For a beginner writer, a prologue might seem like the perfect tool. You can fill in the reader with all the backstory to your setting and characters, in order to bring them up to speed before the story actually begins.
But in actuality, doing that is going to be poison for your readers.
During the last stream, we did an exercise about writing prologues. I’ve always been firmly anti-prologue when giving feedback to viewers, and I felt like it would be good to explain why in more detail.
You can watch a recap of the exercise here,
or scroll down to read what we came up with.
Why are prologues generally a BAD idea?
- For writers who have never been published, a prologue makes your story a HARDER sell to agents/publishers*
- They’re often used as a CRUTCH and/or an INFO DUMP
- At best, if you have a good prologue, your reader will be disappointed when they start your “real” story. At worst, if you have a bad prologue, your reader will never make it to your “real” story
*ESTABLISHED authors can do whatever they want (prologues, giant wordcounts, etc.) because they already have an audience, they generally don’t play by the same rules as unpublished authors
What goes into a GOOD prologue?
- The SCENE/TONE is set just as clearly as the rest of the story, vagueness will just be frustrating
- It might be tempting to be mysterious, but keep it clear
- It will give some sort of VITAL background information that is necessary to understand chapter one
- Ex: Batman and Superman often start with “prologues” of them as children, to inform their character
- There’s some sort of immediate/obvious CONNECTION between the prologue and chapter one
- Ex: Game of Thrones has a runaway guard in chapter one who is executed in the next chapter
- It could work just as well as “CHAPTER ONE” as a “prologue”
- Ex: Chapter one of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone is essentially a “prologue”
In the end, a good prologue should be just as exciting and relevant as any other chapter of your book. If it’s not, then it’s fine to have it there during your rough draft to get your ideas down on paper, but it might be worth considering cutting it for the final version you show to others.
For the exercise, chat voted on this randomly-generated story prompt: A truck driver and a sadistic mummy form an alliance to accidentally take charge of a grumpy elephant.
Here’s the prologue we wrote for that story, showing how the truck driver and mummy met each other:
Driving the semi down rural roads was the worst. I got paid by the mile, and when you can only go twenty-five miles per hour, that takes a serious bite out of your paycheck. But seeing as how it was dark and raining like God was taking a piss right over Plainsville, I felt like I was hidden enough to get away with a little extra speed that night.
I pressed down the gas. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. I could practically hear the extra cigarette money clanking from the heavens above. The windshield wipers flapped away, splashing water like two rackety rascals at the pool when you’re just trying to enjoy your one goddamn day off a week. Thankfully there was no one else on the road in this sleepy little town at midnight, so I had the puddle-soaked asphalt all to myself. I pressed the baby on to sixty.
That’s when someone stepped right out into the road.
My heart stopped. I slammed on the brakes. Tires squeaked. Axles grinded. Not enough time!
Thud.
The truck finally came to a squeaking stop. I threw open the door and jumped out into the pools of rain, forgetting to even put on my jacket. All I could do was whimper “oh god oh god oh god” under my breath as my brain desperately tried to come up with an excuse. I was doing the speed limit of course! He jumped right out in front of me! I saw him brandishing a knife and I thought he was going to hijack me!
But as soon as I saw the body lying there on the soaked road, I knew all my excuses would amount to nothing. The corpse was mangled, lying a good ten feet away from the back of the semi. One of its arms … it wasn’t even attached anymore. If I’d truly been going the speed limit, then not only would I have been able to stop more quickly, having the body closer to the front of the truck, but it wouldn’t have been blown to pieces either.
I gripped the sides of my head. I could already imagine the police report. I was going to lose my job. My crappy job. I’d probably end up in jail. And all for just a few extra packs of cigarettes.
That’s when the body moved. A groan came from the shadows as it spasmed in a puddle. A sudden jolt of hope shot through me. Maybe they were still alive. Maybe they were okay! I ran back to the truck, grabbed my flashlight and umbrella, and then dashed over to help them. I opened the umbrella, still sopping wet beneath it, and shined my flashlight on them.
