Flogometer for Heather: would you keep reading?

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Happy 4th of July. I'm taking the day off, see you next week.

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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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Heather's first 16 lines:

October 18th, 1951

A thick braid of rainwater shot off the roof and slid down the girl's spine like ice. Her raised fist trembled an inch from the oak front door. It must be awfully late… still, the light's on. Although she felt the slippery wood stiff against her knuckles, the sound of her knocking got lost in the rumbling thunder. She rapped again and then leaned her head against the door, wishing for the hundredth time that she was back home. You know you can't go home, she scolded herself. Mama told you so. A flash of a shadow pulled her eyes to the front window of the little brown house. More lightning? Or is someone moving inside? The front door cracked open and a gasp leaked out louder than the howling wind.

"Landsakes, child! You're soaked to the bone!" The chestnut-haired woman clutched an afghan around her shoulders as she beckoned to the girl who staggered inside. "What's a little girl like you doing out on a night like this?" She clucked her tongue. "Does your mama know where you are?"

Not really. She shivered. As she shook her head, the motion lurched the room into a spin. She tried to focus on the kind face and noticed dried tears across the woman's cheeks.

A warm smile cracked through the saltwater streaks. "I'm Thea Greyson." Her voice came soft and throaty. "And don't you worry, honey. I'll help you find your mama. Just tell me your (snip)

Interested but not compelled, craft issues stopped me

While the situation is definitely interesting, and Heather is doing the right thing by starting with a scene that has some drama to it, signs of overwriting and other small craft issues stopped me. A promising start, for me, but. . .some notes.

October 18th, 1951

A thick braid of rainwater shot off the roof and slid down the girl's spine like ice. Her raised fist trembled an inch from the oak front door. It must be awfully late… still, the light's on. Although she felt the slippery wood stiff against her knuckles, the sound of hHer knocking got lost in the rumbling thunder. She rapped again and then leaned her head against the door, wishing for the hundredth time that she was back home. You know you can't go home, she scolded herself. Mama told you so. A flash of a shadow pulled her eyes gaze to the front window of the little brown house. More lightning? Or is someone moving inside? The front door cracked open and a gasp leaked out louder than the howling wind. (The first sentence was the start of slowing me. A "thick braid of rainwater" sounds like a small stream, and why would this person not avoid it? And why have water slide when what it does best is run? I cut the second sentence because it just wasn't needed -- and I doubt the girl would notice that it was oak. Too many adjectives, for my eye, was a problem here. On the italicized thoughts: I'm an advocate of using interior monologue without italics and "thought." Here it could be simply woven in with the narrative without the italics: It had to be awfully late…still, the light was on. Even though I tightened the knocking description, I think it could be better if, for example, rumbling thunder swallowed her knock. For the second thought sequence, it could be: She knew she couldn't go home. Mama'd told her so. Lose the italics again by changing it to past tense. Lastly, for me it wasn't credible that a gasp was louder than howling wind. It would have to be a shriek to be louder. The girl could see the woman's mouth open as if she gasped, but how could she hear it? One other thing -- it's always "the girl." This operates to keep us distant from the character. If she's going to be a point of view character, I'd advise using a name.)

The chestnut-hairedA woman clutched an afghan around her shoulders. "Landsakes, child! You're soaked to the bone!" as sShe beckoned to the girl, who and she staggered inside. "What's a little girl like you doing out on a night like this?" She clucked her tongue. "Does your mama know where you are?" (Issues with the second sentence, which I moved to be first so there was info on who was talking: I don't think the child would be noticing "chestnut" hair. However, it would be good to give some description -- what if the woman was described as about the age of the girl's mother, which I suspect is true from what I read later?)

Not really. She The girl shivered. As sShe shook her head, and the motion lurched the room into a spin. She tried to focus on the kind face and noticed dried tears across the woman's cheeks. (I changed "she" to "the girl" because the antecedent for the pronoun was the woman, not the girl. I changed the "as she" construction because it's not really accurate -- the shake of the head and the room lurching are cause and effect, not simultaneous. I have to wonder if it's really possible to notice dried tear streaks on a face unless they ran through noticeable makeup. I'm not saying that it isn't, it's just that I can't recall ever seeing that. Wet tear streaks, yes. For my money, I'd have the woman have wet tear streaks, and even wipe one away. Seems more believable, and points to the fact that she'd been weeping.)

A warm smile cracked through the saltwater streaks. "I'm Thea Greyson." Her voice came soft and throaty. "And don't you worry, honey. I'll help you find your mama. Just tell me your (snip) (Same point about the tear streaks, and I don't think a girl would be thinking of them as "saltwater." We do seem to be in a close third person here. If you want us to hear the woman's voice in a particular way, you have to put that description before the words come, as in: The woman's voice came soft and throaty. I liked the way the dialogue "find your mama" showed us that the girl is young, rather than telling us, and it characterized the woman.)

As I said, there's promise here, and an interesting situation. There was more on the next page about the girl promising not to tell her name, and then she passes out. If that had been on this first page, I think that would have been plenty to get me to turn the page, storywise, and it will be possible for it to be there if the opening is trimmed and made crisper.

