There was a time on MWC that we discussed prologues and we more or less agreed that people tend to skip them.  I discovered today that this is not the case.  I asked around in my romance writers' group (RNA) and everyone agreed they use them very frequently these days.  Has the trend changed or is this down to the genre?

   Remember at school in maths classes when teachers insisted on 'seeing your workings'?  Really frustrating if your mind just clicked up the answers and you had to go back and work out how you'd arrived at the answer.

   If anyone's interested would you like to see the differences between first  and final drafts of my recent flash fiction, Table Seven?

   Feel free to ignore if you wish, but it does show how at least one person works things through, decides what to discard and what to reinforce.  It might be useful.

        Gyppo

   =====

   Take 1.  This was just the first tip it out of my head and then start 'thinking on the page' draft.  I wasn't certain where it was going at this point, just seeing a group of characters and the initially anonymous narrator.  Seeing if the basic story had a decent shape and the legs to run the distance.  Result?  Twenty nine words too long.  But what to take out?

   Table Seven.

   "Of all the restaurants in all the town..."  I thought aloud as her group entered.

   Her hair was grey instead of rich chestnut, but I knew.  I checked the list,

   "Booking for five.  Johnson."  I showed them to table seven.  It was the family table, six seats.  I took their orders, organised drinks, served them when their food was ready.

   She moved her chair to sit at the head of the table.  The couples sat facing each other.  The middle aged woman looked like her mother.  Her husband looked a decent enough chap.  A least that had worked out alright.

   The youngest couple were still in the early throes of love, and she was ostentatiously left handed, flashing her engagement ring.  Obviously a celebration dinner.

   As I served I checked out the oldest one again.  She looked at me a few times with a slight frown.   Perhaps she didn't expect a man my age to still be working.  I noticed a few red strands amongst her grey.

   "My grandaughter's engagement dinner."  She announced, and the girl, prompted, flashed her ring under my nose.

   "Very nice, Miss."

   As they left she hesitated in the door, came back in as the others walked away, pressed a folded napkin into my hand.

   "My number.  If you've got over your shyness in the last fifty years, I'm still single."

   =====

   Take 2.

   Only one word over now, but several small bits of smoothing.   Taking out unnecessary words and description. The waiter no longer checks the booking list.  He knows who she is.  The elder lady moves her seat, reinforcing her position as the main character, not half of a couple.  A change of what had 'worked out right'.  At the end the anonymous waiter now has a name, which felt important.
   
   Table Seven.

   "Of all the restaurants in all the towns..."  I thought aloud as her group entered.

   "Booking for five.  Johnson."  Her hair was grey instead of rich chestnut, but I knew.

   A family table, six seats. 

   She moved her chair to sit at the head of the table.  A Matriarch's place.  The couples faced each other.  The middle-aged woman looked like her mother.  She could have looked like me if things had been different.  A least that had worked out alright.

   The youngest couple were still bubbly.  Ostentatiously left handed, flashing her engagement ring.  Obviously a celebration dinner.

   I checked out the oldest one as I served.  She looked at me a few times with a slight frown.  Maybe she recognised me, or perhaps just didn't expect a man my age to still be working.  I noticed a few fiery red strands amongst her grey and smiled.

   "My Grandaughter's engagement dinner."  She announced, and the girl  flashed her ring under my nose.

   "Very nice, Miss."

   =====

   As they left she hesitated in the door, smiled, pressed a folded napkin into my hand.

   "My number, Jimmy.  If you've got over your shyness in the last fifty years, I'm still single."

   ===

   Take 3.

   The final cut.  Four words inside the deadline.  If the challenge had been for 200 words exactly it would have been easy enough to adjust. Could have slipped a few more in. But I was happy enough and the deadline was pressing.

   Table Seven.

   "Of all the restaurants in all the towns..."  I thought aloud as her group entered.

   "Booking for five.  Johnson."  Her hair was grey instead of rich chestnut, but I knew.

   A family table, six seats. 

   She moved her chair to sit at the head of the table.  A Matriarch's place.  The couples faced each other.  The middle-aged woman looked like her mother.  Lucky woman.  She could have looked like me if things had been different.

   The youngest couple were still bubbly.  Ostentatiously left handed, flashing her engagement ring.  Obviously a celebration dinner.

   I checked out the oldest one as I served.  She looked at me a few times with a slight frown.  Maybe she recognised me, or perhaps just didn't expect a man my age to still be working.  I noticed a few fiery red strands amongst her grey and smiled.

   "My Grandaughter's engagement dinner."  She announced, and the girl  flashed her ring under my nose.

   "Very nice, Miss."

        =====

   As they left she hesitated in the door, smiled, pressed a folded napkin into my hand.

   "My number, Jimmy.  If you've got over your shyness in the last fifty years, I'm still single."

   ===

Every now and then You Tube's shortened titles produce something which sounds really off the wall.  I thought they were pushing the limits for a second.

Gordon Ramsay Prepares & Cooks His Vietnamese Men...

Ooh, that's a good one!

A rich vein of complications there, Noiz, both mental and real.