It's a common conundrum for the average (and at times, above average) writer, isn't it? Finding the right words, the proper phrase that will make the average (and at times, above average) reader fall completely and totally in love with the sound of his or her "voice." And that's the ultimate quest, in my estimation - the hardest thing for any writer to wrestle down before he or she puts pen to paper or fingers to keys.

The perfect introduction.

What is "perfection", anyway? Which of us can flip open a book in Barnes and Nobles or a comic in our local shop, read the first line and exclaim "hallelujah" for the literary masses? Just because "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed" worked for me doesn't mean it worked for someone else. Simply because Will Eisner opened epic post-depression graphic novels with powerful, dramatic statements doesn't mean it's going to capture every aficionado's heart and mind. So what then, is perfect?

If you've got an answer, I suggest you shut this window and get the hell away from me.

There are no perfect introductions. There are no more once upon a times. All there are these days are a myriad of personal opinions, diverse and unique opening lines, scenes and statements that hopefully will serve as the gateway into a personal, unique and with any luck, original story.

But then, I could be wrong. The above paragraph is just another unique opinion.

Tell me this -- which is the better opening? This:

"In later years, holding forth to an interviewer or to an audience of aging fans at a comic book convention, Sam Clay liked to declare, apropos of his and Joe Kavalier's greatest creation, that back when he was a boy, sealed and hog-tied inside the airtight vessel known as Brooklyn, New York, he had been haunted by dreams of Harry Houdini." (Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay)

Or this:

"An abandoned auto court in the San Berdoo foothills; Buzz Meeks checked in with ninety-four thousand dollars, eighteen pounds of high-grade heroin, a 10-gauge pump, a .38 special, a .45 automatic and a switchblade he'd bought of a pachuco at the border - right before he spotted the car parked across the line: Mickey Cohn goons in an LAPD unmarked, Tijuana cops standing by to bootjack a piece of his goodies, dump his body in the San Ysidro River." (James Ellroy, L.A. Confidential)

Two completely different openings to two completely different books. One was awarded a Pulitzer Prize, the other was adapted into an Oscar nominated feature film. Which is the better opening? Which is the better introduction?

Well, if we get technical, we might say they're both poor introductions, as both are run-on sentences that potential readers might have to go over three times before they settle in his or her head. We could also say that they're both brilliant, quickly and efficiently setting the mood for their respective stories, capturing the reader's attention with one quick (albeit extravagant) opening sentence.

Look at them from an editorial point of view. Many writers and storytellers will say that they're fantastic - each one dropping you in the middle (or end) of some sort of action, making the reader wonder what happened in the "early years" of Chabon's tale and what were the events leading Buzz Meeks to Tijuana. On the reverse of that, I've had the pleasure of conversing with editors who favored stories that began with an "origin" of types, worked their way to the middle and concluded with a solid end. I had an email conversation with one high-profile publisher who adamantly believed that no story could drop the reader into the action, trusting them enough to figure things out through flashbacks or a reveal of information to the reader as it is revealed to the protagonist him or herself.

I wonder what that publisher would have made of both novels.

The question remains: which of the above is the better introduction?

And I reiterate that if you've got an answer, I suggest you shut this window and get the hell away from me.

Oh, we can have our opinions, sure. I prefer the Ellroy introduction because I tend to favor the gritty, one-punch-at-a-time style that the man's come to be known for. I eat up the fragmented, clipped sentences with a spoon. But do I think his opening line is better than Chabon's? I can't really answer that. They're both very different styles of writing. Do I think that they both WORK as good opening lines? Absolutely. The fact that they each sucked me into very different worlds, both leaving me with impressions that dragged me back for the purposes of this article (and simple enjoyment of a fantastic story) proves that they worked. For me, at least. I can't speak for you. Or you.

So what makes a good introduction? How does a writer get past agonizing over the perfect turn of phrase that will capture the roving eyes of the harried paperback jockey, looking for a novel at Borders that will get him or her through a lazy Sunday, an overseas flight or an afternoon subway ride?

