New York Write to Pitch "First Pages" - 2022, 2023, 2024
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.
258 topics in this forum
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Early on the morning of June 13, 2022, Jake MacKay walked through the mist of Dunrobin Castle’s hedged gardens. The twin spired castle was the northernmost in the Scottish Highlands, a white fortress jutting from the hillside against the sea. Jake crossed the vast lawn to the wooded spot, where the caged birds of prey watched, their heads pivoting— massive eagles, falcons owls. He found Tavish Kerr, the falconer, in his thatched hut picking over rabbit parts for the birds on a long table. Older now, stooped— still with his worn, tweed cap, he nodded. "Today is the day." He sized up Jake. "You shrank.” “I lost my rugby weight a long time ago.” …
Last reply by Tom Jessiman, -
- 2 replies
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My son killed my wife, so I never cared about being his father. I couldn't remember the last time such a small physical act like a hug, or even a tender touch on the boy's shoulder, came naturally or willfully. This basic skillset existed in other parents. I know because I've studied them at kindergarten drop off and pick up, but my own gestures with Savion felt forced like a skill that never properly developed. Even though my son never knew his mother, Imani, they somehow shared mannerisms like the way they each bite their lower lip when nervous, or how they always let a laugh linger longer than what seemed appropriate for the situation. In those moments, I’d be reminded…
Last reply by Sharon Rodriguez, -
THE INFINITE MATTER OF KAT WATBURN T.E. Bean Twenty-Two Minutes Before ထ Eight days ago, space and time were things to be relied upon. Universally speaking. Now I sat perched in a far-flung cave halfway up a near-vertical ravine, huddled with my boyfriend, Som, in a fading pocket of light as the sun moved behind a mountain, drawing angles of golden polygons among the sacred ruins before us. Fingers entwined, our backs propped against a monolithic altar, we clocked the morning half-light climbing the empty sky: a fuse igniting life in the crystals embedded within a stone temple. The entire planet plugged into one dazzling circuit. By …
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
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- 198 views
Killing The Game Michael Martin Crime drama, opening scene: Introduces protagonists, setting, tone, and foreshadows the primary conflict. Chicago, Illinois. The Present. Friday had not been the best and that was before a squad car appeared behind me, electric blues ignited. Heart into chest. Being reasonably certain I hadn't broken any traffic laws, the squad probably meant one thing: Lieutenant Kinchloe wanted me. I had so hoped those days were over... Lieutenant Kinchloe was convinced I killed my wife. But he couldn't prove it. But man did he try. For me that meant hours being subjected to the type of mental torture that is legal …
Last reply by Michael M, -
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First 2 chapters introduce setting, main protagonist and main antagonist, set tone and foreshadow the primary conflict. Create sympathy for the protagonist as he tries to “save the cat.” CHAPTER ONE Behind the cover of a tree, Olaf watched the humans soar through the night on their broomstick. The baby’s laughter had attracted him—distracted him from foraging for food. It sounded like the chirping of baby birds, even sweeter than blueberries. The adult female carried the baby, and a hunk of metal which glinted in the moonlight. She was tall, taller than Olaf when he stood on his hind legs. She had a lot of unruly orange fur on top of her …
Last reply by Patti, -
- 1 reply
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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, -
Primal longing is often conceived in the cage of civilization, where the danger of the wilderness can lay shrouded by a puerile enthusiasm to escape and melt into solitude. Baker County Sheriff’s Search and Rescue Coordinator, Dylan Stoke, had experienced the full gambit of enthusiastically ignorant decisions made by the out-of-their-element city dweller. Most of the time, the mishaps affected only those that deserved a little discomfort, and his SAR team could easily rectify those with a tow truck, a cup of hot liquid, or a splint. Sometimes, however, the poor decisions and lack of preparation endangered the innocent. The hinges of Stoke’s jaw retreated into hi…
Last reply by Steve Dunn, -
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On Saturday night, right after Shabbos, I had the good luck to receive a phone call from Yoni, an old friend who was visiting his parents. It was mid-December, I hadn’t gone to shul that Shabbos and didn’t know that he was in town. The Rothman’s house still had the Shabbos smell of chicken soup and chulent. Yoni was leaning back on the couch, one of his arms around Deet. She was wearing a red skirt that only reached her knees. Her legs were bare. Yoni had put on some weight since I’d last seen him two years ago. His pants and shirt fit him too tightly. When he half-stood up to welcome me, arms open to give me a hug, I thought that at least one of the buttons w…
