Keeper Prologue

Doors, That was one of the first things I remember thinking as a little girl. Lots and lots of doors. They were everywhere. In my house, at the store, in school, the places were endless. Each new one I saw was put into a new group-there were bathroom doors, exit doors, entrance doors, house doors, doors to get to the basement, doors to get in my classroom, and doors that hid the insides of a closet. They fascinated me. When I was three years old, I would waste hours at a time going around the house and opening and closing all of the doors multiple times. It drove my Aunt Sara mad. She used to lock me in my room, but then I would just resume with my closet doors.

I loved the way they always opened into something new; a different setting. No matter if they were transferring from the kitchen to the living room, or from inside to outside. Doors were like magic to me. They were like big bright beacons saying, “Walk through me! Don’t you want to see what’s inside?” Or, “Maybe when you go through this door, you’ll end up at the park instead of time out.” They were to me what video games or dolls were for another kid.

By the time I was six, I started to realize how weird I seemed to other kids. Aunt Sara made fun of me constantly. So I brushed away my thoughts of magical portals that would carry me away to a happier place. I tried to care more about my friends, candy, and whatever else is supposed to mean the world to a six year old. By the time I was eleven, I was basically your average neighborhood kid. Maybe deep down, I still liked thinking of doors as... supernatural. But I smothered it with what all the other kids my age were thinking about. I think Aunt Sara was relieved with the change; she had been scared of me being thought of as a freak my whole life. Which in turn, would make people blame her. She couldn’t stand being noticed. She just wanted to blend in, to fit in. Maybe that's why she disliked me so much; dislikes me still.

Usually it doesn't matter if your aunt hates you. All you have to do is avoid her, right? Well, I don't get that choice. At the current moment, I don't have parents. Where are they? Dead, for all I know. Gone, that's for sure. They abandoned me when I was only a year old. Left me to my only other living relative, Aunt Sara. All they left me were my official documents, the clothes on my back, and an old worn quilt. Aunt Sara was reluctant to take me in; but what choice did she have?

It's not as different as you'd think-having no parents. The worst is when some sympathetic adult-usually a parent-finds out. Immediately they feel like they have to know everything.

"Oh, you poor child. No parents should ever abandon their kid. You must be having such a hard time about it. Anytime you need some motherly love, you come to me. Don't worry, you can tell me all about your troubles. I won't say a thing."

They all seem to think I need special attention. I guess it's because they know my aunt.

I was too little to remember the night Aunt Sara brought me home, but she'd told me about it plenty of times. She seemed to think it would make me feel guilty, bring myself into her life like that. But I liked to imagine it my own way. Aunt Sara said it was simple; that she picked me up, and brought me home. But I think of it as a sad, overly dramatic night.

My mom and dad would walk slowly up Aunt Sara's driveway-my mom holding me tight against her, like she never wanted to let go. But then in what seemed like no time, they'd reach the front porch. Desperately trying to hold back tears, my mom would give me one last kiss. Carefully passing me to my dad, he'd cradle me in his arms. Stooping over, his face a mask of grief, he'd place me gently on the welcome mat. Fussing with my blanket, making sure that it's tight enough, my mom would whisper, "We love you. We'll be back soon." And then, before she broke down completely, she'd grab my dad's arm and rush off into the night.

I've always dreamed that my parents will come back. It hasn't happened yet, but who knows? Miracles happen. Or maybe I'll just get over it. They abandoned me, after all. They don't deserve my wishful thoughts. Yet that's what I often find myself daydreaming about, at idle moments when all I have for company is my imagination.

But if they were back, there would be no reason to be writing this. I’d be with them right now, and we’d be happy. Sadly, all stories have to have some disappointment in them; or else they wouldn’t be stories.

Hey there reagan!

Seeing as you were nice enough to review my contest entry, I thought I'd pop by and have a look at this for you.

Now, I'm awful at writing prologues so I usually just skip on by to chapter one. What I understand them to be, however, is snippets of information or a scene from the past that's relevant to the story that's going to be told. Here, you dive into the past and tell the reader that she's an orphan. We get to see what she looks like, as a baby anyway, and most of her background. The whole 'orphan getting abandoned on aunts/persons doorstep,' isn't very original. I do however, like the whole door thing; this is what makes me want to read on, rather than the orphan thing.

