Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Jeannie: would you keep reading?

First, a moment to celebrate a milestone and a missed anniversary. The milestone: this is FtQ post number 250. Posts average 1000 or more words, so that's one heck of a manuscript if you pile them all between a pair of covers.

Would you believe that I'm seriously considering publishing a "best of" Flogging the Quill essays, coaching, and Flogometer posts? Yep. Came VERY close to publication with Writers Digest Books, but no cigar. Here's the title: Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action. Maybe in the spring -- interested?

The anniversary: October 3rd marked the 3rd anniversary of FtQ's launch. That's an average of 1.6 posts per week.

The best part of those 3 years? "Meeting" you, reading your work, helping with coaching. Thanks for being there.

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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 Jeannie. Here are the first 16 lines:

Rosemead Manor, Gloucestershire County, England
Sunday, 12 March 1815

"Thomas is dead," Blythe echoed her brother's words as she peered out her bedroom window at the angry, black clouds coloring the skies.

She should feel something. After a year of not knowing where her husband was, there should be grief, sadness. Anything but this veil of nothingness.

"Yes," Adam said from behind her. She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Blythe, I am so sorry."

"You found proof?" Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe all of it was a mistake -- their ever-so-brief marriage, Thomas's disappearance. All the rumors.

Maybe she'd wake up and discover it was all a horrible nightmare.

"We discovered his grave in a small town a county over." Her brother's voice was gentle, careful.

Blythe knew he didn't want to make this more difficult for her. But she doubted there was a way to make any of it better.

Sheets of rain poured down outside and pelted the glass with fat droplets. She stared at a rivulet of water as it slid down the window. It seemed fitting somehow that the skies would rage violently today.

I wanted more

This opening turned the page for me, though I have nits to pick. The writing is good, the scene is clear and raises story questions. The story may be a historical romance, though I'm not certain. Good work -- although, for me, the pace of the story beyond this point was a bit too leisurely. I think it could use some tightening. Some notes for Jeannie:

"Thomas is dead,." Blythe echoed her brother's words as she peered out her bedroom window at the angry, black clouds coloring the skies. I think "angry clouds" is a bit of a cliché and would look for a better way to express that thought. For me, the phrase "coloring the skies" is an example of a tendency to overwrite (in my subjective view) that weighed down the narrative.

She should feel something. After a year of not knowing where her husband was, there should be grief, sadness. Anything but this veil of nothingness. For me, "veil of nothingness" didn't work. Seems to me a veil is something that blocks things from the outside, while her feeling (of emptiness?) is on the inside. Her lack of feelings is an interior thing, a void, not something that keeps things away. Jeannie later refers to the veil again, that time of numbness, and I had the same problem of logic. But this could just be me.

"Yes," Adam said from behind her. She felt his hand on her shoulder. "Blythe, I am so sorry."

"You found proof?" Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe all of it was a mistake -- their ever-so-brief marriage, Thomas's disappearance. All the rumors.

Maybe she'd wake up and discover it was all a horrible nightmare. For me, this was not needed and slows things. I'd delete it.

"We discovered his grave in a small town a county over." Her brother's voice was gentle, careful.

Blythe knew he didn't want to make this more difficult for her. But she doubted there was a way to make any of it better. For me, this bit of interior monologue slows things. I'd delete it to get to stronger stuff sooner, as I'll soon illustrate.

Sheets of rain poured down outside and pelted the glass with fat droplets. She stared at a rivulet of water as it slid down the window. It seemed fitting somehow that the skies would rage violently today. By definition, rage is violent, so "rage violently" is on the redundant side and the adverb doesn't contribute.

I'd like to see Jeannie tighten these first 16 lines enough to get onto the first page a bit of narrative that comes soon on page 2, lines that was a terrific hook for me.

"Was he traveling alone?" She knew the answer, or at least she suspected it.

Adam looked away. "Thomas had a woman with him"

Now THAT promises good story ahead, and the sooner Jeannie gets to this, the better she rivets her reader, IMO.

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: would you keep reading?

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 Kim. Here are the first 16 lines:

Michelle Evans burst into SecuraCorp's conference room. "You all need to see this right away."

Blake Barnett didn't have a chance to say a word, let alone stop his cyclone-like secretary from interrupting their Monday, 8 a.m. meeting. He looked across the table at his business partner, Mike Jacobs, sipping a cup of coffee.

Mike grinned and shrugged, as if to say, 'Hey, you hired her pal'.

Blake rose from his chair. "Michelle, we're trying to -- "

"Blake, they have someone named Angel."

