Flogging the Quill

Flogometer: a page-turner, for sure

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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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This is for Clayton. Here are the first 16 lines:

Day 1

Flagstaff nights are cold; I drink a quarter of my flask of Jack in two gulps. There's a crew of secessionists in the cabin behind me, bitching about the same old. It's endless, and that's why it's got to end.

I'm on the porch wondering when I should tell the boys to get lost. They've got guns, but won't use them. They've got the same reasons to be pissed as I do. A tax code seventeen thousand pages long, for shit's sake. But they'd rather drink beer and fart than defend themselves against the almighty Machine. And what am I doing? Sitting here drinking whiskey and thinking about a dead woman's feet.

One more gulp of Jack and I'm going in. The only one that has any stones is George Murray -- the bastard's lugging around a set of cannonballs. The IRS closed his bait shop and he's stockpiling black powder. He's raising a fuss and I want to hear it.

"We ought to firebomb 'em," Murray says. "Hit the IRS, courthouses, Fish and Game. Then they'll know what we're about."

I stand at the door beside a floodlight swarming with moths. Murray and Charlie Yellow Horse, a white man with a sixteenth of Apache blood on his mother's side, are nose to nose.

"Fucking moron," Yellow Horse says.

This is fun. Engaging voice, the promise of lots of conflict, more-than-interesting characters (a guy with "cannonballs" -- I love it), emotion (the narrator's anger), and plenty of story questions. What's going to happen with the black powder. What are Murray and Charlie Yellow Horse going to do? What is our hero going to do? Sounds like a revolt against the government...or maybe even acts of homegrown terror.

I read the rest of the chapter, and it crackled with action and good dialogue. Clayton wove bits of backstory in that just deepened my curiosity, and he gets the narrator into deep trouble, all in just seven compelling pages.

And the writing is strong, the kind that sweeps me along and I have to read at least twice to see any soft spots -- and I didn't see anything worth noting here. Well, one little thing: I wished I'd heard the narrator's name at least once. I think there's an opportunity when he and Yellow Horse are burying Murray. Twice would be better.

Excellent work, in my view, Clayton. Are you submitting this?

Comments?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: if only something was happening…

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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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This is for Steve. Here are the first 16 lines:

August 1918 -- There were few childhood memories Jonathan Spence would recall with delight; only one brought him back to better times. On a warm August morning, restless in his bed, he waited for the sun to peek over the horizon. His mother had promised this would be a day of celebration, and he could have whatever he wished for breakfast. Today was his birthday, and he was seven years old. Jonathan asked his mother for one thing -- a stack of soft warm pancakes, dripping in soft butter, and maple syrup.

The furtive light of a rising sun arrived through tattered hand sewn curtains announcing the start of the day. Jonathan Spence flung his bed sheet in a single transfer, and sprung from the well-worn mattress. He grabbed his overalls off the bedpost, pulled up one leg while bouncing on the other, as he dashed down the hallway toward the kitchen, as fast as his gangly legs would carry him. Running up behind his mother, he wrapped his arms around her legs. The softness of her handmade dress against his face, and the smell of fresh air from her clothing gave him comfort. Surprised with his arrival, she smiled.

"Good Morning Jonathan!" she said, in a soft sweet tone reflective of her Southern Appalachian childhood. "You're risin' up awful early this morning. Is something going on I should know about?"

For me, there was no real tension in this opening, no compelling story questions raised. What happens is that a boy wakes up on his birthday morning and runs downstairs to get the breakfast of his dreams. There's no real hint of trouble to come.

In fact, the opening sentence seems to tell us that we're about to endure read a lot of backstory -- we're talking about memories right up front. That suggests we're not going to get the real story at the start, but the backstory that "helps" us understand the real story.

I was a little torn on voice, too. The opening line suggests that this story is narrated by the adult Jonathon, but then it goes into the experience of the boy. But (for me, remember how subjective this is) then there were references to details that would not have been part of a little boy's perceptions or thoughts. For example, that the mother's dress was handmade. I also felt a case of overwriting coming on, and that's what I found in the narrative that followed. Some notes on this opening:

August 1918 -- There were few childhood memories Jonathan Spence would recall with delight; only one brought him back to better times. On a warm August morning, restless in his bed, he waited for the sun to peek over the horizon. His mother had promised this would be a day of celebration, and he could have whatever he wished for breakfast. Today was his birthday, and he was seven years old. Jonathan asked his mother for one thing -- a stack of soft warm pancakes, dripping in soft butter, and maple syrup.

