Flogometer for Donald—would you turn the page?

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The Flogometer challenge: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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Donald’s first 16 lines:

Quercus, a tweeded figure about forty, stocky with bony, angular joints, bushy hair, black eyebrows and ear tufts, rested on a garden bench beneath an English Oak that shared his name. He wondered, not for the first time, if his mother conceived him there. Perhaps his parents succumbed to their passion on a sunny afternoon similar to this. The thought disintegrated when he remembered his sister, Holly, for his mother, although no less a nature lover than his father, surely did not lie upon prickly Ilex leaves. His brothers tumbled into his mind, first the sweet, younger Acer and then straight, rigid Ulmus, the oldest. Their names Ulmus, Quercus, Holly, and Acer, simply derived from his parents’ botanical fancy.

These musings, none new, and the gentle heat generated by digesting his Stilton cheese sandwich, a pear, and a bottle of tea, lulled Quercus into a doze in which his parents’ passion for life melded with his own marriage to his dear, dead Violet.

The cold remembrance numbed his heart and bones, awakening him. Billowing clouds scuttled across the sky, obscured the sun, and threatened a shower. He glanced at the cottage in the garden he still tended for Violet. There under the eaves, the bedchamber window revealed open curtains. He recalled entering that room grieving his darling's death, his inability to save or again touch the one he loved; and mourning the unreachable togetherness he had hoped to share (snip)

Voice said yes, tension said no

Donald has one of those polished, make-it-look-easy writing styles, a seductive voice that I love to read and have difficulty just setting aside because of the narrative voice. However . . . we’re dealing with “compelling” here, not invitingly attractive. The challenge is to create enough tension on the first page that turning it is irresistible. Here, the “cold remembrance” paragraph almost did that for me, with its contrast to the easy, sunny mood of the first paragraphs. Then, with “He recalled,” it seemed as if it were heading into backstory (even though it doesn't), and there wasn’t enough “what’s going to happen next” for this particular reader.

The rest of the chapter ambles on in a similarly mesmerizing way, a long setting of the scene in this character’s life and environs. I suspect that for readers of more literary fiction, this would have been sufficient—but I ended the chapter not knowing what the story was about. In fact, the character, even though briefly troubled by a bad dream, ends the chapter peacefully sleeping.

I’m reminded of a quote from a publishing editor recently posted here:

“A novel should make the reader keep reading because it immediately poses a “what will happen next” question. So it should open with a bang, some sort of exciting happening that makes the reader go, “oh my gosh, what’s going to happen to resolve this?”

I doubt that Donald’s opening page—or even the opening chapter—would have ultimately met the demands that this particular editor makes on the narrative. Here, I was lacking the “what will happen next” question.

There were a couple of tense (grammatically speaking) questions here and there—I’m thinking it should have been “his mother had conceived him there. Perhaps his parents had succumbed . . .” but otherwise the writing is nicely done. I think that Donald has an involving, character-based story to tell, and that the incident, the thing that happens to Quercus to shock his life, will ultimately happen—for this reader to keep on, though, it needs to happen far sooner than the second chapter (if, indeed, it’s there).

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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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.

© 2010 Ray Rhamey

Comments

[Deb]

The voice was indeed appealing, although I wasn't drawn to the character. Maybe with the cover jacket it would be more than enough to keep me reading.

[jon]

Hiya, Donald!

Good writing, by and large (though the first sentence was a bit overpacked for my taste, and several bits IMO could use a touch of the redline pen) but there was nothing in the opening provided to make me want to read further.

An open question -- practically -any- open question -- is needed in an opener, in my opinion, to pull the reader onward through page 2, and more questions on page 2 to get the reader to page 3, and so forth.

These can be subtle questions or life-and-death, but I think they have to be there.

I've seen it expressed as the character requiring a "want" on page 1 - even, as the phrasing goes, if it's for a glass of water. A character's want creates a tension that requires resolution, and most folks don't like to leave tension unresolved.

(Personally, I think that it can be broader than the character having a want -- I think the author can also create the want in the reader, and it'd serve similarly.)

All of the above doesn't mean more than a bucket of lukewarm spit, though, so think it over before applying it :o)

Good luck! Thanks for sharing!

-Jon

[Doug]

Since I prefer substance over style, it'll be no surprise that I voted 'no'.

Nothing at all happens. Quercus broods for the entire page, and that's pretty much the kiss of death to a modern novel.

