If you want to read along with us and avoid the SPOILERS that will follow, you can pick up your copy of The Untold Tale from major online retailers, or snag a free copy from StoryCartel.

About the book

Forsyth Turn is not a hero. Lordling of Turn Hall and Lysse Chipping, yes. Spymaster for the king, certainly. But hero? That’s his older brother’s job, and Kintyre Turn is nothing if not legendary. However, when a raid on the kingdom’s worst criminal results in the rescue of a bafflingly blunt woman, oddly named and even more oddly mannered, Forsyth finds his quaint, sedentary life is turned on its head.

Dragged reluctantly into a quest he never expected, and fighting villains that even his brother has never managed to best, Forsyth is forced to confront his own self-shame and the demons that come with always being second-best. And, more than that, when he finally realizes where Lucy came from and why she’s here, he’ll be forced to question not only his place in the world, but the very meaning of his own existence.

Smartly crafted, The Untold Tale gives agency to the unlikeliest of heroes: the silenced, the marginalized, and the overlooked. It asks what it really means to be a fan when the worlds you love don’t resemble the world you live in, celebrates the power of the written word, challenges tropes, and shows us what happens when someone stands up and refuses to remain a secondary character in their own life.

Part One: Chapters 1 and 2

In this section, we’re introduced to our narrator Forsyth Turn, lord of a rural fiefdom by day, King’s Shadow Hand by night, as he receives the unexpected delivery of a grievously injured person. That person turns out to be a victim of the evil Viceroy, the biggest bad in the kingdom of Hain, and his lackey Bootknife, whose preferred method of torture is carving designs into people’s backs.

But Lucy Piper, aka Pip, outlasted her captors, resisting their interrogation longer (and gaining a more elaborate scar) than anyone Forsyth has ever heard of. Between that and the fact that nothing about her points to any family or country he knows–and as the Shadow Hand, he knows just about everything–Forsyth finds himself engrossed by his impressive and mysterious guest.

Given the scant clues he is able to discern about Pip and the conditions of her imprisonment, Forsyth begins to consider that she may be more than human; that she is, in fact, a mythical Reader. Far from being an answer, this possibility only raises more questions.

“I am upstairs when I catch sight of the approaching cart.”

The opening line is in present tense, but it reminds me of a recollection anyway–someone remembering the moment everything in their life changed. And that’s exactly what this is for Forsyth Turn, the moment an unconscious Lucy Piper is brought to his manor.

The first pages of this book are excellent in so many ways, establishing expectations for the narrator (he assumes the body in the cart is a corpse–me too, man, me too) and for the story. Frey doesn’t give us the suspense of the raid during which Pip was rescued, she gives us the reflection that comes after, the care and the follow-through. She doesn’t give us the point of view of the guy who kicked down the Viceroy’s door and saw an unexpected prisoner; she gives us the man who quietly arranged and ordered simultaneous–and successful–sneak attacks on numerous enemy hideouts.

This first section of the book is primarily an introduction of Forsyth, our unusual narrator. He is intelligent, stable, composed; at least, when he’s going about his duties. As the master of his house, he efficiently handles the sudden appearance of a woman in great need of comfort and medical care. We can infer his similar competence as Shadow Hand by the fact that the men he trains and commands didn’t know they were going to find Pip on the raid and still managed to get her out alive, along with the books that were their target, without any loss of life or other catastrophe in the operation. And as a Lordling, it’s impossible to not be reminded of Mr. Darcy; we get the first hint of Forsyth’s goodness as a landlord in the discussion of the generous and improved usage of the Law Manor, both for his friend Sheriff Pointe specifically and the Chipping (the land under his protection) as a whole.

In all these instances, Forsyth seems sure of himself. But the moment the focus goes from his obligations, to his own self and happiness, he is uncomfortable at best and violently self-deprecating at worst. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen this in a male protagonist, if ever, and yet there are men in my own social circle and probably beyond who struggle with this same odd balance of competency and anxiety. His first instinct is to see the lack in himself, and he assumes that all but a select few see exactly what he sees: his uselessness and failings.

