Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Anne—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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Anne’s first 16 lines (prologue):

“Would you forgive me if I’d done something terrible?”

Nora was accustomed to nonsense. It was a natural occurrence in her line of work, along with babbling, gibber, crying and the occasional all out screaming. This however, she had to admit was a bit puzzling. Unconcerned, she looked down once again to reread the piece of paper in her hands, which looked to have been ripped out of a notebook. She turned it over. There was writing on the backside as well:

“I didn’t know what you wanted. Please finish my story.”

She shrugged and lowered her chubby hands to toss the note on the table.

“What is that, Nora?”

Nora looked up at the words and her gaze fell upon her younger and much thinner companion, who up until now she had been steadily ignoring. They had met before, apparently, although Nora wouldn’t have been able to say when. She was one of the new nurses that Nora found altogether irritating, a peppy little thing with a trendy name that she would never be able to keep straight- Brenda? Brandy? It didn’t really matter, she wouldn’t notice. The new girls were all the same: endlessly cheerful, full of enthusiasm and so flighty that Nora found it a miracle they had made it through nursing school at all.

I wasn’t hooked by this

Despite some good things and a hint of mystery about the words on the paper, there’s not much tension otherwise. I wasn’t engaged by this character, who seems to be a negative person. Since she doesn’t care about the note, I didn’t either. I also wished the scene had been set—I didn’t know where I was, and the indirect hints about who Nora is didn’t give me enough to go on. Notes:

“Would you forgive me if I’d done something terrible?” (Strong opening line, raises questions right away.)

Nora was accustomed to nonsense. It was a natural occurrence in her line of work, along with babbling, gibber, crying and the occasional all-out screaming. This, however, she had to admit was a bit puzzling. Unconcerned, she looked down once again to reread tThe piece of paper in her hands, which looked to have been ripped out of a notebook. She turned it over. There was writing on the backside as well: (There’s both too much and too little here. Since we aren’t told what her line of work is, the babbling etc. don’t mean much. She’s a nurse. Why not just include that directly, i.e. something such as … a natural occurrence in nursing people who’d lost their grip on reality. There’s some overwriting, too, which I’ve cut—“in her hands” is an example of detail that isn’t necessary. The reader will assume that the paper is in her hands if she’s reading it. The “Unconcerned” took me out of the story because I wondered why there would be cause for concern.)

“I didn’t know what you wanted. Please finish my story.”

She shrugged and lowered her chubby hands to toss the note on the table. (Here we step out of her point of view to a more omniscient one—in close third person, she would not be thinking of her hands as “chubby.” Since she doesn’t actually toss the note on the table, wherever the table is, then this sentence isn’t really needed, IMO. And “lowered her chubby hands” is a bit of overwriting.)

“What is that, Nora?”

Nora looked up at the words and her gaze fell upon her younger and much thinner companion, who up until now she had been steadily ignoring. They had met before, apparently, although Nora wouldn’t have been able to couldn't say when. She was one of the new nurses that Nora found altogether irritating, a peppy little thing with a trendy name that she would never be able to keep straight- Brenda? Brandy? It didn’t really matter, she wouldn’t notice. The new girls were all the same: endlessly cheerful, full of enthusiasm and so flighty that Nora found it a miracle they had made it through nursing school at all. (While this does contribute to characterization, this long bit of attitude from this grumpy person slowed the narrative for me. The sentence “It didn’t really matter, she wouldn’t notice.” was unclear for a couple of reasons—the antecedent for the pronoun was vague, and what was it that she wouldn’t notice? That’s unsaid. If the story is about this not very pleasant person, with no compelling story questions to lure me onward, I just wasn’t interested in more.)

Prologues can work, but only if they are a compelling scene. Otherwise, as this one seems to be, they can be "throat-clearing." If the story is about the girl who wrote the note, let’s get to her—she sounds interesting.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Your donations help cover the cost of hosting FtQ. Just click the button to chip in.