The furtive light of a rising sun arrived through tattered hand-sewn curtains announcing the start of the dayRising sun equals start of day, so this is redundant -- some of that overwriting that I mentioned.. Jonathan Spence flung his bed sheet in a single transfer I have no idea what is meant by "a single transfer", and sprung from the well-worn mattress. He grabbed his overalls off the bedpost, pulled up one leg while bouncing on the other, as he and dashed down the hallway toward the kitchen, as fast as his gangly legs would carry him. Running up behind his mother, he wrapped his arms around her legs. The softness of her handmade dress against his face, and the smell of fresh air from her clothing gave him comfort. Surprised with his arrival, she smiled. The details that don't "sound" like a little boy include "furtive light," "gangly legs," "hand-sewn," and "handmade dress." This writing takes me out of the experience of a little boy and distances me via details described with language only an adult/author would use.

"Good Mmorning Jonathan!" she said, in a soft sweet tone reflective of her Ssouthern Appalachian childhood. "You're risin' up awful early this morning. Is something going on I should know about?" This whole phrase -- "soft sweet tone reflective of her Southern Appalachian childhood" -- is clearly nothing that would be going through the mind of a 7-year-old with pancakes in his future, IMO. It's an author telling me something he/she thinks I need to know.

There you have it. I believe good fiction, to be truly good fiction, needs to evoke in the reader something approximating the experience the protagonist is having. In this case, it's more of a relating of a story, not an immersion into experience.

I think, Steve, that you can get to where you need to go. There's some nice writing, and a clear picture of what's going on. But the pace is slow, and the tension not there. I suggest you locate the inciting incident for your character and start as close to that as you can.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: nothing like a murder to get you going

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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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This is for Jude. Here are the first 16 lines:

When you walk into a motel room in St. Augustine, Florida, and find the only woman who ever really mattered lying on the floor with a hole in her head, a chill slithers up your spine and your good knee buckles.

Your gut feels like you swallowed a bowl of pennies.

You lift the tail of your Hawaiian shirt, ease the Smith and Wesson from its holster and scan the room, knowing the most beautiful girl in the world did not do this to herself. You push the bathroom door open, find nothing but a toothbrush and a tube of Crest with the cap off.

You catch your own reflection in the mirror. You look older than you did an hour ago.

I hadn't seen Nancy for over twenty-five years, but her hair was still black and her eyes -- staring blankly at the ceiling now -- still green. The lips I had kissed a million times hung slack, frozen in a pout, and a thin trail of blood ran from the corner of her mouth to the carpet.

I knelt down, careful not to disturb any evidence, and checked her neck for a pulse. Nada. Her face had the waxen sheen of a mannequin.

A pillow lay close to Nancy's right arm, along with a .22 caliber revolver. The pillow had a hole in it, and a burn mark from the muzzle flash. Otherwise, the room looked undisturbed.

Nancy's suitcase was on the bed, unopened, along with an expensive-looking black

Nice. Even the use of the second person at the opening was done well, used just enough to draw me in, and then the voice of the narrator took over. I turned the page and was glad that I did -- a good old private eye story with a sardonic narrator.

I thought there was good characterization, done through description the way I like it -- the buckling knee, the Hawaiian shirt, looking older. The story question was loud and clear -- what happened to the woman? And the writer quickly gave the character a reason to care -- motivation is good.

To pick a nit or two, I wonder about "The lips I had kissed a million times hung slack, frozen in a pout." Hanging slack implies loose lips and an open mouth, yet when I think of a pout (and make one), my lips are closed. I'm not able to visualize what a slack pout looks like.

He refers to the woman as a "girl," but it doesn't feel right to me to call a woman who is in her thirties a girl. I suggest that switch to "woman."

And "careful not to disturb any evidence," while probably an acceptable use of telling to move things forward, felt a little flat. I think this narrator's cop background could have been a little better displayed with a little more thought. For example, "I scanned the floor next to her for evidence. Seeing nothing, I knelt…" etc. Just a thought, though, for more of a picture.

Nice work. Good luck with it.

