Flogometer for Chris: would you keep reading?

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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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Chris's first 16 lines:

Paul felt a mournful tugging from the empty seat beside him. His wife Patty should be there. She should be reading to him and Scott in her breathy voice. Scott should be interrupting her with questions that she was so good at answering. The three of them should be taking turns looking out the window, delighting at the sight of the hills, the pine trees, the back-lit creeks that coursed in snaky trails to the horizon.

And Patty should be reaching out to hold his hand because going back home would remind them what they had done to Tom, Paul's younger brother. They hadn't meant to hurt him, but they had. Living in Minnesota, a world away from their beloved mountains, was as much about exile as it was about Paul's job.

Patty wasn't exiled anymore, though. She died six months ago and Paul had buried her in northern Georgia, where they grew up. He chose a plot where she could look up Isabel Mountain's flanks to see the sky, her favorite view. He imagined her at the cemetery, sitting in a folding chair beside her grave, reading The Prince of Tides, her favorite novel. She wore light blue jeans that flared at her bare feet. Her white blouse rippled in the breeze. Her long sandy hair hung loose at her shoulders. But the image was shattered, as always, by the memory of touching her cold forehead at the morgue when he'd gone to identify her. He'd relived that . . .

I turned the page
It was the last paragraph that pulled me forward despite some craft issues in the first two. I wondered where Chris was going with this, how the character would deal with his sense of loss. But there are some issues…

Paul felt a mournful tugging from the empty seat beside him. His wife Patty should be there. She should be reading to him and Scott in her breathy voice. Scott should be interrupting her with questions that she was so good at answering. The three of them should be taking turns looking out the window, delighting at the sight of the hills, the pine trees, the back-lit creeks that coursed in snaky trails to the horizon. (One lack in this opening is that it didn't establish that they were on an airliner. It could have been done in the last sentence, for example: …delighting at the sight 50,000 feet below -- the hills, the pine trees…etc. I'm always uncomfortable with phrases like "His wife Patty" because they're not in the natural point of view of the character, and thus take me out of his experience. He would just be thinking "Patty." The information could be slipped in other ways. Less intrusive would be: His wife should be reading…etc. or perhaps Scott should be interrupting his mother with questions…etc.)

And Patty should be reaching out to hold his hand because going back home would remind them what they had done to Tom, Paul's younger brother. They hadn't meant to hurt him, but they had. Living in Minnesota, a world away from their beloved mountains, was as much about exile as it was about Paul's job. (Same thing here with "Paul's younger brother." Doesn't seem like it's key to know that Tom was younger, but the brother part is important. Still, Paul would just think "Tom." A smoother way would be: They hadn't meant to hurt his brother, but …etc. Also, I don't see a connection between exile and hurting his brother, unless it was self-imposed to avoid contact with him. That could be more clear, perhaps. However, this did raise a good story question.)

Patty wasn't exiled anymore, though. She died six months ago and Paul had buried her in northern Georgia, where they grew up. He'd chosen a plot where she could look up Isabel Mountain's flanks to see the sky, her favorite view. He imagined her at the cemetery, sitting in a folding chair beside her grave, reading The Prince of Tides, her favorite novel. She wore light blue jeans that flared at her bare feet. Her white blouse rippled in the breeze. Her long sandy hair hung loose at her shoulders. But the image was shattered, as always, by the memory of touching her cold forehead at the morgue when he'd gone to identify her. He'd relived that . . .(The first two sentences are the author delivering information, not the narrative delivering Paul's experience. Try to work this in the way he might think it. For example: Patty's exile had ended when she died, and now he was ending his six months later, returning to where they'd grown up in Georgia, where he had buried her. He'd chosen a plot…etc.)

The writing is clean, but could be tighter. Watch out for overwriting, Chris. For example, here's how I'd edit a later sentence where the flight attendant gave his little boy some wings:

He accepted the wings, removed them from their cellophane wrapper, and pinned them to his shirt.

The narrative that followed had "family trouble" tension in it, but I never learned what the story was really about, never read anything that promised a problem ahead for Paul. Keep working, though -- tighten the tension, pick up the pace, and give us a clue as to what trouble is heading Paul's way.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

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Thank you, Chris, for your donation.

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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.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Aimee]

There is an intriguing quality to the first page, but I agree the writing needs tightening. The reader needs to be kept in close with Paul, and the reader does not need so much information so quickly. We learn of Paul, the fact he is traveling with his son, the death of his wife, some harm they have done to his brother, and their life in Minnesota as an exile from Georgia.

Honing in on a critical aspect of the information could make the first paragraphs more gripping. Is Paul focused on his son? his wife? his brother? What is Paul's exact state of mind--and it can't be "confused." The more specific his current moment, the more captivating it will be for the reader. Then the larger information can be revealed out of that heightened emotion and moment.

I think the first sentence is too soft and confusing. "Mournful tugging" is a strange combo. How about something like "On the previous flight to Georgia, Paul had been preparing to bury his wife. Now he sat next to his son . . ." Something direct and situational.

[KT]

I think he's got a great opening line, but it comes in the middle of the second paragraph.

Some of the opening can go in what follows, but it does need tightening. In addition to the issue with "mournful tugging," I noticed that the image of Patty at the grave wouldn’t be shattered by memory of cold forehead, it would be other way around – he'd try to conjure the image to push that memory aside.

Finally, the second line of what Patty says isn’t natural enough for me, see my tweak below. This is how I'd tighten it:

They hadn’t meant to hurt him, but they had. So when they left for Minnesota, a world away from their beloved north Georgia mountains, it was as much about exile as it was about Paul’s job.

Patty wasn’t exiled anymore, though. She was dead.

The first days without her had been the easiest, and the hardest. If only she’d been there to help him decide (which songs she wanted at the service, what to be buried in?). One thing he knew for sure: where she should be buried. In a place where she could look up Isabel Mountain’s flanks to see the (use the word that combines Arkansas and Georgia here – just want a word other than Georgia that evokes the same) blue sky. He imagined her at the cemetery, sitting in a folding chair beside her grave, reading The Prince of Tides. She wore light blue jeans that flared at her bare feet. Her white blouse rippled in the breeze. Her long sandy hair hung loose at her shoulders. He tried to think of her that way: alive. But the memory of touching her cold forehead at the morgue when he’d gone to identify her stayed with him (in a way that---- use a Georgia expression here)

“Of course I’m cold,” he imagined her saying. “My energy’s gone. Moved on, off to the next space.”

etc.

As for me, I'd turn the page, too. This one has good writing, something's in here, I can tell. The writer just needs to tighten it up to make it pop.

[L.L. Abbott]

Unlike others, I was OK with the "mournful tugging." I understood there was something painfully wrong with the moment. But, I didn't like not knowing where I was. My first thought was of them all being in bed at storytime. Then I thought they were in a car. So, I was surprised to find they were actually in a plane. I agree-- knowing there were flying to said destination would have been most helpful.

After that, I agree with the other suggested changes. Though my reading preference leans toward SciFi/Fantasy, I'm intrigued by the unanswered questions. I would have turned the page.