.
For the writing community in general, the debate over prologues is a bit of low-intensity warfare that never ends. In my writers group, I am the person who often tells another writer that their prologue isn’t working and that they should delete it from their manuscript. So, it is a bit of an ironic thing that my published novel hit the shelves with a prologue.
Mind you, I did not compose the manuscript originally with a prologue, but after beta reader comments came back with points of confusion that tracked across various readers, I wrote the short introductory scene to address that specific issue. In Vulcan’s Forge, because the novel is from the first-person point of view, and key elements of the backstory that transpired a few years before the main character entered the situation and therefore could not be directly experienced by the main character, I had the choice of having someone sit down and explain it to him in an expository dump — shudder — or compose a prologue with that critical scene. To me the prologue, in that case, was the most elegant solution.
The horror novel I am currently shopping around to agents has just gained a prologue.
Feedback from one agent that passed on the manuscript commented that the agent wanted the horror and the unsettling atmosphere to start sooner. I will confess that I have always had a fondness for the horror that is a slow build. Where we start off in a very recognizable world that could very well be our own and bit by bit, strange thing by strange thing, it shifts, transforms, and morphs into something that is hopefully terrifying. However, I also know that these days the current trend in publishing is for stories to hit the ground running, and that is particularly true for less established authors. The point-of-view character in this case cannot start the story deep in the horror unless I do some sort of flash-forward, a valid technique but one that did not feel right. What is the answer?
A prologue, of course, but not one crafted to explain the intricate worldbuilding of a second world fantasy with detailing the histories of ancient kingdoms and the like. That would be an example of how not to employ a prologue. A prologue should be dramatic and leave the reader with an unanswered question or two.
So, I wrote another prologue. One that takes place 52 years before the start of the novel and sets into motion everything that follows, but more critically, one that is welded to a tight close third-person point-of-view putting the reader, hopefully, into the visceral experience of betrayal, sacrifice, and torment beyond death.


