I believe your knee jerk reaction need to be calibrated. I'm not going to give you a rundown of the entire story, but the final line, as spoken by her husband is :

"Babe, you're the best. You deserve to be bad."

But indeed, a fair amount of Anons seems to have been hoping for what you expected.

You pick your title based on what you wanted to call it which is how it should. I wasn't trying to point that out as a mistake or a "I would have". I was saying for me the title conflicted with the opening, again my opinion.

Although as you said I'm sure the trolls were licking their chops hoping she'd be raped and tortured. Then you really went up their ass and had the husband being happy for her.

So I say...good job!

 

[LeandraNyx]

Deleted

 

[NOIRTRASH]

When it comes to genre writing and I'm competing with a bazillion high-quality indie writers, I spend for fucking ever trying to make sure that first paragraph is pure goddamned gold. There has to be action, or at least the hint of conflict; if that's impossible, I'll start with witty dialogue. Whatever it is, I have to elicit curiosity in the first sentence, two sentences tops.

Yet on Lit, I don't feel the need to put in quite so much effort. Don't get me wrong, I still try to start the story off in an engaging manner and my standards for overall quality-control don't change, but I'm not nearly as anal about that first paragraph. The reason is simple: the competition just isn't that daunting. I don't need to have a stellar first paragraph to get readers, I just need it to be readable; add to that even just a little character and I'm golden. So many stories on Lit are either unreadable of just generally lacking in craftsmanship that if I can get through the first three sentences without an itching need to heavily edit them, I keep going. I imagine a lot of readers are the same way.

BTW, Tomlitila, your opening more than qualifies; it's well written, smart, and ends in a very witty line that makes me curious to see where it goes. Very nice.

He lost me forever with HI I'M PAUL.

Many go that route. It screams Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

 

[lovecraft68]

This one is typical for me:

Tyrone stared into the flashlight beam. Jackie Bajavez lifted her blonde head off the pillow to look, too.

"Hey nigger? Ever hear of 'the man'?" Jackie recognized the familiar voice.

"Uh huh," the black man replied and stared at the light.

"Go away! Jack!" Jackie demanded.

"Well, I'm 'the man'," Jack Bajavez replied as he shot the man in the chest. The woman in the bed, Jack's wife, screamed.

The black man was in bed with Jack's wife at a cheapo motel. I was in the room next door and heard the whole confrontation. Jack then said, "I can't stop you from fucking niggers, but I can stop niggers from fucking you when you do it under my nose."

Your over the top racism ruins it. That and if someone is overhearing the confrontation how do they know the women lifted her head from the pillow? Maybe you head hopped and I didn't catch it.

 

[NOIRTRASH]

Your over the top racism ruins it. That and if someone is overhearing the confrontation how do they know the women lifted her head from the pillow? Maybe you head hopped and I didn't catch it.

I can smell PILOT on you from here. Only person who uses Old Seaman aftershave.

 

[Handley_Page]

"Thump!

He 'woke' with a start to realise it was very dark. And very quiet. It was a while before his brain realised that there were no physical sensations with his wakened state.

"

 

[ChloeTzang]

..... It screams Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Depends what you're writing doesn't it. You can do action or romance or whatever, but I'm like Tom, I'm really trying to work on my hooks. So here's one intro for a story I'm working on now that I kind of think isn't too bad and you're welcome to hack the crap out of it if you feel inclined.

“Fuck it!” This sucks. The tail end of the School Bus is disappearing down the road and I’ve friggin’ missed it and I have that friggin’ test today and as long as I sit it, I’ve aced it and I’m numero uno. Miss it, I’m gonna drop and I won’t get that friggin’ first place and Mom’ll be so fucking mad at me. Fuck it! This really fuckin’ sucks! Maybe if I friggin’ run back down ‘n wake Pops up, he’ll give me a ride.
As if. The old bastard’ll just laugh at me and tell me it serves me fuckin’ right for being a fuckin’ dipshit. Yeah, that’s what Pops’ll say. Old asshole. Face it, Cameron, you’ve fucked up.

I ignore the old red Camaro that pulls up. Stand around on the side of the road here, just down from Porky’s, you always get assholes pulling up, asking you if you want a ride. At friggin’ eight in the morning for god’s sake. As fuckin’ if. I ignore the friggin’ pervert.

“Hey, Cameron, watcha doin’ hanging out here?”

That gets me looking. That asshat Jeremy, the dipshit in my class whose hot on my tail for first, he’s sitting there looking right back outa that Camaro at me, chewing gum or something and his eyes, he looks like he’s coming straight from a friggin’ party coz his eyes are, like, totally bloodshot.

