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
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CALAIS JUNGLE July 1, 2016 Stolen Soap Far from the tents and stalls of Calais Jungle, a water spigot stands in a field of flowers. Freydun makes his way past refugees from hot troubled lands toward a language school near the faucet. He is eager to learn the French words he’ll need to make a life in this country with its damp air and people with pale hairless arms. Freydun lopes and slows, afraid to misread what’s before him. He thought he knew his motherland until it turned on him; now he is in France, ceding one fate for another, straddling East and West, swapping privilege for privation. He had no choice. Next to him is his fri…
Last reply by Carmen Gray, -
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Just before she leaps from the ledge. When the light is such that the street below remains a half answered question. She presses her toes together so that the blood drains and the tips become white against the rich colored bricks. Then, without breath. Without hesitation. She goes barefoot. Out into the radiating darkness. Her hair floats soundlessly above her and her shirt luffs against her body. It is 5.9 seconds from the cloudless sky to the earth. Just longer than it takes to blow out a birthday candle. There is a mathematical equation to represent the force exerted by the pavement upon her body. It's easier …
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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SECOND SCENE. Follows the Prologue, which has minimal dialogue. The Prologue features the main character sitting in his father's office contemplating suicide. Then the narrative jumps back in time to the beginning of the story that will lead him to that tragic moment/state of mind. It is a morning like any other morning when it all changes. Or, rather, it does not change. The undaunted and undauntable world, such as it is, was created longer ago than we dare comprehend by forces far greater than our poor power to manipulate. It is only that the late surface matter is scoured away and the skeletal truth revealed through white fire and through clouds of bilious hellsmo…
Last reply by Steve Dunn, -
She popped a Xanax, leftover from her friend Louie’s stash, took a double shot of Jack Daniels and boarded the red-eye flight at JFK to Vegas. There, a black car service was to pick her up at the airport, head two and a half hours to The Green Door in Death Valley, California, arriving in time to make the retreat’s kick-off event. Cassandra would arrive the next day. The Green Door’s lobby buzzed with excitement. Lavender and tea tree oil, musky perfumes, expensive perfumes, swirled through the air. Rosie’s nasal passages tingled, overwhelmed by all the scents. A whiff of her day-old body odor, a stale stench of airplane clung to her skin and clothes. And there was …
Last reply by Steve Dunn, -
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CHAPTER ONE.docx
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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Cars gathered in the Saint Jude’s parking lot. Cars with Saint Christopher medals and pine air fresheners swaying in unison—cars with crank windows and dirty ashtrays, Turtle Waxed sedans in from the suburbs and garages of their very own, a car with one red door and Bondo over the left rear fender. The gentle widows, the steadfast, the devout, the terrified of dying, the good wives clutching handbags in the passenger seats, the ones who were brought up to do the right thing. One after another, they surfed the derelict potholes, exhaust pipes scraping the asphalt. Then came the hearse, jostling the dead, and the bagpipe player (he drove a Lexus.) The news van was no surpri…
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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AIDEN I’ve got a light touch on the steering wheel. The road cuts a winding path through a dense forest, the cone of my headlights revealing just enough to see ahead. Everything else is stark blackness. Daft Punk blasts through the speakers—an EDM mix I made last year as a DJ for my high school. Back when DJs and high schools existed, that is. The bass rumbling through the seat makes me feel connected to the car. For the third time this hour, I check on the vials. With one eye on the road, I paw at the backpack resting on the passenger seat. A little obsessive? Maybe. But it’s my critical cargo, what I’m risking my life for. And I’m doing this for Marcus.…
Last reply by rachelmsterling, -
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OPENING SCENE - Introduces antagonist, setting, tone, and a foreshadows the primary conflict. I followed Mahl deeper into the jungle. Winds slapped the leaves into my face, and the torrent of rain threw sheets of freezing rain into my bones. I could not see the ground beneath me, only felt my sandals sink deep into the earth as I trudged through the muck, holding tight to the thin orrnah wrapped around my shoulders. “We should stop, Ayni.” Her voice reached my ears despite the monsoon drowning out the sound of our sloshing steps and haggard breathing. How fortunate that I could hear Mahl’s voice, even in my head. “Why?” I asked just as my kameez snagged on…