I did spot a few problems in this, the main one being paragraphing. Now, I don't know whether it's just because you've copied it straight from word or whatever, to YWS, but using paragraphs makes the piece a whole lot easier to read and makes it look more inviting too. In fact, if this had been any longer, I might not have read it because after a while, my eyes slipped lines and it left me concentrating on keeping my line, rather than on the story.

I usually highlight lines and give my suggestions, but as this is quite short I'm going to quote the whole piece and explain some of my changes afterwards. My suggestions will be in bold.

Doors. That was one of the first things I remember thinking as a little girl. Lots and lots of doors. In my opinion they were everywhere; in my house, at the store, in school. The places were endless. Each new one I saw was put into a new group; there were bathroom doors, exit doors, entrance doors, house doors, doors to get to the basement, doors to get in my classroom, and doors that hid the insides of a closet. They fascinated me.

When I was three years old, I would waste an - not needed. hours at a time going around the house and opening and closing all of the doors multiple times. It drove my Aunt Sarah mad. She used to lock me in my room, but then I would just resume with my closet doors.

I loved the way they always opened into something new… a different setting. No matter if they were transferring from the kitchen to the living room, or from inside to outside. Doors were like magic to me. They were like big bright beacons saying, “Walk through me! Don’t you want to see what’s inside?” Or, “Maybe when you go through this door, you’ll end up at the park instead of time-out.” They were to me what video games or dolls were for another kid.

By the time I was six, the novelty had worn off. I started to care more about my friends, candy, and whatever else meant the world to a six year old. By the time I was eleven, I was basically your average neighborhood kid. Maybe deep down, I still liked thinking of doors as magic portals. But I smothered it with what all the other kids my age were thinking about. I got worried about whether my clothes were cool enough, or whether my hair looked nice. I think Sarah was relieved with the change; she had been scared of me being thought of as a freak my whole life. Which in turn, would make people blame her. She couldn’t stand being noticed. She just wanted to be thought of as your average American woman, not an aunt taking care of her dead sister’s baby who liked opening doors for a hobby.

Yep, I’m an orphan. Now, go run screaming in the opposite direction. But seriously, its not that different being an orphan. Yeah, we never meet our parents, and never get to call anyone “mom” or “dad”. But I guess you could put Aunt Sarah in the mom category, if you absolutely had to.
What I really hate is when someone finds out that you’re an orphan. It’s like you’re immediately some sort of alien species. They look at you, and shake their heads slowly, and sadly. Then they change the subject and forget that you’re even there.

So I guess all I’m talking about is after Aunt Sarah started taking care of me. I should probably tell you about the night it happened. The night she found me, abandoned on her porch like a soggy newspaper.
It was a cold night in December; the snowflakes were just beginning to cover the ground. Sarah was watching TV in the living room, when she heard a timid knock on the door. Lazy and reluctant as always, she took her time opening it. By the time she got there, my mom was gone. All that was left was me- in a cardboard box, wrapped in a thick quilt, with a letter. I was a small, slightly chubby baby with a tuft of dirty blond hair, the beginnings of freckles, bright blue eyes, and a red nose from the cold. Clutching an old worn teddy bear, I stared up at her with a pitiful expression. What else could Sarah do but bring me in? She read the letter, learning who I was and why my mom couldn’t take care of me. The letter begged my aunt to take care of me until she could be back, and to love me like she would her own daughter.
Obviously, my mom hasn’t come back yet. If she had, there would be no reason to be writing this. I’d be with her right now, and we’d be happy. Sadly, all stories have to have some disappointment in them; or else they wouldn’t be stories.

***

Okay, most of the changes I made were to do with punctuation. The sentences where you had '-' work better with a ';' for the most part. I also cut down on your use of '...' as it gets a bit repetitve after a while and, if used all the time, tends to lose its effect. I've spaced the piece out a bit more to where I think you should seperate with paragraphs.

What I think this piece needs is more feeling and emotion. The reader gets that she stopped with the door thing to try and fit in/ seem more normal, so we know that she doesn't really like to stand out in the crowd, like her aunt. But apart from that, we don't know much else. Is she bothered her mum left her? Grateful her aunt took her in?