Comments?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: lack of tension gave me pause

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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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This is for Kathy. Here are the first 16 lines:

Gaunt, grey-haired Mrs. Priestley peered through half-moon glasses at the paperwork. "You might need some extra help with history," she stated, her mouth grim.

Ten-year-old Melissa squirmed as she sat in front of the woman. After the Christmas break, Melissa and her mother had arrived at Erickson Elementary School to sign her up for fifth grade. The principal, Mrs. Priestley, had invited them into the office for a brief chat about Melissa's past learning.

Now the woman's sharp gaze seemed to pierce Melissa's skull right into her mind, sensing her dislike for school. Melissa shrunk in the chair.

"What do you suggest?" Melissa's mother asked.

"We can maybe find her a tutor -- or friend." A quick smile flashed on Mrs. Priestley's lips and then disappeared. She continued. "Melissa seems to have covered similar ground in the other subjects." The principal paged through the papers. "I can put her in Mrs. Hanson's class and see how she does."

Mrs. Priestley briskly led Melissa and her mom to a fifth-grade classroom where a plump teacher was writing fractions on the blackboard.

"Welcome to Erickson." Mrs. Priestley's lips stretched for a second as she opened the door.

Considering that the idea here is for a narrative to compel turning the page, this gentle introduction to a girl's first day at school lacked the promise of drama to come. While all of us who have started at a new school can emphasize with Melissa, the situation is ordinary. There's no hint of jeopardy ahead for her, no desire of hers has been frustrated. The remainder of the chapter had, for me, similar shortcomings. Melissa goes to a ballet class and, through pages and pages of dance moves, encounters an arrogant, snotty girl. The amount of description without conflict that had consequences would have stopped me for sure.

On the craft side, there's clean writing here, but I felt that the writer wasn't reflecting the voice of a ten-year-old. The level of language here, and through the rest of the chapter, was that of an adult. In my view, it should "feel" more like it is narrated by a child.

Some notes:

Gaunt, grey-haired Mrs. Priestley peered through half-moon glasses at the paperwork.  "You might need some extra help with history," she stated, her mouth grim. Would a child use the word "gaunt?" I'm one of those who thinks "said" is the best dialogue verb for 99% of cases, so "stated" put me off a little. I'll admit that's a bit subjective. However, and keeping in mind the way a child might say it, rather than "stated" and "grim," wouldn't this be more in character if it were: Her mouth turned down at the corners when she said, "You might need extra help with history." And "some" is one of those meaningless waste words that hardly ever add any meaning.

Ten-year-old Melissa squirmed as she sat in front of the woman. After the Christmas break, Melissa and her mother had arrived at Erickson Elementary School to sign her up for fifth grade. The principal, Mrs. Priestley, had invited them into the office for a brief chat about Melissa's past learning. Two things about stating the age here: Melissa would not think of herself as a ten-year-old, so it wouldn't be in her thoughts here, and the mention of fifth grade also gives us an idea of age.

Now the woman's sharp gaze seemed to pierce Melissa's skull right into her mind, sensing her dislike for school. Melissa shrunk in the chair. Here's another example of adult language in the head of a child: "sensing her dislike" I think a child would use simpler words such as "seeing how much she didn't like school."

"What do you suggest?" Melissa's mother asked For me, to use "asked" after a sentence that ends with a question mark is redundant. "Said" would be better for me.

Mrs. Priestley briskly led Melissa and her mom to a fifth-grade classroom where a plump teacher was writing fractions on the blackboard. The adverb does little to give a picture -- how about "Walking so fast it was hard to keep up, Mrs. Priestly led…" Also, I'd avoid the use of "was" and a particle -- it's crisper writing to say that the teacher "wrote fractions on the blackboard.

"Welcome to Erickson." Mrs. Priestley's lips stretched for a second as she opened the door. Once again, I think the narrative goes beyond a child's rendition of events with "lips stretched," which is a little vague -- what does it mean that they "stretched" I can think of several ways to stretch my lips. I'd urge you to give a more concrete picture here.

While this critique might seem stern, the intent is to help you focus on what each and every phrase and word does -- I call it writing for effect. Also, if you want the voice of the narrative to be that of an adult, then I think it needs to be established up front that this is the adult telling the story of her childhood. Otherwise, simplify and try to express the child's experience in the ways a child would.

