Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Cynthia—would you turn the page?

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

Some homework. Before sending your novel's opening, you might want to read these two FtQ posts: Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action. That'll tell you where I'm coming from, and might prompt a little rethinking of your narrative.

---

Cynthia’s first 16 lines.

My Mom has always been a loser. She loses people. She looks like Kelly Preston, if Kelly Preston was younger and wore a Burger Boy Manager’s uniform, but she’s lost every man she ever loved, or thought she loved, beginning with my father, who dumped her when I was just a baby bump. I love her, I hate her, I feel sorry for her and I wanna kick her ass, all at the same time and the day she lost Bruce kind of pushed me over the edge, but it turned out to be the beginning of everything.

I‘m usually in a bad mood, I don’t quite know why, but I find most people and most situations very annoying. On that day, June 13, 2008, I was actually not as bummed as usual ‘cause it was the last day of school. I didn’t dislike school itself, I just couldn’t stand everyone who went there. My school, Central High in St Louis, was the usual mix of cheerleaders, popular kids, jocks, freaks, nerds, Goths and druggies sprinkled with some gang-bangers, gang-banger wannabees, and then there was yours truly and Sasha Greene.

Sasha and I kind of looked alike. We both had black hair with blue streaks, which we got at CrazyHair.com, except her hair was dark so she had to bleach some of it for the dye to take. My hair is actually blonde so I had to dye and tone. She was my best (and actually my only) friend and the drummer in our band, Noname. I was lead guitar, vocals and the main songwriter and (snip)

Set-up not story—didn’t get the page turn
Just as in conversation, after someone diverges from the original topic, the fourth paragraph in this opening started with “Anyway. . .” just as you would say to resume talking about the original subject. There’s a good voice here, and good writing, but this seems to me to be throat-clearing. Indeed, following are, with a little editing, 16 lines that I think could start the story with, well, story.

When I got home from school I was a little freaked out to see Mom’s car parked outside our garden apartment ‘cause she usually does payroll on Friday and rolls in around seven P.M.

I walked in the kitchen door and knew right away what was going down when I heard Kim and Bruce arguing in the living room. Times like this I think of her as Kim instead of Mom ‘cause she acts like such a kid. I even call her Kim sometimes, which she pretends not to notice. I wanted to sit her down, make her write ’no one likes needy’ a thousand times and paste it on her bathroom mirror. But I never had the guts to do it.

I could hear their voices clearly through the wall, so I opened the fridge, which was filled with Burger Boy food, (I find that stuff seriously disgusting) and pulled out yogurt, orange juice and strawberries for a smoothie.

The dialogue coming through the wall was scary familiar. “Kim, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m not good enough for you.”

“That line was a whole episode of a sitcom.”

“But it’s true, Kimmy. I swear.”

“You know ‘good’ makes me feel bad about myself. I don’t want good. I want you.”

I got so into the drama I almost forgot the ice cubes. What a disaster that could have been.

For me, this has tension, and raises the “what happens next” question, and tells me a lot about the character and her relationship with her mother. The voice is still there, but the character doesn’t come across as so negative. How about a second vote here? One last thing, Cynthia—I wouldn’t use the brief prologue you sent. I’d rather get to the story.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Sarah—would you turn the page?

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book -- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

Some homework. Before sending your novel's opening, you might want to read these two FtQ posts: Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action. That'll tell you where I'm coming from, and might prompt a little rethinking of your narrative.

---

Sarah’s first 16 lines.

He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. We hit branches and rocks that jutted out from the side of the cliff. Our screams tangled with the rushing wind. I focused on the changing colors behind my closed lids, not willing to know the exact moment of our death.

The fall didn’t last long. I had just enough time to take a deep breath when we sliced through the twisted surface.

He still held me, pulling me up with him. My ankles ached and my lungs caught on fire. The man swam hard with the current, tugging me along.

After what seemed like an eternity of fighting to stay afloat, the man had us to the rocky shore of the raging river. We lay intertwined with one another for some time, both trying to catch our breath.

Finally, the man asked, “Is anything broken?”

I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked into his large, milk chocolate eyes. “Um, I’m not sure. You?”

He slowly started moving his rock hard body beneath me. “I don’t believe so. But do you mind getting off so I can make sure?”

I fought back an embarrassed smile. I rolled to my side, wincing at the pain that racked (snip)

Story questions kept me engaged
I was curious about who these people were, what had happened to send them off a cliff, and what would happen next. Good job of opening with an action scene. But there were some distractions (for me) in the narrative. Notes:

He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. We hit branches and rocks that jutted out from the side of the cliff. Our screams tangled with the rushing wind. I focused on the changing colors behind my closed lids, not willing to know the exact moment of our death.