Beats me. To each their own. We all got our opinions, right? Here's mine:

The perfect introduction, in my humble estimation, sets the stage for whatever is to follow - style, direction and atmosphere.

Comic books have the added value of employing art, book dress and visual to help hammer that staging home. Flip through a copy of Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill's LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN, VOL. ONE. Sure, Moore's Victorian era prose introduction and corresponding story script create a world for the reader to settle in, allowing England circa late 1800's to envelop him or her, but O'Neill's artwork, the fonts, lettering and book design strike the nail into the casual reader's coffin. The same can be said about any of Kurt Busiek, Alex Ross and Brent Anderson's ASTRO CITY collections. Or PLANETARY. Or ASTRONAUTS IN TROUBLE. And so on. Each opening - be it written, illustrated or told in the back of a pub creates a world. Each introduction prepares you for what's to come. Captions that read "My Ma, she used to call them angels. But that's the thing about angels. They don't just open gates - they bar 'em, too" will never lead you to Bonfire of the Vanities.

There are no perfect introductions. There are thousands of perfect introductions.

And here we are, at the End of the Beginning, no better off than when we started.

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Welcome to the Big Pond.

Let's face it - if you're reading this, you want to write. Otherwise you'd be on eBay right now, looking for vintage glasses or some such. You're here because you're a writer - and odds are somewhere out there, there's a better writer than you.

It's simple fact. Even William Shakespeare, genius that folks make him out to be, didn't go home at the end of the day thinking that he had nothing to learn. No writer can ever stop learning, whether that writer has a study full of awards or a study full of rejection letters. We're all, at the end of the day, striving for something better.

And we are Legion.

Somewhere in Middle America a young girl crafts her first short story. Way up north, a man begins a second career, finally deciding to write his Great North American novel. Three young kids in Portugal band together as a studio with hopes to crack the ever-elusive professional comic book industry. And in a small three-bedroom on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a quasi-published writer just shy of thirty wants to know what they know. And he wants to let them know what he knows.

On the Left Coast, a couple builds a small publishing empire out of their San Francisco home simply because one of them wants comic books on the shelf that he would like to buy. Halfway across the country, in Kansas City, a band of writers and artists gathers together to bounce ideas off one another, to share in the collective experience of creation. And in New York, the city teems with wannabes, can-bes, gonna-bes and has-beens all running the gamut of a professional career in comic books, film and television. Some of them are getting their feet wet, some of them have two to three books under their wings and some of them are pulling down steady pay doing what they love to do best - tell stories.

And all of them - all of US, no matter how experienced or how green we might be - have opinions. And ideas. And advice that you or you might never have thought of.

We are all fish, swimming in and around the creative pool, this Great Big Pond we call Storytelling. And we are Legion.

BIG POND is a collective column. It's a column that begins with ideas and then continues with opinions. Each column will focus in on an aspect of writing for the comic book, film and television industry - whether discussing writing, editing, pitching, business or what have you. The column will then give way to a selection of opinions based off my introductions by a diverse group of writers. Some of them will be names you've read off the covers to books in your local stores. Some will be names you've never even heard of. But they will ALL be writers. Like you. And you. And me. From there, the opinions will give way to a message board thread based on that column where writers the world over will be invited to offer THEIR advice on the week's focus and hopefully, debate those who have already offered their own.

Because we all have opinions. We all have advice on how to navigate the Great Big Pond. And I don't know about all of you, but I can always stand to learn something unique and original.

Come on in. The water's fine.

Neil Kleid - writer, cartoonist and comic book racontuer - won the Xeric grant for NINETY CANDLES, an experimental graphic novella, and his first graphic novel, BROWNSVILLE (with artist Jake Allen) debuts from NBM Publishing in 2005. A graphic designer by day, Neil harbors notions of writing full time. Weep for him.