Mike jumped up. "What?" Coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto the walnut-veneer boardroom table.

Her words took a few seconds to register in Blake's head. Angel, the world's first cloned human? Impossible. "That can't be."

"It's true. This arrived special delivery." She handed him a disc enclosed in a clear plastic case.

He snatched what appeared to be a DVD from her hand, and powered up his laptop. "Michelle, would you leave us alone, please?"

This has virtues, but didn't compel.
Virtues include starting with a scene and an effort to create tension and raise story questions. But (remember, this is subjective) what happens here didn't grip me or make me really curious about what would happen next.

Parts of the problem include some overwriting and a clarity question. Allow me to get picky in the interests of adding impact.

Michelle Evans burst into SecuraCorp's conference room. "You all need to see this right away." Later we learn that she carries something with urgent information on it. Why not get to it now? "This" doesn't give a clue that speaks of importance or jeopardy.

Blake Barnett didn't have a chance to say a word, let alone stop his cyclone-like secretary from interrupting their Monday, 8 a.m. meeting. He looked across the table at his business partner, Mike Jacobs, sipping a cup of coffee. While I appreciate an effort to characterize the secretary, just how well does this narrative really work? For example, Blake "didn't have a chance to say a word." Actually, he does. She stops speaking. He looks across the table. A sentence from now, he'll stand and say something. So this statement doesn't reflect any kind of reality. I also think this is over-detailed: we don't need to know that this is their Monday, 8 o'clock meeting. We don't need to know at this moment that Mike is his business partner, nor that he's sipping coffee (by the way, he's not sipping "a cup of coffee," he's just sipping coffee -- a cup is one helluva sip). There's information and detail here that doesn't advance the story and, for me, slows things down.

Mike grinned and shrugged, as if to say, 'Hey, you hired her pal'. Now, this really slows things down, and sure doesn't contribute to a sense of urgency, IMO.

Blake rose from his chair. "Michelle, we're trying to -- " I suggest "stood" instead of "rose from his chair," which could also mean that he levitated. "Stood" is a nice, specific verb that gives an instant picture. In addition, why are we stalling with Blake's protest?

"Blake, they have someone named Angel." Now we're getting somewhere -- but where? This is still withholding from the reader, and vague. It even uses a vague word, "someone." If the secretary knows enough to tell that whatever it is she holds is urgent, then she knows enough to be specific here.

Mike jumped up. "What?" Coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto the walnut-veneer boardroom table. You know what I'm going to say, don't you? We don't need to know that the table is "walnut-veneer boardroom." Yes, he jumped up in reaction to her vague announcement. But did we need to slosh coffee? More detail that doesn't contribute to showing us something compelling, in my view.

Her words took a few seconds to register in Blake's head. Angel, the world's first cloned human? Impossible. "That can't be." Why would the words take a few seconds to register? As we learn later, he was intimately involved in rescuing this cloned girl, so his reaction should have been immediate. More than that, the world's first cloned human is definitely interesting information, yet we don't get to it until now.

"It's true. This arrived special delivery." She handed him a disc enclosed in a clear plastic case. More ineffective narrative. If she knows what's on the "disc enclosed in a clear plastic case," then why the heck didn't she say so up front instead of all this dancing around? As for "disc enclosed in a clear plastic case," this is cautious over-explaining. She knows it's a DVD -- she has to have viewed it to know what's on it -- so why not have her say what it is?

He snatched what appeared to be a DVD from her hand, and powered up his laptop. "Michelle, would you leave us alone, please?" As just pointed out, we should already know that this is a DVD. The "what appeared" is more cautious description. Why does he ask to be alone if she already knows what's on the DVD? This opening to a thriller/suspense novel needs to let 'er rip, not dance around. In my view, that is.

The story that develops could be interesting, but the delivery continued to need work, with more detail than needed and some info-dumping.

Allow me to offer an example of how this opening could have been stronger.

Blake Barnet's secretary burst into the meeting. "Angel's been kidnapped." Michelle handed him a computer disk. "This DVD just came." See what I mean? She knew all this, so wouldn't she come right out with it?

Blake said, "Dammit!" Even though people tended to think of the first human clone as an object, Angel was just a little girl with big, sad eyes. He loaded the disk in his laptop while his partner Mike hurried around the table. Now we not only have the clone aspect in, but a strong hint that he knows her and has a connection with her.

Okay, that was quickly done, but I hope it illustrates for Kim how she could have spent her narrative hooking me on the drama of her story instead of filling me in on tabletops and coffee spills.

