Those two words aren’t often seen in each other’s company, but that may be why editors ask authors to pull the prologue out of the ms. A prologue when it is done well is a powerful storytelling tool. When it’s done wrong, it can give the reader the wrong impression — or worse, give the whole story away right from the beginning.

A prologue like everything else in a ms must do double duty. Yes, it can reveal some backstory, but if that’s all it does, get rid of it and reveal those tidbits of backstory somewhere else in the ms — at the point when that revelation has the most impact on the characters and plot.

What a prologue must do is:

• Create a story question that won’t be answered until the black moment. This means that the information contained in the prologue must include something that plays into the hero/heroine’s deepest fears so it fuels the conflict that is resolved at the black moment.

• Elicit a strong emotional reaction from the reader. To do this, the scene in the prologue has to have all the aspects of a complete ms. The POV (point of view) character in it must have a goal. The POV character have fears, and the character must make a decision that will resonate throughout the body of the ms. Sometimes, it will be the wrong decision, so the hero/heroine must face the same decision at the black moment…and make the right one now. Sometimes it is the right decision, and it will play into the motivation of the hero and/or heroine and be part of the impetus that moves the story forward. The hero/heroine may not not realize this until the black moment…or one may and for the other it’s a moment of discovery that leads to the decision that must evolve from the black moment.

I’ll give you an example of the latter. This prologue is from my Welsh historical, Wake Not the Dragon, which was published by Harper.

England - East of Offa’s Dyke 1277
She stood alone among the white blossoms of the apple trees. Her shoulders were as bent as their branches, and she trembled as if a high wind was swirling about her.
He clenched his hands at his side. It had happened again. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Damn Talbot! The girl was strong-willed, but only in that she resembled her sire. In every other way she was the image of her mother, who had treated him with such kindness when he was a lad no older than the lass was now.
The man swung down from his horse and looped the reins over a branch. He walked toward her. His short tunic did not brush the high grass, but she must have heard him approaching. Instantly her shoulders beneath her dark brown cote-hardie squared, and he took note of a surreptitious stroke of her hand against her cheek. He had never seen her weep, and she would not let that change today. When she faced him, she did not smile. She never was hypocritical with him, only courageous.
“Do I disturb you?” he asked.
She shook her head, and, when her veil fluttered back, he saw the bruise on her right cheek. Talbot was left-handed, he knew only too well. He wondered what had precipitated this day’s mistreatment. It mattered little. It had happened before. It would happen again, for as long as Talbot’s sole child reminded her father of his failure to sire a son.
“Do you wish to be alone?”
Again she shook her head. “I am always pleased to see you, Kenleigh.” She blanched, and the imprint of a hand on her cheek became more pronounced. “I mean, milord.”
He took her hand, which was as tiny and fragile as a newborn bird. An illusion, he knew, for this child had been fired like a fine pot by her life. No longer as malleable as clay, she was strong, but too many sharp blows would shatter her. “I, too, am unaccustomed to the grandeur of such a title being spoken to me. I had thought my father would possess it for many more years.”
“Your father was fortunate to have a son to bequeath his title to.”
He chuckled. The underlying sarcasm in her young voice always amused him. “You shall get yourself into more trouble if those words were to reach beyond my ears.”
“I trust you.”
“I know.” He seated her on a log that was as bleached as old bones. Sitting next to her, he said, “Trust me when I say that it hurts me to see you in pain.”
“You are a dear friend.”
“Your mother and my mother were distant cousins. We are family.”
She stared down at her hands which were folded on her lap. “I would prefer to think of you as a friend. A friend is more dear to me than family.”
“Not all families are like yours.”
“I pray not.”
Pain riveted him at the grim acceptance in her voice. No, she could not be ready to cede her will to her detestable father! She had fought all her few years. She must not capitulate now. He must give her hope to continue the battle to save her soul from destruction.
He glanced at his horse. He could not remain here to protect her as he had in the past year since he had learned of the consequences of Talbot’s fearsome temper. Within the hour, he must depart to throw his lot in with King Edward on his campaign to the west past Offa’s Dyke in Wales. He smiled as inspiration filled his head. He could not be here to protect his young cousin, but his name could.
Folding her hands between his, he said, “I would ask you a question for which I would like an honest answer.”
“You need only ask.”
“Marry me.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth became a perfect circle of incredulity. “Marry you? You are a fine lord now.”
“You are an earl’s daughter. Our lands adjoin. We have long been friends. It makes utmost sense.” He curved his hand along her uninjured cheek. “I must leave you, and I know you have to be strong. Let my name be your shield.”
“Take me with you.” She shifted to face him. Eagerness stripped the pain from her expressive eyes. “The queen travels with the king on his campaigns. I shall go with you.”
He smiled. “I shall ask your father before I ride to join the king.”
“Father may not agree.”
He understood what she dared not say, even to him. Talbot might oppose the match simply to add more misery to his daughter’s existence.
Dropping to his knee before her, he said, “If he does not agree to let you join me now, I will gain his acceptance of our betrothal.”
“How?”
“I know not, but, dear one, I shall not see you suffer like this again.” His fingertip drew back the linen veil she had pulled forward to cloak the bruise. “I vow to you that I shall see you are protected for the rest of your days.”
“But if you are far from me. . .”
“No matter where I go, no matter what trials life or death throws at me, this is a vow I shall keep throughout eternity.” He tipped her chin up and was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “You don’t believe me?”
“I do believe you.”
“Then you will be my wife?”
“Yes.”
As she flung her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest, he embraced her gently. He had no idea how he might keep this vow, for the journey he was about to take was laden with peril. He would find a way to honor this promise. And he would honor it with every breath until his very last.

