The first chapter of your book - write it now

Caporegime
Joined
29 Aug 2007
Posts
28,765
Location
Auckland
- begin-

I think this is how the story began or, if not, how it might have begun. We’re – you, me, them - in some café, not drinking coffee, of course, and I think we’re spotting specks of dirt, splashes of grey on white on the table, the walls, the ceiling, each other. It’s unclear, the editor suggests, although I’m not sure and you nod as though in agreement at something, perhaps me or a feeling or a

And then we’re in some café – you, me, them, of course - not drinking coffee, again – and I think we’re spotting specks of dirt, splashes of grey on white, black, grey, and the last thing I said to

And then we’re in some café, and the editor is waving furiously, clearly drunk – not drinking coffee, of course, I mean who does these days, what with the trade issues, not to mention the health concerns raised by the coronary experts? – and I think we’re spotting specks of dirt, splashes of grey on white, black, grey, and the last thing I said to you was that you should always read the first chapter because that’s always the place where someone or something gives value or credence and maybe an inkling of what this thing is about or what might happen. Clues, direction, aim. “Purpose?” the editor asks, frowning, deeply unhappy, and

And it was about this time when you nodded – at something perhaps off screen that we can’t see or at least I certainly can’t or didn’t see - before asking, “Are you the unreliable narrator?” The question catches me and I study my fingernails then feet and begin to talk about how Equifax’s logo has a hidden arrow that once seen can’t be ignored, which I think is very, very important to this discussion, perhaps all discussions, but you interrupt – “That’s what you do, why you exist and I don’t even think there is a Chapter 1, regardless of what you say. I’m not sure I’m coming back to this ... this, whatever it is.”

I can see the editor thumbing through the script that I doctored prior to giving it to him and his brow is furrowed, severe, harsh. He looks up and cuts to the end of the script, or at least that one, and we share a smile which neither of us mean or really acknowledge, not really, and

So you left, you thought, and I wrote Chapter 1 and it looked like this, except for the lies which I don’t think are even that obvious and the editor agrees, nodding, finally giving what I think is a high-five or maybe another sign of some sort. Signals. Cues. He’s missed them. It’s a pity.

All told, it’s very, very unclear and then it was summer, someone suggested, so I suppose it must have been. A new start, a new beginning and that’s really what this is all about.

“Endings?” the editor questions, left hand holding open one of the later entries in the script, right hand raised in a scolding gesture and then I see he isn’t reading the same script I gave him or the one I’m reciting and I wonder where this new one came from before remembering that I did write more than one.

I did. Didn’t I?

And that was how the ending began.


e : as pointed out, this is more a first page than a first chapter. Post what you have :)
 
Last edited:
With you? Not likely.

NDT5a.gif


Here's part of my first book. It's on Kindle if you want the rest. 79p

I'm going to buy that.
 
"So there I was, on [FnG]magnolia's mum..."

Now, I know you're an intelligent man, even though your posts almost never show that. Anything to add or just going to snipe?

I dont get the op

It's just a story, there is nothing to 'get'. If you were going to write a book, what would the first chapter of that book look like?

e : holy crap, I missed some awesome in the making.
 
Last edited:
As was yours in initial reference to a fairly long post I made. I spent some time on that and you wiped it and made some pithy little comment.

I don't really care if you like what I write but I expect you to moderate it fairly so please do so.

I can't win this argument, can I? :)
 
The post I believe you're referring to, whilst very creative, bared no relevance/input to the thread in question. If you want to continue arguing/debating over this then you know how to get in contact. I don't think I should need to remind you about the bit in the FAQ regarding moderator decisions...

If you want to continue arguing/debating over this then you know how to get in contact.

I don't but would like to.
 
It would seem that way. I spent a good 15-20 mins adding some contribution to what could've been a great thread only to be shot down by OP.]

You deleted a post it took me probably 20 minutes to compose. You added nothing unless I missed something. Happy to be corrected :)

You don't want to argue/debate but would like to? What?

