Timewaster's Guide Archive

I believe the mystery guy is Brandon's agent, Joshua Bilmes?

Times New Roman

12 pt font

1 inch margins

double spaced

ragged left margins (not justified)

Indent paragraphs, no extra blank lines

Window/Orphan turned off

Scene breaks with "#" symbol

White paper

top-right corner of every page, put your surname, a word from the title, and page number: such as Mistborn/Sanderson/1 (as an example).

And most important of all


Write a good book. 

Thanks for those who read it.

(deleted because it didn't need to linger on here forever)

The bottom of page 11 would be a better place to start.  Where the brothers just arrived at the festival.

"The two brothers excitedly made their way through the crowded streets.  The whole city seemed to be out...."


And then I combine what was left of chapter one with chapter two.  Though I didn't read very far into the second chapter.

No worries.      I appreciated your critique. 

Thanks!     I appreciate any feedback, good or bad.


The Emissary: Chapter One


No one spoke as the torches crackled and flickered throughout the Great Hall. Duke Ragnall stopped his pacing, pressed his fists onto his thick waist, and stared down at the bound man lying before him on the ground.
   
Nolan dipped his quill and readied himself for the interrogation. Who was this man? he wondered. And what crime would merit such harsh treatment from the duke’s guards?  Though being summoned to such an interrogation was not uncommon to him, Nolan knew--by the large number of soldiers that had gathered at this late hour-- this prisoner was no common pick-pocket.  He was something of much greater value.
   
Duke Ragnall made a motion with his hand. “Captain, bring him here.”
   
The solider yanked the prisoner to his feet like a limp, stringed puppet and brought him to stand before the duke. 
   
Duke Ragnall studied him before speaking.  “You have been brought here because you were identified by one of my captains. He claims that you are Emery Cadogan, the Traitor of Faylinn.”
   
The prisoner smiled and licked the corner of his bleeding lip. “Why would the traitor of Faylinn be drinking at the busiest pub in Alton? 
   
A murmur spread throughout the hall and the duke waved them to silence once again. “So you deny that you are Emery Cadogan?”
   
“I can not confirm or deny a question that hasn’t yet been presented to me.”
   
“Then let me more direct with you.” He took a step forward, his eyes glaring. “Are you Emery Cadogan?”
   
 “Ah!” the prisoner said. “So now you ask me my name?  Isn’t it a bit absurd to beat a man and then ask them who they are?”
   
Nolan stifled his own gasp, though many others weren’t as successful.  This man was either extremely brave or utterly insane. Nolan could see the duke’s mustache twitch and knew that this prisoner was one step away from a death sentence.”
   
“Do you not know to whom you are speaking?” the duke said.
   
“Of course.” The prisoner bowed low. “Please forgive my rudeness, sir duke. I’m afraid your soldiers must have disoriented me after pounding my head against the bar.” He remained prostrate for a moment, and when he rose, a purple light glowed from his eyes.
   
An excess or murmurs rippled throughout the hall.
   
By Brim, Nolan thought. It’s him.
   
Emery Cadogan laughed and the light in his eyes intensified. “My Shay makes you fear me, sir duke?  It’s not like I can break these ropes with the Shay of Strength, or disappear from your sight with the Shay of Speed; my Empathy only tells me what you feel.” The smile on his face vanished. “I should be the one who is afraid, for I sense no compassion from you.”
   
The purple light brightened as his gaze passed over the soldiers.  Sword arms dropped, shoulders relaxed, and the harsh lines on their faces smoothed into furrowed brows of confusion.
   
“Amazing,” Nolan said under his breath. Apart from the king, Nolan had never known of anyone this strong with Empathy before. Not only did the prisoner read thoughts, but he controlled them as well.  Nolan pushed his spectacles up on his nose and scribbled a note into the book with nervous excitement. When he looked up, his stomach caught in his throat; the traitor’s eyes had locked on him.
   
Nolan jolted to his feet as the traitor’s Shay power began to search him.  He tried to force his eyes away, but it was pointless; he couldn’t even move. Then Nolan felt the traitor’s power shift. It probed him again, this time for something else, something that made Nolan’s heart beat with fear.
   
“Enough of these games!” the duke shouted.
   
The traitor’s Shay stopped abruptly and Nolan collapsed back into his seat.
   