Any comments to offer?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: turned the page, but craft needs work

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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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This is for Mark. Here are the first 16 lines:

The water world of Ziag  - more eons ago than can be counted:

From a place beyond time and space, the thought entered the dying white dwarf's essence;  "It is time to join us child."

From the midst of the Star's ebbing white light of life came the reply; "I can not great Mother. They are my children."

"I foresee terrible things for you if you do not join us now ... Monsters."

"I gave my word."

"I understand. We will all await you my treasure. Your time will come again and when you are ready we will be here."

One soul in two bodies. With his beloved j swimming along side him, even after thousands of seasons R was so intoxicated by her beauty that for a second, he actually forgot to breathe. J was the loveliest thing he could imagine being in the universe, and they had been inseparable for as long as either could remember. R watched the soft golden radiance of her as the light bathed them both, talking to him, comforting him, as it had done since the beginning of days.

"Do not be afraid my little one." the white light of life told him.

R closed his eyes and trembled. "I feel it Mother."

Hmmm. Maybe it's because I've long been a science fiction fan, but there was enough mystery in this prologue to get me to turn the page even though I winced at a few comma faults. The narrative was brief indeed, only a page or so more. While I might well have gone on, the prologue didn't do anything to give me a clue as to what this novel was about, and that bothered me. There were things that hinted at meaning but lacked it, such as "one soul in two bodies" that raised a question that wasn't answered by the time the prologue ended (apparently with the Mother/sun going nova, maybe), and I wasn't happy about that. Maybe it would come out in the real story. Maybe that's why I'm not a fan of prologues -- I'd much, much, much rather be pulled into a story.

The writing seems appropriate to this kind of other-worldly scenario, although in a straight-forward narrative I might have found it to be overly stylized. Some notes -- I'll enclose added commas in parentheses so they'll be visible.

The water world of Ziag  - more eons ago than can be counted:

From a place beyond time and space, the thought entered the dying white dwarf's essence;(:)  "It is time to join us(,) child."

From the midst of the Star's ebbing white light of life came the reply;(:) "I can not(,) great Mother. They are my children."

"I foresee terrible things for you if you do not join us now ... Monsters."

"I gave my word."

"I understand. We will all await you(,) my treasure. Your time will come again(,) and when you are ready we will be here."

One soul in two bodies. With his beloved j swimming along side him, even after thousands of seasons R was so intoxicated by her beauty that for a second, he actually forgot to breathe. J was the loveliest thing he could imagine being in the universe, and they had been inseparable for as long as either could remember. R watched the soft golden radiance of her as the light bathed them both, talking to him, comforting him, as it had done since the beginning of days.  In the second sentence, the first clause doesn't really connect with the rest of the sentence for me. It's the "with." If he had gazed at j swimming alongside him, it would have been much smoother. The two clauses in the second sentence are unrelated as well -- what does her loveliness have to do with being inseparable? In the last sentence, which is doing the comforting, her golden radiance or the light? It would be good to be more clear.

"Do not be afraid(,) my little one(,)" the white light of life told him.

R closed his eyes and trembled. "I feel it(,) Mother."

As I said, apparently the prologue ended with R and j and their world blasted by the sun's nova. I found myself wishing that Mark had sent the opening chapter as well, so I could see how the prologue related to the story. Perhaps it served its purpose after all, but the story had darned well better relate.

How do you guys feel about this sample?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: almost turned the page, craft a stopper

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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.

---

This is for Richard. Here are the first 16 lines:

'Clank!' the sound of steel meeting steel resonated under the courtyard's walls. Sniffing, Red could tell they were boys before he looked - only whelps sweated under such frail blows. The smell of sweat in the quiet gloom of the keep's black shade felt pleasant comparing to the stench of the infirmary behind him, however. 'Clank!' The blows came slow, as though the combatants were waiting for each other to move before striking.

Red squeezed between the stone blocks of the rampart and leapt down into the courtyard, landing in a crouch. The fighting seized at once, both boys glaring at him through visors' slits, blades lowered. He did not need to order - the first boy held out the sword hilt-first towards him, which Red accepted and at once swept downwards. Blow landed upon the boy's plated shoulder, causing him to fall on all fours with a yelp. Second blow knocked the weapon out of the other fighter's hands, sending it flying into the wall.