“Hey buddy!” I said. “You okay?”
With the light of the flashlight, I could see them more clearly. But I didn’t quite know what I was looking at. They were covered in sun-bleached, faded bandages from head to toe. Were they a burn victim at a hospital? An escapee, perhaps?
I turned the light to their head, and gasped in shock. They were facing backward, as if their head had been rotated all the way around. The only remnants of humanity they had left was a single eye, some slits for nostrils, and rotting teeth. I covered my mouth with the hand holding my umbrella, and as soon as I moved, the creature opened its eye and let out a growl.
My feet were frozen to the wet ground. I couldn’t move. I could only watch in terror as whatever this thing was shambled its way up from the ground. It pushed itself onto its unsteady legs, grabbed hold of its head with its single arm, and then spun it around with a crusty crack. My mouth hung open in shock as it bent down, grabbed its dripping-wet arm off the road, and smashed it into its shoulder socket. It flexed its newly-attached arms and fingers, then turned to face me. Or, at least, face me with what little face it had left.
My legs were beginning to catch up with my brain. I shuffled backward away from the thing, not even daring to blink to fear of it catching me. But it didn’t matter. It stretched out an arm toward me and pointed right at my chest, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. A small eep slipped out of my lips.
“Chariot driver,” the thing spoke, its voice deep and ashen like a smoldering fire. “I require your something from you.”
I couldn’t reply. I could only stand there, staring at it as rain pelted against my umbrella. It walked closer to me, limping on its bandaged legs, until it was standing before me, a full head higher than I was.
“You have damaged me, now you must repay the debt. I require three things.”
“W-w-what do you want?” I asked, lips trembling.
“First, I require…” the creature said, “your rain shield.”
I stared up at the umbrella, then quickly handed it over. The thing clasped it with its bandaged, boney fingers, holding it above its head. Its yellowed teeth curled into a smile.
“Ah, much better. I do so hate it when my parchment becomes wet.” It turned its attention back to me, and the smile disappeared. “Next, I require… your sun-lamp.”
I looked down at the flashlight and offered it to the monster without a second though. He took it from my soaked hands and shone it all around, making oohs and ahhs as he lit up darkened houses and trees all around. After a few seconds of playing around, he cleared his dusty throat, and then gazed at me with his single, burning eye.
“Finally, I require… you to drive me away from here.”
I didn’t know what to do. I was standing there, being poured on from above, while this… thing was holding my umbrella and flashlight, asking me for a ride in my truck.
That’s when it hit me. I was the luckiest man alive!
I wasn’t going to lose my job! I wasn’t going to jail! Somehow I’d hit the accident lottery and smashed into some sort of weird undead creature. You can’t get in trouble for killing the already-dead, right?
“Sure!” I said, brushing the wet hair out of my face. I was so relived about my situation that I didn’t care about the bizarreness of it anymore. “How long do you need to ride for?”
“As long as necessary,” the creature spoke.
Ten years later, he’s still stinking up my cabin.
This is the start of a decent prologue. Is it absolutely necessary to tell this story? It’s impossible to tell. What we would have to do is write the whole story, all the way to the end, and then decide if we need it or not. If we can tell the story about the truck driver and mummy without this prologue, then it’s fine to cut it. We can just weave in the information from it throughout the rest of the story.
But even if we do end up cutting it, it wasn’t a waste to write. We found out a lot about our characters, and perhaps we needed it to get started. However, just like the scaffolds that a sculptor stands on to chisel away at their statue, when it comes time to show the work to others, it’s usually best to put them away.
After that, chat voted that we write this prompt created by scott_hunts: A story with so many plot twists the characters and narrator are getting confused.
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you. We stream on Twitch every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday at 7:30pm-11:30pm (U.S. Eastern Standard Time).
And you missed the stream, you can still watch them on the YouTube channel or watch the full stream reruns.
Hope to see you next time, friend!
Scott Wilson is the author of the novel Metl: The ANGEL Weapon,
forthcoming March 2019.
Featured image: Pakutaso