Flogometer—good stuff compelled me forward

Schedule note: I've about 16 writers lined up for flogging (that really sounds weird, doesn't it?), so next week I'm going to crank up the rate of pummeling to twice a week. I'm aiming for posting on Tuesdays and Fridays. We'll see.

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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, 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).

This is for Jessica. I think you're going to like this one. Here are the first 16 lines:

The last sound I remember before the footsteps was my pick-locks tinkling to the bottom of the pocket of the ridiculous overcoat James had made me wear. As I nudged the door shut behind me, the nighttime sounds of Miller's Court faded, leaving me in silence and the dirty glow of gaslight through curtains. I gathered the billows of tweed around me, marveling, as I tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, that I hadn't knocked anything over. James had said the coat would make me look like Sherlock Holmes, but Holmes had never had to roll up his sleeves to pick a front door lock, or hike up his coat-hems to keep from tripping into precarious towers of candles. I had come for a dog.

"Not just any dog, Ira," James had said. "What you seek is a black porcelain hound of such repugnancy that even Hugo Baskerville would have shrunk from it."

I'd agreed to fetch the thing, despite my condition, because of all he had done for me. But what the dog had to do with our blackmailer, or why I was to find it in the back room of a Whitechapel chandler's shop were questions Professor James Moriarty had yet to answer.

Instead of the candles one might have expected, the chandler's storeroom was lined with shelves, and the shelves with figurines -- hundreds of them, two and three deep in some places, each more loathsome than the last. Damnation! How was I supposed to find some misshapen porcelain cur --

What fun this opening promises, right from that enticing opening line. In just that one line Jessica has managed to raise a couple of story questions: "last sound I remember" make you wonder what happened next; pick-locks suggests thievery, but of what: and I even wondered why the ridiculous overcoat.

Jessica has managed, and managed well, to capture the six primary ingredients of a strong opening in just these 16 lines:

• Tension
• Story Questions
• Voice
• Clarity
• Scene setting
• Characterization
  

There's tension set up by the first line, as well as story questions. More story questions are raised along the way. There's mention of a blackmailer to pique my curiosity. And, for anyone familiar with the Sherlock Holmes stories, the mere mention of Professor Moriarty raises even more story questions. Excellent.

Voice is quite clear (easier in first person, I think, but still not easy). I felt I was in professional storytelling hands.

It's all clear -- well, there's one sentence I want to look at -- and flows easily. The scene is included, and characterization is happening, including one "character question:" what is Ira's "condition?"

The next page didn't disappoint: the footsteps were made by none other than Watson. The promise of a fine adventure has been made and cemented.

But this wouldn't be FtQ if there weren't a couple of nits to pick.

"ridiculous coat" While I liked the flavor of this, and it does contribute to characterization, it does nothing at all for adding to the picture. I suggest swapping the adjective or perhaps plucking something from the description that follows to suggest what we are seeing, i.e.

"the billowing, gargantuan overcoat James had made me wear."

The other primary nit is this sentence:

I gathered the billows of tweed around me, marveling, as I tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, that I hadn't knocked anything over.

I felt it was unnecessarily convoluted. Consider:

I gathered the billows of tweed around me and tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, marveling that I didn't knock anything over.

This opening illustrates how, in the hands of a strong writer, you can open a novel with an action scene and yet sprinkle in bits and pieces of necessary backstory and exposition while still building tension. I felt no speed bumps in this narrative, yet immediately knew a lot about what was going on.

Nice, Jessica. Have you submitted this? Best of luck.

Comments, please?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain that I refuse to do) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Marti]

Oh I like this! What a great opening!

I suspect (since I'm a woman) that the "condition" is pregnancy. Which makes the story even more engrossing for me. Why would a pregnant woman (if my assumption is correct) be taking the risk of breaking and entering?

I like your suggestions - they do make the story "flow" better.

Congratulations to Jessica for crafting a fine story!

[Jessica]

Marti, thanks for your kind words, also. When I read this through recently, it occurred to me that the word "condition" might be interpreted as "pregnancy." As interesting as it would be if that were the case, the MC is a man. The wording has been subsequently changed. But wow, that would have been pretty neat.

I haven't submitted this yet, as it's only in its 2nd draft, and some of the subplots need to be hammered out better. But thanks, Ray, for your time, effort, insight, and encouragement!

[Ledasmom]

Now, I must disagree regarding the phrase "ridiculous overcoat": the writer makes clear, two sentences later, why the coat is ridiculous, and manages to get in an excellent description of it without leaning heavily on either adjectives or adverbs - difficult, that. "Ridiculous" indicates the attitude of the narrator towards the coat, which your suggested phrasing doesn't. It's true that I have an antipathy towards doubled adjectives as description. I don't think laundry-listing qualities carries the emotional weight of a few properly-placed nouns or verbs.
Glad to hear that the word "condition" has been removed, as it does, in the context of a period piece, make one think of pregnancy.
I love this. I do enjoy deft writing. It reminds me, faintly, of Connie Willis, though it's possible that's because Connie Willis wrote a novel entitled "To Say Nothing of the Dog" about a search for a revoltingly outdated curio. You can see how one would free-associate from the one to the other.