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

ARCHIVES .

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Tessa]

I doubt a different scene would have been any more compelling. I got the impression the the journey would be very slow and painstaking no matter where it went, even that the writer was having quite a struggle presenting the story, and I wouldn't want to read further because of that.

I realize how difficult it is to know what detail to present, and how, and what to leave out. Ray's edits are good pointers, but while she is working on her own writing, Heather may also need to read more to see how other authors move their stories along.

[Sarah]

Where I agree with Ray's edits, I would turn the page. To me, the story is intriguing.

[Kamila Miller]

I like the sensory detail, but there's too much and the pacing is slow. I think the situation shows promise, but I'm a little disturbed to hear that she's going to pass out shortly. Why can't the character continue to act and learn? In the bad old days of writing people passed out left and right to dramatize what a bad situation they're in and how overwrought they were i. It was believable to many people thanks to corsets toppling women on a regular basis, but honestly, unless she's starving to death, dying of thirst or bleeding out, why would she pass out?

[Heather]

Kamila,

There's an appropriate medical reason why she passes out that isn't revealed until later. I'm a pediatrician, so hopefully you can take my word for that. :)

Ray,

First, thank you for your helpful thoughts. As far as the girl goes, I'm avoiding her name here. Since she refuses to tell, her character has a different name (Beatrice) by chapter two, and I thought that would be confusing.

I'm thinking about rewriting this opening from Thea's POV instead, but the rest of the novel is Beatrice's POV and set thirty years later.

I originally wrote this as a prologue, but began calling it chapter one after test reader feedback. I'm still not sure which nomenclature works better. I know some folks hate prologues, but it seems more natural as prologue to me.

I really appreciate the feedback. Thank you.

[Ray Rhameyw]

Heather, I didn't have a problem with her about to pass out...it was a good story question for me, and that's why I thought it would be good to have on the first page, if possible.

As for prologues, many people just skip them (I'm one of them, and I know of at least one agent who does). But there's no reason a novel can't start at one place and then jump forward a bunch of years.

Frankly, if I were your editor, I would take a serious look at starting the story with the adult Beatrice, and weave in this material as needed. If the rest of the story starts with a compelling opening and concerns the adult Beatrice, I suspect this bit of backstory isn't really needed beforehand.

In other words, this may be information that you, the author, feels is needed for the reader to get it, but it may not be, either.

For what it's worth.

[Kamila Miller]

For the record if there's a medical reason for her to pass out I'm all for it. (Bravo for being a pediatrician! What a tough job. Thank you for your service. Doctors rock. But I digress) But since there's no way for me to know that as a reader it unfortunately comes off as the typical pass out thing. You may be stuck from a technical standpoint because while you're in her pov you can't exactly get into what's going on in her body unless it is something overt like bleeding, etc.

My two cents on prologues is that yes, people do skip over them (including agents) but a well-done prologue that's integral to the story, especially if the information really can't be handled in another more story-immediate way, is a perfectly valid way to start a book. OTOH, if there's another way to handle it it may be worth a look. My rule of thumb is that if I have to do all kinds of fancy contortions to eliminate a prologue, it probably belongs, but if there's a simple way to just start at the 'present,' I do that.

Good luck!

[Patty]

I think there are various interesting tidbits in these sentences. Why couldn't the girl return home? What was she doing here? That makes for a good hook.

I agree, though, that the writing looks a bit over-wrought, trying-too-hard for me.

Things like 'a braid of rainwater' make me go huh? Rainwater can't be braided. It just doesn't sound right to me. Same with 'a gasp leaked out'. Gasps don't leak. Fluids leak. Air whispers or drifts.

I'd pare this down quite a bit. The POV is also a bit loose.

[Jon]

Although the page read in its entirety has situational promise, I wouldn't read on; the writing in the first paragraph stopped me--the first line started it, actually.

The initial impression I got was "thick braid of rainwater. Ooh, I like that. Interesting image." Then it "shot off the roof" and I was wondering what propelled it--I had an image of a water cannon. Then it "slid down the girl's spine like ice" -- suggesting both an external camera ("shot off the roof" had to be perceived from somewhere that could see it) and an internal camera ("like ice" brings us to the girl's POV). If she was able to see the water coming off the roof (particularly well enough to see that it was braided), her front would have gotten wet. (And where was it braiding from, anyway? On further examination that doesn't hold up, either--it implies multiple sources coming together at an angle to one another; roof-water drips (low volume) or sheets (high volume).

At that early point, although I couldn't put a name to it until I analyzed it, something was broken and I didn't trust the author.

The paragraph continues: she's just been doused with icy-cold water, and she's thinking "the light's still on" while her hand trembles in front of the door. Me, I'm thinking "Aaaagh! Cold! ::cringe::"--and, since it didn't just -start- raining, and it's not -stopping-, I'm thinking "Must. Get. Closer. To. House. To get out of rain!"

-Then- I'd knock on the door. I certainly wouldn't stand there hand-raised and indecisive.

