Flogometer for Vaughn—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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Vaughn’s first 16 lines:

The snow beat against the window, and the children's voices beat against her...

"Tell us, tell us!" They cried.

She turned back to them, smiled, and relented...

When I tell you that the prince was in my bedroom, I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. It wasn't like I was alone. Scurrying around awaiting my pleasure, were half a dozen maids and other servants. Day and night I was surrounded.

The prince was an official guest of my father, a part of the embassy of L’Ardoin. His was a member of one of a half dozen embassies come in response to my father announcement six months ago that I was ‘of age’. He was not, despite his rank, the head of his embassy. No one expected a noble to negotiate his own marriage.

Indeed, he was the only principal who had actually come—probably because he was the only one young enough, and refined enough, to be an actual asset to their mission.

I certainly considered him an asset. It is a cliché, I know, but he was young, tall, dark, and handsome. He had straight, thick, black hair, totally unlike my people. Most of us had (and I had) thin brown hair; hair which was neither straight nor decently curly.

He was decently thin. Just watching some of those heavy boned (and thick skulled) ambassador types made me ill at the thought of marrying whoever it was they were proposing.

Nope.

If I were a fan of leisurely openings, perhaps, because the voice is nice. But this doesn’t set the scene—we know not where she is as she tells this tale—and the tension level is pretty much zero for me. There’s no jeopardy ahead, as far as we can see. There might have been if, instead of talking about a handsome prince, she got to a later mention of the Mendani, “who were next door to barbarians with their horses and oasis, and who were seeking for me to be the third wife of some chieftain.” That, along with appropriate smells from the delegation, could have foreshadowed her marriage into what sounds like an unacceptable situation for this pampered princess. Some notes:

The snow beat against the window, and the children's voices beat against her...

"Tell us, tell us!" They cried.

She turned back to them, smiled, and relented... (Since we don’t know where this narrator is, nor whom the children referred to are, nor do they figure in to the story in the next few pages, I honestly don’t see the purpose in spending three precious lines here)

When I tell you that the prince was in my bedroom, I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. It wasn't like I was alone. Scurrying around awaiting my pleasure were half a dozen maids and other servants. Day and night I was surrounded.

The prince was an official guest of my father, a part of the embassy of L’Ardoin. His was a member of one of a half dozen embassies come in response to my father’s announcement six months ago that I was ‘of age’. He was not, despite his rank, the head of his embassy. No one expected a noble to negotiate his own marriage. (You need to be careful about letting typos such as missing the possessive on “father’s” slip through. Also, the antecedent for "he" in the next-to-last sentence is a bit ambiguous -- is it the prince, or the father? Better to be perfectly clear by using "the prince" instead of the pronoun.)

Indeed, he was the only principal who had actually come—probably because he was the only one young enough, and refined enough, to be an actual asset to their mission.

I certainly considered him an asset. It is a cliché, I know, but he was young, tall, dark, and handsome. He had straight, thick, black hair, totally unlike my people. Most of us had (and I had) thin brown hair; hair which was neither straight nor decently curly. (For me, the “most of us had (and I had) was unnecessarily complicated and clumsy. How important is it that most of her people have thin hair? If it plays in the story, fine. If not, what’s it doing here? And, since she has that kind of hair, “Most of us had” would have been sufficient, IMO. This paragraph is not contributing to the tension level, and we’re still very much in a “telling/summary” mode here. How about making something happen?)

He was decently thin. Just watching some of those heavy-boned (and thick-skulled) ambassador types made me ill at the thought of marrying whoever it was they were proposing. (Be wary of repetitions such as having “decently” in two successive sentences. This narrative is telling us, in nicely subtle ways, about her world—but it doesn’t make the cut for “compelling” for me.)

While I liked the narrator, she seemed placid and engaged in a placid existence, which does not make for a page-turner of a story. Vaughn, I suggest you look later in the narrative, closer to the real beginning of her story, the part that changes things for you, to find a more gripping opening.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

Submitting to the Flogometer:

1. Email your 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (.doc or .rtf preferred, .docx okay) and I'll critique the first page.
2. Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman 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

[hope101]

Von, what I meant to say more, is that the impact would be greater for me if you just let the story unfold, beginning with "When I tell you that the prince was in my bedroom..." Giving us a first person narrator makes this feel much more immediate to me than having a third person narrator telling events from the perspective of distance and time.

You'd still keep the voice. And if it's important that it be a love story told to the children, you could end it with something like, "Thus, my dear children, is the story of how your esteemed father and I met..." Or some such.

Is there a structural reason you can't tell this in first?

[von]

Well, as I say, I was forced kicking and screaming to put this in. It has to do with (Von ducks his head to avoid objects thrown at him) the fact that I write the book in dual first person.
Halfway through the book the first person shifts to someone else. And I use these 'storytelling' breaks to make the change. For example the next one says,

The lady paused in her story, to steal a sip of water.
"Don't stop!" The children cried. The window behind her still echoed with the sound of snow, snow drive hard against it.
"But my voice," she argued.
"I will continue," another voice said.
"Oh yes, oh yes," the children cried, jumping up and dancing around their new victim; who rumpled their hair and insisted they sit quietly again...