The fall didn’t last long. I had just enough time to take a deep breath when we sliced through the twisted surface. (Here’s an inconsistency that pulled me out of the story: in the paragraph before, she has her eyes closed because she doesn’t want to know the moment of death. But in this paragraph, she knows she has just enough time to take a breath, which implies that she can see the surface coming up. Also, I think it would help to say something like “the river’s surface” to give us a picture, which “the twisted surface” doesn’t.)

He still held me, pulling me up with him. My ankles ached and my lungs caught on fire. The man swam hard with the current, tugging me along.

After what seemed like an eternity of fighting to stay afloat, the man had us to the rocky shore of the raging river. We lay intertwined with one another for some time, both trying to catch our breath. (“raging river” feels like a bit of a cliché to me)

Finally, the man asked, “Is anything broken?”

I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked into his large, milk chocolate eyes. “Um, I’m not sure. You?” (The description, “large, milk-chocolate eyes,” took me out of the story because it seem so unlikely and inappropriate that she would be thinking in this way. They just had a death-defying fall, she’s in pain, they’re just barely alive, and she’s thinking about “milk-chocolate” eyes? It didn’t fit the mood of the scene, and was terribly distracting. Work this in later.)

He slowly started moving his rock hard body beneath me. “I don’t believe so. But do you mind getting off so I can make sure?” (I have the same problem with the description, “rock-hard body.” Who would be thinking such things at a time like this? And we learn later that somebody was shooting them, a friend was killed in front of her, and someone is after them to kill them. So at a time like this she’s thinking “rock hard?” These two descriptions fractured the credibility of this character and this narrative for me. I felt it was the author sticking things that were inappropriate into the character’s mind.)

I fought back an embarrassed smile. I rolled to my side, wincing at the pain that racked (snip)

There is good work here, so keep at it. But I suggest that you get out of your author’s head (which slips in milk-chocolate eyes and rock hard bodies) and into your character’s, which would be feeling frightened and hurt. For example, would she really, knowing that people were shooting at them, allow herself to lie there for a second longer than she has to? Also, the shooting part would be good to work into this first page narrative.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Sarah—would you turn the page?

---

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book -- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

Some homework. Before sending your novel's opening, you might want to read these two FtQ posts: Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action. That'll tell you where I'm coming from, and might prompt a little rethinking of your narrative.

---

Sarah’s first 16 lines.

He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. We hit branches and rocks that jutted out from the side of the cliff. Our screams tangled with the rushing wind. I focused on the changing colors behind my closed lids, not willing to know the exact moment of our death.

The fall didn’t last long. I had just enough time to take a deep breath when we sliced through the twisted surface.

He still held me, pulling me up with him. My ankles ached and my lungs caught on fire. The man swam hard with the current, tugging me along.

After what seemed like an eternity of fighting to stay afloat, the man had us to the rocky shore of the raging river. We lay intertwined with one another for some time, both trying to catch our breath.

Finally, the man asked, “Is anything broken?”

I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked into his large, milk chocolate eyes. “Um, I’m not sure. You?”

He slowly started moving his rock hard body beneath me. “I don’t believe so. But do you mind getting off so I can make sure?”

I fought back an embarrassed smile. I rolled to my side, wincing at the pain that racked (snip)

Story questions kept me engaged
I was curious about who these people were, what had happened to send them off a cliff, and what would happen next. Good job of opening with an action scene. But there were some distractions (for me) in the narrative. Notes:

He wrapped his arms around me and held on tight. We hit branches and rocks that jutted out from the side of the cliff. Our screams tangled with the rushing wind. I focused on the changing colors behind my closed lids, not willing to know the exact moment of our death.

The fall didn’t last long. I had just enough time to take a deep breath when we sliced through the twisted surface. (Here’s an inconsistency that pulled me out of the story: in the paragraph before, she has her eyes closed because she doesn’t want to know the moment of death. But in this paragraph, she knows she has just enough time to take a breath, which implies that she can see the surface coming up. Also, I think it would help to say something like “the river’s surface” to give us a picture, which “the twisted surface” doesn’t.)

He still held me, pulling me up with him. My ankles ached and my lungs caught on fire. The man swam hard with the current, tugging me along.

After what seemed like an eternity of fighting to stay afloat, the man had us to the rocky shore of the raging river. We lay intertwined with one another for some time, both trying to catch our breath. (“raging river” feels like a bit of a cliché to me)

Finally, the man asked, “Is anything broken?”

I lifted my head off his shoulder and looked into his large, milk chocolate eyes. “Um, I’m not sure. You?” (The description, “large, milk-chocolate eyes,” took me out of the story because it seem so unlikely and inappropriate that she would be thinking in this way. They just had a death-defying fall, she’s in pain, they’re just barely alive, and she’s thinking about “milk-chocolate” eyes? It didn’t fit the mood of the scene, and was terribly distracting. Work this in later.)

