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

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Update. Taking the day off for the holiday. See you tomorrow or Wednesday.

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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 23 The prophet sees the light

. 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 or 17 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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David’s opening lines:

Riberalta, Bolivia

Guillermo had to confess. He made his way to the cathedral. A hot wind blew across the road, ruffling tattered leaves on the palms and raising sheets of dust. He carried a parakeet, feathers twinkling as green as the river, in a small cage. In front of the doors, he stamped his feet on the stones to loosen dust from his sandals.

Inside, the air smelled of ashes. Gilt flickered in the light of guttering candles. Guillermo hobbled past empty pews.

A man's voice broke the silence. "If you've come for Mass, you're too late."

A young priest, eyes black as his cassock, stared at him. White collar torn from his throat, he leaned against a column, gripping a bottle of singani.

"If you please, Father. I want to make a confession."

The priest laughed and wiped his mouth. "And what is it an old man would have to confess, eh?"

His eyes burned brightly and his face shined with sweat. Not from the heat and the alcohol, Guillermo could see, but from the fever of the mosquito. Maybe Guillermo should return to Terasu. But he couldn't. Not without absolution. The guilt weighed too heavily. Couldn't any priest, even this one, hear his confession?

Just enough

The voice is solid, the writing clean, and there was just enough story question raised for me to want more—what is it that Guillermo has to confess that causes such guilt? This also promises a look into a world unfamiliar to me. Notes:

Riberalta, Bolivia

Guillermo had to confess. He made his way to the cathedral. A hot wind blew across the road, ruffling tattered leaves on the palms and raising sheets of dust. He carried a parakeet, feathers twinkling as green as the river, in a small cage. In front of the doors, he stamped his feet on the stones to loosen dust from his sandals.

Inside, the air smelled of ashes. Gilt flickered in the light of guttering candles. Guillermo hobbled past empty pews.

A man's voice broke the silence. "If you've come for Mass, you're too late."

A young priest, eyes black as his cassock, stared at him. White collar torn from his throat, he leaned against a column, gripping a bottle of singani. (While I’m guessing that singani is an alcoholic beverage of some kind, I don’t really know what it is. I think it would be good to define it in context. For example [and I’m just making this up] … a bottle of singani, the same cheap red wine peasants drank.)

"If you please, Father. I want to make a confession."

The priest laughed and wiped his mouth. "And what is it an old man would have to confess, eh?"

His eyes burned brightly and his face shined with sweat. Not from the heat and the alcohol, Guillermo could see, but from the fever of the mosquito. Maybe Guillermo should return to Terasu. But he couldn't. Not without absolution. The guilt weighed too heavily. Couldn't any priest, even this one, hear his confession? (For me, eyes burning brightly didn’t really create an image. Can the description be more visual, i.e. His red-rimmed eyes glittered. . .)

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

[Q of D]

I can easily picture the scene and that's a very good sign.

I'm not going to argue with the priest speaking out of character; after all, the man is drunk and having him speak in an unpriestly manner emphasizes the point.

What I do have issue with are the comparisons such as "green as the river" and "black as his cassock." If I saw too much more of that kind of thing I'd put the book down.

There's nothing wrong with "his black eyes burned brightly" if you don't have anything
more original. I suggest sparing use of comparisons if they don't really pop.

Peter Carey writes brilliant metaphors. I've sworn off them completely until I can do them as well as he can!

[David Greer]

Thank you Ray and floggers for your thoughtful comments. I have revised the text, which is available at http://eduardosparakeets.blogspot.com/

[Christine H]

I liked this very much! The parakeet in particular was an intriguing detail. I love the voice and all the descriptions. The scene is quite vivid, and, I wouldn't change it too much.

One little thing - I would probably say his face "shone" with sweat instead of "shined." But perhaps that's old-fashioned.

I think the last line is totally appropriate and wouldn't change it.