Rule #37: Don't open with a cocktail party

 HALLIE EPHRON: As anyone who’s taken any of my writing workshops knows, I’m full of rules.

One of them is: “Don’t open with a cocktail party.” Of course I don’t mean that literally. I mean don’t overload the opening of your book by introducing too many characters too quickly. Don’t open with a crowd scene.

Even introducing a single character is heavy lifting–for both the writer and the reader. There’s the character’s name. Physical appearance. Relationship to the other characters you’re introducing. Quirks. The list goes on…. With their first appearance they need to make an impression. Introduce too many too fast and readers will choke. They won’t remember who’s who and might even stop caring.

My rules usually have the caveat: “Write well enough and you can break any rule in the book.”

Which brings me to a book I’m reading at the moment. It’s a huge bestseller written by a beloved author. And it opens by introducing about half dozen characters, each in a separate location with a variety of connections to one another. Fortunately, in short order one of them is murdered, culling the herd. But still, for about 20 pages it’s a slog remembering who’s who until everything meshes.

Do you think there’s such a thing as *too many characters too soon* and if your story requires it, how do you finesse it?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: The very first book I ever tried to write, which did not get very far, was about the first female golf pro in Massachusetts, and how she solved a mystery about a deadly herbicide on the golf course. It was a brilliant idea. Maybe. But I didn’t know what I was doing. And I stopped.

Totally your case in point: the first chapter was a golf foursome on the course, as well as a caddy, and references to several other people. Truly, there were at least five people in the scene, none of whom you knew, as well as allusions to other people.

You absolutely had no idea who to care about.

But. I also just finished a book that has about a million characters from moment one, and some off-the-page characters referred to as well. But the writing was so immersive, and so fabulous, and I thought: “you know, this author is aware of what she’s doing, and she’ll let me know who I need to care about when the time comes.” And that turned out to be completely true. And the book is incredible.

But I so agree, Hallie. The rest of us are not Liane Moriarty and Big Little Lies. And  I am very careful now not to overpopulate my first chapter.

JENN McKINLAY: I’m trying to think of a book that had a crowded opening scene that made me quit. Nothing is coming to mind, probably because I quit. LOL. I’m not a big fan of prose heavy openings either. I don’t want to read a description of snow falling for five pages.

As for me, I’m a master level eavesdropper so I love starting a book with dialogue as it takes the weight off the opening line and hopefully hooks the reader immediately. No more than three characters for the opening paragraphs and then it can expand.

RHYS BOWEN: One thing I hate is too many characters too soon. I find myself flipping back and forth: Who was Doug? Was he married to Serena? I was trying to remember if any of my books start with multiple characters but I can’t think of any.

In Farleigh Field had multiple protagonists and we jumped between several sites but I think they were all parallel stories going on until they all joined at the end. (At least that was what I wanted!)

Of course my two series are written in the first person so we always start seeing the world through the eyes of the protagonist and having her set the scene tor us. This makes it much easier.

LUCY BURDETTE: I have very little patience with too many characters. Most of the time I refuse to go back and look somebody up, I will either put the book down or else keep reading and hope it all becomes clear.

But Jenn and Rhys make interesting comments, maybe it’s easier with first person to keep the characters under control.

I had to go back and look at the opening of THE MANGO MURDERS, which will be out in August 2025. it does indeed start with a cocktail party! On a sunset cruise! However, before you ever get to the cruise and the party, there is quite a bit of Hayley Snow talking to set the scene.

I hope this works – I’m sure you will let me know:).

DEBORAH CROMBIE: The first chapter of my first book opens with only three characters. Smart, right?

Then, in chapter two, A COCKTAIL PARTY! Literally. What was I thinking?

Obviously I didn't know any better, but I seem to have navigated my way through it somehow. Still, many books later, I find scenes with a lot of characters the most challenging to write. Give me a good old descriptive passage or an internal monologue any day!

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: This is a timely question, Hallie, as I’m reading a book with a famously vast number of characters - ANNA KARININA.

Yes, one of my resoilutions was to broaden my reading to include classics I’ve missed. I’m reading the 2000 translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, and they translate the famous opening line as: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

In the first eleven pages, we meet seven characters in person, name check the titular character, and are also told the household has an English governess, a cook, a coachman, a kitchen maid, and the now banished affair partner, the French governess. It feels crowded, which is perfect, because the household of Prince Stepan Oblansky is crowded to the point of intrusiveness, just as, we will see, the society he and his family live in is crowded and intrusive. There never seems to be enough space for people to just be themselves.

Technically speaking, all these character introductions work because they come through Stepan’s point of view. Everyone is described in terms of how they relate to him: his wife, his favorite child, his sister, his valet. It gives the reader a solid framework to slot characters into place. And yes, I was brave and decided to plunge in without reading the cast of characters, so I was relying on Tolstoy to not let me down.