'Pathetic,' he said, looking at the groaning boys at his feet, both holding their shoulders.
'Next time they should wear no armor, so the lesson sinks in a little better,' a feminine voice spoke and Red understood why he did not sense her coming - she carried no odor. He turned to face her. 'Do you wear armor?'

'Always, under the cloak. Western roads are unsafe even for a Lady.'

There are things to like about this. It opens with action and a scene that has conflict. It raises story questions, not the least of which was why the woman "carried no odor."

But those things weren't enough to overcome my feeling that the level of writing craft in this manuscript would require a fair amount of work to rise to a professional, publishable level. Some notes:

'Clank!' the sound of steel meeting steel resonated under the courtyard's walls. Sniffing, Red could tell they were boys before he looked - only whelps sweated under such frail blows. The scent smell of sweat in the quiet gloom of the keep's black shade felt pleasant compareding to the stench of the infirmary behind him, however. 'Clank!' The blows came slow, as though the combatants were waiting for each other to move before striking. Problems with the first sentence: Using sound effects in narrative is tricky. I think this would have been better if it had been something like: The clank of steel meeting steel… And how could sound resonate UNDER a courtyard's walls? Aren't they made of stone? Doesn't seem right. The last sentence is a little hard to parse. What about: The blows came slowly, as though each combatant waited for the other to move before striking.

Red squeezed between the stone blocks of the rampart and leapt down into the courtyard, landing in a crouch. The fighting seized at once, both boys glaring at him through visors' slits, blades lowered. He did not need to order - the first boy held out the sword hilt-first towards him, which Red accepted and at once swept downwards. His bBlow landed upon the boy's plated shoulder, causing him to fall on all fours with a yelp. His Ssecond blow knocked the weapon out of the other fighter's hands, sending it flying into the wall. Did you mean to say "ceased" where you have "seized"? I felt that the possessive for the visors was a little clumsy and made it harder to "see" the scene. Even though it's more words, I think it could be more clear, i.e. and the boys glared at him through the slits in their visors, then lowered their blades. I changed the last phrase because their blades would have probably not been lowered when he landed. I think "causing him to fall on all fours" could have been stronger, i.e. "knocked him to all fours"

'Pathetic,' he said, looking at the groaning boys at his feet, both holding their shoulders. I felt the participles weakened and complicated this and would like to see it broken up. For example, 'Pathetic,' he said. The boys groaned at his feet, holding their shoulders.

A woman's voice spoke behind him. 'Next time they should wear no armor, so the lesson sinks in a little better.' a feminine voice spoke and

Red turned to face her. He understood why he did had not sensed her coming - she carried no odor. He turned to face her. She said, 'Do you wear armor?' I broke this into more paragraphs for clarity. I think "a woman's voice" would be more clear than a "feminine" voice. As you see, that speech deserves to be its own paragraph, as does his response. I rearranged the last part for clarity and fixed a little grammar.

'Always, under the cloak. Western roads are unsafe even for a Lady.'

The story continues on in an interesting way -- Red and the woman have a brief sword fight, and we learn that they know each other -- but the narrative continued to be a little confusing and difficult to follow. In my view, narrative should go down like a spoonful of sugar -- pleasingly, with no effort required.

Still, Richard has a good story started, and lifting the craft could get him a read further down the line.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: good story question turned the page

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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.

---

This is for GC. Here are the first 16 lines:

In the back alleys of Spelin, between the city's finest orphanage and a bowyer's workshop, a ten-year-old boy stared, entranced, at the knife in his hands. He stared at it, not with the fascination of a child that has just found a new toy, but with a cold, silent focus. His right hand squeezed the hilt, his knuckles white and wrist quivering. He crept his left hand forward and ran the tip of his index finger along the blade, testing its sharpness.

He hissed as the knife proved its worth by opening a gash in his skin. Blood oozed from the wound, and the boy instinctively stuck his finger into his mouth. Tiny droplets of blood trickled down the blade, following its edge. It was no ordinary knife. It had an L-shaped curve, with the sharp edge along the inside of the blade: a kukri. It was designed for wide, slashing cuts, with the target being sliced deeply along the entirety of the blade. It was exceptional for cleaving through foliage. It cut through flesh just as easily. With enough force, it could decapitate a man. The boy wasn't strong enough for that... but he could do other things with such a blade - dangerous things.