“I missed the friggin’ bus,” I sort of snarl except I’m trying not to. I’m not begging for a ride. I’m not. Friggin’ asshat’ll laugh at me.

“Well why’re you standing around talking about it then, jump in.” He waves his hand vaguely.

I look at him for a moment. He’s probably gonna wait until I’m around by the passenger door and take off on me. Then call it a prank and laugh about it with his buddies. Yeah, he’s that kind of an asshole. Well, fuck him. I grin. “Okay.” Throw my bag straight through the open window, past his face and into the passenger seat beside him. Follow the bag through the open window, across his arms and the steering wheel. My legs are sticking out, my butt’s in his face but I’m in. Fuck him. Who cares if he sees my ass, I’m wearing clean panties ‘n I showered this morning.

“What the fuck….” He’s laughing as I wriggle myself the rest of the way in and across him. The horn blares a couple of times and I kick him but who gives a shit. He’s a guy, he can take it.

“What’re you waiting for?” I say. “You want me to drive or something?”

He laughs, throws the car into gear and floors it. By the time we get to High School, he’s asked me out on a date. Of course I say yes. It’s not like I haven’t dated before ‘n I dumped my last boyfriend a couple of weeks ago so my calendar’s kinda wide open. Asshole made jokes about Trailer Park girls. After he’d just got his hand inside my panties. Right on my birthday. Happy fucking eighteen, Cameron! Well, fuck him.

I’m not sure about this date with Jeremy, even though I’ve said yes. Jeremy’s one of those guys I always thought was a bit of a dipshit. Drives a beat up old Camaro, parties like there’s no tomorrow, always manages to do okay with his grades through and his folks live up on The Hill, not down in town. Still, why not, and I gotta say it, it’s that Hill thing that swings me. I just gotta lay out the ground rules here so he’s clear, that’s all. I do and he shrugs. “No problem.”

That’s a good start. The day’s looking up and we’re ahead of the bus coz I see it pulling in as we sit there talking and really, turns out he’s not such a dipshit. Walking from the parking lot into class with him, I can see the wave of gossip moving ahead of us. Jeremy doesn’t notice, he’s too busy feeding me macho guy bullshit. Who gives a fuck about his last football game? Not Cameron. I like walking in with him though. I like those looks. Especially the jealous ones.

I smile, knowing I got me one of those guys from up on The Hill.
Bite me, you round-eyed blonde bitches.


And here''s an intro to a chapter of "Chinese Takeout" that I really liked.

“Wake up Jay-Lin, you don’t want to be late for the bus.” Mom’s voice floated up the stairs.

“Coming Mom.” I was already wide awake, showered, my teeth thoroughly cleaned, my mouth now tasting of mouthwash and strawberry-flavored toothpaste rather than Keith’s cum, a salty acridity that I’d woken up to and already missed. I was dressed, my gym bag and backpack ready to go.

Only, I was sitting there on my bed holding yesterday’s panties next to my face, inhaling. Deeply. God, that smell. Even with my panties now dry, the smell of Keith’s cum lingered, doing shivery melting things to my insides. Making my mouth flood with saliva. All I could think of was that I wanted him more than ever. One last deep inhalation before I reluctantly buried those panties deep in my laundry basket, picked up my gym bag and my backpack and dashed downstairs.

Mom looked up, smiling. “Breakfast’s rea…. OH MY GOD! What happened to your face Jay-Lin? Here, I need to look at that. Sit down. Hold still. What on earth happened to you?”

 

[lovecraft68]

“Where the hell are they?” Leon peered through the dirty glass window, trying to see the alley below.

“They’ll be here.” Riggs spoke up from his seat near the abandoned machine shop’s big steel double doors. Once a thriving business, now it was just a deserted shithole building Jimmy used as a hideout so his family didn’t learn what he was doing.

“Knowing those pricks, they may have sampled the merchandise before they deliver it.”

“Merchandise?” Leon grimly shook his head. “Telling you, man, this shit is fucked up.” He wagged his finger for emphasis. “We ain’t even supposed to be doin’ this.”

“All you need to be doin’,” a soft voice warned from the corner of the room, “is whatever we tell your monkey ass to do.”

“You calling me a nigger, bitch?” Leon demanded, turning from the window.

“Simply calling a spade a spade.” Jimmy ‘Matches’ Bellino smirked as he finished carving the words The Devil’s Lieutenant into the small scarred workbench beside him.

“Funny.” Leon strode toward him, but stopped when Matches eased his unbuttoned Armani shirt to the side, exposing the butt end of the .45 nestled beneath his arm.

“I thought so,” Bellino nodded. “You just do what you’re paid to, and that’s watch our backs while we find some snotty little bitches a new home.”

“Let it go, Leon.” Riggs gestured him back toward the window. “Jimmy’s in a bad mood. He hasn’t tortured anyone in a couple weeks.”

“But that will change tonight.” Bellino smiled nastily, and opened the lid of the cheap hibachi on the table in front of him. The pile of coals inside glowed red-hot. Lifting the wooden handle of a long metal rod, he showed off the glowing red-hot metal V. “After all, we get to brand them.”

“So we break them, then we burn them?” A voice so deep it didn’t sound real came from the opposite side of the room.

The voice belonged to a man Riggs and pretty much everyone else knew only as ‘Beast.’ The look on his normally vacant face made Riggs shiver. Beast was a freak, well over six feet, and close to three hundred pounds of solid muscle.

Even more disturbing than his size was his face. His features were eerily childlike: smooth skin, bright wide blank-staring eyes, and half the time his mouth hung open as if he were retarded. The fact that he was bald as a cue ball added to that effect.

The only time Beast ever smiled was when someone was screaming; but oddly enough, when he spoke, he seemed reasonably intelligent. That made him even creepier.

“No, we’ll burn them first,” Bellino laughed. “That way they’re already hurting and screaming.”

“They are late.” Riggs glanced at his watch, then rose from his chair and paced across the room.

He always trusted his gut, and all night long, something had felt off. But tonight they had to receive the girls, brand them—Jimmy’s sadistic idea—and get them to the buyer.

That was all they were supposed to do. But Bellino had once done a three-year stretch for rape, and that was only because he’d only been charged with one count, not the dozens he’d committed over the years.

No, he planned on ‘softening them up’ by gang-raping them. He claimed that would make them more cooperative for their buyer. The reality was, it fed his sick need to hurt people, especially women, a need only exceeded by his desire to burn things…and people.

 

[NotWise]

Depends what you're writing doesn't it. You can do action or romance or whatever, but I'm like Tom, I'm really trying to work on my hooks. So here's one intro for a story I'm working on now that I kind of think isn't too bad and you're welcome to hack the crap out of it if you feel inclined.

I lost interest in the first one and clicked away; then came back later and finished it so I could comment. It didn't "hook" me at all. I wasn't even clear on the gender of the character before I came back and finished reading. Your choice of language and spelling both pushed me back--especially after several repetitions, and then there were dangling details that interfered; test? number one?, etc.

And here''s an intro to a chapter of "Chinese Takeout" that I really liked.

I liked the second one much more.

 

[NotWise]

This is the first paragraph of the story I'm on currently. It's part three. I don't know that it's my best; I posted a couple to the "The Hook" thread, but this is current.

"Manny paced beside the airport terminal and scanned the horizon to the north. Claudia lost her cell phone signal after her flight got off the ground, and he hadn’t heard from her since. He got his hopes up every time a dot appeared above the horizon; sometimes it was a hawk or a turkey vulture, sometimes it was a small plane, but it was never the small plane that carried his sister south."

 

[SimonDoom]

I agree the intro is very important. The title and tagline are crucial to catch the attention of readers and make them visit the first page of your story, but you have to start well to keep them reading. I don't have any stats on this, but it's true for my reading habits, because I probably leave 2/3 of the stories I visit after reading the first paragraph or two.

I don't think there's any particular formula for a good intro. It can describe an action, or offer a pithy saying, or offer a bit of dialogue, or describe the environment or conditions. But it has to pique the interest of the reader AND in some way let the reader know where the story is going.

I think the OP's story What She Deserves is a very good example of a combo of good title, tagline, and intro. All three work together to give you an idea of what the story is about (they got my interest), but they're ambiguous enough that you have to keep reading to know exactly where the author is going with the concept. The line "I'm married" sets up one element of the basic tension/conflict (the other element, which we discover later, being the wife/husband relationship, which is the core of the story). The story has done very well in total views, and its score is surprisingly high for an LW story about extramarital sex that goes unpunished.

My latest standalone story begins with an intro about the weather -- a heatwave that is a theme and motivating force throughout the story. It's a mom/son story and I wanted to start with a background detail that would somehow make what happens more plausible. I wasn't sure about starting with a description of temperature, but the story has done very well (number 2 on the 30-day toplist, bumping up against number 1), so it appears to have worked.

