New York Write to Pitch "First Pages"
A forum for New York pitch event alums to post samples of their scenes and prose narrative for detailed critique according to Algonkian Author Connect guidelines. Emphasis on choice of set, narrative cinema, quality of dialogue, metaphor, static and dynamic imagery, interior monologue, general clarity, tone, suspense devices, and routine line editing issues as well.
417 topics in this forum
-
- 1 reply
- 164 views
Chapter 1_ Deadly Paradise .pdf
Last reply by MarsyDotes, -
PROLOGUE MARCH 3, 2017 APPOINTMENT: TEN IN THE MORNING It was the middle of the dry season, and the torrential rains that fed the Panama Canal would not arrive until the following month in mid-April, but for weeks a storm had been brewing in my gut. The U.S. embassy had given me an appointment to pick up my American passport. I had called my sister to come down from Miami and be a witness or to be an advocate in case an explanation was needed. Angela, my oldest sister, could always be counted on for anything. “Yes mother,” I had said, “I need you to hold my hand.” When she came down, I told her the truth, that I was terrified of going to th…
Last reply by Javier Castano, -
- 1 follower
- 0 replies
- 150 views
To make history, all you need is to overcome the past ... Late April 1787 The chief virtue of the hunter is patience. The next is endurance. Whether stalking the prey or lying in wait, the important thing was to … wait. To reveal one’s presence too soon, to fire too early would mean to allow the prey to escape and the hunt to fail. This hunt had been a lie-in-wait. For three bitterly cold days, the hunter had sat perched on a lower limb of the still winter bare maple tree, waiting for the quarry to arrive. This was where he would have to come. This was where the river narrowed and grew shallow. The tide still affected the depth of the water s…
Last reply by Douglas Grudzina, -
- 0 replies
- 101 views
Marann Santana_Opening Pages.pdf
Last reply by Marann, -
- 0 replies
- 208 views
Prologue Chesher For two years Chesher had visited the docks of Brahma many times to look out at the sea. Staring into the distance, she’d picture an island. The place her parents had told her about, where they’d been planning on going next when she’d seen them last. Where they might find answers to their research. Since losing them, the days she’d spent on the docks made her feel closer to them and yet further all at once. The island was no more than two days journey by charter, but every time Chesher stared in its direction, it felt unreachable. As Chesher sat on her favorite bench, swinging gently beneath the archway covered in vining roses with the…
Last reply by Jamie Tudor, -
- 0 replies
- 104 views
Natalie was dead. It was the truth. And it was irreversible. Her absence hung in the lab, on her untouched bench and the unwashed pipettes, in her unfinished notes. Her cells growing in the incubator, herself gone and her work ready to be taken over by a new fellow. It happened on Tuesday morning. Seared into my memory as the afterimage of a lightning against the night sky. Her delicate body balanced against the cold metal of her desk. A bottle of microshots clutched in her hand. Medics, security, hushed whispers, and averted gazes. All on that Tuesday morning. Yet none of us talked about it for days, at least to each other. That is what death does. It draws its…
Last reply by Nastaran Arfaei, -
- 0 replies
- 160 views
First 2 Pages of The Southerner.docx
Last reply by Suzette Francis, -
- 0 replies
- 160 views
Intro I didn’t pray as Kremlin tanks groveled past my Polish driver’s abjectly new American F150 hidden pat in a forest thicket. Instead, from the observer’s backseat, I internally rewound a brassy Shostakovich overture to piss off any reapers who dared take me in a soviet killing field at 37. My frontal cortex, still soused with greasy hair and plum slivovitz drug out for the previous night’s Warsaw embassy meet-and-greet, failed to reconcile the compulsory musical pomp of 85-odd years ago with the brute, pulpous appendages floundering for the same nationalistic vision before my incurably dispassionate face. God! Too many kiddie arms were leaking blood way too early…
Last reply by Francis Rose, -
- 0 replies
- 187 views
Opening scene.docx
Last reply by Marty Harris, -
- 0 replies
- 260 views
The air in the steppes was different today. It wasn’t the merry laughter of the impending spring equinox celebrations. Something was amiss. A feeling as oppressive as a thunder storm had seeped into the serene landscape. It was pungent, not in smell, but in sensation - a prickling awareness that danced on my skin. I looked over the once never-ending, sea-green grass that was now like blades beneath the snow, adorned by the distant holy mountains. The grazing grounds past the huddle of round gers lay empty. The herd had still not returned from the night before. It wasn’t rare for the herd to wander off but this was under my watch. I had to retrieve them or else risk …