Last reply by Yosef, -
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My favorite stories are the ones that begin with a raised eyebrow and some old man sayin, “You cain’t make this shit up.” Them kinda tales everbody wants to hear, cause there’s always someone who don’t want ‘em told. Not me. I like true stories, and I can already tell this is a good’un in the makin. Hard not to be, beins Mr. Jackson’s done drawed a syringe full of sleepy juice for his tranquilizer spear. First time I’ve ever seen one in real life, cause lord knows Kendall don’t believe in nothin but sweet words and a curry comb when it comes to breakin cattle. Big pussy. “Stick ‘im, Jackson!” And…bingo. Ewww-weee. Popped ‘im right square in the neck vein. M…
Last reply by wesnolen, -
- 1 reply
- 648 views
CHAPTER ONE.docx
Last reply by Natasha Williams, -
- 4 replies
- 372 views
CHAPTER 1 - Introduces protagonist, establishes relationship to antagonist, sets tone, inciting incident takes place. Johnny Bueno stepped out of his car ready to make a killing, but he never thought fate would take him literally. Nestled against the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, Santa Anita Park was a beacon for the gambling addicted. A holy ground for the hobbyist. And a den of damnation for the foolhardy. And Johnny, hustling toward the track entrance determined to make the last race of the day, was nothing if not foolhardy. He glanced at his watch, a military-issued Elgin handed down by his grandfather—and counted thirteen minut…
Last reply by Don Munro, -
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CHAPTER 1 It was raining again. Shango could smell it in the hot air before he felt the droplets from the holes in the canvas roof. It was the acrid smell worming its way through the slits in the tent that had woken him in the first place, just like it always woke him when the wind changed direction. Despite his youth, he often wondered why it rained the way it did. Are the fields burning again? Or did they never stop? It had rained on and off for the better part of three months. Nearly as long as his refugee camp had stood. News had reached the camp just before the rains began that the fighting had cro…
Last reply by RolandH, -
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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, -
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TERROR UNDELETED CHAPTER 1 Why bloody fingerprints on that note from his dad? Now was the wrong time to ask—a smear of senseless... as senseless as killing men he knew nothing about. But here he was. They moved up across the park-side to the back entrance, the one where the dope-fiends gathered in a tight company of pissy whiffs and shit-talking with hands…. The fiends made way without a third thought, keeping their chatter steady and casual, as the hooded men wedged through, guns downward…. Nico counted four men, between his own desperate heartbeats, himself included. Being 14 didn’t matter now. …
Last reply by Cavis Adams, -
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I smiled as my arrow lodged in the goblin’s skull. It dropped to the arena’s sandy floor with a grunt, a lifeless heap of metallic armor. I notched a second arrow and drew, searching for more enemies. Fortunately, I didn’t have to look hard. Hundreds of the ugly green creatures swarmed into the coliseum from all sides, completely surrounding me. Their snarls drowned out the cheers of the crowd, both of which were united in wishing for my gruesome death. The goblin horde paused about ten feet away, their disfigured faces sizing me up like a double bacon cheeseburger. But I wasn’t afraid. I had an ugly, hungry companion of my own. My best friend, Henry Lee. …
Last reply by Reed Blanchard, -
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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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Oslo Jones felt the mule stumble beneath him. Its breath came in wheezing burbles. Another day’s ride and it would be completely lame. His teeth gritted against that future. They had been together since he left home. He thought of their nights under the stars. He thought of their days passed on empty stomach. He thought of their kinship, completely unfettered by questions. Oslo loosened his grip on the reins and sighed. There wasn’t far to go now. An intruding wind picked up and trail dust surrounded them in dancing plumes. Carried on a stiff breeze, those dust clouds could taunt a rider for miles.…
Last reply by Osahon Okundaye, -