The first paragraph introduces four separate characters by name. That's at least two too many, and in this case it's three too many. Your readers are just starting your story. Hold off introducing characters until they're needed.

The part that's interesting--"his dear, dead Violet"--is buried deeper than Violet is, within the final sentence of a middle paragraph. Anyone not thoroughly entranced with reading about the brooding is going to be skipping the last parts of paragraphs, or skipping middle paragraphs altogether, while looking for something to happen.

The line that followed, "The cold remembrance numbed his heart and bones, awakening him", didn't work for me. I don't know how bones get any more numb than they are, and I'd think that remembering Violet would induce emotion rather than numb it.

The weather report in the second sentence of that paragraph went nowhere. If it's going to be there, I think we should find out what Quercus thinks about the weather, even if it's that he doesn't care.

I got confused by the phrase "the cottage in the garden he still tended for Violet." Is he tending the cottage, or the garden? And what's a cottage doing in a garden?

The final (incomplete) sentence is a confusion of participial phrases. I assume that it's about when Quercus discovered Violet dead, but it has him already grieving and mourning as he enters the bedchamber.

I'm also bewildered at what "the unreachable togetherness he had hoped to share" was intended to convey. Unreachable togetherness doesn't sound very much fun, so why would he hope to share it?

For me, I want to see some stuff happen on the first page, and there should be some question about how something will turn out.

[Chris]

I voted no.

While quaint and quirky, Quercus's quiet musing nonetheless left my thirsty quest for a thrilling quaff of excitement thoroughly unquenched. Yes, I found the floraphillic names amusing, but I would have prefered the planting of some seeds of drama, conflict, and tension instead.

OK, all kidding aside: I think there's an interesting character in Quercus, but there's not much story here yet. There are plenty of words -- a whole LOTTA words -- all intertwined in parenthetical and prepositional phrases galore, but you unfortunately can't pull in readers just on extra comma usage.

You obviously can whip out some serious writing chops, but Dude, I'd temper them a bit. Because instead of noticing the writing, I'd much rather notice the story. Personally, I'd ratchet back on the high-falootin' ponderings, and aim for the lower-falootin' targets of tension and drama.

Set a scene with more than one character idly sitting on a bench. Add tension and conflict. Raise some stakes. Pull me in with story, not wordiness.

[Lexi Revellian]

Not at all sure about this character ruminating on his parents' sex lives. I found it a bit weird and off-putting.

[Lesley]

I think the line below is unnecessary.

Their names Ulmus, Quercus, Holly, and Acer, simply derived from his parents’ botanical fancy.

The parents fancied those names, obviously, otherwise they would not have named them thus.

Also, the names had been mentioned before.
Therefore, the line adds no extra information.

Also, the sentence seems to give the reader a second chance, as if the author does not quite trust them to 'get it' the first time.

Also, I find memories about dead people depressing.

But all that said, I liked the writing and for that alone, I might turn the page.

[Darcy]

I like quirky and I like literary. You almost had me on those qualities and the morbidly pleasant surprise of "his dear, dead Violet", but that first sentence was a doozy. I had to read it a couple of times and it still seemed unnecessarily dense.

Likewise, I was worn out by digesting this one:

"The thought disintegrated when he remembered his sister, Holly, for his mother, although no less a nature lover than his father, surely did not lie upon prickly Ilex leaves."

It would have conveyed all the same information without requiring labor on the part of the reader if it had been split into two sentences and reorganized a little to avoid the muddle of: "his sister, Holly, for his mother, although".

Maybe like this: "The thought disintegrated when he remembered his sister, Holly; Surely their mother, although no less a nature lover than their father, did not lie upon prickly Ilex leaves."

Despite that, I have to admit I'm curious to know what the story's about. That's always good. :)

[hope101]

I'm probably the wrong audience for this piece, although I do enjoy quirky. To be honest, while there is a lot of potential here, the sentence structure is so convoluted I feel like I have to really work for the meaning. I'd need a compelling story question to push through.

Donald, I can get into too-complex sentences myself, and one thing I've learned to do is read my work aloud. It helps me catch the worst offenders.

Good luck! If you can get more plot on the page and clearer sentence structure, you have me interested in this character.

[Michael]

I have to disagree with you, Ray, regarding the "had"s you inserted into the text. The past-perfect tense is appropriate for talking about a time earlier than the story's current time, I agree, but since the narrator is clearly thinking about another time, the past-perfect would add unnecessary clutter and passive distance that would detract from the thoughts.

Other than that, I think you're spot-on.

Michael