First Line Critique

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

Heya writerly types! I had an idea recently for a thread for us writers who are working on the first lines and early hooks in our novels. Basically I think it would be cool to have this thread be a place where we can get real reader feedback on the beginnings of our novels. In this day and age I think it is important to hook a reader early and keep them hooked so hopefully this will be helpful.

The way I envision this working is that a writer posts the first line of their novel, followed by the first paragraph and first scene in spoiler tags. If a reader likes the first line and wants to keep reading they can open the spoiler tag for the next paragraph and so on, then they can give some overall feedback to the writer. It would be good to get honest feedback about whether our first lines/paragraphs are hooking readers so even if you don't like it, try to give honest and polite feedback to help us improve. It can be nerve-wracking for us writerly types to put our work on the line for potentially harsh feedback, so please be gentle. 

 

I'll go first. This is from my current work in progress, tentatively titled "The Whistler", my attempt at a fantasy/crime thriller:

Dorian mopped up his brothers’ blood in silence.

Spoiler

It coated nearly every surface of the Hall, sticky and stinking, too much of it to dry properly even in the stifling heat. The hundreds of flies that Dorian had trapped inside the building when he had arrived two days earlier were falling dead, their impure buzzing joining his silence. They had gorged themselves to death on rotting flesh. It wouldn’t have been difficult.

Spoiler

Dorian bent and pulled a rotting finger from the stone floor. It resisted a moment until the clinging blood released it. He couldn’t recognise whose it was. That was probably a good thing. He crossed the room and tossed it onto the pile with the rest of the pieces he had found. He had been able to recognise who some of those pieces had belonged to. Too many pieces from too many people. The entire congregation, he thought. Dreaded. Only those who hadn’t attended – himself, others working across the desert in Cairahem – would have escaped this.
    How could this happen? Dorian wondered for what must have been the thousandth time. It had seemed like the congregation had been forced through a shredder, their remains flung wildly around the hall. Not even a hoarl could cause this much slaughter, and a hoarl would never make it into the heart of Bedouin.
    A Whistler had caused this. One of Dorian’s own brothers.
    The betrayal stung, even though Dorian hadn’t spent a lot of time with his brothers these past few years. It wasn’t uncommon for members of the Order of Whistlers to fight – they were brothers after all – but a massacre on this scale? Usually disputes were simply settled with duels.
    Dorian didn’t know who had committed the crime yet – one of the few Whistler’s absent from the pile of flesh in the corner. But it would be his duty to track them down and bring them to justice once he had finished cleaning up the Hall.
    The congregation is gone, a thought intruded. I don’t have to do anything. The Order is gone. There will be too few to rebuild it. I can’t rebuild it. But what would I be without it?
    Just an ordinary vigilante. No better.
    Dorian swirled the mop around in the bucket at his feet. Red exploded into the water as blood rinsed out of the mop. It was impossible to keep it clean. Impossible to clean up all this blood. All the mops and buckets in the world could not do it.
    Arrgh! Dorian threw the mop across the room. Red water sprayed from it and it hit the far wall with a wet smack before clattering to the floor. The mark it left on the wall wasn’t even noticeable through all the others. He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe slowly. Calmly. But all the air was fetid and made him want to choke.
    I need to get out of here. Again. Will I never finish this? He lifted the bucket and staggered to the locked front door of the Hall. He unlatched it and pulled it inwards. Bright sunlight and several more flies rushed inside. Dorian scrunched up his eyes and stepped out.
    Into fresh air.
    It was mid-afternoon and the air was as clear as the purest harmonic, banishing the malodorous air from his lungs, lifting the shadow of death from his senses. Dorian gasped. Though it was hot outside, the air passing through his teeth, washing over his tongue and caressing his larynx, felt cool. He felt clean and wanted to Whistle with joy, but he knew he could not. Whistling was not a power to use lightly.
    Dorian stepped down from the Hall’s entrance and into Bedouin’s main square. This end of the square was mostly empty of people. With good reason. There was a massive patch of damp, bloody sand in front of the Hall of the Whistlers, swarming with hundreds of flies. Dorian stepped over to it and upended the bucket of bloody water on top, smothering flies and staining the sand an even darker red. The flies that avoided the flood buzzed angrily as they took to the air, swirling around to settle in a different spot on the sand. Some flew over to investigate Dorian, their individual buzzing becoming more distinct to his ears. Their pitches rose and fell as they circled around his head or landed on his bloody robes, creating curious harmonies between each other. Closely clustered chords with no function or meaning, but still hitting a few pleasant resonances.
    Dorian waved the flies away and circled around the bloody patch of sand, heading towards the well at the centre of the square. The line of people waiting to draw from the well was long, as always; but Dorian could bypass it. He was a Whistler after all. But perhaps it would be nice to just stand out here for a while amongst the living?
    No. I’ve got a job to do. No one else will clean the Hall. No one else will see my brothers entombed. He would have to find a way to move the bodies out of the Hall. But he would never figure out which pieces belonged to which Whistler. They would all have to be entombed together. There wasn’t even enough left of anyone for it to be worth embalming them. Perhaps he should just burn them instead. Why should there be any respect for the Whistlers if the Order of Whistlers was no more?
    Dorian cut to the front of the line. The people shied away from him, scrunching up their noses; though some did make half-hearted gestures of respect, touching their thumbs to their chests and then their lips. Even though Dorian wasn’t wearing his badge – he hadn’t since discovering the dead – these people had seen him come out of the hall. They knew who and what he was.
    As he drew water from the well, Dorian watched the other end of the square. A large platform had been built, upon which stood several young men each taking turns to speak. Debating. A crowd surrounded the platform, hanging on every word, cheering comments they liked and jeering at anything they disagreed with.
    They were electing a Messiah. A prophesised saviour.
    Do we really need one? Dorian wondered. The state of affairs in the Two Cities and the desert separating them were as bad as they ever were. No worse. No better. None of the problems were large enough that the law could not handle them, as it always had. Yet these people insisted on repeatedly electing Messiah’s, despite the fact that all their previous Messiah’s kept dying or going insane. He knew the prophecy said the Messiah would be ‘of the people, and chosen by the people’, but did that have to be interpreted so literally?
    Although, with the Order of Whistlers gone, perhaps the law would have a harder time dealing with problems now. Dorian still failed to see how a scrawny teen would be any better though.
    With his bucket refilled with fresh, clean water, Dorian returned to the Hall. To the blood and death. He continued to clean for two more days. 