BTW, I’m really enjoying it so far. It’s much more lively than I thought it would be.

HALLIE: So how about the rest of us? Which writers manage to defy the odds and keep you turning the pages even when they introduce a plethora of characters in short order?

What We're Writing: Revisions and First Drafts

JENN McKINLAY: First the news: I have some new deals!

 

I try to only work on one project at a time, but occasionally there is a log jam in the workflow and I end up writing a draft while revising another work. This has been my life over the past few weeks and while I'm happy to work on both it does require shifting gears especially when one is a fantasy and the other a romcom. 

Constant vigilance is needed or magic might appear in the romcom THE SUMMER SHARE (coming 2026) or an overly smexy scene will slip into the fantasy WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (October 2025 - which is up for pre-order now - just click the title) although I think that's an acceptable crossover.

Thankfully, I turned in the revisions this weekend and I could not be more pleased with how my first fantasy came out. So, now I'm back in the saddle to finish the romcom in the next week so I can start the library lover's mystery mentioned above. A busy year - my favorite type!

Sneak peek at a bit of the cover which has not been finalized...yet.

Here's a snippet of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN to encourage you to click that BUY link!

     October was my favorite month as the sticky humidity of summer departed and jeans and sweater weather returned.  As I walked the half mile from the library to my cottage, I reveled in the chilly temperatures, the scent of wood fires on the air, and the satisfying crunch of leaves under my feet. 

     The village of Wessex where I lived and worked was nestled between the Appalachian Trail and the Housatonic River in the northwestern corner of Connecticut. It was a small community known for the private boarding school that resided on the west side of the river. I had attended that school, leaving to go to university in New Haven and then doubling back here to the only place that had ever felt like home. 

     As soon as I stepped inside my cottage, I slipped into my pajamas while I microwaved a big bowl of mac and cheese. I flicked on the television and scrolled through the streaming channels until I found a mystery series I had yet to watch. I preferred the British ones because I loved that the actors and actresses looked like real people as opposed to American television where everyone looks like a supermodel pretending to be a real person. 

     I was halfway through my bowl of cheesy goodness and a third of the way through the first episode when I heard a thump on my front porch. I paused the show and stopped chewing, listening intently. Living in Wessex where everyone knew everyone, I wasn’t as worried about crime as I was a neighbor dropping by to chat. It wasn’t that bad things didn’t happen here, of course they did, it’s just that it was very rare and usually the person who did the crime was known for having a dented moral compass so it wasn’t a big surprise.

     Thump!

     The noise sounded again only more forcefully. I put my bowl down on the coffee table and shoved my chenille throw aside. I crossed the room to the front door and switched on the outside light. I peered out the side window that looked onto the porch before opening the door. If it was a rabid raccoon looking for food, I didn’t want to get into with him. The porch was empty. 

     Just to be certain everything was all right, I opened the door and poked my head out. I glanced from side to side. The only items were my large potted geranium on one side and my small wicker table and two chairs on the other. Satisfied, I went to close the door and glanced down at the doormat. I gasped. Placed on the center of the mat was the same envelope that Bill had delivered to me at work that afternoon. But I knew I had left it in my desk drawer. What the hell was it doing here?

     I glanced around the porch to see if someone was lurking in the shadows, playing a prank on me. It wasn’t really Bill’s style, he was more of a dad joke type of guy, but he was the only person who knew about the mysterious book so logic dictated it had to be him.

     “Not funny, Bill!” I called into the darkening evening. There was no answer. No one was there. 

     I picked up the envelope  and pulled the book out, experiencing the same twinge of unease I’d felt before. A flash of green lit the porch as the envelope was immediately engulfed in emerald flames. I yelped and dropped it. In seconds the envelope was gone not leaving ash or smoke behind. I examined my hand and noted that the weird neon fire hadn’t even felt hot. Okay, if this was a prank, it was next level. 

     I glanced out at the street, making certain no one had seen what had just happened. It was an old response I’d developed as a kid when my mother had used her witchcraft to make flowers dance in the air or gave our dog colored spots just to make me laugh. My father’s worry for her and his fear of something happening to her because of her magic had conditioned me to feel anxious whenever magic was present.

     I took another look around the porch and yard before I went back inside, locking the deadbolt. I studied the aged volume more closely. It was a shade of black so matte it seemed to soak up light, the edges of the pages were jagged and uneven, and the book’s hexagonal metal latch was rusted from humidity or lack of use. I couldn’t tell which. I brought it to the kitchen, thinking I could open it with a knife. 

