Prologue

The Prologue.

“Is that the boy, then?”

Rovan’s mother nodded, her hand behind his back. He kept his arms at his sides, as he had been instructed, staring down at the muddy ground and attempting to ignore the rain.

The scribal High Secretary cleared his throat. The tall man’s boots shuffled to find a more dry spot to commit his soles to.

“He looks rather thin. And pale.”

“The marks of good breeding,” his mother said. “Is that not ever more important than the sun-colored marks of labor? A scribe must be well-mannered, educated and graceful. I can tell you, he is all these things. He’s got sharp eyes and deft hands.” 

Rovan only noticed his mother’s manner of speaking in the stark contrast of other people. High-born speech, he’d heard some call it. It sounded lighter and more effortless. On the contrary, the High Secretary’s voice cut shrilly through his own throat.

The High Secretary sniffed.

“He is more like to carry trays and chamber-pots than the quill, I should warn you, madam Ravenhill. It takes many years to learn the craft of calligraphy and literacy.”

“He is already literate,” his mother said. “His sisters have taught him. As to the matter of the quill, Rovan has held the needle before�"but we haven’t been able to afford ink for his training�"“

Even though Rovan didn’t look up at the secretary’s face, he could sense the envoy’s growing disinterest. He watched the boots of the man�"fine, black leather boots, polished to a fault, shuffling to find a reason to excuse themselves.

“Take the boy into your care,” a deep, gravelly voice said. Rovan recognized it as the stranger who had set up their meeting. The one who had come to their house and made mother shut the doors on Rovan and his siblings to talk privately with her. “Give him room and board. Let him do the work that others will not. And when he is old enough, allow him to learn the proper use of the quill.”

The High Secretary sighed.

“Well, since the Guild of Mercers owe you a small favor for your donation, sir . . . I suppose we may be able to test him. But I have to say, he looks rather . . . mediocre. If he doesn’t live up to his demands�"“

“Throw him back to the streets. Yes, you may do so,” the stranger agreed. 

 

The stranger’s voice, though deep and coarse like hard gravel, held the same high-born quality to it as his mother. He knelt down in the mud, revealing his hooded and gray-stubbled face, and his heavy, gloved hand landed on Rovan’s small shoulder.

“You take care, my boy. Learn their ways. And make your family proud.”

“Will I get to see mother?” Rovan asked.

The old man chuckled.

“You will, most like. I expect she won’t be able to take her eyes off you. But for now, you’ll live inside the Guild’s halls.”

His mother knelt down to his level as well. Her long, black hair tumbled over her face, hiding some of her features, though her dark, pine-green eyes shone through.

“They have the finest chambers there, my son. You’ll walk on marble floors and sleep below mosaic ceilings. Gold and silver will surround you, and you will share the company of the greatest artisans and artists.”

“But, what if I want to be with you?” Rovan asked. “With Vienna and Gabrielle?”

She stroked aside one of his dark locks, smiling at him.

“We’ll be close by, my son. It’s only a walk across town to reach us. You can come visit us.”

Rovan’s eyes welled up with tears and his throat started croaking. A violently hollow sensation flooded over him.

“Why don’t you want me?”

“Oh, sweet bird,” his mother said, grasping him by the head and tugging him to her. “Of course we want you. Believe me, we would rather have you stay with us. But, you’ll be better off with the Guild. They can take proper care of you. Teach you things you must learn.” 

Rovan allowed his head to press in against her, the warmth of her hands against his cold neck soothing him, and her breath creating hot steam through his hair.

“And perhaps, we might come visit you,” she said, her last words somewhat directed up at the High Secretary.

The secretary sniffed.

“Well, of course. Any guest of a Guildsman is welcome within our halls.”

From the tone of his voice, it didn’t sound like that was the case. The secretary went on.

“All right, this is all very sentimental . . . perhaps we can move on, spare ourselves from the rain, and you can all give each other a good, proper farewell later, mm-yes?”

Rovan’s mother released him and rose. The stranger came back to his feet as well, his cloak swirling behind him. His mother nudged him forward with a hand behind his shoulders.

“Take care, my son. Remember�"we love you very much.”

Rovan hesitated to follow, glancing back at his mother, who waved at him. The stranger vanished.

He trusted mother, and he wouldn’t fail her, and yet, he still couldn’t understand why it had to be him. Was it because he was the youngest, or the only boy in their family? Or was it something else?

Rovan shuffled over the mud and took up stride with the secretary, attempting to keep up with his long legs. Against the rain and the overcast sky, Rovan looked up at the tall, dark-clad man, who wore a black hat�"a broad, flat thing that didn’t really seem to shield him as much against the rain as it was supposed to. His nose hooked like the beak of a crow, his small eyes darting down to glance at Rovan. The High Secretary quirked a thin brow in an expression so whimsical, Rovan found it somewhat disturbing.

