Q36 – Whose line is it anyway?

As I marched down a tunnel linking the London Underground to the crisp morning daylight on the surface, I spent some time thinking about Mia Hansen-L?ve.

“Who?"

She’s the director of a film called One Fine Morning, and when asked how she had decided to name her film (about trying to secure a nursing home for her father), she said that there wasn’t a logical reason, but that this sentence spoke to her. You come across it in novels where it suggests something exciting and life-changing is about to occur to someone very normal.

First lines of novels are a big deal aren’t they?

From “Call me Ishmael” (Moby Dick), to “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen” (1984), an opening line sets the tone for an entire novel.

In the case of 1984 you are made to feel in one sentence that this is a book about a world you think you know, but where something HUGE must have happened to add another hour to the clock. It also tells you that whatever “it” was, happened long enough ago that it seems as unremarkable to the narrator as the clock striking twelve seems to you and me.

It tells you about the tone of the novel; that it will be written in an accessible style, yet quite-matter-of-fact. This is a reliable narrator.

At random I picked a novel from the painstaikingly colour-coded bookshelf in our home. This was the line:

"Lyra and her d?mon moved through the darkening hall, taking care to keep to one side, out of sight of the kitchen."

Wonderful, isn’t it?

We are introduced to the two main characters, one of them is a d?mon (a what?) that somehow belongs to Lyra (also an unusual name). They’re sneaking around in what could be a stately manor. It doesn’t feel dangerous, it feels mischievous and care-free (that’ll be the use of the noun “kitchen), and that they have done this many times before. It’s obviously an adventure! I’m sold.

You only need to Google “opening lines in books” and find yourself lost in amongst the treasures, each making you feel something different to the other. Just read through 20 and observe your own emotions shift and change as you read each one. Curiousty, fear, disgust, excitement, boredom, amusement.

The same is also true of non-fiction. Non-fiction doesn’t typically get lauded with the same praise, but check out these bangers:

"Charles Bukowski was an alcoholic, a womanizer, a chronic gambler, a lout, a cheapskate, a deadbeat, and on his worst days, a poet.” (The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, Mark Mason)

"The fate of British Cycling changed one day in 2003” (Atomic Habits, James Clear)

"I spent much of my childhood listening to the sound of striving” (Becoming, Michelle Obama)

Each of them an instant tone-setter, activating a set of emotions, values and biases within us.

Now tell me, how much time do you spend thinking about the opening-line of your proposals? Pitches? Emails?

The chances are that number falls close to zero (by the way, I’m just as guilty. If it wasn’t for Mia Hansen-L?ve I wouldn’t have even considered it at all). But I reckon that the number of us that spend a LOT of time refining the overall message we’re trying to convey is astronomical. How long does it take you to draft a delicate email to a client? How long do you spend rehearsing a big pitch?

And of course you should be spending that time on it. Words matter. And whilst a picture may be worth a thousand words, most of us communicate with the latter. The more time we spend writing drivel like this blog, the greater the possibility that we improve that skill-set.

But not enough time is given to our opening-lines (sidebar: I suspect ChatGPT is only going to make this a whole lot worse). Pitch decks often have an intro slide that simply, or sometimes, complicatedly, parrots back a problem to a prospect. We thank them for their time. We assure them that we’re the right people for the job. And guess what? So does EVERYONE else.

I recently came across a portfolio for a graphic designer. On the cover was her name, email address and phone number, in a small font pushed up against the edges. And in MASSIVE BLOCK TYPE occupying 75% of the cover she had written “DON’T HIRE ME”.

Amazing.

How much does that tell me about her, before even looking at her work? Which emotions does it activate within me? It feels like eating popping-candy for the first time, and is unforgettable.

And yes, it might completely turn you off. But isn’t that the point? Is 1984 a novel for everyone? Is Lolita? Or Great Expectations? Of course not.

So next time you sit down to write the first line of a proposal, consider it carefully. Or maybe it’s the opening line of a blog? Or if you have an intro slide on a strategy deck, what is the opening salvo?

Here are some ideas:

• The polariser: The [insert sector] industry is dead.
• The mindblower: 96% of [client audience] have unsubscribed from a company email they previously opted-in to.
• The entertainer: I promise this [content type] isn't as long as the previous one.
• The challenger: Most people pride themselves on being independent thinkers. Yet most people skim emails 74% of the time. Which are you?
• The non-sequitur: A panda has six fingers.
• The exciter: By the end of this [content type] you will have learnt six new things about your brand.

It doesn’t need to be Mantel or Dickens, but I would encourage you to consider one simple question:

What emotions is it activating?

Creative Director and brand thinker at?Peregrine Communications?— specialising in the strategy and design for financial services.