For everyone: take a hard -- and I mean hard--look at your first 16 lines. Read them aloud if you have to in order to get some separation. Is all of the narration truly compelling? Or are you also filling up space with business, information, and detail that doesn't keep cranking the story engine?

I apply this test to my manuscripts, and it has caused serious revision.

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: would you keep reading?

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 a YA paranormal novel, and the flogging is for Nicole. Here are the first 16 lines:

A Gnome Takes A Club To My Knuckles

Until I lived at Helping Hand, my life was pretty normal. There was school, baseball games, friends, and the usual stuff. The plantation changed it all.

Angel, one of my friends there, said that the plantation was on the between. Things crossed over like in the Bermuda Triangle. Sometimes -- as with the disappearance of Buddy Knoll -- the between just sucked someone or something into itself as if it was hungry.

Mick Grady
#

My name's Michael Grady, but my friends call me Mick. I'm fourteen. Aunt Liza brought me to The Helping Hand Plantation on a Thursday afternoon in early June. Helping Hand is a temporary place for children who have a family, but their family can't take care of them for a while. Aunt Liza had lost her job, so I had to live there until she got back on her feet.

I was assigned to the North Swamp Dorm and my dorm mother, Ms. Porter, led me up a winding staircase and down a long hallway.

"All the children, except for Tate Thunder, are on a field trip to New Orleans today," she said, her shoes tapping a beat on the hardwood floor. "Tate hurt his leg playing basketball, so he's around somewhere." She stopped outside a door. "You're in here."

I stepped in and Ms. Porter disappeared down the hall. There were six twin beds, separated by a nightstand -- three were on the right wall, three on the left. I spotted my luggage

No go for me.
I'm sure many will disagree (remember how subjective this is), but I wasn't compelled to turn the page. What, you might ask, stopped me, considering that enticing tidbit at the top about a kid's disappearance and the between? And what about the gnome?

Because that was the only really interesting stuff on the page. After the narrator told me (didn't show me) some information, we got into an entirely mundane arrival of a boy at a temporary housing site. Yes, he has difficulties, what with his Aunt Liza and all, but there doesn't seem to be much jeopardy attached.

I guess that, for me, this lacked the promise of a well-told story. First was the authorial intrusion to tell me things about this place that, I think, would have better been discovered. Second was the lack of tension in what followed.

It's not that this writer can't do that. In fact, she did, just a sentence or two beyond this opening page. Cutting and rearranging just a little, here's what she had. Imagine the manuscript starting with this:

There were six twin beds, separated by a nightstand -- three on the right wall, three on the left. I spotted my luggage on the right middle bed.  Fear crawled inside me and -- just for a minute -- I pictured myself stuck in this place until I turned eighteen.

"No," I said. Hot tears teased the corners of my eyes.

I sat on the bed next to my luggage. That's when a tiny man jumped on the bed and beat on my hand with a small wooden club.

Now, this was just 6 lines of narrative, and I'm a whole lot more hooked than I was by the original 18. All that stuff about where he is and why he's there can be handled by slipping it in with bits and pieces as this interesting scene develops.

Look at all the story questions raised in these 6 lines:

• Where is the boy?
• Why is he there?
• How could he be stuck there?
• Why does it make him cry?
• And what's with the tiny man whacking him on the hand?

This narrative even lets you know that the narrator is a boy under 18 without telling us so. The only area for improvement, at first glance, is the reference to "tiny" and "small wooden club." Tiny could be better defined -- just how tiny is he? And what's "small" in the context of a "tiny" man? For example, what about showing us rather than telling us with something like:

That's when a tiny man no taller than a coffee pot jumped on the bed and beat on my hand with a wooden club the size of a spoon.

My advice, Irene, is to skip all the explanations and get to the STORY. Find a way, with dialogue and internal monologue, to weave the rest in.

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: would you keep reading?

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 Nicole, and it's a bit unusual. She started out, she tells me, to write a picture book in the spirit of the classic fairytale canon. Except it kept growing, until it's about, if I understand correctly, 12,000 words long. She's concerned that I'll think that it's a "bit heavy on the language and description" and could use some improvement for hook value. Let's see.

Here are the first 16 lines:

Once, there was a little girl named Alexandria Butterfly. She lived with her parents in a quaint little cottage on a hill, down the road from Mr. Delphinium's Bakery and directly across from the old red schoolhouse. Beyond the schoolhouse lay a wide, empty field of dry golden-coloured grass that never turned green like all the other grass and plants in the village, not even in springtime. A dense forest of impossibly tall and branchy trees hulked menacingly in the south, past the golden field.

