Emma Hereford, Prologue

First off, I would advise against doing a prologue. Most prologues don't turn out too well in my opinion. Next, get rid of your whole first paragraph and start with the second paragraph. Your first paragraph is basically just exposition and is boring. You will not hook the reader with it. Your second paragraph is much more interesting.

[s]I see a little girl standing outside the door of her mother’s bedchamber.[/s]A little girl stands outside her mother's bedchamber, [s]Her hair is in delicate, light brown ringlets which frame a frightened face.[/s]her frightened face framed by light brown ringlets of hair. She [s]is wearing[/s]wears a satin green dress, and in her left hand she clutches a cloth doll. [s]I hear a woman screaming and the voices of two midwives.[/s]Her mother screams, and two midwives rush in. The little girl squeezes the doll tighter [s]I watch as the little girl lightly places her free hand on the dark wood of the door. The expression on her face is solemn and confused.[/s] and places her free hand lightly on the door, confused.

Now the girl [s]is standing[/s]stands by her mother’s bedside as she watches a somber midwife carry a silent, unmoving bundle out of the room.[s]The girl’s hand rests on[/s] She rests her hand on her mother’s cold, pale arm. Her other hand holds the [s]cloth[/s](you already told us it was cloth) doll to her mouth [s]There are tears welling up in her deep blue eyes[/s]as tears well up in her eyes, but she doesn't let them slide down her cheeks.

I advise you to be careful about the adjectives you use. Adjectives are great, but they imply many things when they use them. For instance, "pristine satin green dress" pristine implies that the girl is immaculately taken care of, even when her mother is having a baby. Satin implies that her family is relatively wealthy. Green can imply wisdom or curiosity or intelligence. When a reader is going along and he sees an adjective, he goes, "Oh, look! An adjective...lets examine it " Every reader does this whether subconsciously or consciously. So, I just caution you. I'm not saying what you've done is bad. I'm just saying be careful.

Again, a lot of action, exposition. Not a whole lot of thoughts or feelings.

[s]I am in another room now, watching the same little girl.[/s]Another room, the same little girl: her hair is longer, but similarly styled. She [s]is standing[/s]stands by a different bed where [s]a man lies[/s]her father lies with beads of sweat covering his forehead. He is awake, and I see him glance at the girl, who moves closer with her arms outstretched.

I had an instinctive feeling that came from somewhere in the back of my mind that the little girl is me. The woman and the man are my parents. After my father died, I moved in with my aunt, uncle and three cousins. The first few weeks with my relatives were hard, but I can hardly remember them. The dreams that torment me in my sleep are the only reminders that I have of those awful months at my birth home.

I had a pleasant childhood at my uncle’s estate. I had three cousins to play with when I was young, although the two boys left for school when they were eight. After that my eldest cousin Elizabeth and I were the only two children. We met other girls who lived nearby but did not form close bonds with any of them. Elizabeth and I were each other’s best friends.

When we were twelve we began traveling with our family to attend parties held by other well known families in Kent. It was at these parties that we befriended the Carres, a family that would eventually become my own.

I liked it greatly. The prolouge arose questions that you are want anwsereds. The main character is very interesting with out being overbearing. One thing I would put in the prolouge is the year or country maybe? The details you gave weren't specific to any one area or time.The prolouge seems to tell about the characters history and to give some detail of the setting would be icing on the cake.

'Ello, Winter! ^ ^

I just had to take a peeksy at your prologue.

I have a few additional comments, well because we love nitpicks. Maybe? *shifty eyes* LOL!

*

British Accent:

It's very difficult to establish a character that possess a certain accent that is not akin to the writer's everyday life. What I mean is, in both the Prologue and Chapter One, I'm most definitely not convinced that the setting is somewhere in England.

I suggest to go bug Jack (Firestarter), and tell him Jess sent you off to him. Ask him what naunces of England would one of the Mother Country use on an everyday life -- besides, "bloody" or "bloody 'ell." Really, there are quite a few from England on YWS. You could make a new thread if the Research forum and ask there also.