He slowly started moving his rock hard body beneath me. “I don’t believe so. But do you mind getting off so I can make sure?” (I have the same problem with the description, “rock-hard body.” Who would be thinking such things at a time like this? And we learn later that somebody was shooting them, a friend was killed in front of her, and someone is after them to kill them. So at a time like this she’s thinking “rock hard?” These two descriptions fractured the credibility of this character and this narrative for me. I felt it was the author sticking things that were inappropriate into the character’s mind.)

I fought back an embarrassed smile. I rolled to my side, wincing at the pain that racked (snip)

There is good work here, so keep at it. But I suggest that you get out of your author’s head (which slips in milk-chocolate eyes and rock hard bodies) and into your character’s, which would be feeling frightened and hurt. For example, would she really, knowing that people were shooting at them, allow herself to lie there for a second longer than she has to? Also, the shooting part would be good to work into this first page narrative.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Sammy—would you turn the page?

---

In July I’m doing a workshop at the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference It's in lovely Mendocino, California, July 30 through August 2. I'm doing my Killer First Page workshop there, plus private editing sessions. The workshop is like a live version of what we do here, and writers find it to be fun and educational.

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

Some homework. Before sending your novel's opening, you might want to read these two FtQ posts: Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action. That'll tell you where I'm coming from, and might prompt a little rethinking of your narrative.

---

Sammy is back with a revision

-- his first 16 lines: “Cheater!” Zackaria pushed her jet-board to match Chrisa’s speed, but it was no use. Her sister was already too far ahead and reaching more height in the air. “Now, it’s my turn to give you a handicap and have some fun,” Chrisa said. Zackaria widened her eyes. Her heart choked, veins constricting. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. Chrisa had managed to free her feet from her board’s security straps. She separated herself from the board and fell face down into the air, extending her arms like a bird. “Don’t worry. I just want to fly a little since I know I’m going to win,” she said. Anger and worry flooded Zackaria’s chest. “Chris! Get back on your board right now. This is too dangerous!” “Calm down. I’ve done this many times before.” Chrisa performed flips in the air. She turned her back to the ground, letting the wind whip her long blond hair like banners in a storm. “I’m serious! Do it now.” Zackaria demanded. She trembled, fearing that her sister would become a mess of scrambled meat. “Okay, okay. It’s about time anyway.” Chrisa tapped a few keys on her control glove, but her jet-board stayed afloat in the air, rejecting her command. She jammed her fingers on the (snip) The last line got me The opening line promised conflict, and generated some tension. I have some nit-picks, but basically the writing is good, and Sammy made me want to know what would happen next! Notes: “Cheater!” Zackaria pushed her jet-board to match Chrisa’s speed, but it was no use. Hh er sister was already too far ahead and reaching more height in the air. (“It was no use” is telling. The rest of the paragraph shows.) “Now, it’s my turn to give you a handicap and have some fun,” Chrisa said. Zackaria widened her eyes. Her heart choked, veins constricting. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. Chrisa had managed to freed her feet from her board’s security straps. She separated herself from the board and fell face down into the air, extending her arms like a bird. (Suggest “like wings” instead. Birds hardly ever extend their arms.) Zackaria widened her eyes. Her heart choked, veins constricting. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. (I moved this so that it becomes a reaction to what Chrisa does—the order was backwards; she would ask what Chrisa what she was doing after she had done it. I know that you used “had managed to separate…etc.” to clue us in, but why do the action in reverse order?. Also, unless Zackaria is some kind of medical diagnostic machine, would she be aware of her veins constricting? This is really stepping outside of the close third person point of view, the author injecting himself with information the character would neither know nor be thinking about, IMO.) “Don’t worry. I just want to fly a little since I know I’m going to win,” she said. Anger and worry flooded Zackaria’s chest. “Chris! Get back on your board right now. This is too dangerous!” “Calm down. I’ve done this many times before.” Chrisa performed flips in the air. She turned her back to the ground, letting the wind whip her long blond hair like banners in a storm. “I’m serious! Do it now.” Zackaria demanded. She trembled, fearing that her sister would become a mess of scrambled meat. (I don’t think she’d be trembling at this stage. Adrenaline would be pumping in, and even though she fears for her sister, her body would be preparing for action. I think you should cut all of it after the dialogue.) “Okay, okay. It’s about time anyway.” Chrisa tapped a few keys on her control glove, but her jet-board stayed afloat in the air, rejecting her command. She jammed her fingers on the (snip) You’re doing well on the storytelling side, but, as you can see, this particular editor sees work to be done on the writing side—mostly tightening, watching out for overwriting, and keeping the action linear. Keep at it, Sammy. Comments, anyone? For what it’s worth. Ray Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ. Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission. ARCHIVES © 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Chris--would you turn the page?

---

In July I’m doing a workshop at the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference It's in lovely Mendocino, California, July 30 through August 2. I'm doing my Killer First Page workshop there, plus private editing sessions. The workshop is like a live version of what we do here, and writers find it to be fun and educational.