Last reply by rachelmsterling, -
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Chapter 1. Opening scene introduces protagonist's narrative structure, setting, stakes, and antagonistic forces/themes. First Year—Autumn Semester 1 Does it hurt a dragon to be called an elephant? On the morning before my first day at the Imperial Academy, Amma told me to be as noble and strong as an elephant of N’daia. I told my mother that there were no elephants here in Oreka and that I was a dragon. Amma laughed as she held my arm, and that ended the conversation. Since Amma can’t move fast like me or Abba, we took our time walking through the pebbled grounds of the palace. Everything about the palace is bright and colorful: with brown…
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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Includes: inciting incident, setting, tone, protagonist, supporting characters Prologue December 19, 1995 Indianapolis, Indiana Mitchell flipped on his turn signal then glanced down College in the direction of his coffee shop. Shit! Christmas shoppers had swarmed the place. The line for the drive-thru backed off the property and ran down College Avenue as far. as he could see. The light changed. Rather than just give up he went with what he knew. He drove into the intersection then made a quick right onto a parallel side street. He drove aro…
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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This is a scene closer to the end. Even though it's a flashback scene, it's pivotal to the story since it informs the reader about what is holding Eve back in the present day. “Honey, I’m home!” I busied myself with grating the parmigiana until I heard his footsteps in the kitchen. His loud, clunky footsteps. I told him a million times to take his damn shoes off when he came home. So unsanitary. It was a state of mind I picked up in Singapore that always stuck with me. “Eve?” I glanced at him and then picked up the salad bowl. James moved closer to me. “Are you even going to say hi?” I scoffed, avoi…
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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Last reply by DomGerard, -
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I always show up to work early but onFebruary 8, 2006 I was earlier than usual, cup of coffee in hand. The first thing I did was call my mom to wish her a happy birthday. I wanted to do it from my office phone because she loved seeing Hampton Bays School District on her caller ID. She was so proud that her son was a school principal—with even bigger aspirations. I opened with the same line I’ve used since moving out: “Mama, its Frank Vetro.” It always cracks her up. The simple things make her laugh, make her happy. She never wants a gift. I stopped buying her gifts years ago because they always go to waste. Quality time with her family is all she ever wants, and dinner wi…
Last reply by DomGerard, -
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Opening Scene of adult/new adult Science Fiction to introduce the main character, her special ability, and a little world building. Security Guild Capital (Chesapeake District) Shaanti closed her eyes to concentrate on keeping perfectly still. She held her head high, her shoulders back, hands pressed against the small of her back, and her feet shoulder width apart. It was torture. The more she tried not to move, the more her body demanded release. She was very good at many things - keeping still wasn’t one. Wearing her dress greys helped, they fit so snug. Her aunt had them specially tailored for the occasion, so this was her first time wearing them. Aunt Margue…
Last reply by DomGerard, -
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Prologue – The Sunday Vinyl Project (a nonfiction memoir) May 13, 1987. My husband and I are going through the last of midterms this week. After this, it’s paper writing time. The list of chores is endless, and life goes on spinning us slowly in our tracks. To hesitate, to slow down for only a moment, would be to miss much of life’s experiences. If we could only capture some of the precious times with our children and with each other and place them in a looking glass for tomorrow. The best we can capture are two-dimensional images of a time, a person, an event... There is a piece missing that makes my heart ache in viewing the past, the spirit of that time. Captu…
Last reply by DomGerard, -
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“So, what’s your story, pal?” He glanced over. Though in pain, the Marine smiled at him from the next bed. It was clear he was talking to him, but Albert Campbell was unsure whether to speak or remain silent. He’d been watching the infantryman all night, but now that the larger man was awake, he remembered he made a practice of avoiding soldiers like him, to shrink away from their brash, loud demeanor, their violence. Perhaps, it was better to remain unseen, unheard. “Hello? Hey, yeah, I’m talking to you. What are you here for?” No such luck. “A mortar,” Albert replied haltingly. “It hit my regiment’s kitchen.” He lifted the thin blanket to reveal…
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Last reply by Marlena, -
