Deidra Alexander's Blog

The writing challenge for today is to write a bad first chapter. The purpose behind this prompt is to give yourself permission to write a bad first draft, so that you don’t worry about the quality, just about getting a draft onto paper. Writing something is better than writing nothing I suppose.

This prompt isn’t an easy one for me. I can’t think of a story that I haven’t already written a bad first chapter.

So first, what is a bad first chapter? I’m defining it as one filled with backstory and exposition with very little happening. Throw in a boring character and story and voila a bad first chapter. What’s the most boring thing I could come up with? Why me, of course. Here is the first chapter of a novel about a person writing a novel.

The Writer’s Notebook

By Deidra Alexander

Chapter 1

I often wonder why I started writing this tale. Was I hoping to rid myself of demons? Was I driven by some deep need even I wasn’t aware of? Or was I trying to make my long deceased parent’s proud of me?

If I could answer that “why” question my life would suddenly change. I would feel this drive I haven’t felt in a long time. I ponder it, meditate on it, pray about it. But, the answer never comes. So I write without need or desire. I try to roll in the words, some kind of beauty of prose and rhetoric, but it doesn’t satisfy.

A painter marks their canvas with color – lights and darks; brilliant and muted. People watch the process astounded at the image emerging before them. There’s cheering and applause while the work builds. For writer’s there is no cheering and applause, no audience to turn to for inspiration and support. Nothing to help drive forward to push to the next word.

I knew I couldn’t delay any longer. Opening the leather bound book of empty pages, I began writing. Words fell from my mind onto the blank page. The scratch of quill against rough paper continued until the shadows grew long. My back and shoulders ached. I ignored the stiffness and pain continuing on, never knowing if anyone would care how the righteous had fallen and the evil had risen. Perhaps no one would ever read about innocence lost and bravery triumphing.

It had seemed hopeless in those final days. Even looking back now it was a wonder we won. Death had seemed so certain. There was a single moment. A single rallying point when light and hope pierced the darkness. When blood soaked and battle worn, Roman had raised his sword and let loose a monstrous scream. For a moment no longer than a breath, everyone paused. Then as one all of his men yelled in response and an energy surged through them.

The enemy stumbled and the advantage was pressed. Their slight hesitation had cost them not only the battle, but the war.

At least that is how I remember it, looking across the field. One moment their commander’s hand was locked firmly around my throat and the next I was wrenched free, released from his strangling hold.

Was that the turning point? Or was it earlier? Had I missed it because I was struggling through my own war? Perhaps that was why I was writing. Trying to discover a truth that might not exist.

But that was the end, not the beginning. I must return to the beginning before you’ll really understand.

It started years earlier.

Moving swiftly across the silent hall, I heard the sound of faintly falling footsteps. Seeking cover in the shadows, I pressed myself against the wall. The footsteps faintly falling grew closer, perhaps it was my fellow conspirator or a traitor. I couldn’t be certain of which.

The uncontrollable shaking started. Clinching my fists and closing my eyes, I whispered to myself, “Thinking begins hesitation. Hesitation begins doubt. Doubt begins paralysis. Paralysis destroys progress.”

My teacher had made me repeat those words a thousand times until they had become a soothing mantra that pushed the curtain of panic back.

“Alicia,” a voice whispered in answer. It was Roman, my ally.

When I released my fists, I realized thin lines of blood marked where my nails had dug in.

Nothing like the threat of a traitor’s death to get your blood pumping. I almost laughed at the thought. What was I thinking trying to free people who might not even want to be freed?

The End.

I hope that was bad and boring enough.