Also, you mention that her mum hasn't come back yet, but then a paragraph before you say -

not an aunt taking care of her dead sister’s baby

which leaves me confused. If she knows she's an orphan, then why is she sad her mum hasn't come back to het her yet? If her mum's dead, then she's not going to come back - to put it bluntly.

I also changed the thoughts at the start of the piece to italics as, in writing, thoughts are usually in italics, so it'll be clearer to the reader. Having it in quotation marks made me think it was speech instead of thought.

As I said at the start of this review, I'm not the best at reviewing prologues, but I'm not sure if all of the information here is needed. You either need to cut it down or add more in; I'm not sure which, but another reviewer will probably be able to tell you

I hope this helps!

xDudettex

Hey,
Thanks again for that review gave me on my contest piece.
I love prolouges for whatever reason. I start with them for most of my novels. We definitely get a lot of info on you character, which I liked. However, it could be considered an 'info dump' in places, and some people aren't wild on that. Your prolouge did do what it was supposed to do. I'm interested now. I want to know more. I'm going to start with the nitpicks and wind up with the bigger things. Dudette did a pretty good job, so I didn't see as much.

In my opinion, they were everywhere.
This would actually be a fact, and they still are everywhere. You may have been trying for some comedy here, but it sounds kind of clumsy to me. Are should replace were.

Each new one I saw was put into a new group-there were bathroom doors, exit doors, entrance doors, house doors, doors to get to the basement, doors to get in my classroom, and doors that hid the insides of a closet.
You seem to have made some changes already based on Dudette's review, so I'm just going to repeat what we both saw and you haven't changed. Hyphens aren't a very good puncutation method. At the end of sentence, they don't mean anything. You really need a period or a semi colon.
Also, I think you have an extra new. The group would have already been made from past observations. The new door would be put into a group instead.

When I was three years old, I would waste an hours at a time going around the house
You don't need the an.

By the time I was six, the novelty had worn off. I started to care more about my friends, candy, and whatever else means the world to a six year old.
Since the door thing sounds like the beginnings of an obssession, a kid wouldn't just drop it because they got distracted. Maybe she saw that it wasn't the norm with other six year old children?

Yep, I’m an orphan. Now, go run screaming in the opposite direction.
Why would anyone do that because she was an orphan? More like heap unneeded pity onto her?

But I guess you could put Aunt Sarah in the mom category-If you absolutely had to.
You're verging on horrible foster parent who doesn't abuse the child but doesn't love them right. I think anyone can make any idea their own but... be careful.

What I really hate is when someone finds out that you’re an orphan. It’s like you’re immediately some sort of alien species. They look at you, and shake their heads slowly, and sadly. Then they change the subject and forget that you’re even there.
This was an abrupt change. I do the same, but good transitions are needed. Why are we suddenly talking about being left on the porch? We were just talking about how orphans got treated. I'm bad at this, so this example's going to be pretty bad...
"...forget that you're even there. Or, even worse, they want to know your story, as if they want to feed off of your supposed pain, asking questions like, "How did your parents die?" and "I'm sure you have a wonderful guardian who loves you. How did she come across you?"
So yeah, that's not great, but you see what I mean.
So I guess all I’m talking about is after Aunt Sarah started taking care of me… I should probably tell you about the night it happened. The night she found me, abandoned on her porch like a soggy newspaper.

By the time she got there, my mom was gone.
So did Sarah know the MC's mom or no? You switch from Aunt Sarah to just Sarah, so I'm a little confused on the relationship.
If Sarah is related to the MC's mother why was the MC left on the ground? Why not just give her the baby?

learning who I was and why my mom couldn’t take care of me.
You'd think a sister would know what was happening with her niece and the downfalls of her sibling.

Alright, so those were my nitpicks. For the big things...
You seperated the prolouge into paragraphs but what might make this even easier, scroll down to the blue box beneath the text box. You should find it on the first tab at the very bottom of the box and switch it from default to story. That will seperate each paragraph by a line and just make everything even clearer. I know this is confusing.
The door thing was odd, but I lost interest. I might start with a true flashback of your MC on the porch, waiting for Sarah to open the door, just to reel us in faster. Basically, switch the order of your prolouge.
That's all the problems I could find. Hopefully I haven't just been annoying.