“What are you doing here in Alton?” the duke demanded. “You disappeared from the king’s ranks ten years ago, and now end up here? You will tell me, and tell me now, traitor: What sort of devious activities are you plotting here?”
   
Emery smirked, though there was a serious glare to his now brown eyes.  “Having a drink, just like most of your soldiers on this very night. If you were to call that activity devious, then I’m afraid, my stout duke, that you have a far more serious problem than just me.”
   
The duke snorted. “You are the one with a serious problem, traitor. But your punishment might be lightened if you were to cooperate--”
   
“With you?” Emery said. “You must think me a fool.  We both know that you have no power to determine my fate. It’s King Alcandor who has the final say.”
   
Duke Ragnall stepped closer to the prisoner, a leer turning up one side of his meaty cheek. “Even so, I can determine how comfortable you will be until the king’s men arrive.”
   
Emery straightened his shoulders, smiling with stubborn defiance.
   
“Is silence your answer?” the duke asked. “You have no other excuse for coming to Alton?”
   
Emery’s smirk faded to a stern scowl.  “There are other reasons, but my silence will be the only answer that you will receive.”
   
Duke Ragnall’s ears and scalp turned faintly red. “We shall see.”  With a flick of his hand he signaled a guard. “Take him away to the West Tower. Make sure he pays dearly for his disrespect and stupidity.”
   
The guard grabbed Emery’s arm and sneered. “Yes, my lord.”
   
“Traitor!” called a voice.
   
“To the darkness with him!” yelled out another.
   
The guard prodded the prisoner though the angry mob. But before they took three steps, another solider stepped in and hammered his fist into Emery jerked backwards and fell, slamming the back of his head onto the stone floor. 
   
The hall erupted in cheers.
   
“Get up, traitor,” his captor said, and yanked him back to his feet.
   
He staggered and shook his head.
   
The captor pulled him towards the exit and shoved him forward. 
   
Emery hit the stone archway, turning his body at the last moment to shoulder the jarring blow.  And then, for only a brief second, he turned his head and Nolan found himself looking into the eyes of Emery Cadogan again.     
   
Nolan held his breath.
   
Emery smiled.
   
And before their connection could take hold, Duke Ragnall’s men yanked Emery from the wall and roughly dragged him away. 
   
The remaining soldiers filed out of hall, many still laughing and celebrating the capture. The duke stepped off his platform and followed the others out of the hall, jabbering with several of his officers on the way.
   
With a shaking hand, Nolan closed the Book of Record, ran his hand through his beard, and slowly exhaled. For the last ten years, he knew the name of Emery Cadogan as a man whose legend was built on his treachery and deceit. Yet in the depth of his stare, Nolan saw kindness, compassion and one other thing, far more shocking than the rest: a silent question.
   
“Yes. I am,” Nolan answered, though no one remained in the Great Hall to hear.

I saw that the maximum word count was 17,000.  Does anyone know the average words most are submitted at?  How long is all of yours?

There are good science fiction/fantasy writing workshops; check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clarion_Workshop

I think Brandon has outlined approaching editors/agents in previous posts here or on his blog. At the moment I'm not sure where to find them.

Many of the oldest regulars on this board worked with Brandon back at the Leading Edge magazine in college and/or were in writing groups with him at the time. Others have shown up later. There are quite a few writers, some more successful than others so far, as well as a couple editors like me and stacer.

Wow, an editor! (gulp)  Should I call you Ookla, or Mr. The Mok? 

I'm sure if I get published in the future, I'll give my editor a good run.  I have a friend who, fortunately, looks over all my stuff and is very kind to point out everything I was quite stupid about.   I have this knack of not noticing even simple mistakes when reading my own work.  Such as shuttered instead of shuddered or his head lulled instead of lolled (Though I suppose if one was to lull you could very well loll.)  One my better (or worst) ones was when when my protagonist was practicing some fighting skills, imagining an appointment (supposed to be opponent...duh)in front of him.  I swear I reread it like 5 times, and still didn't see it until she pointed it out to me.  Then I felt like a ruddy fool.

Ok...I'm babbling...

Thanks for the advice, though I imagine I couldn't escape to that long of conference even if I wanted to.  My job as a mom comes first.