Last reply by bellaamar, -
- 0 replies
- 118 views
This is the opening chapter of the 13th Pier. The waves lapped against the sand in a soft and steady cadence, percolating between each grain and returning to the ocean in a continuous and cascading motion. The sea, in its infinite churn, washes up and down the North Carolina coastline with uniform consistency as the laughing gulls and plovers bob and weave to the ebb and flow of crashing waves, looking for that unfortunate krill washed up unintentionally. Sand dunes are held intact by beach grass, wild sunflowers, and twisted Krumholtz-like trees that buffer the beach from seasonal storms, and high-water surges and offer regular protection for a group of …
Last reply by R. Atwood, -
- 0 replies
- 144 views
NA
Last reply by Kendall, -
- 0 replies
- 183 views
First half of Chapter One In her faded blue bathrobe, Mom hobbled into the kitchen and filled her glass with water at the sink, as she did first thing every morning. Her scraggily shoulder-length hair was still brown, though her slow walk and wrinkled skin revealed her seventy-four years. Finally, she turned around and looked at me sitting at the table with my coffee. “You’re dressed. That’s unusual.” I nodded. “I guess I just woke up early.” I’d already showered, which I knew could be seen as a disturbing shift from our routine. She focused on me longer than usual, till a hanging judge gaze appeared in her brown hawk eyes. “Cathy, that shirt under your blo…
Last reply by Jan Schmidt, -
- 0 replies
- 188 views
This is the first chapter of my novel, Thermidor, a family saga and thriller. Part I I hadn’t seen Vanessa in many years, until she appeared at my doorstep with an old vinyl record and this crazy idea of looking for my missing father. That night I was in my house in San Francisco, ironing my shirts in my underwear, when I heard a knock at my door. One glance through the peephole, and I experienced the illusion of time dissolving with years turning into months, months into days, days into hours since I last saw her. I scrambled for a pair of pants and got to the door between the second and third knocks. Suddenly she was there, head tucked…
Last reply by Ben Cruz, -
- 0 replies
- 226 views
This is not the first chapter. I'm introducing Bristi's uncle here who acts as the antagonist in her story. Introducing the scene: Bristi grows up in an ordinary middle-class family in Kolkata, India. The walls of her family’s apartment reek of mediocrity, compromise, and stunted ambitions. Her father is a failed artist who constantly feels sorry for himself and resents anyone with money. His meager wages can’t always pay for the family expenses and her mother is forced to borrow money from her rich uncle, Salil. To Bristi, her uncle is not a benefactor but a tyrant who never misses an opportunity to insult her family. Her uncle’s snobberies are as resolute as…
Last reply by Saborna Roychowdhury, -
- 1 reply
- 288 views
A - Processing January 15th, 2025, Day one of six The red sensor lights blink three times. Diego’s mother stiffens—then starts to cry. From her assigned observation post near the barbed-wire perimeter of Facility 17, Mrs. Rios watches the scene unfold through a maze of plexiglass partitions and steel desks. The air smells of bleach and desperation, the same way it does in every detention center along the U.S.-Mexico border. Her team from the Coalition for Algorithmic Justice (CAJ) has spread out strategically: Sarah documenting times and faces near the main door, Javier positioned by the intake desk, and Marcus hovering near the exit with his tablet ready…
Last reply by Ralph Walker, -
- 1 follower
- 0 replies
- 173 views
A THIN LINE OF SMOKE Names and places have been changed to protect the guilty. The innocent will have to fend for themselves. Chapter 1 GEORGE They’d started out as innocent fibs, minor exaggerations, or hand waving distractions. There was nothing nefarious about adding flair, or emphasis, at least that’s what I’d believed when this started. We all did it, puffing up our chests, building up our importance, but somewhere along the way a boundary was crossed. What might have been embellishment slid further from the truth. One lie was left unquestioned, then another, and another. They’d all piled up, each new lie the fou…
Last reply by Ralph Walker, -
- 0 replies
- 171 views
