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.
A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.
Storytelling Checklist
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.
Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.
- Story questions
- Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)
- Voice
- Clarity
- Scene-setting
- Character
Stella has sent a rewrite of the first chapter of The Male Amendment. It’s very different from the original.
Keep moving.
That worked most of the time. So did going to karate class on days the dreams came. I went almost every evening. Tonight was no different.
I made dinner. A tuna sandwich and some nuked water in the microwave for tea. I headed to the only chair in the place; a plastic lawn chair on the balcony. Setting the plate and mug on the chair, I headed back to the fridge for some mustard. I scratched at my left wrist but forced myself to stop.
I’d reached the fridge when a loud crash sent me diving to the floor. My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my ribs. I covered my head waiting for the mortar rubble to fall. The desert sand in my mouth tasted like it had so many times before, dust and grit.
A wail of pain made me forget my panic.
This wasn’t a desert. This was my apartment. The crash had come from Mrs. Bateman’s place next door.
I pushed off the floor and ran out into the hall and banged on her door.
“Mrs. Bateman? Are you all right?” I jammed my ear against the painted wood.
I listened, held my breath and strained to hear anything, even the buzzing of light bulbs.
“Help. I-I can’t move,” the plea was full of wobbly fear.
Yep
All the elements are here—setting, character, an immediate scene, story questions, and voice. The character is sympathetic—troubled, but reacting instantly to someone else’s problem. The writing is good and clean, but there are a couple of notes:
Keep moving.
That worked most of the time. So did going to karate class on days the dreams came. I went almost every evening. Tonight was no different.
I made dinner. A tuna sandwich and some nuked water in the microwave for tea. I headed to the only chair in the place; a plastic lawn chair on the balcony. Setting the plate and mug on the chair, I headed back to the fridge for some mustard. I scratched at my left wrist but forced myself to stop. For me, a slight logical inconsistency: if I were making a sandwich, I would put all the ingredients on then—why add mustard to a tuna sandwich later? I understand that the narrative wants to put the food down so that the next action can happen, but this isn’t credible to me. Why not just have the crash happen and the character hit the floor, spilling the food and tea? That makes it even more dramatic and reflexive.
I’d reached the fridge when a loud crash sent me diving to the floor. My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my ribs. I covered my head waiting for the mortar rubble to fall. The desert sand in my mouth tasted like it had so many times before, dust and grit. Nice way to introduce character and the veteran experience.
A wail of pain made me forget my panic. For me, this is a bit too dry and removed, a “telling.” Where is the pain? Is it physical or mental? It’s not clear how pain could make the character forget the panic.
This wasn’t a desert. This was my apartment. The crash had come from Mrs. Bateman’s place next door.
I pushed off the floor and ran out into the hall and banged on her door.
“Mrs. Bateman? Are you all right?” I jammed my ear against the painted wood. I would delete “painted.” I appreciate the need to avoid repeating “door,” though.
I listened, held my breath and strained to hear anything, even the buzzing of light bulbs.
“Help. I-I can’t move,.” the The plea was full of wobbly fear.
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
design ad: Fuze—Molly
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
- your title
- your complete 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
- Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins.
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
- And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
- If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
© 2012 Ray Rhamey
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