I have decided that Liz A. Stratton Closes the Store needs a prologue. This is because I went to a writer's conference a couple years ago and heard a very popular "story doctor" say to never, ever start your story with someone driving in a car. To date, that is the way I have begun ALL of my novels.
[palm to forehead]
In addition, I've always, always struggled with the beginning of this book. It's the beginning because, well, it's the beginning. However, good stories don't start any earlier than they have to.
So, I'm going to cheat a little. I think this story needs a prologue. Specifically, this story needs a chunk of action from the middle of the book to give the readers a taste of what's coming. I'm not afraid of "spoiling" the surprise for anyone: the fact there's a sex strike is on the bleeding cover.
So, I've decided to post the two possible prologues here and let you all vote for your favorite. Which of these would draw you, readers, into the story the most effectively?
Please comment below, message me on twitter @marenster, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or comment/vote on my facebook page.
Here is the first option. Thanks for participating!
Liz A. Stratton, Presidential candidate, peeked from behind the curtain. In front of her stood a crowd of thousands of horny women who had given up sex to show support for her effort to end the war in Mesopotamianstan. They expected her to say something that would inspire tham and keep them from going to bed with their husbands or lovers (or both) until the war was over.
But Liz kept thinking about that...that...MAN (a Secret Service agent no less) who was currently in her room on the bus waiting for her, she supposed as she left him...naked and half-crazy with desire. Honestly, she didn't know whether she was going back to him once she was done with the crowd.
What could she possibly say to those women to keep them on track if she wasn't even able to contain herself?
She slumped in a folding chair and flipped through her talking points, not reading them. She was thinking of Dion's floppy hair, his sexy sunglasses, his lopsided grin, what his cock must look like. She sighed and swore.
Maybe this sex-strike thing was more trouble than it was worth.