Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Ian—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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Ian’s opening lines to a sequel:

'Hope springs eternal' the ancient saying goes, but hope is a poor foundation to stake your life on. Shayla Carver, master assassin (retired) and first governor of the Freeworld of Eloon, was shielded by more security than any normal paranoid could hope for.

Any normal paranoid would have died years ago.

Shayla did not believe in hope. The official security measures were there to keep out the bounty hunters and the merely competent. The serious threats she relied on her own senses and training to deal with.

Her airways had clamped shut instinctively at the first salt-sweet taste on her tongue. Years of assassin training identified the airborne drug immediately. Peritax. A small dose would render her senseless in seconds.

Ambushed! In my own fucking bedchamber! Shayla pushed aside the annoyance. Questions of who and how could wait. All that mattered now was survival.

Time slowed as Shayla's mind went into overdrive. Long seconds marked by the thump of her heartbeat in her ears. She knew she had only moments to assess her situation and deal with it.

Peritax was not a poison; it would just leave her helpless. And it dispersed and broke down quickly, which meant there had to be someone nearby to release it and to finish the job.

Yes

Nothing like an attack to raise the “what happens next” story question. We’re plunged right into the river of the story and immediately there are sharks in the water. There’s enough characterization to let us know this is a tough woman, and a hint of a good voice. There are some nitpicks, though. Notes:

'Hope springs eternal' the ancient saying goes, but hope is a poor foundation to stake your life on. Shayla Carver, master assassin (retired) and first governor of the Freeworld of Eloon, was shielded by more security than any normal paranoid could hope for.

Any normal paranoid would have died years ago.

Shayla did not believe in hope. The official security measures were there to keep out the bounty hunters and the merely competent. The serious threats she relied on her own senses and training to deal with. (The “serious threats” sentence feels bassackwards to me, and somewhat passive. I suggest She relied on her senses and training to deal with the serious threats.)

Her airways had clamped shut instinctively at the first salt-sweet taste on her tongue. Years of assassin training had identified the airborne drug immediately. Peritax. A small dose would render her senseless in seconds.

Ambushed! In my own fucking bedchamber! Shayla pushed aside the annoyance. Questions of who and how could wait. All that mattered now was survival.

Time slowed as Shayla's mind went into overdrive. Long seconds marked by the thump of her heartbeat in her ears. She knew she had only moments to assess her situation and deal with it. (The second, “long seconds” sentence is more of a fragment. Either a “were” is missing, or it could rearranged to become a sentence, i.e. The thump of her heartbeat in her ears marked long seconds.)

Peritax was not a poison; it would just leave her helpless. And it dispersed and broke down quickly, which meant there had to be someone nearby to release it and to finish the job. (The first deleted part is totally unnecessary. We’ve already been informed that it would leave her senseless, so the "helpless" part is redundant. And if it were deadly, the first reference would have been to leaving her dead, not senseless. This is valuable first-page real estate taken up by words that aren’t contributing to story or character. The second deletion had to do with not knowing what “release it” meant and that “finish the job” seemed liked it did the job well by itself.)

Good luck with this, Ian. By the way, I noticed in later narrative a couple of instances where you did something unusual (and, to my eye, incorrect) with dialogue, i.e. …calmly asked "dead switch?" It really should be calmly asked, “Dead switch?” (although I’d cut the adverb).

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

Friday Fun and Flogometer for Lexi—would you turn the page?

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You can start the The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles podcast series or subscribe to it here or on iTunes. You can read sample chapters here. You can order a paperback or e-book copy there, too.

Chapter 19 A close encounter of the shotgun kind

. Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles

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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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Lexi’s opening lines:

I didn’t see the man straight away.

I slid open the glass door to my rooftop terrace, balancing in my left hand a plate piled with two slices of toast, a banana, a mug of coffee, plus sultanas for the blackbird. I strolled to the far corner to admire a view I never tire of: a London roofscape, a glimpse of the trees in Hoxton Square two streets away, and the distant Gherkin glittering in the early morning sun. Already the faint hum of traffic competed with the coo of a courting pigeon.

The sultanas went into the blackbird’s dish. I turned, and stopped dead, heartbeat accelerating.

There was a stranger asleep on my outdoor sofa – my new expensive sofa that I can’t really afford and shouldn’t have bought – a scruffy mongrel curled up beside him. The man wore jeans and a sweatshirt; below the old jacket draped over him, grubby fraying trainers stuck out, incongruous against the cream cushions.

My first impulse was to shake him awake, and tell him to get off my property, now. How the hell had he got up here? With a dog? My flat is on top of the building, immune to burglars, or so I’d thought. But on reflection, he might be dangerous…a schizophrenic, a drug addict – though a pretty fit one if he climbed up here – a psychopath… His face reminded me of someone (snip)

Yes

Although I have a couple of nits to pick at, this opening raised clear, interesting story questions that made me want to know what would happen next. What would the protagonist do? Who is the man? Why is he there? How did he get there? Other factors are strong, too, including the voice and the writing. And it warmed my editor’s heart to see the scene set through experiential description. Notes:

I didn’t see the man straight away.