 “What’s that, boy? You enjoy staring at your superiors? Trust me, you’ll learn to do otherwise, or you’ll get mighty good at staring down the latrines, as well.”

The secretary smirked at his own jibe and carried on. His flowing robes carried mud at its skirts, splashing without a care whether some of it might hit Rovan.

Whatever happened, Rovan promised himself one thing. He would not become like the High Secretary.

Author's Note

The very first words of book 1 (currently). Trying to find the right opening / beginning of the first book. Planning to turn this into a long-running series, so introducing the character in a meaningful way is important. I have a few more ideas for an opening, but would enjoy feedback on this first one I've written.

Reviews

[Mar]

I really like this! It's a good length for a prologue, and it definitely sets the scene well. Advice that I hear a lot is to have your character make an interesting choice at the beginning of your story, so that you can "show not tell" what they're like. I think that would be a good idea here. I don't really know what this character is like, but he could say something or do something unique. You kind of already do in the very last sentence, but more would be good. Great work!

[ScryingScribe]

Thank you very much for this review, very useful. I think you are right, more agency from the protagonist could be desired!

[JayG]

You did ask for comment, so you have only yourself to blame for this. But since there are several things that jumped out at me that you won’t be able to see, I thought you would want to know. Just keep in mind that everything I mention is fixable, and isn’t a matter of talent or how well you write. In fact, your wordsmith skills are better than most.

To understand why I say you won’t see the problems, you have to realize that you cheat. Before you read the first word, the story is in your head, in its entirety. You begin reading knowing who we are, where we are, and what’s going on—with context, in other words. You hold an image of the setting. You know the culture and the purpose of this scene. So for you, every line acts to a pointer to what a reader needs, all stored within your mind.

What of the reader? Can they hear the emotion in the narrator’s voice? No. Can then hear the changes in tone, intensity, and cadence? No. Nor can they see the expressions you wear or the gestures you visually punctuate with. They have only what your words suggest to THEM, based on THEIR unknown background. So for the reader, every line acts to a pointer to everything a reader needs, all stored within *YOUR* mind. And since you’re not there to explain when it’s read… If it makes you feel better, it’s a problem you share with everyone who turns to writing fiction, because of a huge misunderstanding we all leave school with: We think that the skill we call writing is universal to all missions. But is it?

Compare the number of stories you were assigned to write during your school years to the number of reports and essays and you’ll see that the vast majority of your writing practice was in nonfiction. And that makes sense, since the purpose of public education is to provide industry and commerce with a pool of potential workers who share a useful and predictable set of skills that employers find useful. We call that skill-set, “The Three R’s.” And the writing techniques we learn as part of it are to prepare us to write the essays and reports that employers require. Professions, like Fiction-Writing, are learned IN ADDITION to our school day skills.

So why don’t they tell us? Partly because your teachers learned their skills in the same classroom, as did their teachers. It’s also because it's something that should be obvious. After all, are we ready to write a screenplay when we graduate? No. How about work as a journalist, or a tech-writer? Again no. So does it make sense that we already know the skills of professional fiction writers? No. If we did, most new writers would be nineteen. But because the people who write the stories we love make it look easy, and our own writing seems to work when we read it, so…

So knowing only the fact-based and author-centric skills of nonfiction we turn to fiction, and never notice:

1. The voice of the narrator is our voice, all filled with the necessary emotion. Have your computer read the story to you to hear how different what the reader gets is. That's an excellent editing trick, too.

2. The “let me tell you about this” approach of nonfiction, coupled with the lack of emotion in the narrator’s voice produces a dispassionate viewpoint—lecture-like.

3. Because you do know the story so well you’ll tend to leave out things that are obvious to you. Then, on reading, your mind fills it in automatically.

4. Because the reader knows what’s said and done, but not the process of the protagonist deciding what to do, we don’t view the scene as the protagonist does, and so, don’t empathize with them. And if we don't make the reader care...

Is there a way around that? Sure. Look what happens if you become the protagonist as you write, looking at the scene, not as “This happens…then that happens….and here’s some background you need.” Instead, ask your protagonist what matters to them in the moment they call "now." If what they want, based on their personality and resources doesn’t match what you feel needs to happen, instead of ordering them to obey, change the situation to make them feel that what you need them to do is the best option. And having presented that—taking the reader through the protagonist’s analysis and decision-making, that reader will have their views calibrated to the protagonist’s needs, not their own. They will be living the story as-the-protagonist. Because the reader is are in the protagonist's present, as against the report’s overview structure, the future is as unknown and uncertain—which means they will want to know if the decision, the act, or the speech does what they hope it will. Provide the reader with that desire or they close the cover in boredom.

