“Yatta!” David cried gleefully while throwing his arms up in the air victoriously.

The three other people around him lowered then shook their heads in mock shame, but after a few moments, they burst into less somber giggles and patted David on the back in congratulations.

“Let’s get started,” David said, and the group quickly agreed. Phoenix had brought the table and his needed materials for the session. Milo had brought the chairs and some sustenance as well as his materials. Katie had brought her backpack which contained essentials beyond only her meager materials. David had supplied chairs and the place for the bi-weekly ritual.

This ritual was special though, being conducted on the special day of Samhain, or as most people referred to as Halloween. The group preferred the more archaic sounding name, as if the name changed their perspective of it to something beyond mere mortals.

Each person went about a task with a sense of duty and urgency. They did not have long, so they needed to begin as soon as possible. They wanted to be ready long before the witching hour. Thunder rumbled outside letting them know that a storm was brewing. The noise also loosened their nerves, and they began talking about little things to distract themselves from the current menial tasks that had to be done before the actual event.

Katie produced several small candles and distributed them around in windows and on shelves to provide mood lighting. Phoenix setup the table with David’s chairs. Milo got out a bag and a leathery mat, which he laid across the table with deliberate delicacy. The writing on the mat was valued by all present. Months of their work was easily evident on the surface that now covered the whole table.

Katie set up a pot on a counter and started bringing it up to temperature. David laid out all of the materials that would be needed on the table. He carefully arranged everything so that their tomes were holding down the corners of the mat that were trying to curl back together. Milo deposited the appropriate writing implements onto the tomes to be within easy reach then took a seat at the table. Phoenix followed suit opposite Milo and produced a folder from his supplies. He pulled small stack of papers from it and set them neatly atop the folder in front of his place.

Satisfied with the brewing pot, Katie took her seat across from David’s seat. David took his seat last and said, “Are you all prepared?”

The others nodded their agreement, and Katie and Milo quickly got out their own papers. David tried his best to give a sinister smirk before continuing, “Then let this session begin.”

The words had barely left his mouth before a closer rumble rattled the windows and door. Moments later, the room plunged into semi-darkness, lit only by Katie’s candles. Milo made a startled noise. Katie started glancing around as if to find a source of the power outage. Phoenix remained stoic and crossed his arms over his chest.

David lowered his voice and said, “This is perfect weather for this. Where were we?”

“About to attack the zombie leagions,” Phoenix said without looking at his notes.

“Ahh, yes,” David said. “Everyone roll initiative, and let The Treasure Box’s Samhain D&D session begin! What a great way to break in our new game store.”

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.

Dyrtan was once again in his hovering chair at the immaculately tidy crystalline desk before the huge VDG. He had been watching battles like this off and on over the course of the last week. A couple of Terran Free Colonists wanted to punish the Titan colony for the attack on their brothers. Dyrtan rolled his eyes and shot back a snarky text response using only his left hand as usual. The translation of the message read, “Your brethren attacked me. I attacked back. It is a simple concept. It is give-and-take. For every one of my people potentially harmed, I intend to inflict pain and death on a hundred. Leave me be, and you will receive none of this treatment. In fact, if you would hold your lasers and bite your tongues, I might even invite you to the colony to take part of our culture. The blood begins and ends with you. Do not force my hand, and I do not need to strike you.” He pressed send before waiting for the translation to be complete. His translator rarely got everything perfectly, and he did not care enough to nit pick.

He had several more important matters that required his attention. A Xen interloper had been discovered in a nearby star system. While the planet was currently no real threat to him, he knew better than to let the Xen gain a foothold. He did not get to do as many video conference calls with his officers these days. He had more to handle than allowed for that personal contact, but he did make it a point to monitor battles. It did not matter how busy he was; those battles were in some ways the life of his entire colony. If the battles did not occur, his people would die. Or more appropriately, more of his people would die than would be strictly necessary.

During the upcoming battle, a strike force of five scouts had been sent test the waters of the Xen planet. He smirked at the novelty of actually using scouts to scout his target, but the smirk was short lived. The Xen colony put up resistance. The battle was barely started, but Dyrtan saw that the numbers were evenly matched. In the exchange that followed, even the life pods were not enough to save any Titan lives. Ten ships met, and ten lives lost.

Dyrtan frowned and was about to begin sending condolences to the families that had lost family from those ships, but he was interrupted by a High Priority Message from the High Council of Pax Titanica. He dared not delay in reading such an important message. Even more lives could be at stake if he delayed, and his left hand moved before fully processing that thought.

He read the message, quirked an eyebrow, and deleted it. He was being promoted and reassigned. Unfortunately, that meant even more work, and that his condolences would have to wait. His left hand launched a frenzy of movement across the holo-keyboard. He had to completely destroy his construction plans and begin them anew with a new set of guidelines and parameters. Buildings that he had been neglecting for their limited strategic value were now of incredible importance. He could hear the protests of the construction crews already, but he knew they would do as he commanded. They always did.

Even the captain of the recycler a couple weeks ago was listening to him more, since he had bailed her bacon out of enemy fire. She had spoken well of his protection to her friends, and now there were half a dozen recycler captains dumping loads of plentiful resources on Ilanthia. He was certainly in need of this extra material now. Without her and her friends’ help, he would be floundering under the new mission objectives. Instead, it was simply a reallocation of resources into the proper locations.

