
While finishing my cigarette at 4:00 am in the morning, and getting ready to make another cup of coffee, I was trying to organise my thoughts and figure out a way to structure all my ideas and collected data into a mental model of my thesis. Then suddenly, it hit me! How do I start? Panic spread all over my body realising the importance of the first paragraph, the first sentence, and the very first word.
The first word you are addressing to your readers is like a first impression. If you start abruptly, it would sound like they just opened the TV and started watching the show from the middle of the episode. If you start by giving a fact, they might think that this is going to be another boring text. If you start with a quote, you are just following another cliché, one of the oldest tricks in the book; where is the originality? But, on the other hand, you cannot start with a joke, you cannot write as if it was a blog, you cannot…
The world of academia is tough. They expect you to be unique, talk about things that have not yet been addressed, to present your own point of view, bring something new and fresh to the table, make the difference, stand out. But at the same time, there are so many rules and restrictions, so many boxes that you have to tick before proceeding, so many things you need to do in a specific way, the indicated, suggested, appropriate way; but not your way.
On the other hand, I cannot be such an ungrateful person, and not admit the freedom these restrictions go hand in hand with. Especially in semiotics, we can choose anything we think of and analyse it; and by anything, I really mean anything. Whatever is life is semiotics; even the afterlife can be studied, since it is a concept perceived by the living. While scooping two spoons of coffee and brown sugar into my cup, the image of semiotics as a huge playground where smart little kids come to play around and discover meanings was formed in my mind and made me smile. We are a lucky group of people, indeed.
But out of the blue, while I am standing at the entrance of the playground, holding my little lime bucket, ready to go and have fun with everyone else, a little girl comes in front of me, and stares at me. I, the outsider, have to introduce myself, maybe ask the common, stupid, childish question: “Do you wanna be friends?” However, nothing comes out of my mouth, because the moment I think of something to say, I judge it as foolish or wrong and I am just standing there looking at the little girl who slowly but steadily loses her patience and interest in me.
For the love of the universe! How do I start?
This first word is killing me… how many people, I wonder, have faced the same terror? Do you think Stephen King spent weeks trying to decide his opening line, even if he had already thought up his chilling story, with every excruciating detail? Or did he closed his eyes, sat in front of his typing machine, took a deep breath and let the writing spirits guide him? Did he just go with the flow? Followed his instinct? Or not really spend time wondering about this first word, because it was so small and irrelevant that it never took enough space in his mind to become an actualised thought.
Do I really remember his first words? For example, in Needful Things, I am pretty sure that the story begins with the devil, disguised as the new owner of an old antique store, entering the quiet and peaceful town he was about to destroy; but how did the chapter begin?
Maybe the first word is not a huge deal in reality; maybe I am just being crazy, or I am finding reasons to stress out and excuse myself for procrastinating. Maybe, I am so scared of starting to write, that my subconscious finds many creative ways to distract me. With this in mind though, maybe, it is indeed an element of great value, an indicator of beginning, a very semiotic matter on its own. Maybe the meaning-making process starts with this very first word, and depending on it, the channel of communication is either well or badly constructed. Who knows?
I poured some hot water into my cup and stirred the mixture. Just the smell of coffee grains already gave me a sense of refreshment. Probably, I should just start writing and think about this first word in the end. Maybe after everything is said and done, when all the pages are filled, all the efforts and sleepless nights have been translated into Time New Romans 12, then maybe it would be the time for this first word; a word that for you would be the beginning of the journey, but for me, my very important, emotional, final touch.
~The Brave Alpaca