Jump-right-in openings
I’m a fan of writers/stories that drop you in to chaos from word one. No context. No idea of what’s going on. Your pulse quickens forcing your brain to catch up with the story. Brilliant!
Here are a handful, maybe more, examples. Examples I’m hoping you steal and take them somewhere. Let me know how it goes.
The fire alarm screamed and the roulette wheel wouldn’t stop spinning. Lina kept her palm on the dealer’s wrist and said, “Count to three with me or lose the hand.”
The armored truck lay on its side, leaking quarters like a busted piñata. Coop crawled through the windshield and asked the dazed driver, “You good?”—already pocketing the keys.
The preacher had just said “speak now” when the back doors blew inward and confetti from the bridal cannons mixed with drywall dust. Jax grabbed the groom by the collar and said, “Congratulations, you’re coming with us.”
The elevator froze between floors with six masks and one bag that wouldn’t stop beeping. Rina pried open the hatch, looked up into black, and said, “Okay, Plan C. Who remembers Plan C?”
By the time the sirens reached the pier, the speedboat was already turning circles without a driver. Theo surfaced with a mouthful of diesel and said, “He bailed—check the net.”
The judge’s gavel cracked and the defendant ran, vaulting a bench, cuff chain singing. Mara threw off her heels and followed, shouting, “Left door jams—hit it low.”
The first shot took out the lights; the second shattered the jukebox mid–Billy Squier. Gus slid behind the counter and told the cook, “Keep frying—smoke’s our only friend.”
The hospital generator hiccuped, monitors flatlined in chorus, and somebody yelled Code Black. Nora walked into the dark ICU with a backpack and said, “Point me to the safe.”
The auctioneer’s chant died when the painting fell, frame exploding, canvas revealing fresh blue tape. Dante raised a hand like he’d bought the silence and said, “Switch it back before the paddle drops.”
The stadium crowd roared because they thought it was a promotion, not a heist. On the jumbotron, our faces smiled beneath inside-out caps; Zee whispered, “Wave like you mean it.”
Rain hammered the windshield so hard the wipers quit trying. Vivi read the pager anyway—12:07, three buzzes, code for run now—and yanked the van into the loading bay.
The motel door was already off its hinges and the TV was still selling knives at 3 a.m. Benny stepped over a man with one sock and said, “If this is the decoy room, I don’t wanna see the real one.