Then there's the little nitpicks - how does a little kid (as she turns out to be) know oak from maple from pine, by the grain? Why, at this miserable juncture, does she take time to notice it? If the rain is being stopped by the roof, why is the door slippery? And how does she know it's slippery without sliding her hand over it? If she's close enough to the door to knock on it, how does she see "a flash of shadow" in the front window? How is a "gasp" louder than "howling" wind?

I often, when I'm writing, have difficulty visualizing a scene. What sometimes helps is taking time away from the keyboard to lay out the scene in my mind--or throwing together a rough floorplan to make sure I know where everyone is and what they can see, etc. Maybe that would help?

What I'd recommend is that you try to immerse yourself deeper in the character's perspective, if you're going to write a close-third POV. Try to see things from where she'll see them--miserable and about to faint as she is, what is she going to notice, and what is she going to be too self-absorbed in her misery to pick up?

(Oh, and a side note--I saw the "she can't have a name yet" discussion above. Instead of "the girl's" in the first line, you might try "her" -- you set her up as young when she says "Mama told you so" and then the homeowner locks the impresssion in nicely when when she calls her "child." )

HTH!

-Jon

[kathy]

Jon made some very good points. I just want to suggest that there is a more to the setting, is it day or night is she shivering because she's ill or because it's cold, etc.

[Heather]

Thanks for the suggestions, everyone!

I can see how my avoiding her name made the POV seem to shift from distant to close.

I did whip off a version from Thea's POV, which I'm not sure about. I'm also toying with cutting all of this first page(and her refusing to tell her name and passing out), and starting with the second half of this scene, in which she overhears a conversation between Thea and the doctor that reveals both that she refused to tell her name and that she passed out.

This would make the first "chapter" only ~430 words, though (my chapters average 2300). What do folks think about a 2-page first chapter? Or does that force it to prologue-status?

[Ray Rhamey]

I think you should look seriously at dropping it altogether and weaving in whatever you think the reader needs to know when she needs to know it.

What can it hurt? You write on a computer, so if you cut this and take a look at how it would go without it, what's the harm?

I did that with my third novel, and ended up cutting the first two chapters.

R

[Heather]

Thanks, Ray.

I've actually tried a few times. In fact, my original draft was written without this opening.

I used to have bits of this backstory woven into the second chapter (the original first chapter) but of all the variations I've tried, the active scene seems to work best.

Thirty years later, Beatrice doesn't remember this particular scene or anything before living with Thea, and she's desperate to know what happened during the missing decade. Thea hid the letter and lied about it. Chapter two picks up after Thea's death as Beatrice sorts through the estate, eventually to discover the letter.

That discovery seems to have a lot less impact when the reader doesn't understand how she ended up with Thea.

I'll look at it again though. It's been a while since I've tried it the other way. Maybe I'll hit on a better method.

Thanks again for your thoughts.

[Mai]

I've been hit with thick braids of rainwater. Instances of powerful turbulence in a small setting, when these transient streams of water leave the surface on which they've formed, they shoot off forcefully at unpredictable angles, and if they hit you and the temp is below 50 F, it feels like ice. It comes at you fast and unpredictably. Unless you anticipate it, you may not be able to avoid getting hit by it. The force of this kind of mini-stream is such that the braid keeps its integrity for several feet after it leaves the surface on which it formed, and so it can slide down your back, shoulder, face, etc., like a wet snake for a few brief moments. Where have I experienced rain acting like this? In hurricanes and noreasters on the seashore of the northern Atlantic, in the months of October and November. So maybe rain needs to be not only coming down heavily, but also coming down in high winds, chilly air, low air pressure, and salt in the atmosphere, to behave like this.

The image, which was unusual, and descriptive of something I'd encountered from time to time, caught my attention. The girl's plight kept it. I would have turned the page. I was sorry to find out that this is backstory. With editing for consistent POV, I thought it would make a gripping opening. Except for unclear POV, some of the sentences Ray struck were very evocative for me, putting me right inside the girl's skin.

[Mai]

I'm going to disagree with Ray on a couple of other points. A child does notice things like if a door's wood is oak, maple, etc. Children see details that adults have learned to ignore. Partly it's because their scale is small, relative to everything else. Things that seem small to an adult seem big to a child. Partly it's that children are in learning mode almost all the time. Their sensitivity to details, and their tendency to attempt to categorize, are at high levels. Even if this child were an adult, in moments of crisis, one does tend to notice minute details that would escape one otherwise. This child being at the point of fainting means her stress level is high, i.e., she is in crisis. She would notice what kind of wood the door is made from, she would be very aware of any strangeness in how it feels to knock on the wet wooden door. The child would notice the woman's hair color, the child would notice the tear streaks. You can cry so much that your tears become very concentrated, and the tears that come down late in the crying session are saltier than normal and leave salt traces on the face. I've seen it in the mirror.

I think my quibbles here are about being open to writing that tells us about something we may not have experienced ourselves, which is authentic nonetheless.

According the premise that underlies my quibbles, I conclude Ray doesn't go out in autumn hurricanes or noreasters on the northeast US coast, his memories of how he saw things as a child have faded a little, and he hasn't cried for hours and hours for days in a row. :)