The Butterflys were a quiet family and kept to themselves most of the time. This wasn't so bad, for the rest of the townspeople really didn't know how to approach them, anyway. After all, what does one say to a family who's lost a child?

Indeed, Alexandria was not her parents' only daughter. Though she had been but a young girl, Alexandria vividly recalled the moment when everything changed. You see, Mr. and Mrs. Butterfly's eldest daughter, Victoria, had mysteriously disappeared without a trace one day at the age of nine, nearly seven years previously. Alexandria suspected that her parents -- and everyone else -- knew what happened on that dreadful day. If so, this was all kept secret from her. If they knew no more than she did, it was simply unspoken of. Tragedies of such measure were better left forgotten.

Perhaps this state of affairs would have been deemed acceptable by any ordinary girl. But ordinary, Alexandria was not. A remarkably ambitious nature led her to question with gusto every

I definitely turned the page

Why? The power of story, and nicely flavored writing -- love the trees hulking menacingly (BTW, for once I approve of the adverb here). While the opening is pretty much all "telling," as it should be in fairytale style, it raises fascinating story questions. Why does that one field never turn green? What happened to Victoria? And Alexandria sounds like someone I'd like to know more about.

Nicole's asks what to do with her story, which seems to be neither here nor there in terms of style and length. I know what I'd like to see her do, considering the considerable storytelling and writing talents on display -- tackle turning it into a novel or novella.

Fantasy stories are still strong in the marketplace, and fresh visions are welcome. Later in this story we learn that Alexandria's sister Victoria told her all about "the splendid world of elves and fairies and gnomes." My guess is that Victoria was spirited away into the fairy world and that Alexandria is going to go after her -- but I don't know that.

If Nicole turned her narrative into scenes, and enhanced the description in places where summary shortcuts the experience (i.e. "quaint little cottage" is flatfooted telling and would be more effective if it were described/pictured in such a way that we drew the conclusion that it was quaint rather than being told that), I'd like to read that story.

Now, I'm not one of those folks who write for the market (could be a problem, I know). I've always written the stories I wanted (needed?) to tell in the way I wanted. And I still do. They don't fit neatly into genre slots and may not appear easily marketable, but I know their value and wouldn't change a thing.

So I think Nicole should go where her instincts are taking her -- to a longer, deeper, fuller story. To achieve that, though, I hope she shifts out of the fairytale-telling mode and into fiction that brings the people and the action alive.

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: would you keep reading?

Update: There's an excellent post on both word count expectations and reasons for query rejections at BookEnds (scroll up).

Also, I have a guest post at Writer Unboxed about approaches to writing novels titled Pantsers versus Architects.

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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 Kieron. Here are the first 16 lines:

PROLOGUE

Space shuttle Endurance appears motionless, her cargo bay open. Below, the Americas slip by, clouds obscuring its Northern skies.

Matt Walters − spacewalker, mission specialist, fearless man − floats out of Endurance's hold on a routine task to check suspect thermal tiles, mandatory after the deadly Columbia accident of 2003. He eases his way across the structure, shadow cast upon the white fuselage, his life-line snaking behind, a tool-bag secured, weightless. His progress is monitored by mission control cameras, the video-feed limited to his forward progress.

So they hadn't seen what appeared in the periphery.

'Matt! To your right!' The urgent voice of his colleague Toby Jarman spills into his headset.

Not one to be shocked easily, Walters turns casually; a capsule slips by. So close he could have caressed it. The thing is pair-shaped, smoother than chrome, barely translucent. His eyes follow its gentle rotation.

'Not one of ours,' Walters observes.

The capsule floats into mission control's view. Complete silence for some seconds.

'Unidentified. Get out of there, Matt.' The controller's voice is almost conversational.

Briefly, Walters turns to look at the startled face of his colleague pressed against the

I turned the page, but . . .

As I keep reminding you, this whole reading/editing business is subjective, as the comments on D'Arcy's sample shows. Content can be a compelling factor that overcomes small craft shortcomings. Since I've been a science fiction reader forever, I turned the page to see what was happening with the mysterious capsule. The narrative, though it has technical problems that might be a barrier, led to an interesting story of danger to our planet.

But there are craft issues in these lines that I should point out, both grammatical and storytelling.

PROLOGUE Why a prologue? They're a turn-off to many readers (me included) and many agents. This could have easily been the opening of the first chapter, which I would recommend.