     Not wanting to lose a finger, I chose a butter knife. I slid it under the decorative metal band and tried to pry it loose. The metal didn’t budge. I tried to pop the hexagon with the blade as well but it held fast. I set down the utensil and glanced at the door. If it wasn’t Bill who had dropped the book off and made the envelope go poof…nope. I refused to go there. 

     The pin pricked my finger and blood beaded up out of the wound. I yelped and dropped the pin. Drops of blood dripped from my finger and I pressed my thumb to the tip of my middle finger to stop the flow. Had I just stabbed myself with a pin…on purpose? I blinked. I glanced down, noting I was wearing my pajamas. 

     Relief whooshed inside of me. It was okay. It was just a dream. An awful, stupid, painful dream. I shook my head, trying to wake myself up. It didn’t work. It couldn’t…because I was already awake. 

     I glanced down at my kitchen counter where small splats of blood marred the smooth surface. The battered old book that I had tucked into my shoulder bag sat on the granite beneath my pricked finger.

      Shit! I had almost bled on the book. I spun away from the counter and rinsed my finger in the sink. What the hell had just happened? Sleep walking? Night terrors? Had I actually pricked myself with a pin? Why? 

     I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the blood off the counter. I rinsed off the pin and returned it to the container I kept in the utility drawer at the end of the counter. I threw the towel in the trash and stood staring at the book in confusion. What was the book doing on the counter when I was certain I had put it in my bag? 

     Insistent whispers sounded at the edge of my mind. Like shadows that faded as the sun rose, I couldn’t quite hear the words, but I knew. I knew without a doubt that those whispers had been in my dreams and that they had instructed me to stab myself with the straight pin. I glanced down. Goosebumps raised on my forearms as I gazed at the black book. I ran an uninjured finger over the cover half expecting it to be absorbed into the black leather as if it could pull me in just as it seemed to soak in the light. It didn’t and I lifted my hand and noted my fingers were trembling.

     I’d had a strange feeling about this mysterious volume from the moment I first touched it, and I knew of only one person who might be able to help me.

The release date for WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN is October 28, 2025, which feels appropriate. I've already outlined book two in the series and will start writing that after I finish the library lover's, which means I'll likely be revising THE SUMMER SHARE at the same time. I'm trying not to think about it right now.

Tell me, Reds and Readers, when your life is a log jam of projects, how do you manage them? Any tips welcome.

What We're Writing Week: Julia's cover reveal!

 JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: It's been a big week for cover reveals - first Hank's, then Lucy's and now mine! I loved the design from the first time I saw it - the cover artist really leans into the Christmas feeling. No, that's not what Clare Fergusson's church looks like; hers is brick gothic revival. But the white clapboard says church to everyone, and it pops beautifully against the colors of the sky.

 

 I'm also sharing my first run at the flap copy. I just sent this off to my editor for review. It's not that I consider myself wildly talented at flap copy, it's just that the stuff that's been written in-house has often been, well, less than satisfactory. Once, a then-assistant to my then-editor included, "The author has enriched her telling of this tale by drawing in episodes from Miller Kill -- and Jane Ketchem's past." Which is neither enticing to the reader nor, I believe, grammatical. She also added I won two Tony Awards on the back of the book. Finally, my youthful acting dreams realized.

Let me know what you think, and how I can improve this! (Oh, and P.S.: it's available for pre-order now...)    

   

It’s Christmas time in Millers Kill, and Reverend Clare Fergusson and her husband Russ van Alstyne - newly resigned from his position as chief of police – plan to enjoy it with their baby boy. On their list: visiting Santa, decorating the tree, and the church Christmas pageant.

But when a beloved holiday parade is crashed by white supremacists, Clare and Russ find themselves sucked into a parallel world of militias, machinations and murder.

Single mom Hadley Knox has her hands full juggling her kids and her police work. She’s doesn’t want to worry about her former partner – and sometimes lover – Kevin Flynn, but when he takes leave from the Syracuse PD and disappears, she can’t help her growing panic that something has gone very wrong.

Novice lawyer Joy Zhào is keeping secrets from her superiors at the state Attorney General’s Office. She knows they wouldn’t condone her off-the-books investigation, but she’s convinced a threatening alt-right conspiracy is brewing – and catching the perpetrators could jump start her career.

NYS Forest Ranger Paul Terrance is looking for his uncle, a veteran of the park service gone inexplicably missing. He doesn’t think much of an ex-cop and out-of-town officer showing up in his patch of the woods, but he’s heard the disturbing rumors of dangerous men in the mountains.

All roads lead to the forbidding High Peaks of the Adirondacks, where deep snows hide deadly plans and ancient trees shield modern hatred. As the December days shorten and the nights grow long, a disparate group of would-be heroes need to unwind a murderous plot before time runs out.