 

There you go. Thanks for reading, if you did. I look forward to some feedback.

All you other writerly types, don't be shy about contributing! I hope this thread will be a helpful tool to all of us. 

[Yezrien]

@Kureshi Ironclaw,

At a glance, I'd say this is well-written and interesting. I'm intrigued by this setting and I'd like to see more of it. By way of feedback, I have three notes.

• Nothing really happens in the scene. There's a lot of thought and exposition, but no event. Nothing changes or propels the story much, although it does feel like you're building to something. I get the feeling the next scene is where the story really starts.
• I'm a little lost vis-a-vis Dorian's motivation. Why is he cleaning up the blood? What exactly does he hope to accomplish?
• Watch those unnecessary apostrophes! You have quite a few plurals that look like singular possessives.

I like the idea of this thread. I'm going to look through all my unfinished novels and see if there are any first scenes that look decent enough to post.

[Nathrangking]

So this is is a Scifi/fantasy that I have sitting on a back burner for the moment. It is called The Gate of the Horde.

The iron gray clouds pour forth with an icy deluge that is keeping the city of Chicago indoors.

Spoiler

This storm had been classified by many as the type of storm that comes once in the lifetime. The winds gust at near hurricane force winds, these are keeping the whole of the city in a state of virtual lockdown. It is a veritable light show with lightning strikes happening at an unheard of rate. If one was religious one might call this an act of divine anger but none who are indoors take this into consideration.

Spoiler

To say that the entire city was inside perhaps is not true if one takes into account the figure that appears on the side of the road on Chicago’s I-ninety express lane. A flash of lightning reveals a middle aged man whose mode of dress is ripped out of the pages of ancient history. He wears a tattered length of woolen cloth dyed deep purple as kings would wear. It is held at the waist by a belt of leather and at the shoulder by a simple clasp of bronze. He staggers about under the brutal winds and collapses on the ground with little strength at all remaining in his body. Lucky for him he is not alone in the cold for a blur can be seen streaking moving above the highway towards him.

A vehicle of opaque turquoise crystal come to a hovering halt next to the figure upon the road. Its shape is that of a dodecahedron six feet high by seven feet wide by fifteen feet deep. The moment it is almost parallel to the body the seemingly seamless crystal on the face closest to the unmoving man splits along the middle and a staircase appears. These stairs are made of the same crystal as the vehicle, this stairway shapes itself into a path to the body. A figure wearing a metallic skin tight suit and helmet descends from the craft. With little expenditure of effort, he lifts the body from the ground and holds him with his body draped over his shoulder. With a single thought a blinding silvery glow envelopes the figure in the suit. The halo of light disperses in moments and both the figure and the body are gone. Before the light can fully fade the vehicle sets off in motion deeper into the city of Chicago.

         The figure in the suit sets down the man who at this point is breathing shallowly and turns his back to him so here can check the route they are using to arrive at his home. After checking this he turns back to the scantily clad figure and and removes his helmet. His pale blue eyes take in everything and they miss nothing about his passenger. He sees that his passenger is in truly dire straits, with a thought he coaxes more speed out of his already overtaxed ionized particle converters. When the suited man looks at his injured passenger his suit scans him, and sends him a cortical warning that the passenger is at risk for hypothermia and possible frostbite. The passenger is muttering to himself and shaking mildly, only one word is comprehensible among the many tumbling from his lips.  