Space shuttle Endurance appears motionless, her cargo bay open. Below, the Americas slip by, clouds obscuring its Northern skies. While this is okay, the point of view is distant, distant enough to be thinking about the appearance of no motion. I think most readers are familiar enough with space to not need this bit. I suggest that it also be more active. For example: The cargo bay of the space shuttle Endurance opens. Below, the Americas slip by, clouds obscuring its northern skies. Note that I wouldn't capitalize "northern" here. Otherwise, this is a good, crisp setting of the scene.

Matt Walters − spacewalker, mission specialist, fearless man − floats out of Endurance's hold on a routine task to check suspect thermal tiles, mandatory after the deadly Columbia accident of 2003. He eases his way across the structure, shadow cast upon the white fuselage, his life-line lifeline snaking behind, a tool-bag secured (Secured where? To the lifeline? To his waist?), weightless. His progress is monitored by mission control cameras, the video-feed limited to his forward progress. I didn't care for the "spacewalker, mission specialist, fearless man" part. It suggests that this character thinks of himself that way, which seems a tad on the arrogant side, at least the "fearless" part does. I'd delete this. Note that I trimmed some exposition that doesn't really contribute, IMO.

So they hadn't seen what appeared in the periphery. Whoa! Who is "they?" As we quickly learn, Matt can't see what appears either. Since we're in his point of view, the narrative should not include what he can't see or do. This needs to be cut. Besides, the next paragraph is far more compelling.

'Matt! To your right!' The urgent voice of his colleague Toby Jarman spills into his headset. "Urgent" is telling. I think it would be better to show this, or eliminate it. With the exclamation points, you don't really need the adjective. Just cut it, IMO.

Not one to be shocked easily, Walters turns casually; aA capsule slips by. Sso close he could have caressed it. The thing is pairpear-shaped, smoother than chrome, barely translucent. He is eyes follows its gentle rotation. I cut the opening part because, for one thing, this is the author telling us stuff, not the narrative involving us with Matt's experience. Show us that he's calm and fearless, don't inform us. As for pair/pear, I assume the writer means a shape like the fruit, not a pair of twins. Finally, eyes don't do what the writer suggests. One solution is to change "eyes" to "gaze," but in this case even that's not necessary.

'Not one of ours,' Walters says. observes. The fact that he's making an observation is self-evident, so no need to tell us that. And this is an explanation of dialogue, which is not good technique.

The capsule floats into mission control's view. Complete silence for some seconds.

The controller's voice is almost conversational. 'Unidentified. Get out of there, Matt.' The controller's voice is almost conversational. I moved the characterization of the speaker to the front because that's the only way the reader will "hear" the line spoken in a particular way. Telling us after the speech fails to deliver what we need to know before we read the words, IMO.

Briefly, Walters turns to look at the startled face of his colleague pressed against the A little overwriting and telling here. The whole "Briefly, Walters turns to look at" could be done much more efficiently with "Walters glances at." In addition, "startled" is telling us Matt's conclusion about what his colleague's expression means (any why "colleague"? Why not a name?) How about "wide-eyed" to show the reader more of what Walters sees. By the way, it's not good to switch back and forth on a character's name. Pick one and stick with it. I make this mistake in my first novel and had to go back and change it.

I think there are clear virtues in Kieron's narrative, but it needs honing, polishing, and attention to pace. Keep at it, you've a good start.

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 R

Flogometer: would you keep reading?

Update: I have a guest post at Writer Unboxed about  approaches writing a novel titled Pantsers versus Architects.

---

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 D'Arcy. Here are the first 16 lines:

For years, Susie has been driving north to see her best friend Louise for Thanksgiving. Actually, Susie goes north about 4 times a year, but Louise rarely comes south. Louise has children she cannot leave home alone, nor can they travel with her, so she stays home and Susie drives north to visit her. It's a long drive - almost eight hours - but it's worth it; Louise always cheers Susie up.

Susie's kids are grown and gone: one to college and the other to the military. She worries about both of them, but knows they have chosen good paths and will find their way back home eventually. Louise's children are special. Sammy, the oldest, is fifteen and has lots of learning disabilities. She also doesn't have much common sense, but she is a sweet girl and both Louise and Susie love her completely. Jay is twelve years old. He looks about 10 years old, but due to his Cerebral Palsy, he will never walk or talk on his own.

