It’s a miracle I ever read a novel, never mind wrote one, as I have the attention span of a flea. I signed on to post about the wild and crazy night of dreams I just had, and how I awoke with the knowledge that–oh look. Dog videos!
Anyhow, ahem. I dreamed rough and woke up because my arm had fallen so thoroughly asleep it hurt, and I was suddenly sure not only that I need to change the beginning of godlight, but also certain of how, which in spite of much mulling, has eluded me so far. A way, I think, to move the beginning closer to the beginning (if you will) and yet still sparing me one of those in media res openings.
Those are very popular now, stories that begin in the middle of action, but I personally hate them. I want to know a little about the character before she plunges through the old wellcap on her way to the mailbox, and it’s hard to fit that knowing in without telling, dumping, or what have you. But if I don’t know the character, I won’t care if she falls through and dies down there or hauls herself out just as the cap collapses, or if she subsequently leaves a bloody trail upon the ground as she crawls to the mailbox and finds a letter from her dead sister in there.
So, changes. Or a change, plus its ripples. In a story, everything ripples out.