The First Page Problem: Lessons from a Cozy Fantasy Critique

Ending a season always feels strange. Equal parts relief, disbelief, and “wait, how did we get here already?” That mix of emotions shaped this Writers With Wrinkles bonus episode, where we wrapped up the season, shared a behind-the-scenes podcasting hiccup, and—most importantly—returned to one of our favorite topics: first pages.

Because if there’s one universal truth among writers, it’s this: first pages are brutal.

They’re precious. They’re overworked. And more often than not, they’re doing far too much.

The Problem With First Pages

When we read submissions for our First Pages episodes, we see the same pattern again and again. Writers try to establish:

• Setting

• Backstory

• Worldbuilding

• Character history

• Tone

• Theme

• Genre

All at once.

The result is often beautifully written but overwhelming. Readers are asked to absorb details before they care about the person those details belong to. And when that happens, momentum stalls before the story ever gets going.

This episode’s submission, a cozy fantasy called The Village Mage, was a perfect example of this tension.

What Worked: Atmosphere and Voice

From the very first paragraph, the author demonstrated a strong command of atmosphere. A tea shop setting. Warm sensory details. A gentle, reflective tone. All classic cozy elements—and all well executed.

That matters. Voice and mood are not small things. They’re often what make readers want to keep reading.

But voice alone isn’t enough.

Where First Pages Often Go Wrong

The opening leaned heavily on setting and memory before grounding us in the main character’s emotional experience in the present moment. This is incredibly common, especially in fantasy, where writers feel pressure to explain the world.

But explanation is not connection.

Before readers care about the shop, the village, or the magical academy, they need to care about Maya. They need to understand what she wants, what’s bothering her, or what feels unsettled in her life right now.

Without that emotional anchor, even beautiful prose can feel distant.

Cozy Fantasy Has a Special Challenge

Because this was a cozy fantasy, there was an additional expectation at play: readers need an early signal that magic exists.

In this opening, the story read as contemporary fiction until the final paragraph introduced the magical academy. That delay can cause confusion. Genre expectations matter, especially for cozy readers who come in with a specific promise in mind.

The fix doesn’t require big spells or dramatic reveals. Often, the strongest solution is subtle: an action, a reaction, or a moment that quietly implies magic rather than naming it outright.

Show it. Don’t announce it.

A Common Revision Truth

One of the hardest things for writers to hear is this: you might be starting in the wrong place.

Many first chapters are written as thinking-through chapters. They help the author understand the character, the relationships, and the world. That doesn’t mean they belong at the front of the book.

Cutting those pages doesn’t mean deleting them forever. It means moving them into a working document and redistributing what’s useful later, once the reader is already invested.

Almost every published book goes through this process. It’s normal. It’s painful. And it’s necessary.

What First Pages Need to Do

First pages don’t need to explain everything. They need to do just a few things well:

• Establish a clear emotional moment

• Signal genre and tone

• Introduce a character we want to follow

• Create a small, unresolved tension that pulls us forward

That’s it.

Worldbuilding, backstory, and atmosphere still matter—but they work best when they’re layered in gradually, not delivered in blocks.

Why We Keep Coming Back to First Pages

We end every First Pages episode feeling the same way: excited. These stories are close. Often very close. And that’s what makes revision worth it.

First pages aren’t about perfection. They’re about clarity. When you get clear on what your opening is actually meant to do, the rest of the story has room to breathe.

If you’re struggling with your own opening, you’re not alone. You’re in very good company.

And chances are, the solution isn’t writing more—it’s writing less.