---

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

Flogometer for Jonathan—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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Jonathan’s first 16 lines:

The five assassins floated atop reed floats and paddled along the island’s south shore. Their legs dragged limply in the water. Less noise for any wandering guards to hear and less splashing for the sharks to feel. The beasts were always there along the coast, whether you saw them or not. Only the foolish thought otherwise. And the foolish were the ones no one ever saw again.

The ocean water warmed their legs and bodies. The wind off the moonlit water cooled their faces and backs. Salty sea air blew against their lips. Anxious muscles ached in their chests. High above them, the southern cliffs of the fire mountain Rano Kau loomed dark and ominous.

Akolo checked the obsidian dagger strapped to his bare thigh. Still secure.

If there had been any other way, they certainly would have stuck to the land, would have planned a different attack, but this was the only way to get close enough. The last thing the Miru clans could afford was the death of their Birdman, so they had posted guards at all the trail junctions and positioned sentries high in treetops. A frontal approach was impossible. As far as they knew, though, the waterfront was clear of all guards. The Miru were not expecting trouble from this direction. No one in their right mind would swim around the mountain.

Right mind, indeed.

As they passed the last of the crags, the beach flashed into view. Akolo’s heart raced. The (snip)

Another close one
The action of the scene was almost enough to get the page-turn; after all, there are assassins on the loose. But there were spots where the narrative was a little overdone to my taste, and the big paragraph of exposition in the fourth paragraph really slowed the pace and dulled my interest. It would have been much better if I’d been getting involved with the character, Akolo. Notes:

The five assassins floated paddled atop reed floats and paddled along the island’s south shore. Their legs dragged limply in the water. Less noise for any wandering guards to hear and less splashing for the sharks to feel. The beasts were always there along the coast, whether you saw them or not. Only the foolish thought otherwise. And the foolish were the ones no one ever saw again. (I edited to relieve the first sentence of the unnecessary repetition of “float.” The adverb was also not necessary—if their legs are dragging, the picture that comes to mind doesn’t need “limp.” As you see, I felt that there was other tightening that could be done. More than that, though, this is a missed opportunity to get us inside the lead character. This distant, omniscient point of view does the job of telling us what to see, but I’d sure like to see a try at giving us the experience of the lead character. For example, a thoughtstarter: Paddling against the tide on his reed float, Akolo led his four assassins past the looming cliffs of the fire mountain, Rano Kau.)

The ocean water warmed their legs and bodies. The wind off the moonlit water cooled their faces and backs. Salty sea air blew against their lips. Anxious muscles ached in their chests. High above them, the southern cliffs of the fire mountain Rano Kau loomed dark and ominous. (This was where the “overdone” kicked in—it was mostly the anxious muscles that did it. I don’t think muscles can be anxious. I think the sea-air-against-lips would not be missed if they went away, either.)

Akolo checked the obsidian dagger strapped to his bare thigh. Still secure.

If there had been any other way, they certainly would have stuck to the land, would have planned a different attack, but this was the only way to get close enough. The last thing the Miru clans could afford was the death of their Birdman, so they had posted guards at all the trail junctions and positioned sentries high in treetops. A frontal approach was impossible. As far as they knew, though, the waterfront was clear of all guards. The Miru were not expecting trouble from this direction. No one in their right mind would swim around the mountain. (For me, this paragraph was a deal-killer. All of this tactical stuff just doesn’t matter to the action, which is five men going to assassinate someone. This space would be much better spent involving us with Akolo and countering the negative associations that go with “assassin,” which sounds like a bad guy. If, instead of this exposition, Akolo could do something like renew his vow to free his clan from the oppression of the ruler they’re going to assassinate, even if he has to give his life, that would be more involving to me than this info dump. I’d cut all of this.)

Right mind, indeed. (If you lose the previous paragraph, this goes as well.)

As they passed the last of the crags, the beach flashed into view. Akolo’s heart raced. The (snip)

Some nice writing here, and the promise of action and adventure to come is here, but I think your grip on my mind needs to be strengthened. The suggestions above might get you there. Keep writing, but crisply.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Your donations help cover the cost of hosting FtQ. Just click the button to chip in.

---

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

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

---

Your donations help cover the cost of hosting FtQ. Just click the button to chip in.

---

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