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 a return visit for Dennis. He was flogged back in March. He's
reworked the material. Dennis's first 16 lines of his prologue:
"He has awakened."
"Who?"
"The Nightbringer."
"I had hoped he was destroyed this time."
"He is eternal. He cannot be destroyed. Only defeated - temporarily banished."
"It has only been three thousand years. He should not be awake yet. The teachings say ten thousand years must pass before he can return."
"Not if he is summoned."
"None have that power."
"None that we are aware of."
"We are not ready for him. Not yet."
"No one is. There are no heroes left in the world today."
"We haven't needed any."
"We do now. Go. They must be made aware."
"I do not question your judgment, but are you certain these are the ones you wish? They seem a little… different from the norm."
As before, I turned the page.
As before, this tease worked for me. The sparseness is inviting, the
reference to a need for heroes made me want more. The last time Dennis
submitted this, we also looked at the first 16 lines of his first
chapter to see if it met the criteria of compelling, and we will again.
But first, a couple of notes:
"He has awakened."
"Who?"
"The Nightbringer."
"I had hoped he was destroyed this time." ("this time" seems like it ought to be "last time," as in had been destroyed last time.)
"He is eternal. He cannot be destroyed. Only defeated - temporarily banished."
"It has only been three thousand years. He should not be awake yet. The teachings say ten thousand years must pass before he can return."
"Not if he is summoned."
"None have that power."
"None that we are aware of."
"We are not ready for him. Not yet."
"No one is. There are no heroes left in the world today."
"We haven't needed any."
"We do now. Go. They must be made aware."
"I do not question your judgment, but are you certain these are the ones you wish? They seem a little… different from the norm."
Now here are the first 16 lines of the first chapter:
A whip cracked the air inches above his head, making him jump and causing the prisoners around him to fall to their knees. He knew from experience that if the wielder of the whip had wanted to, it could have very easily used it to gouge yet another trench in his already tattered back.
His blood ran freely from at least a dozen wounds, both on his back and his chest. His arms and shoulders were bruised and scraped from falling on the jagged mismatch of broken, slippery rock and sloppy red clay that made up the floor of this valley. Where this place was, or what awaited him, was as big a mystery to him as the stars in the sky.
He waited patiently until he felt those around him regain their feet. They had been marching like this for days now. How many days? He really didn't know… A week? Two weeks? A month? It could have been any of them. Nothing ever changed for them except where they were. That was the life of a prisoner.
Not just tossed into the local holding cell for drinking too much and getting into a fight prisoner, but an honest to Gods, captured by some unknown race, prisoner - and he was not alone. He was one of about fourteen people with their wrists lashed painfully together behind their backs and forced to march to only the Gods knew where.
This time I turned the page
Though there are some writing issues to deal with, this was a more compelling scenario. The previous version lapsed into backstory that stopped me. Some notes:
Now here are the first 16 lines of the first chapter:
A whip cracked
the airinches above his head., making him jump and causing the prisoners around himHe lurched, and the pull on the chains brought the prisoners on either side to their knees.He knew from experience that if the wielder of the whip had wanted to, it could have very easily used it to gouge yet another trench in his already tattered back.(I suggested an alternative to "making him jump and causing" for clarity and pictorial purposes. To cause other prisoners to fall must mean they are chained together, but the narrative doesn't tell us that. Also, "prisoners around him" was vague. "Jumping" and "causing" didn't give much of a picture, so I tried to give one. Also, I'd like to learn the guy's name in the first sentence unless there's a story reason for withholding it.)His blood ran
freelyfromat least a dozenwounds, bothon hisback andhis chest. He figured the wetness on his back was blood from whip wounds as well. His arms and shoulders were bruised and scraped from falling on thejagged mismatch ofbroken, slippery rock and sloppy red clay that made up the floor of this valley. Where this place was, or what awaited him, was as big a mystery to him as the stars in the sky. (If his blood ran "freely," he'd soon bleed to death. Also, he can't really know how many wounds are on his back and how freely the blood runs there. I added a thought-starter to help the reader know about his back.)He waited
patientlyuntil he felt those around him regain their feet. They had been marching like this for days now. How many days? He really didn't know… A week? Two weeks? A month?It could have been any of them.Nothing ever changed for them except where they were. That was the life of a prisoner. (I didn't really understand the first sentence. Why did he need to feel them get to their feet? Is it dark? Waited patiently to do what? Continue marching? Though-starter: The line stopped until the fallen men regained their feet.)
NotHe wasn't just a tossed-into-the-local-holding-cell-for-drinking-too-much-and-getting-into-a-fight prisoner, but an honest to Gods, captured-by-some-unknown-race prisoner-- and he was not alone. He was one ofaboutfourteen people with their wrists lashedpainfully togetherbehind their backs and forced to march to only the Gods knew where. (Technically, you're using very long compound adjectives here, and I'd suggest rewording to avoid them. I liked that you were weaving in that he has been a violent drinker, but maybe it could be smoother. If he's been chained/tied to all these people for as long as it feels to him, he would surely have had enough time to count how many were there instead of guessing.)
As you can see, from a craft point of view, Dennis can make some improvements. But from a story point of view, this is much better than the first time around.
Comments, anyone?
For what it's worth,
Ray
Thank you, Sheila, for your generous donation. Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.
Public floggings available. If I can post it here,
- send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
- And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
- If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.
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© 2008 Ray Rhamey