ALAN GARNER’S FIRST EFFORT AT OPENINGS LINES FOR THE WEIRDSTONE OF BRISINGAMEN:

Colin and Susan Whisterfield, ten-year-old twins, sat in the attic window and looked gloomily out over the dismal London roof-tops, watching the rain slide steadily and stickily past the window, as it had done for over a week.  It was the most boring rain imaginable; there was no wind to fling it against the windows and make you feel extra safe and cosy by the fire as the drops rattle angrily against the glass; there were no huge black cloud mountains to eat up the daylight and make you feel just a little uneasy, even though you are safely tucked away in the middle of the largest city in the world.  The rain just fell slowly out of a dull, grey sky into dull grey streets.

HOW THE BOOK ACTUALLY OPENS:

The guard knocked on the door of the compartment as he went past.  “Winslow, fifteen minutes!”

“Thank you!” shouted Colin.

Susan began to clear away the debris of the journey – apple cores, orange peel, food wrappings, magazines, while Colin pulled down their luggage from the rack.  And within three minutes they were both poised on the edge of their seats, case in hand and mackintosh over one arm, like every traveller before or since, in that limbo of journey’s end, when there is nothing to do and no time to relax.  Those last miles were the longest of all.

Garner shared his first draft in a book of essays called The Voice that Thunders, as a bad example of deliberately writing down to children. (No offense intended to Harry Potter fans, but it sounds like J.K. Rowling to me.)  In the actual opening we can also admire the direct move into meaningful action and the understated, powerful lyricism.

(Source: annadowdall)