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

Some homework. Before sending your novel's opening, you might want to read these two FtQ posts: Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action. That'll tell you where I'm coming from, and might prompt a little rethinking of your narrative.

---

Chris’s first 16 lines:

He was not alone.

He ran over plains of cracked earth and vast stretches of dunes. He ran past cactus and brittlebush and old, dried bones. He ran through sandstorms and scorching heat and cool, night breezes. Still he could not outrun them.

The Sixty Six followed him at a distance in a disciplined formation. They moved with unnatural speed and grace, leaving barely a mark on the sands to indicate their passing. The sun beat down unrelenting, making them appear like the shadow of a knife behind him.

The ragged armor that clung to his bones creaked and groaned with the force of his stride. Rivers of sweat ran along the wrinkles in his leathered face, quickly dried by the fierce, arid winds. His lips were pale and caked with blood; his lungs burned as he took in great gulps of hot air.

Fear gripped his insides, but he did not stop.

Reaching a marker that only he could see, he switched direction, veering sharply to his left. Moments later he altered his course again and angled back to his right. Though many in number, his pursuers moved according to his lead as if they were the tail of a black snake, twisting and turning and shifting in practiced unison.

They were toying with him. Although his pace rivaled that of a fast horse, they showed no hint of (snip)

Yep, I turned this page.
In a style appropriate for epic fantasy, with clear disciplined writing, Chris created tension and raised story questions. The point of view is distant much of the time, and the man is never named in the chapter, possibly because he is killed. I suggest that you try it with a name—I think you should strive to have us care about this man a little, and giving him a name personalizes him. You could also slip in the stakes, what might happen if he fails in his escape. Both of those things will help involve the reader more deeply. A few notes:

He was not alone.

He ran over plains of cracked earth and vast stretches of dunes. He ran past cactus and brittlebush and old, dried bones. He ran through sandstorms and scorching heat and cool, night breezes. Still he could not outrun them.

The Sixty Six followed him at a distance in a disciplined formation. They moved with unnatural speed and grace, leaving barely a mark on the sands to indicate their passing. The sun beat down, unrelenting, making them appear like the shadow of a knife behind him. (“disciplined formation” is “telling,” and doesn’t give a picture. Show us. For example: . . .followed him at a distance, their ranks tight, never breaking formation. If they move with unnatural speed, then our pursued man does too, right? Maybe this is the time to show that instead of later, i.e. with unnatural speed, matching his pace, the speed of a fast horse. Just a thought.)

The ragged armor that clung to his bones creaked and groaned with the force of his stride. Rivers of sweat ran along the wrinkles in his leathered face, quickly dried by the fierce, arid winds. His lips were pale and caked with blood; his lungs burned as he took in great gulps of hot air. (The description of his lips as pale is a step back from close third person pov, but this is often the case in fantasy. Still, I think it could be stronger if we were more in his experience. For example: seems to me that the facts that his lips are pale isn’t necessary, but the blood is. What if, instead of this description from outside, he licked his lips and tasted blood?)

Fear gripped his insides, but he did not stop.

Reaching a marker that only he could see, he switched direction, veering sharply cut to his left. Moments later he altered his course again and angled back to his right. Though many in number, his pursuers moved according to his lead as if they were the tail of a black snake, twisting and turning and shifting in practiced unison. (the “switch direction” is telling, and there’s no need for it. I suggest “cut” instead of “veered sharply” to avoid the adverb. The second cut is to keep the action crisper. “Though many in number” is vague and abstract; why not a number? For example: Though a hundred strong, his pursuers moved…etc.)

They were toying with him. Although his pace rivaled that of a fast horse, they showed no hint of (snip)

Nicely done, Chris, and thanks for sending your work. If anything, I’d go through the manuscript looking for examples of telling as pointed out and look for ways to create the experience of the character.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Win-a-book contest results, Flogometer for Howard

---

Choosing between the top 10 entries turned out to be a tough assignment. I like several of these a lot. Here are the results of the poll, in ascending popularity, with two tied for the top spot:

• With the kris's blade inches from Neela's breasts, Shikari willed a small opening in his vastu-shield, and watched, smiling, as Neela's eyes widened at the sight of its edge shimmering in mid-air. 3% (2 votes)
• If I had been a good child, none of this would have happened. 5% (3 votes)
• The cold steel speculum entered her body as a punishment for her sins. 5% (3 votes)
• The day I met the genie, the boss emailed me demanding a meeting at eleven to discuss a matter of ‘great importance’. 5% (3 votes)
• Alek knew a dragon’s roar. 6% (4 votes)
• Nicky's Pa had only ever struck him once, when he'd caught him sneaking a look at the very map Nicky was now unfolding. 10% (6 votes)
• If Queen Bee Abigail Withers called me a wannabe loser one more time I was gonna let her have it, even if it did mean I’d have to kiss a pig. 11% (7 votes)
• I see them now in mirrors, on darkened windows, in waking dreams---all the faces I have painted. 14% (9 votes)
• Sniff, armed only with a bowl of stew and a lantern, stepped into the dungeon and prayed it would be the last time. 21% (13 votes)
• All she could see was red, it ran between her fingers and soaked the ground as she tried to cover the hole. 21% (13 votes)