Susie and Louise both know that Jay can understand what they say to him. There are times he gets a mischievous grin on his face and he will do something naughty like trying to kick one of them or one of the nurses. If he makes contact, he laughs and giggles like he knows that he isn't supposed to do that. Louise has noticed that Jay turns to the sound of his dad's voice whenever he hears him come in the door; Jay will become very solemn and still, waiting for his

No story, no page-turning

This narrative is 100% information, 0% story. There isn't a scene, there isn't action, there's no tension or the promise of it. For some reason, it seems, the writer feels that we readers need to know everything about her character. Now it's possible that the information here may be germane to the story, but this isn't a storytelling way of getting it to us. D'Arcy needs to get a better handle on the notion that fiction delivers the experience of a character, not information about the experience, or about them.

This opening leads to a dramatic accident in which Susie is grievously injured. For me, that would be a better place to start. If this information relates to Susie's story, bring it in when it applies. As it is, this visit is simply the reason Susie is driving somewhere.

Later in the narrative, Susie decides to get some coffee. When she changes lanes, she's hit by a car from the rear and is knocked off the road. A dramatic thing to have happen to you. But in this narrative overwriting steals the impact. Here's the description:

She turns her blinker on to pull over into the far right lane and glances over her right shoulder. She sees no cars there, so starts to pull into that lane. Suddenly there is a loud horn and she feels the impact of another vehicle hitting the back fender of her 2003 Dodge Intrepid. She has had the Intrepid for almost two years and it had served her well. She has never had so much as a scratch on the paint. Now, she could feel the car spinning out of control. She feels the impact of the guardrail just before she loses consciousness.

Style differences aside, I think this could be condensed a great deal, i.e.:

She heads for the exit, then a crash from the rear snaps her head back. Her car slams into the guard rail, and her world goes black.

Okay, that's not great, but this story needs to get going, IMO. Susie regains consciousness upside-down, a piece of metal sticking in to her neck, and her leg at an odd angle. Dramatic stuff, to be sure. How does the information to her friend and her friend's special kids relate? I don't know, and wouldn't be reading on to find out.

D'Arcy, you've got some serious rewriting to do, in my view. I'm certain that you have a dramatic story in your mind, but for me there's way too much narrative that lays out every possible detail -- and the emotional impact of what's happening is buried underneath. But keep at it, and do some research on writing scenes.

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: would you keep reading?

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 Liz. Here are the first 16 lines:

"I don't think we should be here right now." Bryn muttered.

"You could be right." Llaswyr watched as their horses were led up the road that zigzagged across the outcrop and through the gatehouse into the castle. "Who's idea was this?"

"Mine." An exaggerated sigh, then "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

Llaswyr gave him a humorless smile. "Probably not. You know why?"

"Go on. Enlighten me."

"Because, Bryn, I didn't take the gem shipment out of my saddlebag before we set off and when he finds out, my father's going to have my balls."

"Catref's Crown!" The blasphemy Bryn reserved for special occasions and more than appropriate considering their circumstance.

"Mmmm. That's about the only thing that'd save me. Want to go in there," he nodded toward the castle, "and see if we can find it?"

A jerked fist signaled obscene refusal. "Seen enough?"

He'd seen more than enough. Mighty Catref it was called and now he knew why. The legends hadn't exaggerated its size nor its apparent impregnability, even after five hundred years of Wildlander occupation. It was the color of the place that amazed him, though.

Tempted to turn, but sputtered out

I liked several things about this opening: it's a scene, story questions are raised, there's conflict, and I liked the voice. But I slowed to a halt because, for me, I became confused. The narrative -- again, it might just be me -- lacked the element of clarity.

My problems started with the second paragraph:

"You could be right." Llaswyr watched as their horses were led up the road that zigzagged across the outcrop and through the gatehouse into the castle. "Who's idea was this?"

Good dialogue, but what wasn't clear, and what wasn't made clear, was what the idea he's talking about was. Their horses are being led into a castle, which doesn't sound like a bad thing. Was that the idea, to have the horses led? What are they talking about? I never learned (I did read on just to see.).

Then Bryn says he'll never hear the end of this. The end of what? Having the horses led up a road?

Llaswyr then lets Bryn know that he'll never hear the end of whatever it was because of a mistake that he, Llaswyr, has made -- leaving the gem shipment in the saddlebags.

More confusion. Why should Llaswyr's mistake lead to trouble for Bryn?

A little further on, the lack of clarity compounded when I lost track of which was who. It was here:

A jerked fist signaled obscene refusal. "Seen enough?"

He'd seen more than enough. Mighty Catref it was called and now he knew why.

