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.
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.
- Tension
- Story questions
- Voice
- Clarity
- Scene setting
- Character
Kelley’s opening page:
Starting over. That was the whole point of this, right? Then why do I feel such a strong sensation pulling me backward, back to my empty house in the only city I’ve ever called home? With each mile of pavement under the tires, the sensation grows inside me like the mountains rising on the horizon. What used to be a slight nag has now become full-blown anxiety and alarm so intense I’m starting to feel nauseous.
My mind seemed at ease for most of the drive, and I clearly remember feeling a shred of optimism as I watched the Chicago skyline fade in my rear-view mirror a few days ago. I couldn’t have imagined the only positive emotion I’ve had in such a long time. Why the apprehension now? I hoped that putting physical distance between myself and my old life would free me from at least a portion of my torment, from some of the weight pressing down on me every day. I know better than to think I can live happily again, but is just a tiny bit of relief too much to ask?
I can blame some of my unease on this unfamiliar land, now more unfamiliar with the arrival of the vast mountains fading into the horizon and getting closer, fast. The open air, the flat ground surrounding me, and the ceaseless, oppressive sky make little effort to provide any cover from my past. They specialize in full, honest exposure with no apologies. I am a lightning rod out here. I cannot hide. There is nowhere to blend in, and it is going to take some strength to get (snip)
Despite virtues, no turn for me
I like the voice, and the writing is refreshingly clean and solid. That this character is troubled is clear, but not by what. Fundamentally, nothing much happens in this opening. It’s backstory and scene-setting and a reference to unhappy times. She’s driving, and she feels bad. The rest of the chapter is similar in nature—she stops for gas, nearly passes out, and is helped by a local. Then she arrives at her destination, a Montana town, and goes to the house she has bought or rented. That’s it.
Nary an inciting incident appeared, no event or incident that
impacted her life and forced her to react, to take action. Thus, for
this reader, no story and no tension. Your writing is good, Kelley, and
you should be encouraged. But look for the point in your story when
something happens to this person that blocks or takes away something she
needs badly, and she is compelled to react, to take action to get what
she must have (and that will be frustrated). A few notes:
Starting over. That was the whole point of this, right? Then why do I feel such a strong sensation pulling me backward, back to my empty house in the only city I’ve ever called home? With each mile of pavement under the tires, the sensation grows inside me like the mountains rising on the horizon. What used to be a slight nag has now become full-blown anxiety and alarm so intense I’m starting to feel nauseous. (I’m not a fan of the “started to” construction, nor of using the word “feel.” Can you come closer to show us her feeling? Thoughtstarter: … anxiety and alarm so intense that nausea curdles in my stomach. Continuity point: it seems to say that she has an empty house in Chicago, yet she goes to a new house in Montana. Does she own both, or has she actually sold the Chicago house?)
My mind seemed at ease for most of the drive, and I clearly remember feeling a shred of optimism as I watched the Chicago skyline fade in my rear-view mirror a few days ago. I couldn’t have imagined the only positive emotion I’ve had in such a long time. Why the apprehension now? I hoped that putting physical distance between myself and my old life would free me from at least a portion of my torment, from some of the weight pressing down on me every day. I know better than to think I can live happily again, but is just a tiny bit of relief too much to ask? (If we had any idea of what her torment was, or an aspect of the old life that caused it, this could be more effective. As it is, she’s referring to things that she knows but the reader, having no idea what they are, ends up with not much meaning. I’m not saying to slip into backstory—never!—but, for example, if she has left a broken marriage behind, or there was a death, or a murder, or something solid the reader can latch on to. But this is all vague and unknowable.)
I can blame some of my unease on this unfamiliar land, now more unfamiliar with the arrival of the vast mountains fading into the horizon and getting closer, fast. The open air, the flat ground surrounding me, and the ceaseless, oppressive sky make little effort to provide any cover from my past. They specialize in full, honest exposure with no apologies. I am a lightning rod out here. I cannot hide. There is nowhere to blend in, and it is going to take some strength to get (snip) (She refers to her past, but what is there about it that’s so traumatic? As in my notes above, this narrative, while nicely written, doesn’t engage us in something happening to this character, in my view. If she’s trying to escape, and that’s her current desire, then maybe the story starts when something happens that could prevent that.)
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred):
- your title
- your 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.
© 2010 Ray Rhamey
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