The intro is:

"The mid-summer heatwave enveloped the city for seven days straight. It drove everyone a little crazy. Evening brought some relief, but even as night fell the heat lingered, hours past sunset. With heat so constant and so intense, everything loosened up: clothes, morals, and passions that otherwise would have stayed buried deep.

Maddy Ryerson had long since tired of the heat. It wore her down, a little more each day. She poured herself a glass of chilled white wine and walked with it to the living room. It was 10 p.m. in the Ryerson house, and the family's favorite T.V. show was about to begin. "

The story is here: https://www.literotica.com/s/late-night-on-the-loveseat-with-mom

 

[NotWise]

"The mid-summer heatwave enveloped the city for seven days straight. It drove everyone a little crazy. Evening brought some relief, but even as night fell the heat lingered, hours past sunset. With heat so constant and so intense, everything loosened up: clothes, morals, and passions that otherwise would have stayed buried deep.

Maddy Ryerson had long since tired of the heat. It wore her down, a little more each day. She poured herself a glass of chilled white wine and walked with it to the living room. It was 10 p.m. in the Ryerson house, and the family's favorite T.V. show was about to begin. "

That's a nice intro. I would read on.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

The first two paragraphs of God Mother...

It was on my twelfth birthday I noticed her as an individual. Up until that time, she had been part of the group known as relatives. It's the time in a boy's life when girls were no longer yucky. They start to be more than just a person who is not a boy. I also remember noticing my buddy's older sisters around the neighborhood. Especially, when they would lie out in their bikinis, bikini's, which are considered scandalous at the time, yet cover three times as much as the 'bikinis' of today.

She is a beautiful woman, with dark hair and clear brown eyes. Her nose, slightly bigger than most, but fits her face perfectly. Her smile is what brought my attention to her, bright and sincere. At the time, the women in my life were all moms. Looking back, I now realize they are each in their own right, what we today call MILFs. Even my own mother is lovely, as are the mom's of all my friends. I remember this like it is yesterday.

 

[Zeb_Carter]

And these three from White Winged Dove...

"Just like the white winged dove
Sings a song, sounds like she's singing
Ooo, ooo, ooo"​

That was the song. It was blaring on the radio. Stevie Nicks, Edge of Seventeen. It went well with the roaring of the cars engine as I sped down the highway. Sped. I was doing one-thirty-five. That's miles per hour. One hundred thirty five miles per hour. I was in a hurry. She had called. Someone was in the house with her. I had called the police, but I was closer than any county deputy. She had sounded frantic. She locked herself in the bedroom when she heard voices down in the kitchen.

My turn was coming up. I slowed. Not enough, but the skid wasn't that bad. I recovered nicely. Two more miles. The car roared into the night. I was lucky the roads were smooth. Railroad tracks loomed in the distance. I slowed again. Ninety-five. I was air born. The car hit hard on the other side. I pressed the accelerator. One twenty. I could see smoke pouring from the back of the car. Come on girl you can do it. Please. One mile. I could see the outside lights of our house. Come on baby. Just a little farther.

It didn't start to sputter until I lift off the gas. I had too. I couldn't take the curve at full throttle. I could see our driveway. When I stepped on the gas again, it sputtered even more. It slowed drastically. Twenty miles per hour and dropping. I could see the glow of the engine out my side window. The car was on fire. I was just one hundred feet shy of our drive. I jumped from the car. Not even stopping. The car continued down the road as I ran up the drive to the house. It was a hundred yards to the house.

 

[ChloeTzang]

I lost interest in the first one and clicked away; then came back later and finished it so I could comment. It didn't "hook" me at all. I wasn't even clear on the gender of the character before I came back and finished reading. Your choice of language and spelling both pushed me back--especially after several repetitions, and then there were dangling details that interfered; test? number one?, etc.

I liked the second one much more.

Thx. That second really is one of my favorites. The first is pretty much a draft, my Trailer Park Noir story that I'm working on so thx again.

Right now, I'm really working with Noah Lukeman's "The First Five Pages" to try and improve those first 1,500 to 2,000 words of my stories. It's really helpful. One of the big points he makes is the old "Show don't tell" thing and the need to balance dialog with narrative and vice versa. There's a bunch of other things in there but the big thing for me was to move away from 100% narrative. I'm working on the rest now.

