I’m currently teaching my First Five Pages class at Lawson Writer’s Academy (psst – you can still sign up!) I love helping writers strengthen their all-important openings. Joe Zarek is one of my past students, and has agreed to allow me to share his ‘before and after’ first page. Kudos to him for working so hard and being willing to share his work to help others!

Here is the before:

“There shall be violence, bloodshed, and death.” The Marshal of the Field’s voice cut through the air, sharp and savage. He scanned the crowd made up of the Queen’s Royal Household, modern-day groundlings and a few goth-girls-in-waiting.

     Cheers rang forth from the packed crowds on either side of the jousting field.

     Boone smiled—Ah, mid-day May clear blue skies. Cheering crowds thirsting for blood. What’s not to love?

     A nasty sinking feeling stirred in the pit of my stomach.

     Whoa. That’s weird. Boone thought.

     I pat Henri on his firm neck and shoulders, and my eyes fall upon his head and ears.

     Henri’s standing fine, but the cock of his ears, and tilt of his head screams something’s off. But what? My eyes bounce from one side of the stands to the other. But, nothing’s out of the ordinary. Ah, it’s a horse thing. Henri’s new to jousting, and Flynn’s horse is older.

     “Come on, Henri, we got this.” I pat and rub his shoulders a little firmer.

     The Marshal signals us to come forward.

     Flynn and I ride towards one another, striking the tips of our lances together.

     “Sir Flynn, I love you, brother, but today I win the Queen’s favor,” I said, a slow grin quirked across my mouth.

     “Yes, yes, Sir Boone. You’ve said so many times before when you turn twenty-two, you shall best me.” Flynn said, a hint of mockery edging his mouth.

     “You know what else I say, Sir Flynn.” A smirk splashed across my face.

     “What’s that, Sir Boone?”

      “More jousting and less talkie-talkie,” I said, pinch-flapping my fingers.

     I lower my visor.

     “Good one,” Flynn replies, dropping his visor and bobbing his head up at me.

     We part, ride to the ends of the tiltyard, signal each other, raise our lances, and gallop towards one another.

     The massive adrenaline rush galloping, horse hooves pounding vibrate up my spine.

     We lower our lances at each other’s shield. 

     Our eyes lock.

     A smile explodes from the corners of my mouth.

     This time Flynn your mine.

     Our lances pass one another, and my eyes focus on the prize—Flynn’s shield.

     Nowhere to go now, Flynn.

     “Bwaaat”

     No, wait. What…? Was that an air horn?

     Flynn’s mount throws him.

     Blink.

     Flynn’s blazing baby blue eyes and mine both pop wide.


My thoughts: Great tense scene, and well done on the first paragraph; it’s not easy to set the scene as contemporary while describing a joust.

I got where Joe was going with this, but there are awkward sentences, tons of dialog tags, and name repetition. Paragraph breaks convey speed and tension, but when there are more than necessary, it makes the read choppy.

It took about four pass through edits, but here is his final version:


St. Louis Renaissance Festival, Wentzville, MO 2020

          My horse shifts beneath me, restless. I scan the crowd made up of the Queen’s Royal Household, modern-day groundlings, spectators, and a few goth-girls-in-waiting.

          All fell silent as the Marshall of the Field sauntered to the middle of the jousting arena. “There shall be violence, bloodshed, and death.” His voice cut through the air, sharp and savage.

         From the packed stands, cheers ring out.

          Ah, mid-day May clear blue skies and cheering crowds thirsting for blood. What’s not to love?

          A nasty sinking feeling stirred in the pit of my stomach. I glance down at my mount. He’s standing fine, but the cock of his ears and tilt of his head screams something’s off. I scan the field, but nothing’s out of the ordinary. “Come on, Henri, we got this.” I pat his neck, not sure which of us I’m trying to convince.

          The Marshal raises, then drops his hand.

          Flynn and I ride forward, striking the tips of our lances together.

          “Sir Flynn, I love you, brother, but today I win the Queen’s favor,” my ginormous grin spreads.

          “Yes. You’ve declared that when you turn twenty-two, you shall best me. Such donkey prattle is ever amusing, Sir Boone.” His crinkling eyes mock.

          “You know what else I say.”

          “What’s that?”

          “More jousting and less talkie-talkie,” I say, pinch-flapping my fingers.

       “Good one” He deadpans.

          I lower my visor. We spin and canter to the ends of the tiltyard, then turn, raise our lances, and gallop towards one another.

          The crowd roars, and the massive adrenaline rush of pounding hooves vibrate up my spine.

          We lower our lances and raise our shields. 

          Our eyes lock.

          This time, you’re mine.

          Our lances pass close, and I stay focused on the prize—Flynn’s shield.

          “BWAAAT.” An air horn spooks Flynn’s mount. It rears, and Flynn’s blazing blue eyes pop wide.


See how the scene didn’t change at all, but the hundred micro-edits made this scene sparkle? Every single line of your beginning is that important. Spend the time until you are happy with the word choice, cadence, clarity and emotion of every sentence.

It’ll be worth it, I promise.

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