But first, a question from Dorothy. She asks about this part of the narrative in Flogometer entry number 23:
"Alex saw his mother, Sophie . . ."
That bit represents something I struggle with all the time, which is how to convey information but still stay in POV. On one hand, the reader needs to know the relationship between the characters and probably also needs to know their names (just because it's easier for the author to refer to them that way), so the author slips us this info pretty gracefully here. On the other hand, Alex isn't going to be thinking of the woman in the car as "his mother, Sophie." He probably thinks of her just as his mother. So what's an author to do?
I know. I didn't comment on that at the time because there was more to deal with, but it is an awkward issue. I usually look for another, nearby opportunity to slip in the name after the relationship, or give it to another character to say out loud. In this instance, the father could have called out to her (because she's crying),
"It'll be okay, Sophie."
Sometimes it's easiest and just fine to bite the bullet, i.e.
Alex's mother, Sophie, etc.
Or use the name in the next sentence:
Sophie's tears welled down her cheeks…etc.
And now for Flogometer 24.
The challenge: a first page that compels you to turn to the next page. Note: the first Flogometer post is here.
There is a key aspect of this book that you ought to know before reading and, if you were a bookstore browser, an agent, or an editor, before reading the first page you would know that it's a cat's story.
Here are the first 16 lines:
Just after dark, death grabbed me by the ass. Literally. The moon was out, cool September breezes were scented with hints that fall was coming, and I was trotting over a mound of fresh earth, not an uncommon thing in a graveyard, my mind on a svelte little Siamese over on 15th Street who was coming into heat. A hand shot up out of the dirt and grabbed my hind legs.
I twisted and went for the hand with my claws, but another hand burst out and caught my neck, and the two snapped my body straight. A woman's face poked out of the ground. She sat up, holding me in front of her. I figured I was about to kiss my furry butt goodbye, and I was right. Sort of.
The woman looked to be thirty-something. Dirty blonde hair
-- with dirt, that is. Her bulging eyes were scary, but I forgot all about her eyes when she put her mouth on my throat and bit. She got her teeth into my skin and I felt a warm rush of blood. Putting her lips to the wound, she sucked and slurped. Strength and will drained out of me, along with the sweet sauce of life.I didn't even have enough energy to have regrets except, maybe, for peeing on my associate Amy's bed because she switched brands of cat food without asking. A petty thing for me to do, I admit.
Does it pass the test? It's your turn to critique the critiquer. Feedback welcome
While you're at it, what did you think of the first-ever Flogometer?
When you give your feedback on the narrative above, please do the same on the Flogometer experience. It's been fun for me, and always educational.
Should I do it again?
See you tomorrow
For what it's worth,
Ray
Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter as an attachment and I'll critique the first couple of pages as I've been doing in the Flogometer.
ARCHIVES .
© 2007 Ray Rhamey