---

Here are the ones that had the most appeal to me:

• If I had been a good child, none of this would have happened.
• If Queen Bee Abigail Withers called me a wannabe loser one more time I was gonna let her have it, even if it did mean I’d have to kiss a pig.
• I see them now in mirrors, on darkened windows, in waking dreams---all the faces I have painted.
• Sniff, armed only with a bowl of stew and a lantern, stepped into the dungeon and prayed it would be the last time.

Enter subjectivity

So what makes the “best” opening line? Those “final four,” for me, all promised good writing and raised immediate story questions. They each have strong and explicit appeals. But I came to realize that the “best” opening line is the one provoked the strongest “I want to read this” reaction in me.

For me, it was:

If Queen Bee Abigail Withers called me a wannabe loser one more time I was gonna let her have it, even if it did mean I’d have to kiss a pig.

I wanted to know more about this spunky, sassy person. It turns out—and this is a revelation to me that I need to apply to my own writing—that it was character rather than action that interested me most in these openings. The runner-up for me was Sniff, who was clearly being courageous as he entered an intriguing place.

So congratulations, Lisa. I’ll email you to get a mailing address for your copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells.

---

Now for Howard’s first 16 lines:

Staring past the shoreline of Lake Superior from her window in the lodge, she saw something move, undulating just under the surface of the water.

It could have been a trick of the eye, or the moonlight dancing on the lake.

She tore her eyes away, and became conscious that she was holding her breath, but she could not look away for long; she knew her vigil would last through the night; that sleep would not come. Glued to the window, she watched the fog roll in, sensing the thick damp chill permeating the air.

An hour after sunrise, she gave in.

Trying not to think about what lay ahead, she walked out into the cold, stepped carefully into the boat and started the small gas engine.

As she drove the shape of the Island grew and so did the voices, speaking at once, filling her head with a constant chatter, until she felt dizzy and wounded by their intensity and the chilling laughter filled her ears until it hurt for her to think.

Burying her face in her hands she tried to shut them out.

Then the voice she recognized from her dreams spoke and the rest of the clamor stopped, similar to the start of a concert when the conductor taps his baton and all the instruments grow quiet, waiting for a sign.

Despite craft needs, I turned the page
I had mixed emotions about this, and think the writing could be tightened a lot, b the last three paragraphs raised enough tension and story questions in me to provoke a page turn. As an editor, I figured that I could deal with craft issues. Speaking of which. . .

Staring past the shoreline of Lake Superior from her window in the lodge, she saw something move, undulating undulate just under the surface of the water.

It could have been a trick of the eye, or the moonlight dancing on the lake.

She tore her eyes gaze away, and became conscious that she was holding her breath, but she could not look away for long; she knew her vigil would last through the night; that sleep would not come. Glued to the window, she watched the fog roll in, sensing the thick damp chill permeating the air.

(NOTE: I would delete these three opening paragraphs. For one thing, they misdirect me—I’m led to expect a revelation of something that was under the surface of the water, and it doesn’t happen. Bait and switch. Then there’s her vigil—what is it for? What are the stakes? No, for me, the interesting stuff comes after all this.)

An hour after sunrise, she gave in. (I like this as an opening line, a lot.)

Trying not to think about what lay ahead, she walked out into the cold, stepped carefully into the boat and started the small gas engine motor. (“Small” is a comparative conclusion word and doesn’t give a picture. “small gas engine” is overwriting—that it’s small and gas don’t matter. If you cut the opening paragraphs as suggested, this is where you set the scene, i.e. Lake Superior, etc.)

As she drove, the shape of the Island grew and so did the voices, speaking at once, filling her head with a constant chatter, until she felt dizzy and wounded by their intensity, and the chilling laughter filled her ears until it hurt for her. to think.

Burying her face in her hands she tried to shut them out. (If she’s driving a boat across a lake, it doesn’t seem logical that she’d bury her face in her hands. And this isn’t really relevant. Let’s get to the next paragraph, where the good stuff is.)

Then the voice she recognized from her dreams spoke and the rest of the clamor stopped, similar to the start of a concert when the conductor taps his baton and all the instruments grow quiet, waiting for a sign.

There were other craft issues mixed in with strong story elements (note to Howard: she’s on a lake, but you have her going out to sea in a later paragraph). I would have read on to see if story continued to outweigh other issues.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Phase 2 of the first-line contest: what’s your pick?

