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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April 1989 Southport, Maine Someone had told her once that the red house had withstood years of abuse from the gales and never faltered because it had good bones. But the house that fishermen looked to as a landmark in the fog was now a beacon of neglect. Galene stopped at the front door and scraped her fingernails along the siding. Red paint peeled off in shards. At least she’d had the roof replaced last year. She tussled with the finicky lock and cringed as the door creaked open in protest. The air inside smelled like must. Furniture covered in white cloth. Dust motes dancing. A memory tugged at her. She shook it off. The large windows in the parlor stretched across th…
Last reply by Sheila Myers, -
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After a week of festivities, the people of Kald should have been sleeping off the twice-cooked pork, the sticky yam dumplings, and the sweet salt wines of Mawa, but instead, they were screaming—fleeing their squat white houses in the wee hours of morning as the spoken fire overtook them. The fire danced across the wide streets and the sweltering heat caused the white paint on the houses to bubble and blister. Sickly green flames, at first, but as they burned hotter the green swirled to bright yellows and searing oranges as it washed over the townhomes, stacked atop of each other like building blocks. When the town was founded nearly a century ago, the design was celebrate…
Last reply by AD.Greenwyn, -
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Opening scenes – Introduces one of the co-protagonists, world/setting, voice. Experiments with new plot elements developed during the conference. The frigid wind choked Astra. Her body burned with intense cold. Despite growing up in the Giant's Fingers, the frozen islands that stretched out like fingers from the Great Southern Glacier at the edge of the world, Astra had never been as cold as she was on the three months journey from her fishing village in Myrt to the harsh Skyrlish tunda. Luckily, she'd had Taryl to keep her warm. The chief's daughter turned to her fire haired companion, who hid behind an obelisk of smooth obsidian-colored stone. He was using th…
Last reply by Oliviarfrias, -
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The hermit heard the distant clash of shield and spear before he saw them. Not until he trudged over a muddy knoll, using his gnarled broke-branch for a third leg, did he see them there below, their horses hard-breathing and spurblood streaming down their bellies. Two knights in provincial armor all hard-leather and hauberks rusting, faced one another readying for another charge and tilt. Rain began to fall, bone-cold, and the hermit steadied himself against a skeletonized tree to watch. He marked their shields as they raised them into position—each emblazoned with a weathered crest of a thorn-stemmed rose. An internal feud, a dispute o…
Last reply by Cleveland, -
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Hook: When a dad quits his job to find meaning in his work, he unwittingly destabilizes his marriage just as the COVID pandemic worsens. Ironically, with his wife ill and daughter hungry, Alex discovers a purpose, but when the crisis eases Lisa wants to return to the past, leaving Alex to make a difficult decisions. Sugarbug is an 82,000 word general or upmarket novel whose level of violence, tone and overall approach to a pandemic is similar to Station Eleven by Emily St. John-Mandel. And while I am a mere shadow compared to Wallace Stegner, Sugarbug invites readers to discover whether or not a marriage will reach "The Angle of Repose." Sugarbug Befo…
Last reply by erikwecks, -
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Chapter 1.[MOU1] Bri Winter lay on her couch, tossed popcorn into her mouth, and stared at the TV blindly. Daytime TV got her through the day, well, at least until midday, after that, she was at a bit of a loss. There wasn’t much she enjoyed about her life. Maybe the sighting of an eagle overhead or a cobweb pearled in frost. She often wished she had been born a couple of centuries earlier when life seemed more romantic. “Seemed.” As the old cliche says—things are not always what they seem. The eighteen hundreds may have spawned Romantic poets, but it was filth ridden and rampant with disease. The women on TV were getting heated about Botox, the Puffy Filler F…
Last reply by Heidi, -
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Anaïs Cigogne Giroux was born in Paris, France in 1927 and tumbled into this world haphazardly, like an airy, windborne dandelion. No one could explain such children, the lineage she inherited, or her quiet determination that secured her gifts early on, unusual abilities that she would need, even as a child. She was the daughter of Brigette Czajka and called Anastazja Czajka. Her stepfather, Boyrs Czajka loved the name Anastazja, and although he had not officially adopted Ani, she was known as Anastazja Czajka. They lived in Krakow, Poland and when she was eighteen years old, she took her final vows as a Benedictine nun, from then on known as Sister Ani. That she wa…
Last reply by Marie White Small, -