It's just... reading a period piece that surrounds a specific country and the accent doesn't show up, it takes the mood away quickly.

We've Heard It Before

...and you'll hear it again, as I do consistantly, but you tell us so much information, we're litterally suffocating under this mass of weight known as info-dumping. M'Dear, you are indeed guilty.

Example:

The first few weeks with my relatives were hard, but I can hardly remember them.

Flashes of troubling memories often flit in and out of my dreams; memories that I try hard to forget. In these I relive the worst moments of my childhood. [s]I was two years old when my mother died in childbirth. My new brother slipped away silently. Six months later my father died in the epidemic of influenza that was sweeping the country.[/s] These haunting dreams are always the same.
I think you should be a little older, I think two is too young to grasp the concept of death, or even to understand that someone is dying. Four might be a better age. Honestly, I think this whole piece would be much more stronger if you started with the next paragraph and left out this first one entirely.

I see a little girl standing outside the door of her mother’s bedchamber. Her hair is in delicate, light brown ringlets which frame a frightened face. She is wearing a pristine satin green dress and in her left hand she clutches a cloth doll. I hear a woman screaming and the voices of two midwives. I watch as the little girl lightly places her free hand on the dark wood of the door. The expression on her face is solemn and confused.

Now the girl is standing by her mother’s bedside as she watches a somber midwife carry a silent, unmoving bundle out of the room. The girl’s hand rests on her mother’s cold, pale arm. Her other hand holds the cloth doll to her mouth. There are tears welling up in her deep blue eyes but she does not let them slide down her cheeks.

I am in another room now, watching the same little girl. Her hair is longer, but similarly styled. She is standing by a different bed where a man lies, beads of sweat covering his forehead. He is awake, and I see him glance at the girl, who moves closer with her arms outstretched. Could you describe his illness a bit more, that way you don't have to come right out and say he died of influenza. Common symptoms include fever (usually high), headache, tiredness (can be extreme), cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, body aches, diarrhea and vomiting (more common among children than adults). Describe how tired his eyes look, how he moves stiffly because of his aching body, or how his room is dark and devoid of sound so as not to affect his headache.

[s]I had an instinctive feeling that came from somewhere in the back of my mind that the little girl is me. The woman and the man are my parents.[/s] After my father died, I moved in with my aunt, uncle and [s]three[/s] my cousins. The first few weeks with my relatives were hard, but I can hardly remember them. The dreams that torment me in my sleep are the only reminders that I have of those awful months at my birth home. Why, besides the amount of death, is her life so awful? I really feel nothing for the protagonist, even though her family is dying left and right.

I had a pleasant childhood at my uncle’s estate. I had three cousins to play with when I was young, although the two boys left for school when they were eight. After that my eldest cousin Elizabeth and I were the only two children. We met other girls who lived nearby but did not form close bonds with any of them. Elizabeth and I were each other’s best friends. Rather than tell us that she had a pleasant childhood I would like you to show us. Since you are already reminiscing, include a couple of the protagonist's fondest childhood memories. I think this would also help me connect, emotionally, with your character.

When we were twelve we began traveling with our family to attend parties held by other well known families in Kent. It was at these parties that we befriended the Carres, a family that would eventually become my own.


I'm interested to see where this story goes, since I do like periodical pieces very much. However, you have several redundancies and you do a lot of telling instead of showing. I think, also the dream parts should be italicized but I'm not positive. Hope that helped and PM me when you have the first chapter posted!

She is wearing a nice satin green dress and in her left hand she clutches a cloth doll.

The little girl is me. The woman, then, must be my mother. The man, my father.

Hey, Winter! I'm excited to do this. I never get to read much Historical Fiction because the Romantic Fiction forum is so engrossing.

All right: black bold is a correction, red bold is a comment, underlined is highlighting a certain part, and [s]strike through[/s] is what it is.

Emma Hereford, Prologue

Flashes of troubling memories often flit in and out of my dreams. Memories [s]that[/s] I try hard to forget. In these I relive the worst moments of my childhood.

NP>> I was two years old when my mother died in childbirth. My new baby brother slipped away silently, following her. Six months later my father died in the epidemic of influenza that was sweeping the country. These haunting dreams are always the same.

