here is a prologue of my upcoming novel. think i can make it? or think u can take me up as an agent?




[b]PROLOGUE.[/b][/color][color=#990000][/color][color=#990000]

I cannot say I was born with a silver spoon. Life was not all that silver lined for me and my family. I was born with a spoon that is neither silver nor wooden. At least, life was good and I was happy with my Mum and my Dad. No much thought to my sisters and brother other than they are threats to me, always fighting attention with me.

It was a life of Daddy coming back from work or at least that was what it seemed, late in the evening with goodies. Mummy always in the kitchen, cooking various delicacies into our young but voraciously active bowels. Vividly I could remember early mornings of waking up to lovely music from our then music player the old school record player. Music of Ebenezer Obey singing; the vanity of life. It got stuck to my brain and refused to make any sense to me until much later when the time came for a new chapter of my life to be opened.

It opened to that part that people dread so much. The struggling phase where everyman and woman has to be wrongly independent and every successes and failures are borne by these weak individuals. It was a normal Sunday as far as the previous chapter was concerned; I woke with the usual merry mind to the usual happy bustling of the house. Music was in the air and my brothers and sisters were running around the house with no care in the world.

Apart I stood and watched that day like I knew it was going to be like that. My Dad as usual started washing our clothes in the early morning, the sun was just rising, the breeze did not show any unusual sign, at least there were no goose bumps on my skin and here was no line of anxiety going down my spine. He rushed inside with his eyes closed, his two hands holding his head on both sides, the groan coming out of him was something I have never heard before, it felt so strange hearing such sounds coming from my hero. I was used to the sound of his laughter, the sound of his chuckles, the humming sounds he makes when he sings but never this heralding sound of deep long darkness.

My mum, already panic stricken went to his side took him inside the room laid him down. Those eyes were still closed. I was in a daze for several hours going in to days. I was like an illusionist in an uncontrollable haze of his own making.

Put some colours in your prose.
Artistry, imagery and vocabulary are the keys to great prose.

Started nicely but lost steam. You are not descriptive and creative enough. You need to enliven your prose and bring people into it. But not a bad start, only needs constant improvement. Good luck.