I slid open the glass door to my rooftop terrace, balancing in my left hand a plate piled with two slices of toast, a banana, a mug of coffee, plus sultanas for the blackbird. I strolled to the far corner to admire a view I never tire of: a London roofscape, a glimpse of the trees in Hoxton Square two streets away, and the distant Gherkin glittering in the early morning sun. Already the faint hum of traffic competed with the coo of a courting pigeon. (One little staging thing bothered me—the character has a load of stuff piled on a plate in one hand; wouldn’t he/she put it down before going to the corner to admire the view? I would.)

The sultanas went into the blackbird’s dish. I turned, and stopped dead, heartbeat accelerating. (The timing of the faster pulse feels off to me. It happens before the character sees the stranger, at least in terms of narrative flow. I think I’d like him/her to see the stranger and then react in a more linear fashion.)

There was a stranger asleep on my outdoor sofa – my new expensive sofa that I can’t really afford and shouldn’t have bought – a scruffy mongrel curled up beside him. The man wore jeans and a sweatshirt; below the old jacket draped over him, grubby fraying trainers stuck out, incongruous against the cream cushions. (I like the bits of characterization tucked into the description, i.e. “can’t really afford.”)

My first impulse was to shake him awake, and tell him to get off my property, now. How the hell had he got up here? With a dog? My flat is on top of the building, immune to burglars, or so I’d thought. But on reflection, he might be dangerous…a schizophrenic, a drug addict – though a pretty fit one if he climbed up here – a psychopath… His face reminded me of someone (snip) (I think it would help the reader a lot if you can find a way to identify the gender of the narrator early on. A stranger on one’s roof would be seen as a different kind of threat to a woman versus a man, I think. If a woman, her first impulse says she’s a strong, relatively fearless one. Me, I suspect I’d be going to get my phone and call the police. Society is a little too random and dangerous for me to calmly assess a man and a dog on top of my supposedly safe roof. This is, after all, a huge breach of safety.

Nice work, Lexi. Thanks.

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

Flogometer for Jae—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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Jae’s opening lines:

"Hurry, or they'll close the gate!" Rika gripped Jo's arm and dragged her over cobblestones slick with snow. Dawn hadn't yet broken through the clouds, but Rika knew they didn't have much time.

Jo's breath rattled in her chest and condensed in the chill air. "I can't." A coughing spell shook her slight frame and bent her in half. When she straightened, a streetlamp's yellow gaslight revealed angry blotches on Jo's otherwise pale cheeks. She gave Rika a smile. "Go on without me. I'll be there in a minute. Just need to catch my breath."

What Jo needed was to get out of the stuffy, lint-filled weave room that made even the healthiest among them cough. But, like Rika, she didn't have much choice. With no husband and no family to take care of her, the cotton mill was her only means of support.

"No," Rika said. The first horsecar of the day clattered up the hill, and Rika raised her voice so Jo would hear her over the stamping of hooves. "I won't leave you here alone."

Another cough prevented Jo from answering.

Rika's throat constricted. She handed Jo a handkerchief. She wished she could do more, but what? Maybe if she gave her this week's pay, Jo would agree to see a doctor.

"Come on." Rika took hold of Jo's arm. "If we're late..." She didn't need to finish her sentence. They both knew what would happen if the overseers found their looms idle after the five o'clock (snip)

I waffled…

…which, for some agents, would mean no turn of the page. They’re both sympathetic characters, though, and it has a chance of a page turn. I liked the scene, and the historical nature of the story. The voice is clear and the writing good.

But the tension is low, and I have a feeling that this story starts about a chapter sooner than it should. Briefly, her friend dies, she loses her job, but she has her friend’s train ticket to go to her friend’s fiancée—a man neither of them know, but a marriage has been arranged.

While this first chapter is well written and portrays the hell Rika is living in, it really isn’t the start of the story. The story starts when Rika arrives out west and steps off the train to meet a man that she doesn’t know and is expecting someone else. Now THAT’s a story. Notes:

"Hurry, or they'll close the gate!" Rika gripped Jo's arm and dragged her over cobblestones slick with snow. Dawn hadn't yet broken through the clouds, but Rika knew they didn't have much time.

Jo's breath rattled in her chest and condensed in the chill air. "I can't." A coughing spell shook her slight frame and bent her in half. When she straightened, a streetlamp's yellow gaslight revealed angry blotches on Jo's otherwise pale cheeks. She gave Rika a smile. "Go on without me. I'll be there in a minute. Just need to catch my breath."

What Jo needed was to get out of the stuffy, lint-filled weave room that made even the healthiest among them cough. But, like Rika, she didn't have much choice. With no husband and no family to take care of her, the cotton mill was her only means of support.

"No," Rika said. The first horsecar of the day clattered up the hill, and Rika raised her voice so Jo would hear her over the stamping of hooves. "I won't leave you here alone."

Another cough prevented Jo from answering.

Rika's throat constricted. She handed Jo a handkerchief. She wished she could do more, but what? Maybe if she gave her this week's pay, Jo would agree to see a doctor.

"Come on." Rika took hold of Jo's arm. "If we're late..." She didn't need to finish her sentence. They both knew what would happen if the overseers found their looms idle after the five o'clock (snip) (I think it’s more effective to let the reader know what would happen, even if only by relating what happened to the last girl who was a minute late. The reader might assume what would happen, but can’t really know.)

Nicely done, Jae, but take a look at starting the story much later.

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