I see a little girl standing outside the door of her mother’s bedchamber. Her hair is in neat,* light brown ringlets. Her face? Happy, sad? Don't go into detail, just her overall expression. She is wearing a nice* satin green dress and in her left hand she clutches a cloth doll. I hear a woman screaming** and the voices of two midwives. I watch as the little girl lightly places her free hand on the dark wood of the door. The expression on her face is solemn and confused.**

*Both of these words are bare and simple. They lend no help to the imagining of the scene. Instead of putting "neat" put "careful". Instead of "nice" put "clean" or something.

**The girl's reaction to the ugly, painful process of labour is difficult to imagine here. It is difficult for me to imagine a two-year-old being simply solemn and confused instead of scared and panicked when hearing her mother's screams of pain. Maybe instead of "The expression on her face" etc, put "Her eyes were wide, her confused face pale and frightened."

Now the girl is standing by her mother’s bedside as she watches a somber midwife carry a silent, unmoving bundle out of the room. [s]Her[/s] The girl's hand rests on her mother’s cold, pale arm. Her other hand holds the cloth doll to her mouth. There are tears welling up in her deep blue eyes but she does not let them slide down her cheeks. She has more backbone than I ever had when I was two.

I am in another room now, watching the same little girl. Her hair is longer, but similarly styled. She is standing by a different bed where a man [s]lays[/s] lies, beads of sweat covering his forehead. [s]The man[/s] He is awake, and I see [s]his eyes[/s] him glance at the girl, who moves closer with her arms outstretched.

The little girl is me. The woman, then, [s]must be[/s] is my mother. The man, my father. After my father died, I moved in with my aunt, uncle* and three cousins. The first few weeks with my relatives were hard, but I can hardly remember them. The dreams that torment me in my sleep are the only reminders that I have of those awful months at my birth home.

*Here I removed the capital letters at the beginning of "aunt" and "uncle". If it is not being used as a name or title, then it is not capitalized. EX: "Oh, Aunt, please let me go out today!" as apposed to: "She is my aunt, my mother's oldest sister." Get the idea? At least, it is the rule where I come from.

I had a pleasant childhood at my uncle’s estate. I had three cousins to play with when I was young, although the two boys left for school when they were eight. After that my eldest cousin Elizabeth and I were the only two children. We met other girls who lived nearby but did not form close bonds with any of them. Elizabeth and I were each other’s [s]best friends.[/s] Right here I don't know what to put, since they are your characters and I do not know how they interact with one another. But "best friends" does not work with "each other's". Perhaps something like "comfort" or "joy"?

When we were twelve we began traveling with our family to attend parties held by other well-known families in Kent. It was at these parties that we befriended the Carres.

Hello! The story sounds interesting but, you might want to add some more detail about the earlier years of your character. The plot sounds very intriguing.

^_^ -waves- Hello, I'm Hannah~ Might I provide a few comments? ^_^

After reading this short bit through ONCE, I sort of like the premise of the story, but I have absolutely no idea where it's going. It's a good introduction to the past of the character, but I feel like the prologue should expand at least a BIT more upon the girl's current situation. ^_^

Here, then, are some more particular suggestions. C:

Flashes of memory often flit in and out of my dreams. My mind does its best to remind me of memories that I try hard to forget. In my dreams I relive the worst moments of my childhood. The dream is always the same.

he is wearing a light green dress and in her left hand she clutches a cloth doll.

Her hair is longer and she is wearing a pink dress.

I watch as the little girl lightly places her free hand on the dark wood of the door. The expression on her face is solemn and confused.

Her hand rests on her mother’s arm. Her other hand holds the cloth doll to her mouth. There are tears welling up in her deep blue eyes but she does not let them slide down her cheeks.

I assume the little girl is me. Although I cannot always distinguish dreams from reality.

My little brother didn’t make it. Six months later my father died of influenza, the epidemic that was sweeping the country. I moved in with my Aunt, Uncle and three cousins. It was not a pleasant childhood, but I can hardly remember it.