Once that was done, he contacted the necessary personnel: other commanders that would be assisting him on the mission. They were eager and ready to jump on this chance to show the rest of Pax Titanica what they could do. He had only to ask, and they signed up faster than he could snap the fingers of his left hand. Construction would take a week, and then another flurry of activity between all parties involved. Dyrtan received congratulations from many people. He accepted them with a smile and firm left-handed shake. He even laughed a little at the party in his honor.

But as soon as the party was done, Dyrtan was in a hover jet, making the rounds, delivering personal condolences to each of the families that had lost a loved one in his scouting mission. He received no congratulations from them on his promotion, and at least one family slammed their door in his face. They would understand later the need for what had been done, and he did not fault them. Such was the job he was assigned, to receive both praise and blame, to be both loved and hated, to instill both fear and hope. And he did a good enough job of that to be trusted with his latest mission, possibly the most important mission he would ever undertake.

I have started writing little stories about a new game that I have begun playing. The game is Space Project. One aspect that I like about it is that the lore is pretty open to allow RP and character development besides flying around the universe and killing people. Without giving away too much, here is the first little bit of RP that I posted. I hope the piece is enjoyable.

Civilized Vengeance

The computer system finished its diagnostic program and displayed the results on the terminal. Dyrtan glanced over the read out and made a thoughtful noise that was a blend of a snort and a chuckle. His left hand glided across the Titanic Holo-Board, tapping floating keys of light without his gaze following along. Moments later, the screen showed an initialization box, then a three-dimensional representation of one of his subordinates.

“Commander Dyrtan, to what do I owe this most unexpected comm at this hour?” The officer was nervous. Dyrtan did not understand why.

After putting on his most sincere smile, Dyrtan responded, “Officer Blaketon, I am sending you some info. Please, see that it is taken care of.” The same left-handed movements over the light board sent the file to the other end of the screen.

The officer looked over the file, sighed, then nodded and closed the link.

Dyrtan leaned back in the hovering chair and looked over the tidy crystalline, clear desk. He kept it neat and organized. Everything had its place here on Ilanthia. Every colonist had a job. Every building had a purpose. Every resource had a use. He kept the world running like a well-oiled machine. He was annoyed because some people were stepping outside of their roles. The captain he placed in charge of the recycler had a tendency to go off and do whatever she damned well pleased. That recycler was in danger because of the freedom she had enjoyed.

His left hand drifted over the board again, and he was able to watch preparations for the upcoming mission. The scouts blasted off, propelled through a mixture of cloaking fields, gravitic technology, electronic combustion, and teleportation. He always loved seeing the explosions from the engines followed by the ripple of the stealth cloak, then the teleporter flash, and finally the gravitic shockwave emitted from where the ship had been. No ships in the universe could match the take off procedures of the Titans: a precise orchestra of advanced science, wisdom, and understanding, focused on the task of bridging the distance between here and there as quickly as possible.

Dyrtan pressed another holographic button on his board, and the visual display generator expanded the scope of his screen to be the size of a small house inside of his office. Another few key strokes altered the video feeds to tactical overview most showing the nearby star system from which the recycler was returning. The recycler was burning fuel reserves and all the energy it could to keep as far from its pursuer: a small contengient of fighters.

A low growl from Dyrtan’s throat vibrated all of the crystals in his office, and he muttered, “Moronic Free Colonists. You should know better.” The recycler was displayed as a green dot, non-combatant, civilian. Twelve fighters were marked with red dots for their hostile intentions. As twenty blue dots appeared opposite the green and red dots, Dyrtan gave a tight-lipped smirk and said aloud to himself, “Titans are neither prey nor predator. You are oh, so unwise to threaten our peaceful civilian operators.”

The fight began as soon as the recycler made it past the cloud of blue dots. It was not as incredibly one-sided as he had hoped. Before the end, five blue dots winked out. Small yellow dots streaked away toward the recycler. Life pods. No Titans would die in this battle. Eleven of the red dots winked out. There were no dots for their life pods. Silly Terrans believed in honor in death for their cause. They called themselves “martyrs.” The word did not translate into the Titan language.

The cloaking systems came back online, obscuring the remaining fifteen scouts from view where they were in space, but their dots turned grey on Dyrtan’s VDG. He fought the urge to laugh, as the final Terran ship retreated from the battle. The captain of that ship thought he was safe, that he had been spared, that he would rally more Terrans to the cause of the Free Colonist when he spoke in hushed tones about the fearsome Titan force that vanquished the rest of his fleet. The Terran was blinded by “glory,” another useless word in the world of Titans.

The grey dots surrounded the red one as it flew away. To the captain’s credit, he did not go straight back to his fleet base. He zigged and zagged to a few different planets, behind a couple of moons, and entirely too close to one star. All for naught, as the cloaks held on the scouts. Once the fighter landed, the real mission began. The scouts opened fire on several civilian targets, destroying a commercial ship yard and many homes. Before the defense systems of the Terran colony could come online, the scouts were cloaked and out of orbit again.

Dyrtan nodded at the results and tapped a few keys on the holo-board. The next order of business was…