I had to backtrack to make sure that Bryn was the one jerking his fist, but even then the "He" in the next paragraph who had seen more than enough wasn't clear. In both sentences, a simple reference to a name would have kept the sequence clear. Lost, I abandoned the effort.

And effort is a key -- my view is that narrative should take care of you, sweeping you along with no effort, raising questions, yes, but not unintended ones such as who the heck is talking, and what are they talking about?

A couple of craft issues:

For me, this sentence didn't make sense:

The blasphemy Bryn reserved for special occasions and more than appropriate considering their circumstance.

Something's missing, but I haven't a clue and, as a reader, shouldn't have to figure it out. I also think it's a bit of overwriting -- in an opening scene, where the writer is hoping to hook me with story, it would have been plenty to have the character curse and move on -- this history of this particular curse doesn't seem germane to the story.

In an edit, I would also urge the writer to reconsider this description:

A jerked fist signaled obscene refusal.

Again it's a clarity issue. Why is a jerked fist obscene? And the sorta backwards construction was not easy to parse. And this is, basically, telling. If the writer wants us to understand that the gesture was obscene, maybe something more like this:

Bryn jerked his fist in the way that custom defined as "Go screw yourself."

That I would understand as obscene.

Bottom line, there are strong virtues to Lyn's writing; her voice, the potential for an exciting story (missing jewels, missing balls, and all that), but I suspect that she's falling into a trap that I know well in my own writing, and see often in others' -- the story and the action is perfectly clear in her mind, but not enough of that is making it to the page so that it can move to my mind.

The narrative leaves behind things that a reader needs to understand -- what was the idea that would get Bryn into trouble? Couldn't it have been included in such a way as to add to the conflict and jeopardy? For example, I'll make something up:

"You could be right." Llaswyr watched as their horses were led up the road that zigzagged across the outcrop and through the gatehouse into the castle. "Who's idea was this?"

"Mine." Bryn had just had to get a closer look at the massive fortress. He'd said that no one would discover their horses while they crawled closer. How could he have known a patrol of a half-dozen soldiers would come along? An exaggerated sigh, then "I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

I'm not saying what I added is terrific narrative. Not really -- it would be better to start with them seeing the patrol find the horses, and then Llaswyr curse something like, "God's balls, the gems are still in my saddlebag." That would launch things with some momentum.

I know I'm being quite picky here -- but so are the sharp, jaded eyes of agents and editors. Keep at it, Lyn, but sweep us into your story with clarity and pace.

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: a “head-hop” stopped my reading

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 Rik. Here are the first 16 lines:

"Where are you going?" Lynn asked.

It was a simple question. One Tilman might have anticipated if this had not been another one of his brilliant ideas conceived at the bottom of a Dewar's bottle. Instead here he was, standing on Lynn's front porch drenched and once again kicking himself in the ass for failing to think things all the way through. Still, he had come this far and any answer he could offer would be better than standing here watching his water logged feet begin to prune.

"You no longer have the right to ask me that question," Tilman whispered and backpedaled down the front porch steps out into the rain. Lynn had never been one to lose her temper, but if things headed south it might be safer to be out of her reach.

Dressed in her grandmother's wedding gown, Lynn should have been the picture of a Southern Belle on her wedding day. However, the white knuckles of her clenched fists and her furrowed brow overshadowed her natural beauty and grace.

"No longer have the right!  Tilman Dearing, I of all people have every right to know where you're going!"

Lynn fought back the urge to bolt through the doorway and strangle him. She took a deep breath, glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. It would not benefit their current

You started with a scene -- good. You had characters moving and talking and conflicting -- good. So I was reading along, getting into the point of view of Tilman, anticipating some kind of escalated conflict with Lynn, when BAM I was suddenly in Lynn's head/point of view in the last paragraph. A most abrupt "head-hop" from the mind and experience of one character directly into that of another. No break, no transition, just mental whiplash.

There are readers and editors and agents who can handle that kind of thing, but I'm not one of them. I don't think it's good (or valid) technique, and it just stops me cold. I might have turned the page to learn more about the conflict brewing, but lost interest. I was right -- later the point of view changed again abruptly, and I'd have been an unhappy reader. Sorry, Ric, but that's my reaction.

By the way, I think you had a stronger opening further along in the narrative. Lynn says,

Like so many times before, Lynn found she could not stop herself. "Tilman, I love you.  I'll always love you."

And then Tilman replies,

"But, you're still getting married."