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Opening Scene - introduces protagonist, setting and other POV characters. CHAPTER ONE: SIBBY Good coffee and pumpkin chocolate chip muffins brought everyone together in a way that made Sibby believe in world peace for a few minutes every day. Add a sunshiny October day and everything seemed like it would turn out okay. A warm wind shoved last night’s chill away, as if telling winter to back the hell off. Sibby Wicklow needs a few more weeks of good business. The maples in Prayer Grove rustled with their glorious rare red as the sun rose over the mountains. Hikers had been crowding the cafe all morning, going on about the leaves! The leaves! The leaves! Ji…
Last reply by Ariel Slick, -
1980 Three men remained silent as they sat in the car. Two in the front seat. One in the back. Easing up slowly to the end of the street, the driver killed the lights and brought the car to a stop by the side of the dark, dilapidated building. The right-side rear door of the car opened, and a man got in. The front seat passenger watched with concern, then asked, “Where’s Angel?” “How the fuck should I know? I’m here. Worry about that,” the man replied curtly, annoyed at his lack of concern for him. Again, they sat silent, but only for a moment. “Are you sure about this? I think we’re going too big. It’s too soon.” “Y…
Last reply by Ariel Slick, -
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Scene 1 Terra hoisted the heavy red gasoline canister to her lips and took a swig. “The only thing that ran out of gas is your bullshit story,” she said, her sparkling black eyes trained on him. The young man cuffed to the barbed-wire cattle fence dripped with sweat, despite the fact that clouds had been blocking the sun for the past few hours. He looked ridiculous out here, Terra thought, with his pristine white hoodie and his high wave of stiff slicked-back hair. The hardy foliage and rugged black bark of the massive ebony tree behind him added to the absurdity. Its olive leaves danced in the wind that seemed to be picking up as the afternoon kicked in.…
Last reply by Zona, -
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Chapter One: A Tragedy Her sadness echoes. Her body trembles under the weight of her tears. Her nails clench into the steering wheel as rage overtakes her. How did this happen? How did I get here? These are the questions Jackie Anthonys asks herself as she prepares for a moment she’d hoped would never come… Here she was, finally alone, her hopes left unfulfilled, her pleas unanswered. The time has come, and from here on out, the woman who’d spent her entire life existing in a world of her own creation where she maintained all control was forced to face reality. This is their moment… their final moment together before she’s lost him forever. “Mom,” Her seventeen…
Last reply by Marc Curtis Little, -
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My novel is about a heartbroken, modern-day science teacher who is wooed by a man who claims to be Shakespeare. 1 Joy looks up at the autumn sky and sees a sign: a white “H” within a bright green square, a logo that reminds her of summer vacations. “Who knew we had a Holiday Inn?” she says to Fredrico. “Who cares?” She could change the subject to something more relevant to him—like the spa facilities at the new Ritz Carlton, or his resemblance to a 1970’s George Harrison—but instead of working that hard, she lets the conversation drop. The restaurant is just a few blocks from his West Village apar…
Last reply by Emma C. Pasternack, -
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Delusions of Grandeur Chapter 1 It all seems too good to be true, this magical island called Palm Beach, more modern-day Atlantis or Xanadu than actual city, more dream than reality. It brings to mind a French impressionist painting reminiscent of Renoir or Monet, more an enchanting vision of color and blurred lines than some dry depiction of life as it is, an imagined work of art limited to all things beautiful, with any hint of ugliness glossed over in undulating strokes of cadmium yellow and cobalt blue. Merely crossing any of the short bridges spanning from the mainland to the barrier island you might just as well be crossing the entirety of the Atl…
Last reply by Tiffany, -
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GAME KNOWS GAME EDIT.docx
Last reply by Marc Curtis Little, -
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The Undergrad A novel by Kate Rounds “You’re not alone when someone thinks they can see your mind.”—Eileen Myles “… The heart itself is beyond control….”—Chitra Banerjee 1 Walking to work, I have this propulsive urge not to arrive at my destination, as if strong winds or heavy baggage were slowing me down. I’m a fledgling adjunct in the Department of English and Language Arts of Saint John’s Community College across the Hudson River from Lower Manhattan. In the hero’s journey, you eventually do get to your destination, but in real life, failing to arrive is not such a bad thing. You might be saving y…
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Last reply by Yelda Basar Moers, -
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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,
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