Bransford's First Paragraph Challenge

Wanna have some frivolous fun? Wanna win a partial critique? (or query critique or 15 minute phone call with an agent?) Well, then, this is the post for you!

1. Go to Agent Bransford's blog.

2. Read the rules of his contest.

3. Post first paragraph of your WIP in the comment section.

3b. Do not post any snarky comment or nit-picky question about rules.

4. Do all of this before 4pm Pacific Time, Thursday, December 11th.

5. No angst. See rule 3b.

Since many of us have already posted our first paragraphs sometime in the past year for good old fashioned peer review, this is a natural second step! Woo Hoo.

My First Paragraph

It takes guts to post the first paragraph(s) to a novel you've written but haven't yet published. Sending it out to agents and/or publishers pales beside posting that one solitary paragraph on a blog. Agents can reject so painlessly -- send you that little form letter that helps convince you that so & so is just not accepting anyone these days and it has nothing to do with your writing or lack thereof.

But posting on a blog? You've preened and polished and crafted the best opening you know how to write. What if people laugh? or cringe? or wonder, What is she thinking, posting something that asinine? I think paranoia and shaky self-confidence stalk the writer, no matter how many times he's been published. So kudos to Ken Kiser for braving the wilderness and posting his first paragraph. I'm duly impressed. Others (Anthony Pacheco, shariwrites, dianegallant, among others) have jumped in as well, feet first and welcoming comments, thoughts, constructive criticism, and general applause. I can do no less. Here are the opening paragraphs to Ceilyn's Calling.

Ceilyn sprinted down the darkened hallway, conjuring a light spell with his right hand. The light flared, revealing the thick-set demon hurtling towards the heavy monastery door.

“Halt!” the boy commanded, his voice ringing with power. He hurled the magical sign of restraint, willing it to stop.

The squat hell-creature swung around, nostrils flaring, chest heaving. The stench of unwashed rags assaulted Ceilyn, and he flinched. The demon’s eyes, crusted over and rimmed with red, narrowed, sensing fear. He took a step back toward Ceilyn.

Ceilyn inhaled sharply. Retreating, he fumbled in his waist pouch for the tiny glass vial. With a thundering roar, the demon threw his head back, teeth glinting in the spelled light. He shook his body, thumping his chest before lowering his head to charge. He snarled, breath fouling the air.

Ceilyn closed his eyes, mouth moving in the ancient spell of reverse conjuring. He held the vial up, swirled its contents several times, then flung it toward the charging beast. But the final word wouldn’t come. Fear billowed up in his chest, blocking his mind, his throat, his words.