I’ve posted all the entries on this page. Below is a poll with what I felt were the top 10. I’ll ask for a vote in a moment, but first . . .

The winning kitty-cat scenario

For those of you just tuning in, contestants were asked which of the six kitty-cat scenarios in the free PDF sample they thought was the best hook. The sample PDF is here.

The votes on the scenarios came out this way:

5th place, 2 votes

Hairball eyed the tree’s towering height. It was an impossible climb. He was too small, too weak. But if he didn’t climb, Barfie would fall to her death.

4th place, 3 votes

Hairball wondered if Barfie’s spirit now rested on one of the puffy pillows in the sky, freed from her broken body. How would he face her mother after he’d sworn she would be safe?

2nd place, a tie with 5 votes each

Hairball raced across the clover, leaping honeybees, never taking his gaze from Barfie, praying that her grip would hold.

Barfie dug her claws into the branch, struggling to keep her balance. She dared not look down; her last glance at the dizzying height had almost sent her tumbling. Her ears caught a cracking sound…the branch was tearing away from the trunk.

And the winner, with 10 votes:

Hairball arched his back and hissed at the beast. It was three times his size, an alien species that crouched, poised to spring. There was no place to run. He extended his claws and braced himself. . .

These openings weren’t limited to just the first line as in the contest, although it’s interesting to look at them in that light. Would the votes change?

Vote for your favorite opening line in the top 10 from the first-line contest

Some might argue, correctly, that a novel, and its opening page, isn’t limited to just one line. So, one might ask, isn’t it unfair to judge by just the first line?

Yes and no. Yes, it’s not the only line there, and following sentences might just have great hook material.

But if you can make the very first line striking, memorable, and irresistible, why wouldn’t you want to do that? To those who entered the contest with opening lines that didn’t make the top ten, maybe that’s something to work on. Now, for your opinion.

Poll voting ends Tuesday at midnight Pacific time.

It will help me and the writers if you use the comment feature on the poll to say why that particular line worked best for you. Thanks for taking part.
On Wednesday, as promised, I’ll publish the results of the poll and my personal first choice on Wednesday, along with a flogging.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Joel. Would you turn the page?

---

Joel’s first 16 lines:

The marketplace of Ra’al Shala bustled with activity as coin and merchandise exchanged hands amid the steady stream frantic of haggling that accompanied each transaction. Every merchant and customer did their very best to accuse one another of committing blatant theft or gouging prices, depending upon which side was made the claims, and it always seemed as if the groups would come to blows at any moment. In the end, however, both sides would always complete their deals, exchange friendly farewells and then depart, fully confident that they had emerged the victor.

The sun blazed overhead, common enough for the Nierraken city, and throughout the market, innumerable smells and sounds battled for attention. The stench from hundreds of people in the scorching heat competed against the strong scent of sizzling meat from the butcher’s district, the tantalizing aromas of baked breads and pastries from the baker’s district, and the near-suffocating fumes from the alchemist and perfumery districts. Bellowed offers and counter-offers mixed with delighted laughter as small crowds gathered around the many entertainers that dotted the outskirts of the bazaar, watching the free performances and occasionally tossing small tributes into the nearby baskets.

All in all, the expanse of space reserved for the sizable collection of merchant stalls, tents (snip)

Despite nice writing, no go for me

I think that most readers, like me, scan the opening page of a novel in a book store to get a sense of what the story is about—and, indeed, if there is a story that I will find interesting. True, in a bookstore, there will be blubs or cover/jacket copy that could tell me something about the story, but only the narrative can show me what the experience will feel like.

For me, this experience feels like nothing much is going to happen. Nothing does here, nor do we know what the story is about, nor do we know who the story is about (at least this opening chapter). While this leisurely approach might work for some readers, it doesn’t for this one. Some brief notes:

The marketplace of Ra’al Shala bustled with activity as coin and merchandise exchanged hands amid the steady stream frantic of haggling that accompanied each transaction. Every merchant and customer did their very best to accuse one another of committing blatant theft or gouging prices, depending upon which side was made making the claims, and it always seemed as if the groups would come to blows at any moment. In the end, however, both sides would always complete their deals, exchange friendly farewells and then depart, fully confident that they had emerged the victor. (The reference to “the groups” doesn’t fit for me, as the beginning of the sentence refers to individuals, merchants and customers.)

The sun blazed overhead, common enough for the Nierraken city, and throughout the market, innumerable smells and sounds battled for attention. The stench from hundreds of people in the scorching heat competed against with the strong scent of sizzling meat from the butcher’s district, the tantalizing aromas of baked breads and pastries from the baker’s district, and the near-suffocating fumes from the alchemist and perfumery districts. Bellowed offers and counter-offers mixed with delighted laughter as small crowds gathered around the many entertainers that dotted the outskirts of the bazaar, watching the free performances and occasionally tossing small tributes into the nearby baskets. (I think the blazing sun lets us know that it’s hot, so no need to tell us about scorching heat. Instead, why not “hundreds of sweat-drenched people” to help us picture more?)