Now THAT raises some story questions, and lets me in on conflict from the git-go. Oh, seeing her in the wedding dress at first would probably be needed to help set the scene, but this at the beginning could really launch the story.

One credibility issue that I noticed. Lynn goes out into the rain to talk with him, and lets her dress down to where it touches the grass. Even though all she's doing is standing there, the narrative says that "The grass had already begun to tint the hem a pale green."

In my experience, grass stains only when something is rubbed pretty firmly against it. Cloth just resting on it, in my view, wouldn't be turning green.

There were other little reality lapses that took me out of the story. I know it's nitpicky, but the narrative says "A distant flash of lightning streaked across the darkening sky accompanied by deep rumbles of thunder." Actually, a distant flash of lightning wouldn't be accompanied by thunder, it would be followed by it. It's a speed-of-sound versus speed-of-light thing.

I thought there was some good writing in the overall prologue, but I also think you'd be better served to stick with one point of view and draw the reader into that experience. Also, to lift the narrative to a professional level, be tough on yourself in looking for and finding slips like the lightning/thunder.

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: interesting mood, but craft problems called a halt

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 Julia. Here are the first 16 lines:

Ella's face was squashed into Roman's brown leather jacket, but she was glad he could not see it. Her thoughts were jumping up and down along with the metro train speeding them towards her one room flat on the outskirts of Moscow city.

High-rise blocks of units lined up along the railway looked like soldiers on a parade, row after row. Grey evening sky hanged low, just above the dirty black and white snow patches.

Ella closed her eyes and swayed with the blue and yellow carriage holding to the shiny chrome pole and Roman's sleeve to keep her balance.

The stink of damp fur and fresh snow was mixed with the heat from the dense warmly dressed crowd, pushed together on their way from work by either fate or a destination.

Ella took a shallow breath and almost choked with nausea.

Normally, she felt fine, but some smells, especially food odors, were making her really sick. The tears welled in her eyes burning them with mascara.

The reek of spring onions came from the camel-faced woman. The offending shopping bag was on the floor next to her feet. Ella needed to move away before she would throw up.

While an interesting, bleak mood was developing, it wasn't enough to move me forward. Other than mood, there wasn't a lot of tension here. While I understood that Ella was probably pregnant, there was nothing that really (except mood) that suggested it was a problem for her, and there were no other story questions raised.

And there are "mechanical problems" that need to be fixed before the writing rises to the level of professional. Some notes:

Ella's face was squashed her face into Roman's brown leather jacket, but she was glad he could not see it. Problems with this sentence: I first misread it, missing that it was "he" that she was glad did not see "it," which Bill points out refers to her face. Now that that's clearer, I think it's the "but" that throws off the sense of the sentence. If anything, I think a semi-colon would work best here. And I still wonder why she's glad that he can't see her face. I found this confusing. Her thoughts were jumping jumped up and down along with the metro train speeding them towards her one-room flat on the outskirts of Moscow city. I suggest making the first sentence active rather than passive, and same goes for the use of the participle in the second. The compound adjective "one-room" needs to be hyphenated.

Row after row, hHigh-rise blocks of units lined up along the railway looked like soldiers on a parade, row after row. Grey evening sky hanged hung low, just above the dirty black and white snow patches. Good imagery here, but little things wrong spoiled the moment for me.

Ella closed her eyes and swayed with the blue and yellow carriage, holding to the shiny chrome pole and Roman's sleeve to keep her balance.

The stink of damp fur and fresh snow (seems to me fresh snow would smell good, not stink -- this seems contradictory and took me out of the flow of the narrative.) was mixed with the heat from the dense warmly dressed crowd, pushed together on their way from work by either fate or a destination.

Ella took a shallow breath and almost choked with nausea. The reek of spring onions came from the camel-faced woman. The offending a shopping bag was on the floor next to a camel-faced woman's her feet. Note that I moved this up to more closely associate her reaction with the cause.

Normally, she felt fine, but some smells, especially food odors, were making made her really sick. The tTears welled in her eyes burning and burned them with mascara. Ella needed to move away before she would throw threw up. I removed the reference to smells because that's "telling," and her reaction to the onions was a good instance of "showing."

There were flashes of good writing in the pages that followed. For example, when the train doors opened…

A blast of cold wet air pushed in, fighting people on their way out.

I liked that, but the grammar glitches continued. I encourage Julia to keep working because she shows promise. Perhaps get a critique partner who can help with the grammar side, and focus on raising story questions sooner rather than later. Thanks, Julia, for sharing your work.

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