You've got me wondering what the connection is between the doors and what's going to happen next. Tell me when the next chapter is out, and I'll review it if you need it.
I hope I helped,
Megsug

Thanks for the reviews, you guys! They really helped. It's nice for a change to have someone actually telling me what could make it better, instead of having my mom just telling me over and over that it's great.

Yeah, sorry about the grammar issues. I made a couple of changes before I posted it, and I must have missed those. Also with the paragraphs, I'll try to add them. But it seems like whenever I post, even if I indent, they all just go back to the side again. Is there some setting I can change to fix that? And also every time I press tab, it doesn't indent, it goes to something else on my page. Anyone know how to fix that?

Thanks again for the awesome reviews. I'm gonna go and fix stuff now!

So yeah the other reviewers caught the grammar and nick pick stuff like that. I'd say it was great, but you said you don't like people telling you that it's just great. But it is. Next time, just make sure you catch the grammar first. And keep the plot exciting so that readers are continually pulled in. I used to forget that and no one would read my stories after a while. So remember that and i think you'll be fine.

Well, it seems other reviewers have already gone over the grammar and spelling mistakes, so um, I'll go over something else.
The idea with the magic doors seems very interesting, and I can't wait to see what happens.
Even though I love them, some prologues confuse me because I struggle to see the relevence, but I felt this one set up the story quite well. The reader is given a good idea of the narrators life, and the topic.

Hi, sorry about the slight delay on this. First off, here's a few specific comments:

Doors, That was one of the first things I remember thinking as a little girl. Lots and lots of doors. They were everywhere. In my house, at the store, in school, the places were endless. Each new one I saw was put into a new group- [This could be phrased better. At the moment it's a little stale. Try something like 'There were groups of doors -' as that's a bit more direct.] there were bathroom doors, exit doors, entrance doors, house doors, doors to get to the basement, doors to get in my classroom, and doors that hid the insides of a closet. They fascinated me. When I was three years old, I would waste hours at a time going around the house and opening and closing all of the doors multiple times. It drove my Aunt Sara mad. She used to lock me in my room, but then I would just resume with my closet doors. [So you already mentioned closet doors. What other doors are there in a room? Where does the definition of door stop? Does it cover everything that can be opened such as a drawer or just door shaped doors like thos on a doll house? It would be nice to see you go into the philosophy of this more.]

Back-Story

Hmmm. This section about how she was abandoned is a little boring to be honest. I don't like the character well enough to endure the self pity. That's the great thing about later in books - when your reader already knows and loved characters they will put up with all sorts of amounts of self pity that you'd normally not get away with. But here, instead of feeling sorry for her, I'm feeling annoyed at her.

Description

I'd have liked to see more of this. The story was very full of information and didn't take enough time to stop and describe the scenes. I liked the first part, with the doors, but the stuff that happened after that didn't really hold my interest and I'm not sure if I liked the doors bit enough that I'd read on. I do, however, like the title. Keeper and doors have a nice link and it's simple but intriguing so nice work there. But anyway, description. Try to think not just about sight but also sound, smell, taste and touch. That will help you build a more solid atmosphere and remember to outline details. Colour is always a useful tool and instead of trying to describe every object in a room or none at all, pick out one or two and describe those precisely. Your reader will be able to use those descriptions to fill in other details.

Well I hope this helps a little,

Heather xxx

This is AWESOME!!! I loved the beginning; it really drew me in. Your plot kept me reading right until the very end. Your voice was excellent: very unique and passionate, very expressive.

Oh, you poor child. No parents should ever abandon their kid. You must be having such a hard time about it. Anytime you need some motherly love, you come to me. Don't worry, you can tell me all about your troubles. I won't say a thing."

Haha! This is so great! I loved it! Anway, amazing story, I won't sit here and nitpick about stuff, because nothing stopped me in my tracks. Great job!!!

TS

Very gripping start. I look forward to reading the next few chapters, I don't know what to say about the storyline... well, keep writing, I guess. I see a lot of potential.