All in all, the expanse of space reserved for the sizable collection of merchant stalls, tents (snip) (Can you see what an “expanse of space” is? Or picture how many stalls a “sizable collection” represents? The narrative contains a lot of telling, to my eye.)

In 14 pages, here’s what happens: a thief snatches a purse, is chased by soldiers (through large amounts of description), gets away, and then sees a boy who seems to be orphaned and is an “Imperial.” This is at about 4,000 words, and the writer tells me that the first chapter is 10,000 words long. As I said, this slow-walking pace might work for some, but not me—the chase scene was hardly breathless or dramatic because of all the writing it took to tell; action, generally, calls for shorter sentences and paragraphs, and little scenery. Joel, get out that weedwhacker you mentioned in your email. You need to deliver the experience of the characters through the character’s eyes, actions, thoughts, and feelings rather than indulge in a languid stroll through the place, noting this and noting that.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Laura. Would you turn the page?

Will your WIP’s first line win a free, signed copy of Flogging the Quill?

I will send a signed copy of my book to the person who has, in my estimation, the best first line from their WIP, although FtQ readers will be involved in the selection process. Here are the rules and how-to’s. . .

The rules/how-to’s: entrants will do the following --

1. Tell me in a comment which of the six kitty-cat scenarios in the free PDF sample you think is the best hook (not just the first line, but the complete opening). You can just state a number, 1 through 6. The votes will be compiled and the result reported. To read the chapter, you can click on the “Look inside” graphic on this site to open a PDF, or click here.
2. In the same comment, give me the opening line of a work in progress (WIP). Please DO NOT make up a special line just for this competition—it has to be a real line that you think is the best way to open your novel in progress. If you want to hone your line before submitting it, please do.
3. The line can be from a completed manuscript as long as it is unpublished.
4. Make sure the email address you give when making your comment is correct as it’s the only way I can contact the winner.

The process, timing, etc.

• Contest opens today and ends Friday (June 19th) at midnight.
• On the following Monday I will post my top 10 picks in a poll.
• You vote for your favorite.
• Voting will end Tuesday at midnight.
• Wednesday (the 24th), I’ll announce the winner. This may or may not be the one the majority selects. Hey, this is all subjective, right?

In addition, I’ll post the results on the kitty-cat scenario votes sometime that week.

---

Laura’s first 16 lines:

Roy woke up to screaming.

He winced, tried to rise, then floundered and collapsed back against the floor. The screaming continued. A garbled cutting cry of agony. Roy swore, pushed his hands against the carpet, tried again.

Screaming. Screaming. Hysterical screaming.

“My leg! My LEG!!”

Hoarse. Loud. Panicked. Over and over.

Roy breathed into the carpet and coughed.

Over and over.

Something wet dripped from his scalp down his temple. He tightened his hand around his CZ as he tried to get his vision to focus. Screams cut against his mind. Same voice. Same guy.

Nineteen. Just as old as him.

“Mygodmygod—” A hiccup, desperate for breath. “Help!” Breathe. “God help me!!”

He was coming, God damn it. He just needed a sec— Roy swore and fell back against the wall. He pressed his fist against his bruised side, and breathed.

Roy’s vision swayed from one end of the living room to the other, drunken, adjusting, (snip)

Whew! I turned this page.

Intense is a mild word for this opening, and the narrative that follows cranks it up several notches from here. I not only wanted to know what would happen next, I wanted to know what was happening. Good, taut writing, which is what you need for an action scene. There were clarity issues for me, though. Some notes.

Roy woke up to screaming. (I wonder if Screaming woke Roy. would be more effective. Just a thought.)

He winced, tried to rise, then floundered and collapsed back against the floor. The screaming continued. A garbled cutting cry of agony. Roy swore, pushed his hands against the carpet, tried again. (I suggest you let us hear what Roy swears.)

Screaming. Screaming. Hysterical screaming.

“My leg! My LEG!!”

Hoarse. Loud. Panicked. Over and over.

Roy breathed into the carpet and coughed.

Over and over. (Rather than telling, give us Roy’s experience. Repeat the “my leg” dialogue instead.)

Something wet dripped from his scalp down his temple. He tightened his hand around his CZ as he tried to get his vision to focus. Screams cut against his mind. Same voice. Same guy. (Would something drip from his scalp down his temple? Seems like it would run. Dripping would leave his head in order to be, well, drips. Sorry, but I have no idea what a “CZ” is, so this was lost on me. I think that we will assume that it’s the same person screaming, although letting us know earlier that the voice is male is a good idea.)

