Yes, it’s another submission-inspired article. I’ve recently written about cutting clutter and tight writing. It seems I have to back up and illustrate what clutter and loose writing looks like. Tell me if this sounds familiar:
Sarah Williams was a thirty-four-year-old marketing executive who moved to Denver three years ago after her divorce from Michael, her college sweetheart whom she’d married at twenty-two following a whirlwind romance that began during their sophomore year at San Diego State University, where she’d studied communications while he pursued pre-law, though he’d eventually switched to business after deciding law wasn’t for him…
A similar submission to the above continued on for another half page. By the end, I knew Sarah’s employment history, her parents’ occupations, her childhood pets, and her feelings about gluten. What I didn’t know was why I should care about any of it, and what all this has to do with present-day Sarah.
I’m not sure what compels writers to provide all this unnecessary info. In all my years pitching to editors, not once have they asked, “But what happened to the protagonist in third grade?”
The Wikipedia Profile
Newer writers often confuse setup with storytelling. They believe readers need to understand the character’s entire history, or they must “catch the reader up” before the story can begin. So, they basically create a character dossier:
“Marcus had always been afraid of heights, ever since the incident at summer camp when he was twelve, which explained his current career as an accountant, a safe job his mother had encouraged him to pursue after his father’s construction business failed during the recession of 2008…”
This isn’t storytelling—it’s a cautionary tale.
Other Opening Pages Faux Pas:
The Resumé:
“As a single mother of two who had worked her way through nursing school while waitressing at three different restaurants, Jennifer understood the value of hard work.”
Nobody cares about work ethic in the abstract. Show us Jennifer making a difficult choice right now.
The Therapy Session:
“Sally had trust issues stemming from her father’s abandonment when she was seven, which had affected all her subsequent relationships and explained her current inability to commit to her boyfriend of three years.”
This feels like the character is reading her own therapy session note aloud.
The Historical Timeline
Here’s an example where a writer felt compelled to explain how a current situation came to be (I see this A LOT):
“The family farm had been in the Smith family for four generations, passed down from Emma’s great-grandfather who had immigrated from Ireland in 1923, to her grandfather who had survived the Dust Bowl, to her father who had modernized the operation in the 1980s…”
Unless this is a multigenerational saga, nobody needs the family tree right out of the gate.
Why This Kills Your Opening
Backstory is static. It’s looking behind when story is supposed to be moving forward. Every paragraph of history is a paragraph where nothing happens in the present. The story hovers in place.
You have to consider that readers can’t be expected to care about the past for characters they don’t yet know. You’re asking them to invest emotionally in strangers. Providing massive info dumps isn’t the way to show who your character is.
Most backstory isn’t relevant to the “now” of the story you’re telling. If Sarah’s college major or her gluten allergy doesn’t affect the plot, why are we learning about it?
Agent Insight
Most agents, myself included, are looking for reasons to keep reading, not reasons to stop. An avalanche of backstory makes us assume the whole book will be exposition—because instead of letting characters reveal themselves through action, the writer is cramming in random facts.
Here are a few thoughts:
- If the character’s history is more interesting than their present situation, you’ve started in the wrong place
- If you need a full biography to understand the opening scene, that scene isn’t working
- If nothing happens in the first five pages except information delivery, you’ve sealed your fate.
Start in the Right Spot
Most manuscripts would improve dramatically if they began exactly where the writer thinks the story gets interesting. Not three chapters before that moment. Not with the setup that leads to that moment. At that moment.
I recently read one where the protagonist takes a new job that will kick the story into motion. However, I first had to read about their current living conditions…failed relationships…failed jobs… a bunch of people who won’t matter when the character moved out of state to take aforementioned new job.
If the story truly begins when they start this new job – why drag the reader through the past? You don’t need to get us to buy-in on the protagonist’s decision.
In Media Res
Try starting your story at the first moment something changes for your protagonist. Then weave in backstory only as it becomes relevant to present action.
Instead of: “Karen had been working at the law firm for six years when she discovered the files that would change everything.”
Try: “The file was misfiled under ‘W’ instead of ‘M’—a simple clerical error Karen almost missed—until she saw her sister’s name on the first page.”
Need-to-Know
Only include backstory when the reader needs it to understand what’s happening right now. If your protagonist is afraid of dogs, I don’t need to know about the childhood incident until a dog appears.
I’ve read a few submissions where the concerning incident never comes to fruition, it was just “fun facts” to learn about the character.
Sprinkle Breadcrumbs
Drop hints about the past rather than making direct statements:
Instead of: “After her messy divorce two years ago, Sally had sworn off relationships.”
Try: “Sally’s wedding ring had left a pale band on her finger that still showed in the right lighting.”
Effective Efforts
Start with Action: Not car chases—but choices, decisions, moments of change. Show your character doing something that reveals who they are such as making a tough decision, or interacting with someone in a way that exhibits their values (or lack of).
Use Dialogue: Let other characters reveal backstory through conversation. It feels more organic than exposition:
“You’re really going back to teaching?”
“Don’t start, Mom.”
“After what happened at your last school—”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
Trust Your Readers: They’re smart. They’ll figure out relationships, motivations, and history from context. You don’t need to explain everything upfront.
The Exception (That Proves the Rule)
Sometimes you need a small amount of backstory to ground the reader. The key word is “small”—a sentence or two, not a paragraph. And it should feel essential, not optional.
Instead of: “Sally’s complicated relationship with religion began in childhood when her strict Catholic upbringing clashed with her naturally rebellious personality, leading to years of conflict with her devoutly religious mother…”
Try: “Sally hadn’t been inside a church since the funeral.”
Your characters come to life through their actions, choices, and voice—not their biography. So figure out where your story really starts—it’s probably later than you think.
Let your readers get to know your character a bit before hammering them with history.
Keep in mind that good backstory emerges from present action—otherwise it’s usually exposition. Everything else your readers need to know will emerge naturally from what happens next.