Cracks, quacks, spurrucks, all of them, those prophets. Lots of folk disagree with me, of course, because the prophets are always right--once in a while. I’ve heard a lot of stories about prophets and only one where the prophecy came true. But I guess that doesn’t matter now, because I’m going to see a friend. He’s a prophet, the only prophet I’ll put up with. I have a hot and sick feeling in my stomach as I spur my horse into a trot. . .
Mysin’s horse struggled at the bit and tried to turn off the path. If Mysin hadn’t had a strong grip on the reins, he would have been run into a nearby cluster of aspens. Cigell, the horse, huffed and went back on track, but he wouldn’t move any faster than a brisk trot, no matter how Mysin kicked and swore. Mysin sighed and removed his hat so he could rid himself of the sweat gathering on his forehead.
The Rigas Mountains rose, jagged and misty, on either side of him. Rigas Canyon was to the right and down a steep slope.
I'll once again talk to myself and complain. Switching points of view within my story is my prerogative. I've read a lot of stories where the points-of-view switched, but only I have succeeded in going so quickly from first-person, describing my last physical action to an omniscient recalling of the events. Thank God for italics. I might as well do it again . . . But this time with a horse! This stupid horse can do more than a brisk trot . . .
Cigell seemed to have read Mysin's mind, for he sped up, but then Cigell abruptly slowed to a walk.
Slobs, snobs, slackards, all of them, those humans. I'll teach Mysin to swear, kick, and call me stupid. Let's see how slow we can go. Wait, maybe he'd enjoy it if I tried to jump across Rigas Canyon.
Opening: Nagomey.....Continuation: Xiexie
13 comments:
Unchosen Continuations:
Jack Kerouac closed his journal and phoned his editor.
"There's no way we're publishing 'On the Road' unless you delete the words that rhyme with your name."
Jack hung up, and decided to rework his opening line. 'Clucks, mucks, and fucks, all of them, those prophets.'
--Church Lady
TV towers and satellite dishes of the Rigas Castle glinted in the sun. Old Man Rigas and his son had recently bought Lanvin and now, it's only living male heir, MySin, had to ride to the far-flung castle and petition the throne for his heritage -- the family home in Fox Chapel and summer residence in Mount Lebanon.
--Dave
Shamans, they're a crock too. Another friend was one of those. Chanted at me all night long. Talk about boring. And the incense; took me three weeks to air out my chasuble. After all that I still had that carbuncle on my croupe. Him, I won't put up with anymore. Necromancers - there's another bunch of loonies. Commune with the dead, they say. Codswallop; I've had more intelligent conversations with my great-uncle's big toe, and he was still half-alive. Alchemists? Feed me some nine days old pease porridge and I'll show you transmutation, and it'll smell better, too. Astrologers? Don't ask. So now I'm traipsing after a prophet. Well, beats sitting around waiting for the Black Death, I suppose.
After many leagues, the mists cleared, revealing a broad, dry plain bereft of vegetation. A weathered milepost bore a barely-legible inscription and an arrow pointing in the reverse direction: "Coachella Vale."
And now I'm lost. Where is that map? Hmm... Anaheimshire... Azusa-on-Wye... Cucamonga-super-Mare... Ods bodkins! I knew I should have taken that left turn at St. Albuquerque!
--Paul Penna
I hope my prophet friend has some Pepsid AC for this hot and sick feeling.
Mysin put his hat back on and swore at Cigell again. The Rigas Mountains, twin prophets of huge proportions, shook off the mist and stretched lazily, waiting for Mysin to stop at their toll gate.
"Hiya, Mysin," the first twin said. "We gots a prophecy for ya."
"You're gonna spew chunks in ten minutes," the other said, laughing.
Rigas Canyon scampered up the steep slope, to defend the man she loved against her brothers's cruel pranks. The prophets had said that the Rigas twins would become the biggest pair of morons in the land, but they never predicted that Mysin would get his revenge today.
--anon
A whack on his thigh and a hi ho startled Cigell and he reared back, nearly throwing Mysin. Mysin gained control of his horse and saw his friend, the Prophet Nosin.
"I knew your horse wouldn't pass much beyond here," said Nosin with a laugh.
"You nearly got me killed, my friend. I knew you were a prophet but didn't know you were a seer, too."
"I am, but I knew this because I placed a warding spell here."
"You're a prophet, a seer, and a wizard?"
"All of these, and a fortune teller, too."
