Flogometer: lack of tension gave me pause

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).

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.

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This is for Kathy. Here are the first 16 lines:

Gaunt, grey-haired Mrs. Priestley peered through half-moon glasses at the paperwork. "You might need some extra help with history," she stated, her mouth grim.

Ten-year-old Melissa squirmed as she sat in front of the woman. After the Christmas break, Melissa and her mother had arrived at Erickson Elementary School to sign her up for fifth grade. The principal, Mrs. Priestley, had invited them into the office for a brief chat about Melissa's past learning.

Now the woman's sharp gaze seemed to pierce Melissa's skull right into her mind, sensing her dislike for school. Melissa shrunk in the chair.

"What do you suggest?" Melissa's mother asked.

"We can maybe find her a tutor -- or friend." A quick smile flashed on Mrs. Priestley's lips and then disappeared. She continued. "Melissa seems to have covered similar ground in the other subjects." The principal paged through the papers. "I can put her in Mrs. Hanson's class and see how she does."

Mrs. Priestley briskly led Melissa and her mom to a fifth-grade classroom where a plump teacher was writing fractions on the blackboard.

"Welcome to Erickson." Mrs. Priestley's lips stretched for a second as she opened the door.

Considering that the idea here is for a narrative to compel turning the page, this gentle introduction to a girl's first day at school lacked the promise of drama to come. While all of us who have started at a new school can emphasize with Melissa, the situation is ordinary. There's no hint of jeopardy ahead for her, no desire of hers has been frustrated. The remainder of the chapter had, for me, similar shortcomings. Melissa goes to a ballet class and, through pages and pages of dance moves, encounters an arrogant, snotty girl. The amount of description without conflict that had consequences would have stopped me for sure.

On the craft side, there's clean writing here, but I felt that the writer wasn't reflecting the voice of a ten-year-old. The level of language here, and through the rest of the chapter, was that of an adult. In my view, it should "feel" more like it is narrated by a child.

Some notes:

Gaunt, grey-haired Mrs. Priestley peered through half-moon glasses at the paperwork.  "You might need some extra help with history," she stated, her mouth grim. Would a child use the word "gaunt?" I'm one of those who thinks "said" is the best dialogue verb for 99% of cases, so "stated" put me off a little. I'll admit that's a bit subjective. However, and keeping in mind the way a child might say it, rather than "stated" and "grim," wouldn't this be more in character if it were: Her mouth turned down at the corners when she said, "You might need extra help with history." And "some" is one of those meaningless waste words that hardly ever add any meaning.

Ten-year-old Melissa squirmed as she sat in front of the woman. After the Christmas break, Melissa and her mother had arrived at Erickson Elementary School to sign her up for fifth grade. The principal, Mrs. Priestley, had invited them into the office for a brief chat about Melissa's past learning. Two things about stating the age here: Melissa would not think of herself as a ten-year-old, so it wouldn't be in her thoughts here, and the mention of fifth grade also gives us an idea of age.

Now the woman's sharp gaze seemed to pierce Melissa's skull right into her mind, sensing her dislike for school. Melissa shrunk in the chair. Here's another example of adult language in the head of a child: "sensing her dislike" I think a child would use simpler words such as "seeing how much she didn't like school."

"What do you suggest?" Melissa's mother asked For me, to use "asked" after a sentence that ends with a question mark is redundant. "Said" would be better for me.

Mrs. Priestley briskly led Melissa and her mom to a fifth-grade classroom where a plump teacher was writing fractions on the blackboard. The adverb does little to give a picture -- how about "Walking so fast it was hard to keep up, Mrs. Priestly led…" Also, I'd avoid the use of "was" and a particle -- it's crisper writing to say that the teacher "wrote fractions on the blackboard.

"Welcome to Erickson." Mrs. Priestley's lips stretched for a second as she opened the door. Once again, I think the narrative goes beyond a child's rendition of events with "lips stretched," which is a little vague -- what does it mean that they "stretched" I can think of several ways to stretch my lips. I'd urge you to give a more concrete picture here.

While this critique might seem stern, the intent is to help you focus on what each and every phrase and word does -- I call it writing for effect. Also, if you want the voice of the narrative to be that of an adult, then I think it needs to be established up front that this is the adult telling the story of her childhood. Otherwise, simplify and try to express the child's experience in the ways a child would.

Any comments to offer?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue 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 include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Kathy]

Well, I guess it's better to know now than in a few months when I send it out for representation.

Could you explain this note you posted: "amount of description without conflict that had consequences"? I was a bit confused what you're telling me.

It's important, so I want to understand.

Thanks, Ray, for the flogging.

[Ray Rhamey]

Good question, Kathy--that's an awfully condensed sentence. I felt that the whole dance scene had a great deal of description of what the children were doing, pages of it, but there was no "real" conflict in the sense of some kind of strife that would have the consequence of impacting the protagonist in a harmful way. There were hints of snobbishness from the one girl, but not to a degree that I felt the protagonist would be harmed in any way, or put in jeopardy of any consequential harm, or have a desire frustrated. One writing guru writes that fiction is about trouble--the trouble a character gets into/suffers and how they deal with it. There wasn't much threat for our girl. I'll admit that a snub could be consequential for an especially vulnerable person, but that doesn't seem to be the case here. I hope this helps.

Ray