(Poster/Conference Attendee/Author Note: Our journey toward this conference began with what we initially perceived as a nearly complete book. However, through the assigned readings and the thoughtful prompts introduced during our preparatory work, we realized just how much needed to change. It is with humility and passion-not haste and hubris-that we embarked on this project almost anew. Below is what we currently believe to be the beginning of our book. We now view it as a piece of creative nonfiction rather than a self-help tutorial. We look forward to all the learning that awaits us next week. -Jessica and Joahn ) Intimate Reflections: A Twin…
Last reply by Jessica Fauchier, -
- 0 replies
- 158 views
I Chapter 1 Spring Last Year, 1277 -- Licoricia, an Old Woman, in her Home Early afternoon. Wisps of a late snow were melting between the cobbles on Jewry Street, one of the few cobbled streets in Winchester. It made for less mud than the other streets, but there was still mud enough for all. Winchester was a wealthy market town, and Jewry Street was a wealthy street, or it had been not so many years ago. Not so now. The last week of riots had burned themselves out. The street was quiet now, almost empty. Few people lived there any more. There were few Jews on Jewry Street, few left in all of Winchester,…
Last reply by Sam, -
- 0 replies
- 216 views
Chapter One I am still finishing up the hemming on Mari’s stack of tunics when Thea bursts through the door, her small frame quivering with sobs. I toss the fabric from my lap and crouch beside her, stroking her knotted blonde curls as she wipes her nose across her sleeve. “What’s wrong?” “The-the…” she tries to get the words out between gasps, but all that erupts from her mouth is another incomprehensible wail. My heart swells and pushes up into my throat. Tears come easily to my little sister, but her raw eyes and red-rubbed nose are beginning to frighten me. I know. “The… soldiers… are here,” she squeals out between cries, confirming my fe…
Last reply by Emerson Ormond, -
- 0 replies
- 206 views
Opening scenes Ch 0, 1: Establish the tone and mythological foundation of the story, introduce the antagonist, depict the circumstances surrounding the main character’s birth, and foreshadow the central conflict. Excerpt from Ch 3: Establish the main character’s voice. Most of the book is in first person POV, sprinkled with third person POV chapters. 0 Long, long ago Before the breath of life flowed over the world, the earth burned in youthful abundance. Amid the primordial sea of flames, a single bubble rose to the surface and hardened into a perfect sphere--an empty vessel, white and smooth, a Pearl. When the first of the old gods fell, t…
Last reply by L Sam Zhang, -
- 0 replies
- 137 views
Hell Hath No Fury Part 1: Ripples “Only fools and idealists believe that no one has anything to complain about.” -Emperor Justinus ïst Lucinti de Vincentius, 854 Imperial Year Chapter 1: A Flimsy Grip The sound of beautiful violin music suddenly died. A moment later, the elegant instrument was dashed to pieces on the amphitheater’s stage, producing the decidedly less beautiful sounds of cracking wood and popping strings. “Oh no,” Özcan said, barely even trying to keep it under his breath, “here it comes.” Right on que, the…
Last reply by garrenb, -
- 0 replies
- 162 views
I told you not to have that damn baby, "he said, throwing his third beer can across the kitchen in the direction of the already overflowing trashcan. "I told you to get an abortion!" He looked at the sink that held stacks of dishes and floating bits of food, which was now spilling over onto the decaying Formica countertop, and made a sound of disgust. Passing on his way to the refrigerator, a strong whiff of curdled milk drifted from the sink. He brought his fingers to his nose and blew air out in an attempt to get rid of the smell that had settled in his nostrils. He cursed at the dishes and raised his arm in preparation to hurl them onto the floor but stopped …
Last reply by Susan Yancey, -
- 0 replies
- 228 views
Below is chapter one and the first two pages of chapter two. The opening scene introduces the main character Jacob Johnson. The scene is a flash-forward scene that the reader will return to later in the novel. The tone is cold and distant. The opening scene foreshadows the man Jacob will become. Chapter two is set in 1986 when Jacob was a boy. The scene begins in his bathroom, toggles to a flashback, then back to the bathroom. This scene of him speaking with his father establishes their relationship because later his father will die shortly before his tenth birthday. I He took her life with spite. The instrument of death didn’t slice flesh or…
Last reply by Andrew, -
Chapter 1 and 2 word doc.docx
Last reply by Ray Arroyo,
ALGONKIAN SUCCESS STORIES
What should you accept as credible?
Where it All Began