A point we almost all miss is that if we live as the protagonist, we will, due to the nature of storytelling, have our own view of what a given action will do. So both the reader and the protagonist will be waiting to see what happens. But who gets the news first? The reader. So whatever is said or done in response to the protagonist comes to the reader for their reaction first. Done well, if someone throws a punch at the protagonist the reader will duck. Receive stunning news and the reader’s jaw will drop open. And it’s for that, that we read fiction. We don’t want to learn that the protagonist is angry. We want the action to make US angry, or horny, or frightened. We want the writing to make us care, not know.

So…what I’ve given you is kind of like trying to take a sip from a firehose, right? A LOT more than you expected…or wanted. But every successful writer faced this and bounced back. So why not you? Because as I said at the start, it’s fixable.

Let’s take a quick look at a few lines as a reader, who has none of your fore-knowledge, to see what I’ve been talking about in action:

• “Is that the boy, then?”

You read these words and an image of the scribal High Secretary appears in the proper setting, dress, and expression. But for a reader those words also fit an assassin verifying his target, a baby seller inspecting a promised child, plus a million other possibilities. So for that reader, the line is literally meaningless at this point. And clarification later can’t retroactively remove that, “Huh?”

• Rovan’s mother nodded, her hand behind his back. He kept his arms at his sides, as he had been instructed, staring down at the muddy ground and attempting to ignore the rain.

So a woman of unknown age nodded, her hand in an unknown position behind the boys back for unknown reason. It must be important, though, since it was included. It must also be important that he hold his arms at his side. But...while the mother knows, the boy knows, and the secretary knows, the one this was written for, the reader, has no clue. Nor can they tell who is the protagonist yet. If it’s him, shouldn’t we be in his viewpoint, and noticing what matters to him. Instead of hearing that Mom’s hand is on his back, shouldn’t we know if he views that as comforting or warning not to screw up? There’s where your story lies. It’s not in the sequence of events, but in the heart, the aspirations and the sorrows of that boy. Is he frightened or proud. That matters if he’s to be our avatar.

For an idea of how deeply the protagonist’s viewpoint influences the reader perception of the story, try this article:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

My point is that here we are at the end of the second paragraph, and your perception of what’s going on—athe view you intend the reader to have—and what they actually get, have diverged dramatically.

So the solution? It's absolute simplicity: Add a few of the skills the pros take for granted. They’re waiting in the fiction-writing section of your local library. There, you’ll find the views pros pros in writing, publishing and teaching.

Unfortunately, simple and easy aren’t interchangeable words. And you will be learning the skills of a profession. But that’s true of pretty much anything worth learning. And every successful writer handles it. True, it does mean you won’t be a rich and famous writer by Christmas, but on the other hand, I’m betting that you’ll find the learning fun, like going backstage at the theater. I also predict that you’ll spend a lot of time saying, “But that’s so…it’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see it myself?” I certainly did.

Given where you stand, my suggestion is that you pick up a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s an older book, one that talks of your typewriter. And like so many men of his time he assumes that the serious writer is male. And, the pages he devotes to research could be replaced by, “Use Google…a lot.” But that aside, it is by far, the best book on the basics of writing fiction I’ve found. He won’t make a pro of you. That’s your job. He will, though, give you the tools and the knowledge of using them to do it with, if it’s in you.

One thing he doesn’t mention, which should be on the first page of every book on fiction writing is E. L. Doctorow’s observation of: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.” It’s the thing we all miss.

So dig in. And for a kind of overview of the field, you might dig around in the articles in my writing blog. Most are based on the views of Dwight Swain. But whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing. If nothing else, it keeps us off the streets at night.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[ScryingScribe]

Hi JayG,

Thank you for the extensive feedback, it's much appreciated! I'm digging into the kernel of this, because my brain is of limited capacity and likes singular things. But as I get it, it's about getting under the skin of the character and have the reader experience the story through the character, rather than around them. Would you agree?

I can certainly see that and have known for some time that my writing can suffer a severe lack of emotional connection to the main character. I will certainly take this to heart and work that into my editions as much as I can. As well as provide more context when possible.

And yes, I'm certainly gonna keep at it, even though I'm doubtful of my skills. It has taken me a long while to get at this point and I have no doubt it'll take just as long getting better, unfortunately. As you say, it's a better activity than causing mayhem on the streets and going nuts (which I definitely would otherwise) (kidding!)