gn of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon ovWriters sometimes have a hard time getting started on their great novel. I suggest a scene that says something about the protagonist and his environment. I no longer write novels because I’m old and novels are a lot of work. If I were going to start a western, I might start it like this:

Scene

Standing on shaky legs Dusty Hollister watched the Apaches disappear into the chaparral. He sat down and put his head back between his legs to relieve the dizziness. He thought, That was too close for comfort.

Later, he went to the stream and washed his face. His head was still bleeding from the fall–the fall that had saved his life. It was a bad cut. When he tripped, his head hit a boulder; fortunately a glancing blow, but one that had knocked him senseless. He held his cold hand against the cut, hoping the bleeding would stop.

A Cooper’s hawk swished above his head. He did not see the bird but he saw its shadow and heard the soft noise of air moving across the wings. He looked for the bird, but it was gone. He wished he could move like that bird, especially now. The Apaches could return, castrate him like a young hog, skin him alive, and hack him to pieces. He shuttered.

There was no sign of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon ove

tanding on shaky legs Dusty Hollister watched the Apaches disappear into the chaparral. He sat down and put his head back between his legs to relieve the dizziness. He thought, That was too close for comfort.

Later, he went to the stream and washed his face. His head was still bleeding from the fall–the fall that had saved his life. It was a bad cut. When he tripped, his head hit a boulder; fortunately a glancing blow, but one that had knocked him senseless. He held his cold hand against the cut, hoping the bleeding would stop.

A Cooper’s hawk swished above his head. He did not see the bird but he saw its shadow and heard the soft noise of air moving across the wings. He looked for the bird, but it was gone. He wished he could move like that bird, especially now. The Apaches could return, castrate him like a young hog, skin him alive, and hack him to pieces. He shuttered.

There was no sign of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon ov

fall–the fall that had saved his life. It was a bad cut. When he tripped, his head hit a boulder; fortunately a glancing blow, but one that had knocked him senseless. He held his cold hand against the cut, hoping the bleeding would stop.

A Cooper’s hawk swished above his head. He did not see the bird but he saw its shadow and heard the soft noise of air moving across the wings. He looked for the bird, but it was gone. He wished he could move like that bird, especially now. The Apaches could return, castrate him like a young hog, skin him alive, and hack him to pieces. He shuttered.

There was no sign of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon ov

but he saw its shadow and heard the soft noise of air moving across the wings. He looked for the bird, but it was gone. He wished he could move like that bird, especially now. The Apaches could return, castrate him like a young hog, skin him alive, and hack him to pieces. He shuttered.

There was no sign of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon ov

gn of the horse. He had spent three days figuring how to steal that nag from the sheepherder. The problem was the dogs. They were a yappy bunch. He had made friends with the dogs by feeding them strips of beef jerky. It was almost time to make the snitch when the Apaches came. They turned the sheep wagon over with the sheepherder in it, set it afire, and laughed while the old man died in the flames.

There was no fight from the sheepherder and Dusty knew better than to try and help him. He ran instead, fell, hit his head on the rock, and was out for whatever happened next. He wondered if he was smart or cowardly. He knew the answer.

End of Scene

Here’s the test:

Who is the protagonist? Answer: Dusty, possibly an outlaw.

Who are the antagonists? Answer: So far it’s the Apaches.

Where is he? Answer: In the southwest somewhere. There is no chaparral in Connecticut that I know of. The Cooper’s Hawk is indigenous to chaparral.

What happened to him? Answer: He fell and was injured when he ran away from an Apache attack on a sheep camp.

What was he up to? Answer: He was trying to steal a horse.

What was his condition? Answer: He was dazed and confused.

What do you think he will do next? Answer: He’ll have to keep walking. He’ll ponder on being a coward.

The above scene is original because I just wrote it. I didn’t think about what I was going to write. I just decided it was a western. From that point on Dusty took over and did whatever he wanted to do. I just