So I’m trying to get back in the saddle of writing my true masterpiece over the Christmas holiday. I’m not really one to write out of chronological order, so that means the dreaded first scene is the one I started with. I know my writing doesn’t have the same kind of quality that it will once I really get back into the swing of things. My biggest concern here is as to whether or not I have formulated an adequate hook. As in, if this was the first couple pages of my book, would the reader keep reading? Particularly, would a potential publisher keep reading? Please, by all means tell me what you think, as a reader. And remember, you might want to check back here, because I do reply to my comments.

1.

The sound of rushing air was gone, replaced with crashing water. Moist leaves stuck to her cheek. An errant twig scraped against the pointed tip of her ear. A tree root was digging into her hip. Pain gripped her lower back as she shifted out of an awkward position. Bright autumn colors blasted her retinas through her parting eyelashes. These sensations made her feel very much alive. This was unexpected.

The woman pushed herself to her feet, where she found herself standing alone in a pleasant grove filled with the roar of a nearby waterfall. The smooth pale trees with their orange and yellow leaves were foreign to her eyes. Through their branches, she squinted up at an unhelpfully overcast sky.

Her gloved fingers touched her face and slid through her hair, feeling for a head injury that would explain her confusion. She wandered over to the misty pool and knelt at the bank. The water’s edge was calm enough to produce a clear reflection. When she leaned in to look, a familiar brown face peered back at her through dull green eyes. Atop it was a mass of dirty white hair with a tell-tale splash of crimson, but when she reached for it, she only found a brightly covered leaf stuck between the strands.

With a shake of her head, she flicked the leaf into the water, distorting her image beyond recognition. She peeled away her gloves and dipped her hands into the pool, scooping out an icy sip. She could not remember the last time water had refreshed her so. Enjoying it made her feel like a bit of a hypocrite, but that didn’t stop her from indulging until she was completely sated.

She brushed her hands off against her cloak and took a gander at the rocky face behind the waterfall. She had to crane her neck to spot its peak. She had not jumped off that particular cliff. It was nowhere near tall enough. In fact, she judged she might be miles from that fateful place. She had no idea where she was, but she wondered how much it really mattered. After all, the woman never expected to be worrying about this sort of thing after plunging off the side of a mountain.

She supposed if she was still determined to end it all, she could pull one of the swords from her hip and bury its blade in her gut.  Yes, that certainly would be the simple solution, but the woman did not do this. An odd little detail had just caught her eye.

She approached a tree with an old wooden sign nailed to its trunk. Two words were carved above an arrow pointing away from the water. White Road. She had never heard of it. Without so much as a deer trail nearby, this seemed like a very odd place for such a marker. The woman figured her plans could wait, and with one last look at the grove, she set forth in the direction indicated, venturing into the thicker forest ahead.