What seems to unify the areas in which Forsyth is confident is their distance from himself–the Shadow Hand is literally a “personality [he wears], a costume [he] conceived” (p 22), and the role of Lordling is one that he was obligated to take up due to the neglect of his elder brother Kintyre, the rightful lord.

Though Forsyth is a man who has seemingly resigned himself to loneliness, he is marvelously sensitive. The man has Feels; he’s crushing on Pip from the get go, clear to the reader long before Sheriff Pointe jokes about Forsyth courting her. He is sentimental and sincere in his tenderness and his obligations to protect her, though she is a stranger. The significance he attaches to Pip’s trust, the naivety with which he accepts it, is perhaps a tad over-the-top, but in that way it is an insight into Forsyth. It’s a sign of just how smitten he is that he’s not more suspicious of her.

Forsyth is a character who doesn’t know how great he is, and I have to admit, it’s nice to see that look on a male-identified character for once. I also enjoy the obviousness of the chemistry between him and Pip, as well as his total obliviousness to it–this is what great ships are made of, after all.

via Giphy

The Untold Tale has a slow start, action-wise, that’s true–chapters one and two, despite being more than fifty pages, are pretty much all about Pip’s early recovery and her and Forsyth getting to know each other a little. But the writing flows so well that the reading goes easily and quickly; it was almost hard to stop at page 53.

Coming Up

There’s a lot to look forward to in the next installment. Pip is an utter mystery, we’ve only just gotten teases of magic and mythology in this world, and big hero-man Kintyre Turn has been heavily talked up before the appearance we can expect soon.

Part two of the read-along will go live next Tuesday on C.M. Spivey’s blog, and cover pages 54-140 (chapters 3, 4, and 5).

The post “I assume the body is a corpse.”: The Untold Read-Along Part One appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.

When I read as an editor, I want to be interested in your story. Nobody picks up a book and hopes to be bored (unless they’re really strange). And my expectations are being formed from the moment I read your first couple of sentences.

I think we’ve all heard some kind of advice about opening with a bang. That can mean a literal bang, like a gun going off or an explosion, or it could be something as innocuous as “All my Saturdays were exactly the same until that one.”

You can go about your hook lots of different ways, and I’m going to talk briefly about two big ones. 1) The Ordinary Day and 2) The Day It All Changes.

In #1, you open with an ordinary day. Your protagonist goes about her daily business, and perhaps one or two things are odd or out of place, but for the most part, it’s business as usual. What keeps the reader reading? The promise that things will change. The ordinariness of the day is necessary to establish the character or for contrast with what comes later.

In #2, you open with the moment that the protagonist’s life goes from ordinary to odd/extraordinary/just different. Maybe she bumps into her long-lost father on the subway or drops a quarter down a drain and discovers some kind of amphibious monster.

With just these two examples, you can see that there are many different ways to write a first chapter, from opposite ends of the spectrum to all the spots in-between.

That is an obscenely brief overview of how to craft a hook, but now I’m going to talk about some basic, universal things that I want to find when I start reading.

1. Setting. It doesn’t have to be complete or fully developed because it’s just the first chapter, but I need to have a sense of place. If your novel takes place in a dystopian world and everything is completely foreign, at least tell me whether it’s barren wasteland or glittery futurism.

2. Conflict/Tension. If you’re starting out with 1) The Ordinary Day, give me an underlying ominous hint that things are about to change. If you’re starting out with 2) The Day It All Changes, it’ll be easier to work some tension in. But the main thing is I don’t want to feel safe. I want to feel like anything can and will happen.

3. Narrator/Tone. Is this going to be a quirky narrative? What POV will it be in? Does the narrator curse like a sailor? Do they have the vocabulary of a grade-schooler or a collegiate? Are they withdrawn or expansive? You don’t have to dump the life history of a character on me – just show me how they talk, and in that you can say a lot about the whole book.

Make sense? Look over your first chapter and ask yourself what it does. Does it introduce the place, the narrator, and the beginning of conflict? If these things aren’t happening, look for the place in your novel where these things actually begin and you might find your real chapter one.

The post What Editors Look For: Chapter One appeared first on REUTS | Boutique Book Publisher |.