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~ prologue ~ The tightly-bound shackles left a ring of rust on her wrists. The pounding in her head felt as if a string of bombs were being set off in her head, the pounding almost drowned out the sounds of the unpleasant whispers surrounding her. Her legs and feet ached from having stood against a post for days on end, the common punishment for someone awaiting trial on the Skeltu planet. The woman wanted to cry in agony of the severity of her situation. She could feel the stares of the rest of her species piercing into her. Their gazes were sharp and cruel. She didn’t dare make eye contact, as she couldn’t bare the sight of distaste that everyone seemed to ha…
Last reply by Danielle Emefiele, -
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Chapter 1 Colony of Maryland Late August 1751 For the second time that day, Colonel Benjamin Tasker, Jr. saw a dark-skinned man in deerskin pants dash across the road and disappear in the trees a short distance ahead of him and Dancer, his gray stallion, while they traveled to Bel Air. Not so much a road, but more of a wide muddy path that cut through the wilderness, serving travelers from Annapolis to outlying settlements and estates. The man was shirtless and hawk feathers decorated his long black hair. An Indian, very likely a Piscataway. A sizable population of them still lingered more than a century after the landowners had established their presen…
Last reply by Melanie_Richardson, -
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Chapter 1 There was a knock on the door, but Blair didn’t look up from her desktop. Moments later, another knock forced her hazel eyes to roll. “Tessa?” Blair called to her assistant who was putting together the new white leather couches for her office. “Yes Miss?” Tessa stood immediately, smoothing out her clothes as she spoke. Tessa has only been Blair’s assistant for a week. She had applied hopeful, but didn’t expect much other than a phone call saying she didn’t qualify. She, after all, did come from the scheduling department, which everybody knows is the bottom tier job at The Circle. Blair often refers to them as “sadly necessary.” But Tessa is young…
Last reply by Mackenzie Eaton, -
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Chapter 1 2017 Asmara I stopped by the maternity ward to do my morning round with the three medical students and a resident. The women lay under white sheets in two rows along either side of the room, with light blue curtains, now wide open, separating each patient. When we reached Miriam's bed, I watched as they presented her. She had been in the hospital for two weeks, but today she seemed flushed; her hands and face appeared more swollen. I asked Miriam how she felt. "I am fine, I think. Although, I do have some cramps," she said, hands running over her belly. I bent to examine her. "Are you having pain now?" "No, just last night." …
Last reply by Agoitom, -
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May 27, 1905 The White House grounds were redolent with the scent of cherry blossoms, fresh-cut grass and something distinctly….mechanical. Alice Roosevelt wrinkled her nose. The pungent odor reminded her of kerosine. Alice trotted to the fence surrounding the property, peering through the iron bars. No motorcar accidents on H Street. Alice’s long-haired chihuahua, Leo, scurried over and dropped off a stick. Alice dutifully tossed it while checking her watch. Maggie would arrive soon to pick her up for tonight’s party. Too bad they were in Washington, D.C., instead of New York. Everyone in the Capitol stared at her like the prize cow at a state fair. Leo …
Last reply by James Holland, -
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• INCITING INCIDENT – Foreshadows primary conflict, introduces secondary characters and setting. New Guinea, 1944 Lush tropical humidity swirled lazily, engulfing the pristine white beach. Frigate birds glided like calm kites, soaring with their great majesty over indigo waters. Flying rainbows of lorikeets flitted through the dense rainforest edge. Coconut palms flap-flapped their giant leaves, their fringy leaflets twisting gently this way and that. Waves broke out on the reef without much force during low tide. The intense beauty and tranquility of the island was the stuff of postcards. Piles of reef fish—samut and jamgunmari—glistened in a hand-hew…
Last reply by Laura K Marsh, -
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OPENING SCENE: Introduces protagonist, setting, and conflict. (After the opening scene, I jump a few pages to a scene with Jonas, the protagonist, and Levi, his father, because there’s no dialogue in the opening scene.) HEARTWOOD The line of sheep bodies curved up the hill toward the copse of white pines (Pinus strobus) behind the barbwire. Slick white wool matted with blood. Each neck cut clean. There was blood on the boy’s hands but he was used to blood on his hands. Still, urgency fountained inside him, flushing limb to limb, as he left one dead ewe (Ovis aries) and moved to the next. Fear heated his cheeks and goos…
Last reply by Silas, -
- 1 reply
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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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