I am trying hard to think of a way to remove this from the very beginning. As I say, perhaps if it was in a prolog.

You can read the whole thing at my site.

Would, "When I tell you, children, that the prince was in my bedroom..." work, do you think?

[Christine H]

Von,

I think that you are trying too hard to create false tension (not saying that the prince was her future husband, whom I assume he is anyway), rather than creating real tension in the scene.

This scene seems to be all "telling." There isn't anything propelling it forward for me.

It would be more poignant for me if you had at the very beginning some clue that this is not just a nice, romantic story, but there there is some pain or conflict here for the storyteller.

Also, does snow beat against windows? Unless it is slush or hail, I don't think it does. Usually snow is silent, perhaps providing a calming cloak for her tumultuous memories.

Also, the phrase "scurrying around, awaiting my pleasure, were a half dozen maids" coming after "when I say the Prince was in my bedroom, I don't want you to get the wrong impression" makes it seem like she is a lesbian with a lesbian staff. I'm sorry, but that's the first thing I thought and I'm sure it's not what you intended!

I think you have great ideas, you just need to work on focusing on the essential details, and on what is happening with the characters in the moment. You might want to just go straight into that first meeting of the past and skip the narrative frame, though I don't mind the frame if there is some tension - she doesn't want to talk about it, it brings up painful memories, she feels she has to whitewash the details for the children who idealize her and her husband, she has to keep some state secret about their wedding...

[von]

:)

I guess I really have confused people. The prince is the bad guy.

I will work on the 'showing not telling', and I think I will move the other 'storytelling' to a prolog.

I'll think about the 'scurrying' issue, but probably the rewrite will take care of it naturally.

Thanks again.

[Doug]

A pet peeve of mine: nobody has a name.

That really distances me from the characters. The lead and the prince become just as anonymous and unimportant as the children, the maids, and the servants.

[Christine H]

Von ~ it's not the scurrying, it's "awaiting my pleasure." I know what you mean, but it makes it sound like they are waiting to serve her sexually, in context of the Prince being in her bedroom but not improper. See what I mean?

I know you meant that it wasn't improper because they weren't alone. In fact, in all but modern settings, servants don't count as people. They are to be blind and deaf to what their masters and mistresses do except when directly addressed to fill an order. So it *would* be improper for her to be alone in her bedroom with a man without another member of her family, or someone else of status, as a chaperone.

[von]

Ah. I C.

I can fix that, because she does have a Chaperone. Several, in fact. Thx.

Doug: The really funny thing is, she never does have a name. I don't name her in the entire book. My kids commented on it, too. I just never could think of what I wanted to call her, so she is always 'princess' and 'my daughter' and 'that merchant girl' etc.

[von]

Is this better?

When I tell you that the prince was in my bedroom, I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. It wasn't like I was alone. Any of my servants would have died before they would let the Prince do anything to me, or even touch me. And of course, David always stood watching me, with his big sword.
I really liked this prince. I thought he was really wonderful. It may be a cliché, but he was tall, dark and handsome. And you know I am nothing to look at, nothing at all; and I wasn’t then, either. Stringy brown hair, kind of a fat face. I was a poor excuse for a fairy tale princess.
But the Prince wanted to marry me anyway. He had come with an embassy from his father to try to convince me, to convince father anyway, that I should marry him. And I certainly liked the idea. Right now he was telling me poetry…
“Your lips, my sweet,” he said, reading from a poem he had composed in my honor, “are like a rose, yet budding on the vine;

[Christine H]

It's a little better. But why *is* he in the bedroom? Is she too ill to get up? Did he force his way in despite her refusal to see him? Or does the Princess usually receive guests in her private quarters? If so, why preface it with "I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression?"

If she is *in* the fairy tale, she wouldn't refer to herself as a "fairy tale princess."

And she really does need a name.

I know I'm giving you a hard time! I'm trying to shake you out of your perspective and get you inside the actual story, not just in the *atmosphere* of the story.

For the heck of it, this would be my take:

The Prince was in my bedroom. I had been hiding from him - another nameless suitor - when the door burst open and a broad-shouldered, thick-lipped man came three paces forward, then stopped. The maids made startled noises and flapped around me like a flock of pigeons, quickly throwing a shawl around my shoulders, pinning up my hair, smoothing the bedclothes. David came striding in behind him, scowling, clutching his scimitar.
"No! He has permission to enter, although he did not ask it," I said. David nodded and went to the corner, tense and watchful.
My guest bowed from the waist, so low that I thought he might break in half.
"You are as gracious as the sun," he said to me in a deep, oily voice which I disliked, "and as gentle as a lotus. I could not leave without reading this poem I have composed in honor of your beauty."
I pressed my lips together. I was no beauty, and we both knew it. Besides, this man had never seen me before. It was my wish not to see him again. Yet I did not want to risk an international incident...

[Christine H]

P.S. I just realized I'm giving advice here and this is not my blog and I am not a professional by any means.

I sincerely apologize to Ray and everyone else! I'm afraid I've gotten a bit carried away.