We plunge into The Gunslinger, groping for a beginning
On page one, we catch the story by the tail.
The gunslinger, Roland, already carries his father’s weapons. They are heavy with bullets. We wonder whether he will unload them into the man in black.
So we’re already straining after the finale. What about the start?
Was the inciting event in Tull, when the dead man spoke? In New York, when a car tire tore open the boy? Or in Gilead, with Cort’s bloody lessons?
We revise our opinion (‘It started there.’) — only to end up revising it again (‘Could that be the true origin?’). Because, while Roland trudges forwards through the white sand, his thoughts wind backwards through time.
We catch fragments of history through conversations, dreams, and reveries. But there’s no time for lectures about dates and monarchs.
There was a revolution. We won every battle, and lost the war. No one won the war, unless maybe it was the scavengers. There must have been rich pickings for years after.
Tolkien it is not
Although The Lord of the Rings was half the inspiration for the Dark Tower series. The other half was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. And that explains the book’s opening.
The roar of the MGM lion dies, setting the stage for Sergio Leone’s movie. Three men stride up to a saloon. A gun is drawn. They go in. A fourth man leaps through a window, carrying a hefty leg of ham. There are yells, but no words are spoken.
It’s all action. And the audience is agog. That’s the effect of starting in media res — of starting in the middle. Do it well and the reader will chase your story like a nemesis.
You’ve excited them, provoked their curiosity. They will run your story down.
Aidan Clifford writes for Pinstripe Poets – artists who love their day jobs. This post is part of a series called ‘Write like the Greats’. See the rest here.