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THE GREATEST RACE! By Doc Spoon Speculative, Alt-Historical Fiction - 116,000 words FIRST FIVE PAGES When people run out of golden ideas to chase, they chase gold.” Anonymous Chapter One – The Bilderberg Wager The billionaires were face to face, nose to nose, with flushed cheeks and clenched fists. They were about to put hands on each other. “Square has not lost a race in seven years!” Fixon and the cognac shouted. Monroe Fixon was an African American pharmaceutical mogul who capitalized on the human genome work. “Neither has Quad!” screamed Bishop and the liquor. August Bishop was a British-Caucasian who made his fortune by pate…
Last reply by Thomas Schemkes, -
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CHAPTER I The tap, tap, tap, of the red Louboutin stilettos echoed like jacketed hollow point rounds being fired from a suppressed SIG Sauer P365, as she walked confidently across the polished, dove grey, Italian marble floors of her opulent office space to stare out the 25th floor window. It was a sound the man just entering the room, one that owned such a weapon, was well familiar with. The heels were an exact color match to the well fitted, powerful, yet feminine, fitted tank dress Eve wore flattering her flawless figure. Her black silken hair was swept up in a beautiful chignon held by a diamond tipped pin. The perfectly French manicured index finger of …
Last reply by Kimberly Luse, -
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Aida Pemble was an abomination, but there were worse things to be. A turtle-murderer, for example. She was definitely better than a turtle-murderer. Or that guy in the city who fondled his willy while he walked around, Priest Saint Donahue or something like that. Oh, and definitely any bastard who felt the need to whistle. She fucking hated whistling. Sing or don’t sing, play an instrument or don’t, but to try and pretend curling your tongue and eschewing spit was anything more than an insult to those around you was absurd. Gods, she hated whistling. She hated it especially right now, as she wrestled with the stubborn wheelbarrow over the tangled brus…
Last reply by Aida Zilbergleyt, -
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Opening scenes – introduces protagonist, world/setting, voice, and inciting incident. 1 - Time Will Not Tell The last thing Alila Illi desired was ending up in an asylum to rot alone with no family to save her. Stepping out of the elevator, she wished for the thousandth time that she could not feel people’s pain. It was getting harder to keep her mouth shut, swallow the hurt, and not blurt out to strangers unsolicited advice about their poor health. Especially when they didn’t even look sick. Alila stood in the lobby of her suburban apartment building and checked her watch, 8:30 a.m. Perfect. Her local coffee shop would be almost free of people. …
Last reply by Safiya M., -
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Chapter 1 Anti-Rightist Movement Five minutes, that’s all it was. Actually, it was less than that. There was no violence, no natural disaster, no screaming throngs. All that happened was some words were spoken. Words that abruptly changed the trajectory of my life and which have haunted me for the last half century. It happened one day in 1957 after a long trip father took with Russian experts. It happened in a meeting in which the leaders of Beijing Geology College asked for advice. It happened on that podium father used to give lectures that so captivated his students. It was rooted in father’s scholarly mind that was always ques…
Last reply by Yun B, -
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My heart feels like it’s been thrown onto the ground only to be beaten and bruised. This has to be a dream. The rain batters my hair and clothes, leaving me a mess, but I don’t take notice. Falling in love had just cost me a heartbreak I had never imagined, one tangled with grief. How could I continue to live my life without him? Someone must wake me up from this nightmare. As the rain runs down my face, I close my eyes, but all that travels across the black canvas are pictures of him: snapshots of the happy times and images of times he annoyed me. I wish he was here to annoy me again. I see wasted moments of precious time over lover’s quarrels that made no sen…
Last reply by Blair Hayse, -
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My best friend is going to die. And it’s my fault. That was the accusation screaming inside my head—like the chorus of a heavy metal song—when the doctor came striding in, asking about tacos. “Chicken or beef?” the nurse added. She was wearing magenta scrubs bright enough to blind someone. Maybe both their vision had been compromised. Could they not see the body right in front of us? “It’s this little game Doctor Mullion likes to play, asking what she should order for lunch,” the nurse explained. “My personal vote is pork.” Little game? My best friend is go…
Last reply by alilane2007, -
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Opening Pages Panic City by Scott Brooks The first goggles were large, obvious, and people asked questions. A little while later, they tried something that looked like a motorcycle helmet, which also drew attention, but remained a fan favorite of certain players who chose to play on electric scooters or skateboards and who also no doubt enjoyed regular fly-bys past the uncertain law enforcement of New York City. Maybe there were other iterations of goggles, visors, as well as the headphones and gloves; you’re unlikely to meet anyone who will admit to knowing much of anything about a game called Panic City and the people who played it. The next goggle…
Last reply by Scott Brooks, -
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Three samples are posted below: Chapter 1 introduces Tom Preston, the protagonist, and foreshadows the primary conflict. Chapter 17 shares inner dialogue of Ray Whelan, the antagonist. An excerpt from Chapter 26 includes dialogue between Ray and David, a young man Ray hired to replace Quentin (the dealer he murdered). Chapter 1 Digging a grave was a hell of a lot harder than Tom expected. After nearly an hour of spading through hard earth and snarls of thick, knotted roots, the hole looked barely two feet deep. He climbed out to assess his work, his hands blistered and bleeding, then tossed the shovel back into the grave and hurried to his car …
Last reply by Rich M., -
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The first chapter is below, which introduces the protagonist and her world on a very bad day. Up to Here Marza had had it up to fucking here. Here not being just the chin or forehead, the traditional places one has it fucking up to, but all the way up through the fucking roof. She’d had it with her job. She’d had it with her boss. She’d had it with her horrifying ex-husband and their bratty kid. She’d had it with the cat she adopted that was forever shitting in her shoes. She’d had it with having to explain to people that her name was not Martha or Marcia Penn, but Marza Penn after the dumb-fuck almond confection that her dumb-fuck parents thought was “just oh so…
Last reply by katherinemf, -
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The Old Oak Tree Spring 1754 GLENEALY, IRELAND—The boy paid no mind to the grit and stones that cut into the soft flesh of his bare feet. He was all consumed by the rumors, if true, he was going to kill that son-of-a-bitch Emmet Rafferty. The shallow brook defined the trail. Littered with weather-smooth stones, it meandered through the thick forest like a glistening ribbon. Oisin Lambert hung to the shadows of its edge. The mud of the bank was black and soft, his bare heels sunk like spoons into pudding. Talk was his older sister, Muirne, be occupying the rake Rafferty. The boy of just twelve years pushed strands of shoulder-length blond hair behind h…
Last reply by David1755, -
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Last reply by discobiscuit3, -
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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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TWO WORLDS MERGING TO FORM THE ONE Neom City, Saudi Arabia October 2, 2030 He was not armed heavily – that could not be risked with the security drones programmed for firearms or direct-energy caps. The kill would have to be Old World – swift and by the blade. The assassin was dressed for the occasion – in formal white; he’d be a face in the crowd, a presumed participantin the regional wealth ofthe Greatest Show On Earth. Ishmael’s orders were simple:eliminate the great Infidel, MX Leon, enemy to both the people and the state, not to mention to Allah himself. The devil Leon was a creature beyond the sands, possessed of magic and technology …
Last reply by Liora Yoael, -
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Chapter One He had taken great pains to prepare for his new role. After all, a medical residency at the famed Johns Hopkins Hospital was something sought by many but found by few. He was one of the lucky ones and wanted to look good. A crisp blue button-down shirt and striped tie were nicely framed by his short white coat. A new I.D card hung from his breast pocket, showcasing his thick light brown hair and warm smile. With his black doctor’s bag in hand, he was ready to go. After straightening his jacket and taking a deep breath, he briskly walked down the hall to the emergency room. As he approached, the electronic double doors quickly swung open to greet h…
Last reply by JEG, -
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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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OPENING SCENE - Introduces the antagonist, protagonist, the protag’s new love interest, the contemporary setting, tone, and the primary conflict. Another anniversary. Eight years. On any other Saturday, Emily would pull her boots on and gather kindling. She’d snap a hundred branches, then come inside and light a match under all the wood. With the kitchen radio on, she’d bake something, scones or a coffee cake, all while Neil slept. But today, they were already up. No fire to start. No bread to bake. Keeping with tradition, they left their phones on the kitchen counter. They rode Neil’s red Harley, a model from the 80s that he kept in prist…
Last reply by Lisa771, -
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Opening Scene- Establishes setting, protagonist, antagonist, and primary and secondary conflicts. CHAPTER 1 “Only one in forty are venomous.” The murmured reminder did nothing to banish the trickle of bright adrenaline down my nerves as the breakers began their telltale frothing beneath the water’s surface. I should have felt badly for skipping my voice session, but I was too sated on the sand’s warmth and a full belly to much care. Strands of hair coaxed on the sea’s winds floated across my copper cheeks, and I did not bother to restrain their path over slitted eyes which watched the ebb of the surf- waiting. The coiling of my stomach had lit…
Last reply by Melissa Mohalla,
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