Flogometer for Robert: would you keep reading?

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Update I have a guest post on "Writing for Effect" up at Writer Unboxed.

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The relevance of We the Enemy

The Supreme Court has taken up the issue of the right to bear arms, a central theme in the novel I'm offering for free (click the image for a free PDF), We the Enemy. The timing is right to read about ways to deal with the problem that go well beyond traditional thought. This book could change the way you think about a number of things.

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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).

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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Robert's first 16 lines of a fantasy novel:

The smell overwhelmed him; a bizarre mixture of burning lamp oil, cooked meats, and an acrid tang hidden beneath the other scents, a faint suggestion of death.

He opened his eyes. A bright flare rent his skull, and he balled his hands to his face. Phantom ghosts danced within the darkness. He drank the redolence; the ancient aroma, so thick he tasted it on his tongue. With care, he cracked his eyelids and peered between his fingers. Little by little, his vision adjusted.

Searing light resolved into a soft, filtered glow. Dust motes gamboled in the warm beam spilling through an opening a foot above his head. He found himself in a small, enclosed space. For a moment, fear gripped him but then the aroma, somehow familiar, held him gently as a mother cradles a child. He was where he should be. But where is that?

He lifted one hand toward the light -- his fingers glowed red. He raised his other and marveled at their frailty. What has become of me? Armies once quaked at the strength of my hands.

With a groan, he raised to a seated position. His head grew faint and grey dots like tiny fairies flirted before his eyes. In time, his sight steadied and he gazed around.

Burning lamps on golden stands stood in the center of a long narrow room. Rows of columns on each wall supported a groined ceiling above. He sat in a granite box on a raised…

I wasn't drawn on

While there is mystery to this narrative and my curiosity was aroused to some extent, the density of the prose deterred me. In my view, a writer needs to make immersion in the flow of the story effortless, and that wasn't the case here for me. And there was some overwriting. Plus some things that, for me, didn't make sense. Notes:

The smell overwhelmed him; a bizarre mixture of burning lamp oil, cooked meats, and an acrid tang hidden beneath the other scents, a faint suggestion of death. (The first trip wire was the notion of a smell overwhelming someone. I didn't believe that the scents described could literally overpower a person. Also, there's the "telling" of the adjective "bizarre." The good part is the suggestion of death…maybe the smells could rouse him rather than overwhelm him.)

He opened his eyes. A bright flare rent his skull, and he balled his hands to his face. Phantom ghosts danced within the darkness. He drank the redolence; the ancient aroma, so thick he could taste tasted it on his tongue. With care, he cracked his eyelids and peered between his fingers. Little by little, his vision adjusted. (More here that was, for me, overblown. The light rents his skull? Opens the bone? Then comes "redolence," an unfamiliar word that tells me what is then described. And what makes the aroma ancient? Tasting something "on his tongue" is overwriting -- where else would he taste it? The last part just wasn't needed, IMO.)

Searing light resolved into a soft, filtered glow. Dust motes gamboled in the warm beam spilling through an opening a foot above his head. He found himself in a small, enclosed space. For a moment, fear gripped him but then the aroma, somehow familiar, held him gently as a mother cradles a child. He was where he should be. But where is that? (For me, and this is terribly subjective, having the dust motes gambol was too playful an image for this mysterious place, and was counter to the mood. Now the aroma, rather than overwhelming, is gentle. By the way, the narrative doesn't actually say that the aroma eases the fear. One other thing: "small" is a relative term, and doesn't really mean anything without some contrast. This is "telling." If the space allows only inches of room to move, then that could be seen as "small.")

He lifted one hand toward the light -- his fingers glowed red. He raised his other and marveled at their frailty. What has become of me? Armies once quaked at the strength of my hands. (I'm not so sure he needed to raise both hands, but I can go along with that. But what's a little hard to buy is that armies quaked at the strength of his hands -- is he gigantic? A god? How could hands, no matter how powerful, cause armies to quake? Seems over the top to me. I sense what the writer is going for, but it didn't work for me.)

With a groan, he raised to a seated position. His headHe grew faint and grey dots like tiny fairies flirted before his eyes. In time, his sight steadied and he gazed around. (A staging problem here. When he awakens, there's an opening a foot above his head, and he's in a small enclosed place. And now he sits up. I don't think his upper body is less than a foot in length, so it would be impossible for him to sit. This slip is the result of an editing goof -- the original narrative Robert sent, then revised, had the character removing the stone top of a container before he sat up. Do we really need the formality of "raised to a seated position" rather than a simple, direct "sat up?" Remember, make it easy and smooth for the reader. While fantasies can lay on the language to some extent, I think keeping simple things simple is a good idea. I wondered about the "fairies" simile, which took me out of the story a little. They didn't seem to fit with the other notion of armies quaking.)

Burning lamps on golden stands stood in the center of a long narrow room. Rows of columns on each wall supported a groined ceiling above. He sat in a granite box on a raised…

Robert has a richly imagined world here. I sampled further, and found plenty of detailed imaginings. However, the density remained, as well as some overwriting. I think Robert should focus on creating a crisp narrative that gets us to the really interesting part where the character understands that he has awakened in a tomb. Now that's a story question…unfortunately, it comes on the next page, too late to pique my curiosity.

Keep at it, Robert, there's the promise of a fascinating story here.

Comments on the opening, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

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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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.

ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[L.L. Abbott]

Sorry for being late,

I've read everyone's comments and have nothing new to offer, except to the following:

I worked with a guy who wrote movie reviews on the side. I happened to be one of his select few, that received advanced copies. He always wanted us to know how they read, prior to the paper's editor mucking them up with edits. He was accused of writing over the 6th grade reading level most papers aspire to. It angered him because he "refused" to write down to people.

I completely understood his concern. But, [and he knew it was said 'with affection'] every once in a while, I would reply, "You've been reading the Thesaurus again, haven't you!"

My point simply being, there's a way to write and show your true voice, without making people go, "What?"

[D. Robert Pease]

Not sure if anyone will come back and see this or not, but I've rewritten (nearly all of) the opening. Let me know if this gets any closer to what you all are talking about. Nary a highfalutin word in here:

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Burning oil and cooked meats masked the acrid smell of death. With a swollen tongue, he tasted thick dust on his cracked lips. Rough stone dug into his back. He opened his eyes, and then flung hands up to shield his gaze from a burning flare. Dust billowed around nearly skeletal fingers, which glowed against the light. Where am I.

The reek of death grew stronger. He struggled to move. His legs were stiff; his shoulders jammed between stone. He was in a cramped box. Sweat poured from his brow. He kicked his legs and grappled toward the light. Where am I.

He strained against the edges of the box and pulled himself up, toward the ruddy glow. Grey dots danced across his vision and he nearly fainted. His head spun. At last, the room steadied.

He sat in a granite box on a raised platform at the end of a long narrow chamber. Stone sarcophagi lined both sides of the room. A chill prickled his skin. I have awakened in a tomb.

His mind raced, as fresh sweat rolled down his grimy forehead into his eyes. Nightmarish visions of faces filled his mind—faces surrounding him—large pale eyes watching, always watching. A need to get free of the coffin overpowered him.

[Kamila Miller]

I liked the rewrite much better!

For me, that's great news regarding the opening and character. Now I'm curious about who or what this being is and what happens next. Write on!