Flogometer for Phill—would you turn the page?

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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, 12-point type, 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). Directions for submissions are below.

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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Phill sends us his opening from Australia. His first 16 lines:

Sam Spade looked back at me from the mirror at the back of the bar. He was one of my favourites and I had been unable to resist using his face considering the surname of my client. Besides, Sam and I had something in common; we were both private investigators.

"Want another one?"

The young barman, who’d served me my light beer, had been replaced by a woman in a smart business suit. She smelled of expensive perfume, perspiration and the faintest touch of arousal. To make it more interesting, I knew her. She had an apartment in the same complex as my own, different buildings, but we had kitchens that over looked the same courtyard and I'd often seen her at her window and admired the auburn colour of her hair. Of course she wouldn't have any chance of recognising me.

I smiled into my drink and said, "Okay."

She was a film buff no doubt, with a daydream of being laid by a memory. It happens occasionally when I take my face from the silver screen. I hoped the man I was waiting for wasn’t as up on his films; it was too late for a change now.

I flicked a look in the mirror and noted that the fat man I’d noticed on arrival was still engrossed in his meal. Mister Sydney, as I had dubbed him, was on his third mains. The obvious (snip)

I turned this page

The promise of fun, an engaging voice, and the story questions raised by his “using” the face of Humphrey Bogart and what was he investigating moved me along. Nicely done, with clean writing. Not much to pick at, but there were a couple of places I’d put a comma, and a thought or two. Notes:

Sam Spade looked back at me from the mirror at the back of the bar. He was one of my favourites, and I had been unable to resist using his face, considering the surname of my client. Besides, Sam and I had something in common; we were both private investigators. (The tease of his client’s surname didn’t work for me—if there’s a joke or a smile here, let the reader in on it now. It will add to the characterization, and could mean something. As it is, the reference is a waste of words and a bit of frustration for the reader. In other words, it wasn’t a compelling story question, and it took me out of the story.)

"Want another one?"

The young barman, who’d served me my light beer, had been replaced by a woman in a smart business suit. She smelled of expensive perfume, perspiration and the faintest touch of arousal. To make it more interesting, I knew her. She had an apartment in the same complex as my own, different buildings, but we had kitchens that over looked the same courtyard and I'd often seen her at her window and admired the auburn colour of her hair. Of course she wouldn't have any chance of recognising me.

I smiled into my drink and said, "Okay."

She was a film buff, no doubt, with a daydream of being laid by a memory. It happens occasionally when I take my face from the silver screen. I hoped the man I was waiting for wasn’t as up on his films; it was too late for a change now.

I flicked a look in the mirror and noted that the fat man I’d noticed on arrival was still engrossed in his meal. Mister Sydney, as I had dubbed him, was on his third mains. The obvious (snip) (Turns out this part doesn’t yet have anything to do with his mission. I’d look at moving his task up (catching a cheating husband) and weave this in later.)

Good stuff, Phill. This is one I’d like to read more of. Thanks.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. Email: email 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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 format with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Dai Alanye]

Gee, here I am in opposition again. I found this self-indulgent, as if the author was writing for the benefit of his ego rather than mine. Put another way, it was marginally droll but didn't advance the story.

Still, I might have turned the page just to see what he was going to do with the Greenstreet reference.

[Christine H]

Is this a repost of an earlier one? It looks familiar.

I voted No because I found it confusing. Teh writing is good, I'm not sure if it's meant to be a practical joke, or if the protag is crazy and thinks he really is a private detective who looks like Sam Spade, or if he's a shape-shifter, or a bored actor who specializes in disguises, or something else entirely.

[lexi Revellian]

Hang on, we've had this one before.

[Ray Rhamey]

Yes, we did this one before. Sorry about that. I was going through my files to find the person who followed Derek. Unfortunately, I went to the previous Derek submission, and that was followed by Phill's, not the correct person.

Fallibly yours,

Ray

[Victoria Dixon]

Sorry, I'm confused. It would probably help if I had a book jacket in front of me, but I can't tell if it's a mystery or a fantasy and several of the sentences ran together in odd ways.