You are absolutely right about the first chapters, Kylie. I would even go so far as to say it’s the very first paragraph of the first chapter.
I like to think of it as an equivalent to the first sentence in a blog post: it must grab the reader by the neck and draw them into the story.
And re-doing a chapter or any paragraph is a sign of polish, not of waste.
Now I have a confession to make. My yesterday’s response to your latest poetry-infused post was unforgivably brief. I needed to consult with a glass of Spanish Red to explore my failing. And, as always, the wine unlocked the answers:
I don’t have a single poetic fiber in my body. Trust me, I did a thorough search. I never understood how a guy like Shakespeare could amass a readership that rivals the bible’s when half the time I have no clue what he is talking about.
Luckily for the pope, it was Moses not Shakespeare who drafted the ten commandments.
A second glass of Spanish Red delivered the answer to the reason for my poetry dimness: It’s not me, it’s the genes.
It’s a defect that most carriers of the Y chromosome share. At least, I don’t know any man among my friends who ever understood poetry. Natural selection made sure of that. Imagine a stone age sentinel sounding an “Invaders!” alarm in poetic terms that nobody but he understood. His tribe would have clobbered him to death right before doing the same to the intruders.
Women, on the other hand, do have a remarkable affinity to poetry. My wife is one of them. If Juliet asks me: “Would you like to close the window?” it is the poetic version of “Go and close the window. NOW!
As a man you have three options to respond.
Option 1 is “I really would like to close the window, but at the moment I feel quite comfortable sitting here with my beer, and walking all the way to the window is far out of my comfort zone” You might congratulate yourself to your wittiness, but only for the one millisecond before the wrath of the goddess of the house hits you with the subtlety of a freight train.
Option 2: without saying anything you walk over and close the window. That action earns you the characteristic smile of the proud owners of a well-trained puppy.
Option 3: you say “of course, honey. And would you like to get me another beer in the meantime?” Upon which you’ll realize that the female ability to produce poetry is far better developed than their ability to understand it.
What we men lack in poetry we compensate in clarity, though. Nike being exhibit No. 1. Imagine it’s tagline “Just do it” being changed to “Would you like to do …?”
Who would want to wear that?