Looking at most of your examples below, the big thing that hits me is that they're almost all 100% narrative and scene setting. It's all telling, you're giving me some really good images but you're doing that by telling me what I'm seeing. On the other hand, Lovecraft's example to me kind of overweighted on dialog a bit.

On the third hand, it's all in your audience and what they expect. A romance is going to be different from horror is going to be different from noir.

 

[HandsInTheDark]

“Fuck it!” This sucks. The tail end of the School Bus is disappearing down the road and I’ve friggin’ missed it and I have that friggin’ test today and as long as I sit it, I’ve aced it and I’m numero uno

This lost me. In part because I can't figure out who the character is, but the school bus reference is making me think junior high school and that's putting me off. Something's not working in the pacing, too. He (she?) is stressing out, but the run-on sentence feels more like excitement than stress.

"Fuck!"

I watch the bus fade into the distance down the dusty road. So much for making class on time. And that's a problem, because I have a test first period. Shit!

That's probably how I'd write if it the character was male at least. Female form: And that's a problem might become And now I'm in trouble. Except that sounds 16 and the character should be older. Geh. It's probably just me; by high school I'd take the bicycle to school or just walk. Busses were for kids.

“Wake up Jay-Lin, you don’t want to be late for the bus.” Mom’s voice floated up the stairs.
...
Mom looked up, smiling. “Breakfast’s rea…. OH MY GOD! What happened to your face Jay-Lin? Here, I need to look at that. Sit down. Hold still. What on earth happened to you?”

Way better. Jay-lin's been up to some hot stuff and now has reason to worry mom will find out. Way more interesting.

 

[NotWise]

On the third hand, it's all in your audience and what they expect. A romance is going to be different from horror is going to be different from noir.

This has been one of my continuing complaints. I can tell you what I think, and you can tell me what you think and we can both read about what we should do. If the readers don't agree, then it's all pointless. As authors, we don't think so much like readers.

And re: the balance of narrative vs. dialogue. It's hard for me to have effective dialogue in the opening paragraphs of a story. I don't have characters or a location at the beginning of a story. For me it's fairly inevitable that the opening is going to be a little strong on narrative. I tend much more to dialogue after the intro, and try to tell most of the story through dialogue.

 

[LeandraNyx]

Deleted

 

[HandsInTheDark]

My intro to Chosen, my non-erotic contribution to Lit.

I’m not crazy, and I’m not making it up. I don’t expect anyone to believe me. But I have to type this, even though I know I’m not supposed to; maybe it’s happened to someone before. I can’t be the only one.

My name is Adrienne, and I’m twenty four years old. I live alone in California and I used to do data entry for a large firm. The art major didn’t work out. I make extra money on the side doing photo shoots and little bits of modelling, for local advertisers. Some of it’s… risqué. Not quite porn but…. I mean data entry jobs are getting harder to find. I don’t like the modelling work but there are a couple of guys who can always work me into their projects if I ask nicely. But each time they come through, the job is a little more… I don’t want to do porn.

I have a small apartment in a poorer part of town. It’s not that bad. The people in the neighborhood are pretty decent and they watch out for me. I invested in an extra lock on my door and the windows are barred; it’s an old building, but built when the town was better off, so it’s nicer than it might have been.

My boyfriend took a job in Texas. I already know it’s not going to work out. Maybe it was never going to, but already he’s not calling as often. I have friends, mostly people from school; and I see them on weekends. My family is out East.

I’m kind of a neat freak. My apartment is super-organized; my friends laugh at it. The apartment is full of nooks and little places to store things, shelves and bookcases from the days when people built all that into their rooms, and I have art projects from school on display and things from my boyfriend’s archaeological projects; arrowheads, some pottery and carved onyx from Mexico. I mean I had to do something with the bookshelves; I don’t have that many actual books.

So it jumped out at me when I saw a book on a shelf that I hadn’t put there.

The first paragraph is admittedly a cliche, but I like the fact that it puts you on the character's side, and then you wait five paragraphs before she even vaguely gets back on point. The five paragraphs aren't wasted; everything mentioned in them matters later.

 

[NotWise]

The first paragraph is admittedly a cliche, but I like the fact that it puts you on the character's side, and then you wait five paragraphs before she even vaguely gets back on point. The five paragraphs aren't wasted; everything mentioned in them matters later.

I liked the first paragraph; maybe cliches make good hooks when they aren't as hackneyed as some others. A few different word choices could have imbued the intro with more personality.

As cliches go, you caught my attention with "the art major didn't work out." I'm thinking this is a person without good direction or motivation, which isn't my experience with art majors I've known. It's just a cliche.