Hello, I have just finished my novel, clicking in at 185,000 words. I'm at the editing phase now, I'm near halfway done, and it's already paying huge dividents in terms of the clarity of the book. In my hopes of getting this published, I know the first chapter has to really catch the eye, and I'm hoping to do that. I just wanted to see what any of you thought of a small excerpt from the very beginning - any advice, good or bad is quite welcomed. (There is a beginning before this even. Just 2 pages. It's not a prologue, but it's something seperate. This is where the first Chapter is placed in, and about - So That's why I am asking for feedback on this, rather than what comes before.)
A vibrant, orange streak soared into the sky, snaking over the hillsides and then shooting back up, progressing towards the sun before it suddenly exploded with a thunderous roar over a vast ocean of dancing and parading people. The orange color turned to a bright, alluring blue, as sparks of fire started to fall from the sky, evaporating into the air before they had the chance to touch down onto the wet, green grass.
“’Ey, look! The carriages are startin’ to come in!” A man yelled out, stretching out his neck in excitement.
Under the fire-filled horizon, carriages, pulled by horses wrought with exhaustion, were making their way over the grassy hills. They came every few ours from the Greenlands, carrying fireworks, toys for children, drinks for the partying people, and other assortments of small things. It was the annual party of life in Finden, where the people would celebrate each year of existence with a grand festival. Women would abandon their duties of housekeeping, shops were closed -- all that remained opened were the inns. And the bar seats were never without a warm body.
Dusk had begun to fall over the town; night would come to conquer soon. But it would not deter the joyful people, who danced and enjoyed a wondrous day with their neighbors. The small community was kept together by their shared interests. This was not a place of fancy buildings and royal streets paved in gold: they kept their buildings square-shaped, and their belly’s round, and that’s how they liked it.
“Where is that Binden!” a woman could be heard yelling from within a crowd of people. “We’re going to run out of fresh food soon!”
Binden, the only man who supplied this little town with food. He wasn’t the only farmer because the soil was bad, or the weather was temperamental, but rather because of a most unlikely fairytale. Long ago, there was one who threatened to hold all of the lands in an eternal iron clasp of sinister hatred. The people of Finden swore that terrible things lived underground during this time. The people said they could hear the ground rumble, they could see the dirt move. One even said he saw the creature. They called them Gravewakers, for they said these monsters, as they referred to them, could wake a dead man resting in his grave. The cynical being, who commanded the name, Dark Lord, was ultimately vanquished from his throne, but nevertheless, the tale lives on. All but one man, Binden, believe in this story.
A vibrant, orange streak soared into the sky, snaking over the hillsides and then shooting back up, progressing towards the sun before it suddenly exploded with a thunderous roar over a vast ocean of dancing and parading people. The orange color turned to a bright, alluring blue, as sparks of fire started to fall from the sky, evaporating into the air before they had the chance to touch down onto the wet, green grass.
“’Ey, look! The carriages are startin’ to come in!” A man yelled out, stretching out his neck in excitement.
Under the fire-filled horizon, carriages, pulled by horses wrought with exhaustion, were making their way over the grassy hills. They came every few ours from the Greenlands, carrying fireworks, toys for children, drinks for the partying people, and other assortments of small things. It was the annual party of life in Finden, where the people would celebrate each year of existence with a grand festival. Women would abandon their duties of housekeeping, shops were closed -- all that remained opened were the inns. And the bar seats were never without a warm body.
Dusk had begun to fall over the town; night would come to conquer soon. But it would not deter the joyful people, who danced and enjoyed a wondrous day with their neighbors. The small community was kept together by their shared interests. This was not a place of fancy buildings and royal streets paved in gold: they kept their buildings square-shaped, and their belly’s round, and that’s how they liked it.
“Where is that Binden!” a woman could be heard yelling from within a crowd of people. “We’re going to run out of fresh food soon!”
Binden, the only man who supplied this little town with food. He wasn’t the only farmer because the soil was bad, or the weather was temperamental, but rather because of a most unlikely fairytale. Long ago, there was one who threatened to hold all of the lands in an eternal iron clasp of sinister hatred. The people of Finden swore that terrible things lived underground during this time. The people said they could hear the ground rumble, they could see the dirt move. One even said he saw the creature. They called them Gravewakers, for they said these monsters, as they referred to them, could wake a dead man resting in his grave. The cynical being, who commanded the name, Dark Lord, was ultimately vanquished from his throne, but nevertheless, the tale lives on. All but one man, Binden, believe in this story.