He rose, letting the hand holding the kukri fall to his side. He stared at his reflection in the glass of the orphanage window. He was an unkempt little boy, with dirty-blond hair cropped haphazardly short, and skin soiled by mud and grime that had built up after weeks of not bathing.

Despite what is, to my taste, an occasional excess of language, I wanted to know more about this mysterious little boy and what he was going to do with the deadly knife, so I turned the page. Yes, he uses it, to lethal effect. But I felt that this opening, and the narrative that followed, could be tighter to yield a more involving pace. I know that fantasy such as this often employs this style, but that doesn't make it good storytelling.

The distance the writer keeps between me and "the boy" kept me from fully engaging with him. Perhaps that's the writer's intent. He never gives the boy a name, and his descriptions kept me outside. I'd have liked it better if he'd let me connect with the character.

Some notes on the narrative:

In the back alleys of Spelin, between the city's finest orphanage and a bowyer's workshop, a ten-year-old boy stared, entranced, at the knife in his hands. He stared at it, not with the fascination of a child that has just found a new toy, but with a cold, silent focus. His right hand squeezed the hilt, his knuckles white and wrist quivering. He crept his left hand forward and ran the tip of his index finger along the blade, testing its sharpness. The repetition of "stare" stood out. Perhaps a "gazed" for the first instance would help. The part about "not with the fascination of a child…" is an example of the arms-length approach that keeps the boy distant, and is clearly the author imparting information rather than letting us in on the experience the boy is having. Also, it's probably a personal, subjective thing, but I always balk when the narrative is so specific about whether it's a left or right hand that does something.

He hissed as when the knife proved its worth by opening a gash in his skin. Blood oozed from the wound, and the boy instinctively stuck his finger into his mouth. Tiny droplets of blood trickled down the blade, following its edge. It was no ordinary knife. ItThe kukri had an L-shaped curve, with the sharp edge along the inside of the blade's arc: a kukri. It was designed for wide, slashing cuts, with the target being sliced deeply along the entirety of the blade. It was exceptional for cleaving through foliage. It cut through flesh just as easily. With enough force, it could decapitate a man. The boy wasn't strong enough for that... but he could do other things with such a blade - dangerous things. I felt that the "ordinary knife" part was telling, and not needed.

He rose, letting the hand holding the kukri fall to his side. He and stared at his reflection in the glass of the orphanage window. He was an unkempt little boy, with dirty-blond hair cropped haphazardly short, and skin soiled by mud and grime that had built up after weeks of not bathing. The old "reflection" trick seems unnecessary here to give a description. Since we're "outside" of the boy's head in more of an omniscient mode, the writer could just go into description. And if the boy is going to look at his reflection, why not add an action to motivate it, such as having him nod at his reflection, or give himself an inspection?

The writing continued in this way -- good stuff, but frequently just a little too much of it for my taste and for good pacing. However, GC did a good job of using a dramatic scene for his prologue rather than the usual info dump. And it did leave me curious about who the boy was. But also wishing that I felt more for him. BTW, GC, you have the boy slice open his victim's neck and then the victim fall dead. I don't think anyone dies instantly from a slashed neck, so this cost you some credibility points. Death wouldn't happen until the victim bled out. More likely, the injured man would grab at his throat and writhe when he hit the ground. I think you need to be mindful of nuances such as this.

Nice work, and luck with your polishing and trimming.

Comments, anyone?
For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer: overwriting defeated potential

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, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

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.

---

This is for Richard. Here are the first 16 lines:

It almost made him gag, but he swallowed it anyway.

The coffee was from the dregs of the pot in the surgeons' lounge. It tasted horrible, but at 3 AM Dr. Ben Merrick needed something to keep him awake for the drive home. After an emergency appendectomy with an anesthesiologist whose attention kept wandering and a scrub nurse who didn't seem to know one end of a scalpel from the other, all he wanted was a warm bed and the chance to snatch a few hours of sleep.

Ben was running on fumes. His eyes burned. His shoulders ached. His mouth was foul with the acid taste of the coffee. Night call was for someone younger -- much younger. But all that was about to change, and he could hardly wait.

