Prologues are often traps for beginner writers. They think that they can dump a lot of information at the reader, but it’s okay because it’s a prologue.
Unfortunately that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Thankfully there are good examples of prologues out there. One example is at the beginning of Leviathan Wakes by James Corey.
During the last stream, we took a look at the opening few pages to Leviathan Wakes and examined it sentence by sentence.
Usually I hate prologues, for a multitude of reasons:
- Authors sometimes use them as a dumping ground for backstory/history, which is no fun to read.
- They essentially make your reader have to “start” reading your story twice. Getting them to do it once is hard enough already!
- If your prologue is boring, then your reader will never even get to your “real” story since they’ll close the book.
- Even if your prologue is good, your reader will be disappointed when you “real” story starts and the cool prologue is over.
Prologues have a lot stacked against them, but it is possible to pull them off well.
Here’s a sample of the annotating we did to the prologue of Leviathan Wakes.
It reads just like a story, no miserable info-dumping here!
Here’s a quick summary of what makes a good prologue:
- NO backstory. Make the prologue ITSELF a story.
- What happens in the prologue comes into play in the next chapter and sets up whole book
- It can be mysterious, but not cryptic.
If you want to see how this prologue accomplishes those three things, and see some reasons why it’s a “prologue” instead of a “chapter one” in the first place, then be sure to watch the full video below.
After that the chat voted that we write this prompt: A ghost is trying to talk to his husband who doesn’t believe in ghosts.
A few months after I died, I was so happy to see my widowed husband Teddy start going on dates again. It was much better than the alternative of him being depressed and alone all the time.
But there was one problem: he was terrible at dating! He may have been the sweetest man alive, but good god was he terrible when it came to interacting with others romantically. Wearing the wrong clothes, going to the wrong restaurants, saying the wrong things … he was a gold-medal Olympian in bad dating decisions. I needed to find a way to help him!
First things first, his wardrobe. Teddy was no fashionista, to be polite. His closet consisted of two pairs of cargo pants, a couple of novelty shirts given to him as presents… and that’s about it. But, as someone who lived with him for over a decade, I knew some secrets!
In the back of his closet, behind a suit he hadn’t worn since his one interview for his one job and that was still in dry cleaning plastic, and behind a giant cat onesie, and behind a puffy winter coat that he hated, was a collared polo shirt. It was a tasteful brown, and it fit right over his upper half to show off all the nice hard curves that he usually kept to himself. He needed that shirt, the one that would hug his chest as hard as his date would want to hug him.
I couldn’t directly speak to him. In fact there were a lot of ghost-rules that I was just learning about. I couldn’t move things when he could see them, I couldn’t interact with certain objects like pens and computers to write notes. Not quite sure how the afterlife laws knew when I was touching a pencil versus touch a coat hanger, but I had to work with what I was given to nudge him in the right direction.
So while he was sleeping one night, I threw all his other clothes out the window.
It was quite a shock for Teddy to wake up, grope around in the closet for one of his Origami Warriors anime shirts, and find nothing except his nice polo. It was an even bigger shock when he looked out the open window and saw his entire wardrobe lying in the mud below. But at least when he went out that morning to pick everything up and get ready to go out on his date, he was looking fine!
I followed him to the car, which he was going to drive to Pizza Hut for his date. But I couldn’t let that happen! Not after the last time he’d gone there and the date had sat down in the booth with him, laughed and asked where he was really taking him, then left in a huff when he gestured toward the all-you-can-eat buffet table.
So I thrust my ghost-body into the rusted engine of his car.
Within seconds, I brought the vehicle to a smoky stalling stop. Teddy got out of the car, opened the hood, and the engine whined and wheezed at him. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and dialed up his date on the phone. I knew he wanted to just cancel, but before the dial tone even came up, I flew over to a building off the side of the road, and rattled the sign above its door as hard as I could.
It was “Mangeons” a little French restaurant run by a tiny old woman who barely spoke English, but made the best croissants, croques monsieurs, and crepes you’ve ever had. Very fashionable, very quaint, and perfect for a date.
My plan worked. Instead of canceling, Teddy asked the date of he could meet him at Mangeons instead. The man agreed, and I pumped my fist in victory. Floating back over to Teddy’s car, I gave it a little bit of ghost-juice to get it back running, just enough for him to park it in the parking lot and go inside.
Before long, Teddy was sitting down across from his date, a very handsome man his own age named Ronald. Ronald was all smiles, nearly as buttery as the croissant appetizers in front of them both. Teddy hadn’t touched his yet. He’d barely spoken. He just sat awkwardly, mostly glancing at the table or the ground with his hands in his lap.
I knew I needed to do something, or else this would just end up like that other time Teddy was so quiet his date got bored and started flirting with other people, then joined them at their table.
So I picked up a spare paper mat from another table and had it float over in front of Teddy.
As soon as I did, his date Ronald raised his napkin to his nose and sneezed. He apologized, blamed the cold breeze, and said he was feeling a bit under the weather.
That’s when I saw the same spark in Teddy’s eyes that I remembered from our first date.
He grabbed the paper mat and started folding. Ronald watched him, wiping his nose. Fold after fold Teddy made until finally he pulled apart two sides, showing off his creation: an origami boat.
“Here you go,” Teddy said, offering the boat to Ronald. “I hope you feel boat-er soon!”
That was it, the same line that had made me laugh and fall in love with Teddy years ago. We were having our date at McDonald’s, him wearing a Duck Hunt dog t-shirt, and me looking miserable because I was spending my Saturday night with children screaming in a playplace on one side, and horrific excuse for human beings screaming at cashiers for getting their orders wrong on the other. Right before I was about to leave, Teddy offered me a boat made out of his paper mat, and that was when I knew he was something special.
And now Ronald knew it too.
He held the boat in his hands and let out a laugh. “I used to make these all the time. I don’t know if you watched the show, Origami Warriors, but during the commercial breaks they would give little tutorials. I always followed along. I know it sounds stupid and nerdy but–”
“I used to watch that too!” Teddy blurted out. “My favorite episode was when it looked like the Origami Warriors were going to be taken down, but then the Legendary Paper Crane came to save them right at the last minute!”
Ronald chuckled, looked at the boat again, then glanced around the little fancy restaurant. “Hey, I have an idea. How about we leave that little old French woman a fat tip, but then I can drive us to go get some real food?”
Teddy’s face lit up. “Like Pizza Hut?” he asked.
Ronald nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
The two of them stood, left a Jackson each on the table, and then left, making the little bell near the ceiling jingle as they went back outside. Just before the door shut behind them, I saw Teddy brush the small of Ronald’s back, just like he used to do to me.
I thought about following them, to make sure that Teddy would be okay, but decided against it. I didn’t need to worry about him anymore. In fact, I didn’t need to worry about anything at all. I felt warm and wonderful all around, as if I was made of light beams. As if I had gotten the closure I needed. As if it was now okay for me to move on.
So I did.
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-10:30pm (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: Amazon