While I did not pick this story out based on the same experimental guidelines as the previous book, I figure this is as good a place to expound on its virtues and vices. Before I left California to return to live in Oklahoma, I picked up a few books: a pair of Shadowrun books, Magic Bites, and Swordmage. Since I already had the books, I figured I would check to see if I would have bought them using the experiment method. It turns out that I would not have bought Swordmage based on the first line. I brought Swordmage with me to work on Thursday night, intending to read it. I am sad to say that that plan was halted in its tracks completely by a single line in the third paragraph.

Now, to be fair, I do not know Richard Baker. I have not emailed him to ask about posting a review of his book (published in 2008 through Wizards of the Coast as part of the Forgotten Realms books for Dungeons and Dragons). I do not suspect he would want to link back to what I am about to say either, so I figure I have saved myself the time.

I am an advocate of a prologue, so I do not immediately get a sour look on my face when I read the word. I know that I am being presented with some back story that may have far-reaching effects on the actual portion of the story. I appreciate Nathan Bransford’s view that this can also force the reader to start the story twice effectively. Still, if your reader does not make it to Chapter One, your prologue fails.

I do believe I have learned an important lesson in the “Show, don’t tell” philosophies, most recently expressed by Maria Schneider on Editor Unleashed. In that article, she explains that there is a currency of interest that an author accumulates that can be cashed in on small doses of telling instead of showing. She also explains that this form of telling should be less direct than straight narrative, instead using dialogue and a scene to tell the reader what they need to know.

Unfortunately, in a prologue, you have no such interest currency. I, as a reader, owe you nothing on page two. That is why the first lines are so important. It gives you a tiny deposit of interest currency that you can use LATER. This is not meant to be an immediate exchange.

So what line in paragraph three could have turned me off so badly to this book that I had already paid for? In my time gaming online in text-based environments, a universal rule for describing your character was to not include leading phrases or adjectives. Words like “beautiful” and “pretty” and “ugly” were frowned upon, as were phrases were so cliche as to be down right appalling. When my eyes came across the sentence, “She was beautiful beyond comparison,” I literally threw the book onto the desk and gagged.

Is that really so bad? Yes, yes it really is. Especially when Baker’s best-selling status is right on the front cover. Am I better than Baker? Probably not, as at least he has been published (albeit by a different beast than most authors wish to deal with). Have I made mistakes like that? Definitely, but I’m not a best selling author either. Will I be trying to correct my own mistakes like that? You bet your golden spectacles of reading +1, I will!

I am sure in 375 pages that Baker can tell a very nice story, so I will certainly try to get past paragraph three in the near future. In terms of the One-Liner Experiment though, it definitely failed. If it redeems itself in the other pages, I will certainly share.

Writers: whether you agree with me or not, take away from this that readers can be turned off at the drop of a hat. Not just me. Make sure you have enough interest currency to cash some in on a line like “She was beautiful beyond comparison” about half-way into the book, because in paragraph three is not where it belongs.

Baker: If you do happen to read this, please understand that I like D&D, and I will still try to give your book a fair shake by reading it all the way through. If I come across as unnecessarily harsh, it is because I expect more from a best-selling author.