He gulped down the last of the coffee, tossed the Styrofoam cup into a trash barrel, and moved from the harsh white light of the hospital entrance into the gloom of the parking garage where his car sat alone in the darkest corner.

Ben fished his car keys out of the pocket of the white coat that covered his hospital scrubs, thumbed the remote and watched the lights of his Toyota blink in response. He was reaching for the door handle when something yanked him backward and cut off his air in mid-breath. He dropped the keys and reached up with both hands, his fingers prying without success at the arm

You would think an attack in a garage at three a.m. would be enough to make me turn the page, but it wasn't. For one thing, the extra length it causes in the narrative put the best part of the hook on the second page, the part about there being an arm around the doc's neck. The writing is sound, but in my view (subjective, remember) there was too much of it. Shall we take a look?

It almost made him gag, but he swallowed it anyway. This was interesting and sounded fraught, but I was disappointed when it turned out to just be bad coffee. For me, it was throat-clearing; bad coffee has nothing to do with the plot or the trouble this character is about to encounter.

The coffee was from the dregs of the pot in the surgeons' lounge. It tasted horrible, but This is unnecessary "telling" -- we've already been shown that it tastes bad. at 3 AM Dr. Ben Merrick needed something to keep him awake for the drive home. Style issue: numbers under ten should be spelled out (except online), and "a.m." should be punctuated with periods, and I prefer lower case. After an emergency appendectomy with an anesthesiologist whose attention kept wandering and a scrub nurse who didn't seem to know one end of a scalpel from the other "one end from the other" is a hoary cliché, all he wanted was a warm bed and the chance to snatch a few hours of sleep The reader will know what he wants the bed for, this isn't needed, IMO..

Ben was running on fumes. This is more "telling." The following description shows us this. His eyes burned. His shoulders ached. His mouth was foul with the acid taste of the coffee. Night call was for someone younger -- much younger. But all that was about to change, and he could hardly wait. This last sentence was good, raised a story question.

He gulped down the last of the coffee, tossed the Styrofoam cup into a trash barrel, and moved from the harsh white light of the hospital entrance into the gloom of the parking garage where his car sat alone in the darkest corner. More words wasted, in my view, with the coffee. Another thing: he "moved from" the hospital entrance to the gloom of the parking lot. If you really visualize the entrance of any hospital you've ever seen, it's a long way from there to any kind of parking. Why are we taking all of this story time just to move him? Why not start him out in the garage?

Ben fished out his car keys out of the pocket of the white coat that covered his hospital scrubs, Two things: wouldn't he have changed into his clothes? He wouldn't have worn his scrubs to the hospital. And all this description isn't terribly germane, I think. thumbed the remote, and watched the lights of his Toyota blinked in response. He was reaching for the door handle when something yanked him backward and cut off his air in mid-breath. He dropped the keys and reached up with both hands, his fingers prying without success grabbed at the arm

Okay. We need to establish that this is a doctor in the dead of the night in a dimly lit parking garage, and that he's attacked. But we don't get to the attack until the last sentence on the page, and not even all of that. If there'd been a hint of jeopardy at the very first, maybe I'd have waited, but all that about the coffee was, for me, wasting my valuable reader's time. And this could be an interesting story -- the doc ends up in a coffin, about to be buried alive. (By the way, Richard, you have the doc become unconscious and then wake up remembering that he's in the coffin, which would be impossible since he was unconscious before he was put into it. A major continuity gap.)

I would never try to rewrite for a client, but here's an illustration of how to condense necessary information into a more taut opening:

As weary as he was after performing an emergency appendectomy at three a.m., the gloom of the hospital parking garage and the hollow echo of his footsteps put Dr. Ben Merrick on edge. Glad to reach his car, he pressed the remote, the lights flashed -- and an arm grabbed him around the neck from behind.

Now, that may be too terse, but consider that, after 55 words, we know the time of morning, that the character is a doctor and that he's just done emergency surgery, and that someone grabs him in a spooky parking garage. The original narrative took 241 words to not quite get there. The only thing missing is the part about things going to change for him, but that could probably wait until later.

The overwriting I felt was here continued to (for me) gum up a promising narrative. Richard needs to take out a scalpel and perform a major flabectomy, in my view, to expose the meat of his story.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. 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.
2. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
3. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey