First, a brief workshop report. I did a version of the Flogometer in a workshop for the Writer's Weekend conference in Seattle on the 1st. It was a fine group of about 14 writers, 5 of whom had submitted samples. I led the group in discussions about whether or not the first page was compelling enough, and then what to do to make it more so.
It seems counter-intuitive, but the critiqued writers came up to me
afterwards, and after having their work deconstructed by a bunch of
strangers, gave me big smiles and thanked me. Hurt me good.
You guys are great!
And that's what you've done for me with your insights on the opening lines of my WIP. You'll see below a rewritten version of the first 16 lines, and then a question about an alternative opening chapter.
The results:
- Would turn the page: 10
- Would not turn the page: 7
- No answer (but probably not, I'm guessing): 2
But first, a little about the critiques you gave. If you've read through the comments, you might have thought, as it occurred to me, that these readers couldn't be reading the same material, so diverse were their reactions. They ranged from "boring" to "information rich."
Just goes to show you the remarkably subjective nature of this business. And you know that agents are just as all over the lot when they're reacting to your submission. Kinda illuminates the odds against us, doesn't it?
That "present tense" thing
Almost half of the commenters were bothered by the present tense. I don't blame them, the first time I read a novel in present tense it bothered me, too. You've made me wonder if that was a factor in some agent rejections of partials.
It was written in present tense for a technical reason: one of the characters narrated the story in first person, and that character died in the end. So the character couldn't use past tense.
But I've since turned that character's narration into third person, and there's no real reason to keep the present tense. Today I just finished turning the whole thing, all 78,000 words, into past tense. What a fun chore that was!
Good suggestions
Several folks made excellent suggestions that helped free me from what was written. In particular was the notion of starting with the helicopter. You'll see in the rewrite. Thanks.
There were other good suggestions and comments that I'm applying to the narrative as well. Man, do those fresh eyes help. I told you that I was just much too close to this to see the flaws (it doesn't matter that I'm an editor when I'm in my writer persona). I had a feeling that there was work to be done, but I just couldn't see what or where. As I said, you guys are great.
Things that don't really help
For a number of people, the content was problematic. For some, this just wasn't their genre. Old sailing ships mixed with modern helicopters was a suspension of belief they just couldn't make. For another reader, that combination raised story questions that propelled him/her forward. Go figure. In terms of a critique, that kind of information doesn't help a writer deal with storytelling issues. If it's just not your kind of story, that's okay. I can't change that.
If one reader hates the idea of blue velvet curtains, well, the reaction is so subjective that I can't generalize. The one area where content reactions can help, though, is that if a number of readers object to a particular element, then the writer knows there's a problem.
I could go on, but this is long enough already. I will be going through the deeper comments some readers left about the following chapters and making good use of your fresh view. Thank you again.
Following is the rewrite du jour of the opening page. Let me know what you think, and if it makes a difference in whether or not you'd turn the page.
The percussive whup-whup-whup of a helicopter drew Drago to a porthole in his galleon's quarterdeck cabin. In the forest clearing where his ship and two others of his clan rested, a half-dozen clan children, teens to toddlers, built a snowman. The tall curved hulls of the sixteenth-century Spanish vessels, all grace when they sailed through the air, now seemed awkward, supports angling out like spider legs to hold them upright. The daylight was dim under the gray sky, but that didn't seem to matter to the children.
The helicopter noise smothered their giggles, and the galleons vanished behind glaméres of snow-clad forest, the illusions broadcast by alert sentries.
All save one of the children disappeared as well, disguised as young trees. Little Alexandra, her skills not yet awakened, burst into tears. Before Drago could move to help her, a sapling scooped up the child. In the flicker of a thought, a fat squirrel appeared in her place.
The helicopter sound faded, the ships and children blinked back into view, and a snowball fight developed. Intrusions by lessi
-- and the danger they brought-- were normal to clan children, but for Drago they were a long-endured infestation that he would soon eliminate.He'd rather have been basking in Louisiana sunshine with the rest of his clan, not skulking in a forest preserve on the outskirts of Chicago. But his research into recombinant DNA . . .
An alternative
The story used to open what became the second chapter in this iteration
So tell me, which do you think is the most engaging? I'm
particularly interested in what women think, seeing as how they buy the
majority of books. Here 'tis:
A slender man in a black overcoat, half-hidden by one of the bronze lions that guarded the Chicago Art Institute, targeted Ailia with a small video camera. Alarm pierced her gloom, and she stopped at the bottom stair step. His camera would see through her glamére
-- an illusion that, to the naked eye, disguised her short platinum bob with brown curls, and a dark tan to conceal flesh so white it sometimes looked bluish. She turned her face away.Oh, for times past when only touch could put the lie to the mask of a glamére.
The January wind whipped her long coat and thrust icy talons under her dress, greedy for her warmth. Named the Hawk by the people of this city, she wondered if it wished it were a summer breeze instead of a harbinger of death.
From the side of her eye, she saw the slender man's lips move, and the wind carried his words to her. "I think I got one."
Shielding her face with her hood, Ailia shifted her gaze to the man, and he jerked the camera away to pan across the front of the Institute. She saw yellow-green strands of deceit blossom within the aura around his head
-- he wanted to hide his purpose.But what did it matter? It could have nothing to do with her.
Besides, she was going to die today.
Thanks for your help. We will return to our regular flogging schedule later this week.
Many thanks for your help and insights.
Ray
Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
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© 2007 Ray Rhamey