"Your talents are too subtle for me to discern," said Mysin. He leapt from his horse's back onto Nosin and knocked him to the ground. Mysin took Nosin's money belt, remounted his horse, and galloped back in the direction from which he had come. "You should have seen that coming," shouted Mysin as he looked back at Nosin, who was gathering himself. Mysin looked ahead, only to slam into a tree limb. He fell limply to the ground.
"I did," said Nosin, who collected his money belt and fine new horse.
--Bill Highsmith
Time is running out. The winter sun stays low on the horizon, casting shadows in the canyon; shadows that hide unfriendly eyes. The occasional whoops of vile creatures echo across my path, but this is the only way to the prophet's retreat. . .
Mysin pushed his knee against the horse's side. It was hard and unyielding, but a tug on the reins turned the steed's head into the canyon. The horse's constant, rhythmic rocking was reassuring.
Something moved to the left, disturbed rocks scuttled across the canyon floor; a terrible wail. Mysin swung his sword and trails of light followed its blade across his field of vision. To his left, a creature jumps from the shadows and--
Insert Two Quarters to Continue Gameplay.
Shit.
--anon.
*lol* I think the continuation really captured the spirit of NaNoWriMo.
That was freakin' hilarious. We've got to have more openings like this on the EE blog.
If a horse decides to run you into some aspens, your future is in the aspens. What happens next depends on how strong the horse is, and just how set he really is on this aspen trip.
Best bet is probably to shorten rein on the side opposite the aspens and try to turn the horse's head in the opposite direction. Where they're looking is where they tend to go--they don't like not to see where they're going. Expect some bounding sideways if the horse is pretty set on those aspens.
LOL!!! The continuation was brilliant!!
The continuation is hilarious. 150 is right - it does capture the spirit of NaNoWriMo.
In a rewrite, I would lose the POV switch or edit so that what is in italics is clarly Mysin's thoughts. Most people don't think I have a hot and sick feeling in my stomach as I spur my horse into a trot. Mysin's mind is clearly on the prophets.
Instead, you could add that line to the POV switch in the beginning of the second paragraph:
Mysin had a hot, sick feeling in his stomach as he tried to spur Cigell, his horse, into a trot. Cigell instead struggled at the bit and tried to turn off the path. If Mysin hadn't had a strong grip on the reins, etc.
Note I moved the horse's name up front. It's more natural that way, instead of waiting until the third sentence of that paragraph to do it.
Good luck with this!
Delete that first paragraph, please!
I couldn't stop laughing at the continuation. It was brilliant!
I tend to dislike it when authors name characters with odd and strange names in a novel. I know it's a very personal thing, and I try to keep my comments about that to an absolute minimum. (so please don't tell me I just teased the livin' daylights out of a recent opening. That was just fun.)
But in this case, I feel the need to say a few things...
My Sin is a fragrance by Lanvin. A perfume. It's hard to cozy up to a story where the villian or hero is named BRUT or OLD SPICE. Chanel #5 and Coco would be even worse.
In my humble opinion, you should change Mysin to something other than My Sin.
Rigas is the last name of the former CEO of Adelphia Cable. John Rigas and his son were the first CEO's convicted of abusing corporate funds for psersonal uses. This was just after the Exxon (Ken Lay) debacle when CEO's were under fire for financial naughtiness.
Now I realize that I may be sensitive about this since Adelphia Cable was in Pennsylvania and it made the local newspapers but the Rigas family is still alive (two of them in jail) and perhaps your novel will suffer because of that association. Better now than having a lawyer shove that down your throat.
I have no problems with Cigell, the horse.
This is an interesting opening, but I'm not sure about calling the horse Cigell. Too close to Seagal for my liking, and all I can see is this somewhat neurotic character, say Woody Allen in a robe, sitting astride Steven Seagal who probably thinks the Aspens are Aspen and figures he can take in a little skiing while he's in the mountains.
One of my favorite things in Jonathan Strange was how easily pronounced and spelled the names were. Using difficult names is so prevailing in fantasy queryland it seems more fresh and original to use easy ones.
You got it all wrong. Mysin isn't perfume, it's prescription medication. I can just imagine my doctor prescribing it twice a day with meals.
I think the things mentioned need to be fixed, but other than that, I liked the writing and it held my interest. Fix the POV and, if you feel like it, the names, and carry on. I think it has potential.
Sans the internal italics, it's a rather nice scene.
But I have to wonder why, riding along what appears to be a narrow mountain path, he wants his horse to gallop?
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