This scene was vital to the story because the POV character is dead when the body of the book opens, even though the heroine doesn’t know that. Yet the promise he makes to the heroine in this prologue informs the actions of the whole book, because as the heroine finds out at the black moment, he asked the hero to assume this vow of protecting the heroine. It explains ever act the hero makes, even though it is confusing to the heroine until that revelation is made.

How to achieve this? I think I may have posted this previously in the “Beginning Blunder” posts, but I’ll repeat it here (even though it repeats some of what I’ve said above):

• If you have a prologue, you don’t need to have an epilogue or vice versa.
• Prologues need to be SHORT! 6 pages is pushing it.
• Show events/people that couldn’t otherwise be seen but have an impact on story.
• ‘Create story questions that are answered at the black moment
• Best to have a single POV/scene
• I try never to use names – because I want the reader to wonder how this scene ties in with the rest of the book.
• Readers don’t always read prologues so keep that in mind if you’re deciding whether or not to have one – it might be better to bring out the information as part of the back story elsewhere in the book.
• Make sure you have strong emotion — high stakes for the POV character in the prologue. If there isn’t that emotional impact in the prologue, you’re wasting information you could use more effectively elsewhere.

Prologues are an excellent tool…but you need to know how to use them to their best advantage. Exactly like every other page in the ms.

The very first book I ever read by Arthur C. Clarke was Childhood’s End. I picked it up in the library after reading his short story The Star in a science fiction anthology. From that point on, I was a fan and read every piece of his work that I could get my hands on. I never tired of his ability to tell a fascinating story at the same time he asked questions about who we are and why we are here. For a teenager, those were vital questions, and he opened my mind to possible answers that I never could have imagined on my own. I can’t remember how many people I have told to read Childhood’s End because it will open their eyes and minds as well. My own copy — I think I’m on my third or fourth, and I’m careful with my books, but they can take only so many rereads — is always nearby.

Thank you, Sir Arthur, for so many amazing looks into the future, the past, and into ourselves. We are better for it.

Today is the official release day for Kindred Spirits. All my books are special, but this one is especially fun for me because it’s set in the North York Moors, and that’s one of my favorite places in the UK. It was a lot of fun to remake our favorite B&B into Nethercott Castle…using the site as the center of the story.

We went to the Roman camp that figures into the story — Cawthorne Roman Camp. It is an amazing sight among trees at the edge of a cliff looking down over the moors. Below is a photo of one of the ditches that remains along with the earthworks that surrounded one portion of the camp.

The Wheeldale Roman Road, where my characters wanderd, is a puzzle. Is it really Roman or was it built by others? What remains is in a field where sheep roam, and you can walk along it and decide for yourself.

St. Mary’s Church Lastingham also plays a role in the story. In the book, the hero and heroine seek shelter in the crypt below the main floor of the church. There they see an altar set where the original one was hundreds of years before.

The moors themselves lend a gothic feeling because there are areas where only a few sheep roam.

So while you read the book, think of these images. If you would like to see other places mentioned in the book, let me know, and I’ll post more photos. We are heading back to the North York Moors in June for more exploration.