No, I've been unclear. I would very much like to debate it but I'm not sure who to speak to (except for other dons/mods) if you go ahead with your threat of banning me.
 
I'd like to think I'm man enough to say I got something wrong and last night I did. Maccy, I apologise. I could blame it on the booze (so much booze, dear God) or any number of other things but I won't. I carried over a disagreement from an earlier post of mine in another thread when I shouldn't have - not because the rules say I shouldn't but because I don't think anyone should do that.

I still think you were wrong to delete my post but I should never have been so petty earlier in this thread. So, genuine apologies from me, I was stupid.

Back on track - anyone else have any writing they want to share?

e : content from me, it happens after the bit I put in the OP.


“No, I’m fine. Absolutely great! Really,” I say, “Definitely very, very good! Perhaps world beating!” I laugh, a bellow. “Well, City beating, anyway, and that’s the important thing – am I right, Samantha!” I exclaim and even with the crackly line I can envisage her mouth becoming a smile, the eyes becoming alive and the hemline touched, perhaps raised, legs uncrossing.

“Sure, David, sure,” she laughs and my face is blank, void. “So your numbers are looking ... positive?” she asks even as I pound both fists onto the desk (I’ve muted her, a tip I think the editor gave me when we last spoke) so she doesn’t hear it but I want her to feel it and then I say,” Very.”

“Very, David?” I can hear planes in the background and wonder if she’s at an airport.

“Yes, very,” I say, teeth clenched, before having to add, “Very, very, very, very, very good.” Pause. “Dramatic, even.”

“Well, David that’s gre – wait, dramatic?“ she begins. I cut her off. “These things almost make me smile,” I say before adding apologetically, “Yes, dramatic.”

I stand up from the desk and check the charge on the wireless handset I’m holding. “It’s all so very ... dramatic. Don’t you think?” I gulp. “Global,” I say with a sense of finality. “Maybe even ... pan ... global?” I suggest. “Perpendicular yet ... vertical,” I say flatly.

I’m blind, floundering. I envisage sandcastles that are so tall I can’t even see their summits; huge, spiralling structures and foundations so deep that they touch the core. I see a space so vast that I can’t really comprehend it.

And then I feel very nervous so I suggest, “Samantha, look. I think it’s important that, even with a divide, there should always be a sense of space, width, and – perhaps – light,” I say before smiling, grimacing even, and finishing with “And of course, it’s words that mean something, defining themselves or a situation. Brilliant –“ I wave an arm vacantly around the room, showing both composure and elegance, perhaps greatness, then –“waves of light. A crescendo, if you like. Of,” I stop, eyes cast down, confused, “light?” I finish.

“David? Is everything ... is everything okay? You sound ... uptight, maybe a little highly strung,” she says. Muttering, she adds, “I don’t even know what dramatic is supposed to –“

The editor – who I was pretty sure wasn’t even around – looks on with disdain, both hands at his face, clawing dramatically at his eyeballs, pretend tears rolling down his face on to his full, fat, red lips.

“Samantha, I need some air,” I almost shout and rush outside where it is somehow still daylight, still summer, still current. The sun looks like a sun so I suppose it is and when I go back inside Samantha is not on the phone that I threw at the wall any longer and I’m not sure if this even happened anymore.

From the corner of my eye I see the editor score through something with a red marker and this worries me. He looks up and winks.

He does not exist. You have to believe me on this one. He does not exist.

The editor, I mean.

He just cannot exist.
 
Last edited:
Absolute Write is a must-read for some really great insight, though structure is really what you make it. That's what separates some of the really great authors with others: Their use of structure. Be innovative, split things up that you otherwise would have thought should form part of a sentence. Or, perhaps, let that form a massive run-on. It's all about how it reads and thus the feeling it conveys.

For example, a split sentence could convey calculation, order. The same sentence as a run-on could convey haste, panic, mania -- a split decision. It's all how YOU use your words.

I really enjoy writing run-ons and whilst I know their effectiveness diminishes the more I use them, I can't help myself. Short sentences also work.
 
Back
Top Bottom