But maybe I speak too soon.
“Our relationship,” I say, starting to unpack the groceries.
“What about it?” We have lived together long enough that I can sense the wariness that she would deny if I were to ask.
“Nothing,” I say. I slam the baguette into the steel bread box.
“No, really. What? Why does every serious conversation have to start out like this?”
“Start out like what?” I say, because I panic and can’t think of anything better. I reach back into the paper grocery sack, making as much noise as I can.
“Start out like--"
Silence.
I turn. She has vanished, truly vanished, into another world. I am alone in the cramped apartment kitchen, holding a clear bag of freshly gathered herbs.
Some of Agent Kristin’s warnings are more general, such as “I have yet to see a well-done prologue in sample pages I’ve received.” There she echoes the advice of Elmore Leonard, whose own top-ten advice list says, “Avoid prologues.”
Have I mentioned that one of my current writing projects has a prologue? I may decide to relabel it.
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