The Chrysabastaga moves swiftly through the city, the effects of its movement are virtually unfelt by those within it. Even the fastest gusts of the nearly hurricane force wind are subdued throughout the journey.  Suddenly the Chrysabastaga shudders to a stop as it passes through the entrance of the chamber in which it is housed.

       When the energy manipulation cores in the engine go offline and the chrysabastaga comes to a complete stop one of the crystal faces splits down the middle. The suited man climbs down the ladder that is there a moment later with his now patient slung over his right shoulder once again. “Photonize” the figure whispers in his rich baritone of a voice when he arrives at the bottom of the ladder. He and his patient instantaneously fragment and splinter like the shattering of a mirror and moments later appear whole within the next room. This chamber is a relative furnace when compared to the icy maelstrom outside. This warmer atmosphere immediately begins to bring up the sick man’s temperature but his muttering continues.

         As soon as they appear the man in the suit places the sick man on a couch. The couch that the sick man lies on is a couch with heavy cushions of turquoise silk which almost seems to envelope him completely. His eyes begin to flutter open as his body temperature begins to approach something resembling normal. His muttering becomes louder but still only one word is clear, it appears to be a name that resonates throughout the room.  “Sisyphus” this is the word that has been said and which fills the air with an intangible sense of solitude.

               This name triggers an involuntary shudder that forces the figure to sit down on a nearby crystal chair. He does not remember the significance of that name but it hits him hard and shocks him without abandon. There is little time for him to consider this name however. For the next moment for the first time in nearly fifty years all of the lights and power in the state suddenly go out. All of the fear and cold that the darkness causes closes in on the city and everyone else who is caught in this shadowy net. All fall into the depths of the darkness as the storm of all millenniums rages on.

 

 

[Zath]

 

@Nathrangking Cool story idea!  Here's my reaction, for what it's worth:

1. Your first line didn't really stand out to me.  "It was a dark and stormy night", basically.  Okay, it's stormy, we're in Chicago... so what?  It didn't raise any questions for me that I wanted to find the answers to by reading further. 
2. By contrast, your next paragraph did hook me.  That paragraph made me think hmm, something is up with this storm... what's going on?  IMO, with a bit of tweaking these two lines in particular might work better as your first line: "This storm had been classified by many as the type of storm that comes once in a lifetime." or "If one was religious one might call this an act of divine anger but none who are indoors take this into consideration."   
3. I especially liked the mental image of a man in a toga staggering along a highway during a hurricane-level storm, while everyone else is taking shelter indoors. Very dramatic, and piques my curiosity.
4. I found parts of the rest of your story a bit hard to follow, though that may just be because I'm not used to a third-person, present-tense, kinda-omniscient(?) narrative style.  I think a bit of editing/polishing -- adding a bit of description here, removing a bit there, etc -- could fix this easily. (If you'd like to know exactly what I found issue with, I can send you a PM.  It's mostly just small, nitpicky things).  Once I could picture the scene in my mind, I was intrigued -- it just took me longer to picture it than a single read-through.
5. One pretty big question that I was confused about: is all of Chicago (and the world) at the same level of technology as the guy with the Chrysabastaga?  Or is Chrysabastaga guy an anomaly?  I can't tell if the setting is modern-day Earth or sometime in the future.

Overall, great opening scene!  It's got a lot of potential. 
 

@Kureshi Ironclaw Loved it. 

1. Your first line is an incredible hook, I wouldn't change a thing about it.
2. Reading through the rest of it, I got the sense of a well-thought-out world and a compelling plot to go with it.  I felt like your writing style was smooth and easy to follow, as well.
3. I second Belzedar's feedback; it feels like you're building up to the scene that really kicks off the story.  However, you've raised so many intriguing questions with this exposition scene that if I had the rest of the story available, you can bet I'd be reading on to find out just what it is you're building up to.  I was hooked, so this scene served its purpose perfectly as far as I'm concerned.

Keep writing this story!  It sounds awesome.

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

Thanks for contributing, @Nathrangking!  What you've written is very dramatic and has a lot of cool imagery to set the tone of your story. Unfortunately, my personal taste is to be put deep into a character's head as soon as possible in a story so I probably wouldn't have continued reading this after the first or second paragraph if I picked it up in a bookstore. That's just my personal gripe with omniscient perspectives though. What you are doing is fine; there are plenty of good scifi/fantasy books that start out with omniscient perspectives like Wheel of Time and Name of the Wind. I think the thing that makes this sort of introduction work really well is to have gripping prose that is clear and powerful. So I would say that my advice for you is that your ideas are great and the opening is dramatically appealing, you just need to tighten up your language to push it to that next level.

There's a lot of potential there. I hope you can make it awesome!

[Jehoiada]

@Kureshi Ironclaw

So I think it's a cool concept and you did great the obvious problems have already been stated but to me there's one big issue that I had and it was this....

Ok so here's the deal, I'm assuming the main character is cleaning the blood, but, he's cleaning the blood, why would he be cleaning the blood if he was part of an elete force? Why would he be tasked with a dirty job if later he is supposed to be given this great task of finding out who killed everyone? 

Other than that I thought it was great, I have some suggestions if you want to hear them. I've been theorizing on a book, but have nothing super solid but I'll try to post it on here asap.

 

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

@Jehoiada

Thanks for the feedback. You make a good point. I didn't really make it clear why Dorian was cleaning the blood personally, I really just assumed the reader would go along with it. The simplest explanation is that Dorian is the person who most wanted to do it and he arrived at the hall before anyone else bothered to organise a cleanup. The scene after this one shows a bit more of the relationship between the Whistlers, the government, and the general public, which gives more context to this, but it's still probably just a bit of hand-wavium on my part. I'll work on it.

[StrikerEZ]

This is from a book I'm calling The Divinity Plot. It's a bit of a detective story mixed with epic fantasy. It's a really fun story, I just need to write it.

Sakeem stood over the dead body of a god.

Spoiler

The figure looked peaceful, as if she were merely asleep and could wake up at any moment. Sakeem didn't consider himself particularly religious, especially compared to others in Raanira, but the sleeping goddess didn't look very divine. Her features were simple: dark brown eyes, medium length curly hair, and a slightly rounded face. She was obviously not a light sleeper as her hair was in a mess around her head and she was sprawled across the bed in an undignified way. If Sakeem had seen this woman in the market, he wouldn't have been able to tell she'd been a goddess.

Spoiler

“Well?” Fehl asked across the bed from Sakeem. He simply nodded, ignoring the Councilwoman’s incessant foot tapping. It amused him that, even after all this time, she was still impatient as ever.

    When Sakeem had read Fehl’s letter asking him to come to the Maladahn, the ancient sanctuary of the gods in the capitol, he had assumed the “assistance in solving a crime” she had requested would be something along the lines of stopping a serial killer or a thief, possibly even both. He hadn't expected the death of a god, or in this case a goddess. Still, he had come here as an old friend, not as hired help. He would not let Fehl boss him around.

    As Sakeem finished his examination, his initial suspicions were confirmed. The body appeared to be completely unharmed. There were no stab wounds, which ruled out direct assassination; the neck had no markings that would suggest strangulation; a lack of liquid around the mouth ruled out asphyxiation; her stomach was unblemished, which made it unlikely there was any internal hemorrhaging due to physical trauma; and, with his limited knowledge of poisonous effects, he concluded that she likely wasn't poisoned either. The results of the autopsy would be more accurate than his quick examination, but it was good enough for now. The goddess appeared to have died without taking any bodily harm, as if she had simply passed away in her sleep.

    Sakeem turned around, but he wasn't quite sure how to explain the sudden death of a goddess to the woman. Fehl was far more progressive than other members of the Church, but still very religious. As he looked into her eyes, he could tell she was hoping the goddess was still alive.
     “Fehl, I can't figure out the cause of death,” he whispered, “but she is in fact dead.” She opened her mouth to protest, probably to use her rank-that he couldn't care less about-to order him to look harder, but he cut her off. "Now," he continued, holding up his finger to keep her quiet, "I know what kinds of questions this brings to mind, because I'm asking them myself. How did the goddess die so...easily?” He paused, considering what to say next. “More importantly, how did an entire pantheon simply get snuffed out so quickly without any blood?”
     Fehl gasped while looking away and didn't answer, but Sakeem knew that he wouldn't have to go check the rest of the gods’ bodies to see if they had died too. He already knew what he'd find.
     “Gods have died before, you know,” Fehl finally said. “But never like this.”
     Sakeem nodded; it was not impossible for a god to die, but it was quite uncommon. He'd heard legends that, sometimes, a god would grow tired of ruling over a country and could gift their power to someone else, killing themselves in the process. There were even stories of god's killing other gods in combat, which occasionally happened during wars with other pantheons. However, that was rare and almost impossible considering how powerful the gods were and the fact that the gods could simply heal from most mortal wounds. The last time two pantheons had fought, only a couple gods had died. Even then, that war had lasted years before the death of the gods had ended it.
     He almost considered the possibility that all of the gods had simply decided to gift away their powers, but that wouldn't make sense. Who would they have given them to? Surely those people would've taken control of the pantheon by now. Plus, the rise of new gods was uncommon enough already-the sudden appearance of a entire pantheon of gods ascending would certainly cause quite a stir in the newspapers.
    Sakeem shook his head. There were so many things he didn't understand about this situation and he was expected to solve it somehow. There had been a few cases he had never been able to solve during his career of course, but there was possibly an entire nation depending on him solving this case. He simply didn't have the option of failing this time.
     A rather loud sigh echoed throughout the chamber, breaking him from his thoughts, followed by, "As interesting as it is to watch you pace and mutter to yourself like an idiot, I need answers, and I need them preferably before anyone else finds out, or you just might lose your head."
    Sakeem would've rolled his eyes at her threat, but the gravity of the situation was evident so he tried to form a coherent sentence about what he was seeing, but all that came out was, "This is probably the most ridiculously difficult case I have ever laid my eyes on.
     "Not only is this thoroughly supernatural, there's nothing for me to work with. You said it yourself that this has never happened before, and there's no evidence anywhere! Right?” Fehl nodded, so Sakeem continued. “No weapons, no dead enemies, no witnesses, no trace of an intruder, no threatening messages written in the gods’ blood, nothing - nothing concrete that I can wor-" He paused, mid-rant, running his hands exasperated through his hair, the gears in his skull attempting to comprehend the situation he had been thrust into.
     As much as he wanted to ignore Fehl's threat, he knew there was truth in her words. His career, no, his life was on the line if he took the case. He glanced at Fehl, and noticed that she wasn't glowering at him anymore. She was looking down at the dead goddess, a storm brewing behind her eyes. Sakeem inhaled carefully, aware of just how terrifying the woman in front of him could be when her buttons were pressed.
     “Fehl, there's only so much I can do.” Sakeem treaded carefully. He had never turned down a case, but he was no Gifted. He was good at his job, that was no question, but there was nothing

particularly special about how he solved his cases. This case would probably be the most dangerous case he'd ever worked on, and he’d almost died more times than he could count.

    “I came here as a favor to you,” Sakeem said, “but this is no small thing. This is the biggest event since the turn of the millenium, and if I were you, I would start searching for a large group of new gods to rule Raanira and an even larger group of public pacifiers.” Fehl’s glare hardened but he could tell that she understood what he was saying. Her brow loosened and he held his breath.
     For a moment, Sakeem had an inkling of hope that Fehl might simply let him go. Then she lifted her head again and gave him her stare, the one he had never quite grown fond of in their many years together. One might say that he loathed it even; it had only ever meant bad things for him. He realized he was still holding his breath.
     “Do you really think I don't know how insane this is?” Fehl’s voice was soft, the volume low. She had never been prone to yelling, but Sakeem found that she was even more frightening when she didn’t raise her voice. She pierced his eyes with her own as she spoke, adding to the frightening aspect. “I called you here hoping that you would be able to help me. You. Of all people. Does that not tell you how desperate I am? This whole situation is already bad enough as is, but do you know much trouble I could get in for bringing you here? I could be expelled from the Council, maybe even from the Church, but-”
     "Wait, what do you mean, you could be expelled?" Sakeem interrupted, shocked. "You didn't notify the council that you called me here?" He couldn't believe it. Sakeem's anger set in and he raised his voice. "You put my life at risk so you could keep your job?"
     Fehl finally broke the eye contact she had been maintaining. Even with her eyes downcast, he could still read her expression. No longer was she the stone cold Councilwoman from a moment before. She was now simply a woman who feared for her life. It was just Fehl, the woman he had loved in his youth. Position, rank, title; all stripped away. Just as quickly as it had crumbled, however, Sakeem watched as the facade of the Councilwoman crept back, Fehl slowly recomposing herself. When she had straightened again, her face was devoid of any emotion.
     “I don't think I really need to explain to you just how long the Council has been vying to dismantle the Church. They already know of the situation, and I'm sure several of them simply want to further their own political agendas by using this incident to their own advantage. But, they are aware, however, of the uproar this will cause with the public, what with how devout Raanira is, and I think they’re scared of it. They want me to find the culprit to prevent the public from rioting over this news.
     “They think I can't do it,” she said after a slight pause. Her facade rippled for a moment, giving him a glimpse of her other side. “They think because I don't have their resources, their connections, their experience that I won't be able to catch the bastard that did...that did this.” She waved an angry hand towards the body of the dead goddess.

    “But I only need one connection.” Her eyes once again settled on his and he could see her resolve harden. “You're the only one in this damnation country I can trust with a secret this big,

Sakeem. The only one. We’ve faced worse than this with just the two of us. I know we can do this. But I need you to trust me as much as I'm trusting you right now.” She reached out her fist to Sakeem, her elbow pointing downward. Her forearm was in good reach and he knew what she meant.
     The stakes were high. Almost too high. And Sakeem knew that Fehl had no problem gambling with terrible odds, even if it meant putting his life on the line too. He should've been hurt, maybe even a little offended, but he couldn't find it in him to feel that way. He trusted Fehl, and he was willing to follow her into the fire, just as he had been willing to when they were together.
     “Also, the pay’s pretty good,” she added with a rare smile.
     Sakeem couldn't help but laugh; it was rare for Fehl to even smile, nonetheless crack a joke. He raised his fist and bumped their forearms together. He had sealed the promise, even though a part of him was screaming at him to turn and run as far away as he could. She nodded, her smile still plastered to her face. She had definitely won this fight, but Sakeem knew there were many more ahead for the both of them. He couldn't decide if this was the best or worst decision of his life.

   “It better be.”

 

@Kureshi Ironclaw Your story seems very interesting, but, as others have mentioned, nothing really happens in that first chapter, though I can tell you're building up to the big scene in the next chapter. If you haven't listened to Writing Excuses, they say this a lot in there: start early, leave early. You want to start each scene write before the action starts and right before it gets boring. You could probably keep up the cleaning scene in the first chapter if you get to the big event you're building up to sooner.

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

@StrikerEZ thanks for the feedback!

Your first line is awesome, immediately grabbed my attention. The idea you've got here is really cool. The second paragraph pulled a bit of the momentum out for me and the writing makes it read like the goddess is actually asleep, which was confusing for me. It doesn't feel like it is super clear in the text why a whole pantheon of gods dying is immensely terrible; there isn't really an explanation of how this impacts the setting, and the flippant references to replacing the gods with new ones takes out the drama of the pantheon's death for me. There doesn't feel like there is much of a reason to care that the gods are dead if new ones can be rounded up seemingly pretty easily. That being said, I love the premise of a detective story where the detective is trying to solve the death of an entire pantheon of gods -- it feels really original to me.

I'm excited to see where you take this story. Nice work!

[Zath]

@StrikerEZ Great hook! I was pulled right in.  

My reaction was similar to Kureshi Ironclaw's.  I like the concept you have going here, very interesting!  

I'm also a little confused as to why the death of the pantheon is such a big deal.  After giving it some thought, I'm thinking it's because their divine powers are missing entirely (i.e. no new gods have shown up to replace the dead ones), thus leaving the people without deities to lead them and their Church?  It's not clear in the story, though, so I'm not certain. 

Physical description was kinda light (as in almost non-existent) so I have no idea what Sakeem and Fehl look like or what their surroundings are like.  

I loved the character development!  I felt like I got a good sense of Sakeem and Fehl's personalities, just in this short prologue!  Great job!

Overall, well done! I really enjoyed reading it.

[Kaj]

Does a disclaimer work as a first paragraph?

Spoiler

Disclaimer: This book is told from multiple first-person perspectives. They will often switch and sometimes without warning. If you cannot handle voices in your head please do not read on. This book is fantasy, contains minor adult content, and requires the use of an imagination. If you cannot handle any of these, I repeat my previous statement. Please do not read on. (The prologue is told in third person.)

Spoiler

Prologue

I watched the worlds. Out here I could see everything. He was getting closer to his goal. He moved them like pawns. The only value he saw was the value of the power the they held. He didn’t care for the individual, nor for the bond which they each had. The souls of those he killed appeared on this side in a flash. I sighed, multiplying and sending my duplicates to talk to them for the time before they moved on. On Earth, his minion was approaching my child. On Terra, my child, newly orphaned, was running to Guidance. Gravity was following him protectively. Poor children. I thought. I need to help them. It was time to intervene. Something I tried to avoid.

Spoiler

It was dark. Kilo was alone. His parents had died three years ago. Murdered in the night. He was sent to a foster home, but the kids made one thing clear. He would never fit in.

Since then he had been running. Always moving. Never stopping. Whenever he stopped weird things would happen. Like just recently when running from some robbers, he ran straight through a six foot thick glass wall (though his clothes didn’t follow). And the time before that, he had surrounded by a gang. He struggled to see that he was still sane after this incident. He fought them all separately, yet at the same time. Disorienting as it was for him, they were just as confused, then unconscious.

Things happened, in the meantime. He had started to learn things. Recently, he realized that those weird things that happened were caused by him, and he was going to find out why. He had heard that some people have special abilities, so tonight he would meet someone to help him understand how to feel and use his abilities.

I shouldn’t trust him. He thought. He hid in the darkness waiting. I need an escape route. He scanned the area. The street to the left was clear. The dumpster provided a good visual and hiding spot. The blend of soup, fat, grease, and alcohol constricted his throat though. The silhouette of a man shrouded in an old cloak marked the man he was to meet. They were the gifted, the hidden gods. Kilo crawled out of the dumpster.

"Are you Kilo?” The man asked. Kilo noded. “First drink this,” he insisted. Kilo took the liquid as if trying to decide if it’s worth it. Making up his mind, he drinks it. Whoah. He blinks. In front of Kilo a boy stood. Looking like he was going to do something. Kilo reached and touched the shoulder of the other boy. Both boys collapse.

"Uh-oh, that was not supposed to happen.” 

---

 

Andy ran. There was nothing left for him. All the work for his parents to hide him was in vain. They eventually found and killed them. He had narrowly escaped. He ran past the border of Silver Forests. The border mattered no more. He was done. He was almost to the river. Why? He asked himself. It was my fault. He thought. If I had stayed quiet they wouldn’t have taken them. If only I could control the nightmares. The nightmares. They scared him. Horrible torture devices. They burned him in the night. The worst part was whatever injury he had in the nightmare, would be there in the morning. He’d been burned, arms dislocated, frostbite, skin rashes. And some much more painful ones.

He approached the river. It was glowing. Perfect. He thought. There will be no trace left of me. Not that anyone would care. He had no friends, his parents were dead. There was nothing left for him. Gravity is too dangerous anyway. It was true. He looked at the symbol on the inside of his wrist. Lines curving in arcs from all directions towards the point in the middle. They had this effect of drawing the observer in. Just like Gravity.  He had already discovered his ability. It was uncontrollable. It usually resulted with him sprawled on the ceiling. One time he had ventured out of the house when this happened. That was a disaster. He had flown up to the top of the atmosphere and was standing on the dome of the sky. The planet between the sky. The planet was huge! And then he fell. Down became down again. Smacking the water at a speed that should have killed him. Again, his gravity saved him. Internally holding him together. He had lost a couple fingers and a foot, smashed, but they had regrown. His dad had passed that trait on to him. It had only made the nightmares worse when he had discovered this. That had only been a year ago when he flew. He had tried to control it but he couldn’t. He was done. He was a nobody, no one cared about him.

He was about to jump, when a hand lighted on his shoulder. He collapsed, paralyzed. He couldn’t move. There was just blackness. Well, that’s one way to go. He thought. Then he blacked out.

 

 

 

7

2

 

 

Edited May 24, 2018 by Kaj

[StrikerEZ]

On 5/23/2018 at 5:12 AM, Kureshi Ironclaw said:

@StrikerEZ thanks for the feedback!

Your first line is awesome, immediately grabbed my attention. The idea you've got here is really cool. The second paragraph pulled a bit of the momentum out for me and the writing makes it read like the goddess is actually asleep, which was confusing for me. It doesn't feel like it is super clear in the text why a whole pantheon of gods dying is immensely terrible; there isn't really an explanation of how this impacts the setting, and the flippant references to replacing the gods with new ones takes out the drama of the pantheon's death for me. There doesn't feel like there is much of a reason to care that the gods are dead if new ones can be rounded up seemingly pretty easily. That being said, I love the premise of a detective story where the detective is trying to solve the death of an entire pantheon of gods -- it feels really original to me.

I'm excited to see where you take this story. Nice work!

 

On 5/23/2018 at 5:24 PM, Zath said:

@StrikerEZ Great hook! I was pulled right in.  

My reaction was similar to Kureshi Ironclaw's.  I like the concept you have going here, very interesting!  

I'm also a little confused as to why the death of the pantheon is such a big deal.  After giving it some thought, I'm thinking it's because their divine powers are missing entirely (i.e. no new gods have shown up to replace the dead ones), thus leaving the people without deities to lead them and their Church?  It's not clear in the story, though, so I'm not certain. 

Physical description was kinda light (as in almost non-existent) so I have no idea what Sakeem and Fehl look like or what their surroundings are like.  

I loved the character development!  I felt like I got a good sense of Sakeem and Fehl's personalities, just in this short prologue!  Great job!

Overall, well done! I really enjoyed reading it.

Wow, thank you guys so much for the feedback! I hadn't even thought of how me mentioning the possible ascension of new gods would affect the impact of the gods' deaths. I should also decide what Sakeem and Fehl look like so I could actually add physical descriptions lol.

[Zath]

3 hours ago, StrikerEZ said:

I should also decide what Sakeem and Fehl look like so I could actually add physical descriptions lol.

 Just maybe, if you feel like it. 

 

@Kaj Interesting intro!  Here's a few things that stood out to me.

(If you're counting the disclaimer as part of your story): The "if you cannot handle voices in your head, please do not read on" part of your disclaimer was great!  A touch of dark humor, perhaps a bit of ominous foreshadowing... 

In contrast, the rest of the disclaimer felt kind of off-putting, and this part, "...requires the use of an imagination.  If you cannot handle any of these..." even felt a little antagonistic / manipulative.  I was like, are you saying if I don't like your story, I don't have an imagination? Rude!  I realize that's probably not what you were trying to say,  but if you're going to keep the disclaimer then I would rephrase it in a way that won't get the reader's hackles up.  (Or write the disclaimer in the voice of a character who would want to antagonize the reader)   ...Maybe I'm just being overly sensitive here, so take this criticism with a grain of salt. 

"I watched the worlds" is a good first line.  Thumbs up!

Kilo's intro... When you were describing his background (orphan, parents murdered, weird stuff happening recently), I would've liked a "show, don't tell" approach.  In fact, I think I'd prefer to not know some of that stuff until you can devote a flashback to it, so I can experience it as Kilo did.  As it is now, I find it hard to truly care about Kilo's situation.  I mean, yeah, I know things are tough for him, but I don't really feel it.  You get what I'm saying?  

Andy's intro was better at showing rather than telling me what he's been going through.  Very chilling, actually. Good job!  

Overall, fascinating prologue.  Well done! 

[Kaj]

Thanks. I'll take that into consideration. I wrote Kilo's part in 4th grade. It will definitely change. I actually have a post that includes the first portion of the first chapter. The rest of what is written is under rewrite (The reason I haven't rewritten Kilo's section). I am extremely grateful for the feedback.

[Showman]

 

This is my first line in my book, but the big problem is that the action happens in the 4th line.

 

Miles Lavisan stood in his doorway, looking at the cloaked stranger standing on his doorstep. The stranger stood barely shorter than him, about six feet tall, but carried himself imposingly. Although Miles knew he was on treaty with the man, he kept his guard up, trying to be ready for anything.

 

 

 

 

“Miles, right?” The stranger spoke in a raspy voice, barely audible.

“Correct”

With no warning, the stranger whipped his sword out of its hidden sheath, throwing a powerful blow toward Miles. Miles ducked the blow, sidestepped, and ripped his own sword out of his own padded sheath with no noise at all.

He directed the fight away from his house, onto his yard, where neither man had an advantage. The two dodged, slashed and stabbed in a fury, each fighting for an advantage.

Even as he fought as hard as he ever had, Miles was not extremely worried. If this was not simply a test to identify him, he was already dead, no matter how many ‘best swordsman’ awards he had won. He was clearly outmatched.

In a strike with much more power than he had ever felt in any other duel, his grip slipped and his sword clattered onto the sidewalk twenty feet away. He felt cold metal against his throat.

“Well, I’m satisfied,” the figure standing over him said, not in a raspy voice, but in one as clear as any other person he had heard. The sword was lifted from Miles’s throat and he was helped up by the stranger. Miles lead the stranger into his house, and into his bedroom where they sat down. His wife was calming his crying child, Niloc, who was barely two months old, in the room across the hallway.

Miles closed the door behind him and invited the stranger to take a seat at his desk while he sat on his bed. The stranger lifted his hood. He looked to be about twenty years old, with a trimmed beard and messy hair.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miles,” the man said, offering a hand. “I’m Adrian, and you already know the rest about me.”

Miles shook the hand, returning the firm hold. Adrian’s hands were weathered from years of swordsmanship.

“You came to speak to me,” Miles said, prompting Adrian to elaborate.

“Yes. I’m assuming you know about the upcoming war.” He was answered with a grim nod. “I came to give you information about what to expect. You obviously know you will have to lead the Wolves to war.” Another nod. “I recognize that this will be no easy, or simple task, and I will be here to aid you along your way. I will always have a competent bodyguard ready to defend you. If you want to arrange a meeting with your bodyguard or with me, simply look up to the sky and beckon whoever is watching toward you. You can expect a meeting in less than ten minutes.” Miles nodded his understanding once again. “Share this information only with people you would trust your life to. I will be back later in the week. Goodbye.”

 

 

 

This is still up to revisions, so it will probably be edited later on.

If you are interested, the rest of the book is here. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1scHvF_7X5TSwS8bxylmSgX6iC7FIIsyWXgTv4etzelA/edit?usp=sharing

Edited June 3, 2018 by Showman
mistakes

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

@Showman best way to get the action from the fourth line to the first is to simply rearrange the paragraph 

But in all seriousness, I don't feel like a first line necessarily has to have 'action' to be a hook. I think yours rephrased to something like "Miles Lavisan opened the door to find a cloaked stranger on his doorstep" could work really well. It's got an element of mystery, so the reader will want to find out who the cloaked stranger is and why they are on Miles's doorstep, thus they'll keep reading.

[GeneralHZRD]

I really like this idea. Especially in this day and age when it's important to hook your readers right off the bat.

This is the first lines of my WIP novel tentatively titled KillingTime.

Time, it permeates all things, constantly in motion.

Spoiler

   It gives life and it takes life away. It governs all things as an impartial judge. Time is one of the only things that cannot be contained or stopped, though many people had tried, Time is a beast that cannot be caged. Gideon knew this more than most. Few understood Time as well as Gideon, Time had taken so much from him, and it had given him gifts beyond measure. For most people Time is something that they ignore, not Gideon, he knew what it was. As well he should, Time had died by his hand.

 

 

 

Edited June 15, 2018 by TheVillageIdiot

[Kureshi Ironclaw]

Thanks for contributing @TheVillageIdiot. For me, your real hook happens at the end of your first paragraph when you reveal that Gideon killed Time. I feel like the earlier this line happens the better. You probably don't have to spend as much time talking about Time. People have a pretty good intuitive grasp on it, even though I think you are personifying Time and putting your own spin on it. I'd say killing Time in your first line establishes pretty well that Time is different in your universe.

Other than that, I am intrigued as to how somebody kills Time, and what the repercussions of this are.

Keep up the good work!

[1st of Lunch]

On 6/14/2018 at 7:30 PM, TheVillageIdiot said:

Time, it permeates all things, constantly in motion.

  Hide contents

   It gives life and it takes life away. It governs all things as an impartial judge. Time is one of the only things that cannot be contained or stopped, though many people had tried, Time is a beast that cannot be caged. Gideon knew this more than most. Few understood Time as well as Gideon, Time had taken so much from him, and it had given him gifts beyond measure. For most people Time is something that they ignore, not Gideon, he knew what it was. As well he should, Time had died by his hand.

 

 

I really like this! Yeah, your "hook" isn't the first line but that's ok. Your paragraph is more like "wiggling the bait" with the last line "setting the hook" - very intriguing!