Nineteen. Just as old as him. (So how does he know this? As far as we know, he can’t see the screamer. Clarity issue.)

“Mygodmygod—” A hiccup, desperate for breath. “Help!” Breathe. “God help me!!”

He was coming, God damn it. He just needed a sec— Roy swore and fell back against the wall. He pressed his fist against his bruised side, and breathed. (He fell back against the wall? We didn’t know that he was next to one, or leaning against it. He was lying on the floor in a position to use his hands to push up, so how come he’s suddenly leaning against a wall? Clarity issue.)

Roy’s vision swayed from one end of the living room to the other, drunken, adjusting, (snip) (Is he actually drunk? If so, okay. If not, then this led me to think that he was. Could be more clear.)

Good stuff, for sure. Just be sure to keep your focus on delivering the experience and you’ll avoid some of the telling that’s here. And try to inhabit the character to help clear up clarity issues. Act it out in your mind. . .or for real. Thanks for sending this.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Free book contest: win a copy of FtQ (the book)

---

First, a new 5-star review Midwest Book Reviews just gave Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, this 5-star review:

An invaluable 'workshop in a book' for anyone seeking to hone their storytelling skills

No sector of the publishing industry is as competitive as that of fiction. The competition facing any aspiring novelist is intense and only the best, most imaginative, and technically skilled will succeed. That's why 'how to' books like Ray Rhamey's "Flogging The Quill: Crafting A Novel That Sells" are such important, practical, and recommended reading for anyone who is seeking to establish a profitable career writing fiction, regardless of the genre they choose to specialize in. Drawing upon his years of experience as an author and editor, and as the creator of the 'litblog' 'Flogging the Quill' where writers from around the world can explore the craft of storytelling, Ray Rhamey has organized his instruction manual into seven major sections: Storytelling; Description; Dialogue; Technique; Words; Workouts; and Computer Tips. An invaluable compendium that is as informed and informative as it is thoughtful and thought-provoking, "Flogging The Quill" will prove to be an invaluable 'workshop in a book' for anyone seeking to hone their storytelling skills and produce novels that will be able to successfully compete for publication and sales.

I especially like the notion of a “workshop in a book.”

Will your WIP’s first line win a free, signed copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells?

I will send a signed copy of my book to the person who has, in my estimation, the best first line from their WIP, and FtQ readers will be involved in the selection process. Here are the rules and how-to’s, but first, just to be perfectly clear . . .

This is a promotion. It is designed to interest you in buying the book. So I’ll ask entrants to do something to help that along. It’ll be fun, I think, but I want there to be no question as to purpose here.

The rules/how-to’s: entrants will do the following --

1. Tell me in a comment on the blog which of the six kitty-cat scenarios in the free PDF sample you think is the best hook (not just the first line, but the complete opening). You can just state a number, 1 through 6. The votes will be compiled and the result reported. To read the chapter, you can click on the “Look inside” graphic on this site to open a PDF, or click here.
2. In the same comment, give me the opening line of a work in progress (WIP). Please DO NOT make up a special line just for this competition—it has to be a real line that you think is the best way to open your novel in progress. If you want to hone your line before submitting it, please do.
3. The line can be from a completed manuscript as long as it is unpublished.
4. Make sure the email address you give when making your comment is correct as it’s the only way I can contact the winner.

The process, timing, etc.

• Contest opens today and ends Friday (June 19th) at midnight.
• On the following Monday I will post my top 10 picks in a poll.
• You vote for your favorite.
• Voting will end Tuesday at midnight.
• Wednesday (the 24th), I’ll announce the winner. This may or may not be the one the majority selects. Hey, this is all subjective, right?

In addition, I’ll post the results on the kitty-cat scenario votes sometime that week.

If you’ve followed this blog, you know that I’m looking for a strong hook, a sentence that compels further reading. As for why this first sentence is so important, here’s an excerpt from my book on the subject:

There’s a reason for working to create tension with your very first sentence—it leads to the second sentence, and you draw your reader into your story sentence by sentence by sentence. It’s clear that each sentence on the first page is charged with the responsibility to KEEP READERS MOVING FORWARD.

When you send a sample to an agent, or when an editor turns to your first page, you are on trial. Not just your work, but your ability. The agent/editor wants to know, can this writer engage me? Can this writer use language to make me read his story?

The story is on trial as well. You get a few hundred words to make your initial case that the journey through the next 80,000 words is worth it, and will reward your reader with a helluva reading experience.

And it all starts with that first line.

But there are so many things in your mind when you craft that first sentence—setting the scene, or characterizing, or creating action, or whatever—it’s entirely possible to miss seeing a lack of tension.

So send in the first line from a WIP. Flogging will resume on Wednesday, though I will keep posting the rules and how-to’s for the contest.

Good luck.

Ray

---

Your generosity helps defray the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
2. Please format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey