Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Meredith: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please
What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

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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, 12-point type, 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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Meredith has sent two possible openings for a time travel/historical romance and wants our opinions. The first first 16 lines:

Sammie pressed the cell phone to her ear and dug through her backpack, her hand closing around the cold metal of her car keys. The conversation was not going well.

“Look,” Doug said. “I’m telling you, the press has McGregor all wrong.”

Why had she bothered answering at all? She’d seen his name come up on the display. Sammie shifted her backpack and unlocked the car. Penance. For the incident in the leather chair six months ago. He hadn’t deserved that, and it had … confused things.

And because of tomorrow -- July 14th. She always took Doug’s calls the week of the 14th. But he hadn’t mentioned Ellie, not yet.

“He wants to meet you. Maybe put you on his team.”

She blew out a breath, loud enough to make sure he heard. “Magnanimous of him.”

“Hey, it’s your choice, Sammie.” She could hear the lawyerly calculation in his words. Doug offered such sentiments only when he was sure things were about to fall his way. “But how often do opportunities like Nuestra come along? We both know you want a crack at it.”

She hesitated, and shouldn’t have, because he used the moment against her. In the drop of his voice, Siren’s attorney was gone and it was him again, the man she used to love. Before.

“I wish you’d let me do this for you, Sam.”

And now the second approach:

Sammie slid into the hard plastic booth that passed for accommodations on the ferry, gave her UCSD cap a hard tug, and scanned the passengers. One of them was Mark McGregor.

The most important meeting of her life, and she’d let Doug talk her into doing it with exactly zero prep time. And she’d be doing it on a freaking boat? She slumped into the narrow gap between the bolted-down table and vinyl-backed bench, talking the cheeseburger she’d had for lunch back into her stomach. Ugh.

She wasn’t sure whether to kiss Doug or slug him for recommending her to McGregor, but as both acts were provocative, she supposed she’d do neither. Best to leave things lie when it came to her ex-husband.

Bottom line was Doug knew she’d want a crack at Nuestra Madre. Eighteenth century shipwrecks didn’t get discovered every day, and since McGregor found the damn thing, she’d have to work with him if she wanted to work on it -- no matter the guy’s reputation. If that meant a last-minute ferry ride to Catalina Island, well, that was her tough luck.

Whatever. Sammie laid her head on the cool slab before her and groaned. First things first.

“Hey, you okay?”

She lifted her head at the man’s voice. Well, just perfect. The cute guy. She’d watched (snip)

For me, pass on number one, go on number two
Good, strong writing in both, I thought. It might be that the first approach is compelling enough for a romance reader (I’m not), but it didn’t get me there. But the second approach did raise enough story questions, and did promise some kind of adventure in a world I don’t know (undersea exploration of an old ship) that I turned the page.

However, I’d have liked a little hint of jeopardy to come in even that approach. What are the stakes for her getting or not getting this opportunity to explore? What will she lose, or stand to gain? Is there any danger in it for her? Brief notes on approach two:

Sammie slid into the hard plastic booth that passed for accommodations on the ferry, gave her UCSD cap a hard tug, and scanned the passengers. One of them was Mark McGregor. (Acronyms such as “UCSD” are going to be meaningless to most people. Since we learn that she’s on a ferry to Catalina, I later deduced that it was University of California at San Diego. But you don’t want readers trying to figure out acronyms. Either make it more clear, or lose it. Why not simply "baseball cap," which would give a quick, clear picture? And she doesn’t know that one of the people is the guy as she hasn’t met him yet. That’s not clear here.)

The most important meeting of her life, and she’d let Doug talk her into doing it with exactly zero prep time. And she’d be doing it on a freaking boat? She slumped into the narrow gap between the bolted-down table and vinyl-backed bench, talking the cheeseburger she’d had for lunch back into her stomach. Ugh. (I liked the cheeseburger—suggests internal tension.)

She wasn’t sure whether to kiss Doug or slug him for recommending her to McGregor, but as both acts were provocative, she supposed she’d do neither. Best to leave things lie when it came to her ex-husband.

Bottom line was Doug knew she’d want a crack at Nuestra Madre. Eighteenth century shipwrecks didn’t get discovered every day, and since McGregor had found the damn thing, she’d have to work with him if she wanted to work on it -- no matter the guy’s reputation. If that meant a last-minute ferry ride to Catalina Island, well, that was her tough luck. (The repetition of “work” was bothersome—how about “do the dive” or something else for the second one? And it didn’t seem that the destination of the ferry was a key detail to include. Use the space for hooking me with story.)

Whatever. Sammie laid her head on the cool slab before her and groaned. First things first.

“Hey, you okay?”

She lifted her head at the man’s voice. Well, just perfect. The cute guy. She’d watched (snip)

In the second version, we quickly get to the love interest chap in an interesting and fun way. Keep at it Meredith. Nice work.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray
Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

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Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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 format your submission as specified at the front of this post.
3. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
4. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
5. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
6. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Dai: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please
What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

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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, 12-point type, 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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Dai’s first 16 lines:

For two days rough strangers had been lurking near our homestead, spying on us from brush and behind trees—shifty-looking men with weapons at hand. It was all to do, my mother felt, with the old wanderer we had taken in—him and his map.

“Food and drink are here,” she said, indicating a bag tied behind the saddle. “Mind you wrap the remains well after eating, for it must carry you two days.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Your roll has two blankets? Nights can still be cool.”

“I know, Mother, but surely I can make Caldridge by tomorrow eve.”

“And risk founder or worse? Drive your horse too hard and you’ll be walking, and us out a good gelding—do you hear?”

“Yes,” said I, a bit sullen-like.

She gave me a sharp look. “Ride and walk, ride and walk. And be sure you bait the animal well.”

“I know, Mother.” And shall you never let me go?

* * *

Ah yes, that old wanderer…

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Close, but no
I wanted to like this well enough to turn the page because of the good writing and voice, but the tension level just didn’t tick high enough. I think the narrative takes just a little too much time with the caregiving of the mother here. That, plus the asterisk break that cost the writer a valuable line on the first page that could have contributed more.

The asterisk break led to a flashback. While also nicely written, and having conflict and tension, and being short, for me it wasn’t a good place for a flashback. Get on with the story.

Later in the sample was a line that, had it been added to the opening narrative, would have been enough to get me to turn the page. It was this:

“Give your uncle my note, and tell him what you can, making sure that he sends some hardy armed men as quickly as he may.”

That signaled jeopardy to come to me. The story turns out to be science fiction, and the narrative goes into the narrator introducing himself, along with some more backstory and that kind of traditional thing. For me, I’d rather have the story. Some notes:

For two days rough strangers had been lurking near our homestead, spying on us from brush and behind trees—shifty-looking men with weapons at hand. It was all to do, my mother felt, with the old wanderer we had taken in—him and his map. (I liked this opening paragraph a lot. There’s tension, and story questions, and the promise of trouble.)

“Food and drink are here,” she said, indicating a bag tied behind the saddle. “Mind you wrap the remains well after eating, for it must carry you two days.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Your roll has two blankets? Nights can still be cool.”

“I know, Mother, but surely I can make Caldridge by tomorrow eve.”

“And risk founder or worse? Drive your horse too hard and you’ll be walking, and us out a good gelding—do you hear?”

“Yes,” said I, a bit sullen-like.

She gave me a sharp look. “Ride and walk, ride and walk. And be sure you bait the animal well.”

“I know, Mother.” And shall you never let me go?

* * *

Ah yes, that old wanderer…(I realize it seems harsh to cut all that, but for me it failed to advance the story. It let us know a little about the relationship between mother and child, but the story isn’t about that. Imagine if, instead, the piece I picked up from later had been the fourth paragraph. It doesn’t really matter to the story that the child has two blankets or that nights can be cool. And how important is it for us to listen in on instructions on how to ride and feed the horse? For me, not so much. This is the time to hook me.)

Were I Dai, I’d place most of this opening chapter to the side for a while—you can always resurrect it if you feel you must—and dive into the story of what happens next. I don’t even think you need all the backstory about the old man or the man pursuing him, unless it comes in real time, not a flashback.

The voice of this narrative, including a unique spin on the dialogue later, shows great promise. But I think there’s brush to be cleared with a delete key before we’ll be sufficiently engaged to read on.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

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Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Pam: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please
What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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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Pam’s first 16 lines:

Shayda's Name had only ever been safe in old Gebah's mouth and now that Name was washed away in Long River, and old Gebah too dead to give her a new one. For two full leagues beyond her people's territory, she had chased her Name as it tumbled with waters raging from spring thaw, until it disappeared around a south bend into a deep gorge where she could not follow.

The river wasn't supposed to take her Name—no water could. Shayda knew that like breathing. Fire was to claim it, and not until summer solstice. But now here she was, fallen to her knees, breathless, Nameless, and far from a hearth of Home.

Even gasping for air and coughing blood, Shayda knew her last concern was pointless. There would be no hearth nor Home for her among the People without her Name nor anyone she could trust, or afford, to Gift her a new one. Everything was gone, lost to her whose only valued possession had been the Name which bound her small world together. The Name which had taken to water without her.

Too winded to voice the keening pain of her loss, Shayda's only sign of mourning was to act without prudence alone in the Wilds.

Without care for damp earth or setting sun, Shayda collapsed onto her side heaving for air on the last stretch of grassy sand before the cavern swallowed all but the back-blown sprays of (snip)

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It was enough
A clear, distinct voice, the promise of an interesting and new world, and good story questions were enough to get me to turn the page. Not that there weren’t concerns. . .

Shayda's Name had only ever been safe in old Gebah's mouth, and now that Name was washed away in Long River, and old Gebah too dead to give her a new one. For two full leagues beyond her people's territory, she had chased her Name as it tumbled with waters raging from spring thaw, until it disappeared around a south bend into a deep gorge where she could not follow. (For me, the notion of old Gebah being too dead was an interesting “world feature.” Did it mean that she’s not all dead? A nice, subtle touch.)

The river wasn't supposed to take her Name—no water could. Shayda knew that like breathing. Fire was to claim it, and not until summer solstice. But now here she was, fallen to her knees, breathless, Nameless, and far from a hearth of Home.

Even gGasping for air and coughing blood, Shayda knew her last concern was pointless. Tthere would be no hearth or nor Home for her among the People without her Name. nor Nor would there be anyone she could trust, or afford, to Gift her a new one. Everything was gone, lost to her whose only valued possession had been the Name which bound her small world together. The Name which had taken to water without her.

Too winded to voice the keening pain of her loss, Shayda's only sign of mourning was to act without prudence alone in the Wilds. (I just didn’t get this. It’s very distant from the character’s point of view, and I didn’t understand why acting without prudence was a sign of mourning. I think this needs to either be more clear or cut. I would go for cutting it and getting on with the story.)

Without care for damp earth or setting sun, Shayda collapsed onto her side, heaving for air on the last stretch of grassy sand before the cavern swallowed all but the back-blown sprays of (snip) (Clarity issue here—first it was a gorge, and now it’s a cavern. To my mind, they are very different things. Which is it?)

I don’t know what’s going on, exactly, with the Name, but it sounds dire, and the character is sympathetic, willing to run until coughing blood to catch her Name, so I wanted to hear more.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Linda: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please
What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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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Linda has a rewrite that’s back for a second look. Her first 16 lines:

Pulling the darkness around me like a cloak, I stood in the shadows and watched Drew’s apartment building. I felt a shiver of dread dance along my skin and tried to convince myself it was from the cold. But it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Thia waited in the shadows. And she wasn’t alone. The shadowy forms of several axe-wielding giants loomed behind her. Trolls. Ugly, dark creatures that wreck havoc wherever they can find it. I hadn’t seen any in a very long time and I wasn’t happy to see them again. Especially not here.

I shivered again. The stiletto at my side was a comforting weight and I fingered it idly as I watched Thia. I could feel Nikolai rifling through my thoughts as if I was some kind of oversized filing cabinet. I grimaced in distaste and tried to block his invasive probing, but it didn’t work. It never did.

Stop it, I thought. I felt him back off a little, just enough to give me the illusion of privacy, but I knew he was still there trying to figure out what I was doing. I moved through the shadows, creeping closer to Thia and her trolls.

“You aren’t safe here,” Nikolai whispered in my ear and I stifled a shriek. The last thing I wanted was for Thia to notice I was here. Or worse, her trolls. They would leave a mark. And a serious one.

Close, but. . .
The story elements were interesting (trolls, for one thing), it’s an action scene, there’s jeopardy implied and tension in the scene, and a likeable voice. But a few craft issues were enough to stay my hand. Notes:

Pulling the darkness around me like a cloak, I stood in the shadows and watched Drew’s apartment building. I felt aA shiver of dread danceed along my skin and I tried to convince myself it was from the cold. But it had nothing to do with the temperature. (When I can, I avoid the use of “felt” and go for the more direct expression of the feeling. I thought the last sentence was unnecessary as we’d already been given that impression from the one that preceded it.)

Thia waited in the shadows. And she wasn’t alone. The shadowy forms of several axe-wielding giants loomed behind her. Trolls. Ugly, dark creatures that wreck wreak havoc wherever they can find it. I hadn’t seen any in a very long time and I wasn’t happy to see them again. Especially not here. (There are three references to shadows in the first two paragraphs, so an echo is set up by the repetition. There’s a clarity issue in the first sentence—where in the shadows is Thia? The narrator is in the shadows, and so is Thia. They could be standing next to each other, though it’s obvious that they aren’t. Is Thia in shadows (I’d find another word since “shadows” has already been used) across the street? In front of a door? Locate her for the reader so we can see it. And I don’t think havoc is something that you find in order to wreak. And “wreak havoc” is a cliché.)

I shivered again. The stiletto at my side was a comforting weight and I fingered it idly as I watched Thia. I could feel Nikolai rifling through my thoughts as if I was some kind of oversized filing cabinet. I grimaced in distaste and tried to block his invasive probing, but it didn’t work. It never did. (Where is Nikolai? Behind her? Beside her? Please locate him—and including his presence (and where he is) before the rifling happens will make this much more clear. I really liked the “filing cabinet” imagery.)

Stop it, I thought. I felt him back off a little, just enough to give me the illusion of privacy, but I knew he was still there, trying to figure out what I was doing. I moved through the shadows, creeping crept closer to Thia and her trolls. (There’s another “shadow” reference, though I cut it to make the action crisper. BTW, Thia is a ghoul, and I think that’s a hook element that should be included on this first page.)

“You aren’t safe here,” Nikolai whispered in my ear and I stifled a shriek. The last thing I wanted was for Thia to notice I was here. Or worse, her trolls. They would leave a mark. And a serious one. (Clearly Nikolai is close enough to whisper in her ear, and that should have been established earlier, in my view. I like the impending danger here.)

I realize that these notes may seem terribly picky, but they’re signals of shortcomings ahead that an agent or practiced reader will note. The rest of the chapter was also interesting but had little places along the way where things were less clear than I’d like or less crisp. Still, you’re doing well, Linda, and I say keep at it. I liked the character (BTW, it would be good to get her name in on the first page. Should be easy to do.)

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Lynda: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please
What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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.

---

Lynda's first 16 lines:

Just hold on. Wren would shout out loud if she thought it could control the numb weakness invading her muscles. Her blood warmed the cool steel of the steer grip in her palm. Her thighs ached from the wide stance she struck, trying to maintain her balance as the ship spiraled at a sickening speed.

Her grasp slipped. Hold on!

A clanging claxon drowned out all beeps from the control panel. A large asteroid flashed in the view port before the ship spun away.

Desperate not to yield to fear, she turned her attention to Shuna O'Reill. The tall woman leaned over a bright consol screen. She keyed commands with concentrated intensity. O'Reill's short hair bounced up and down and back and forth with each movement of the careening ship.

Wren kept her voice calm. "Hurry up."

She clasped the grip harder, and pushed against the pain screaming up from her raw and ravaged fingers. Letting go meant spinning out of control, it meant death - not an event she intended to experience so soon. Just a few more moments.

A hacking cough exploded behind her. Nok's deep, ragged, baritone came out in a chilling whisper. "There's too much smoke."

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I turned the page
This is a good example of "bridging tension." Not the main conflict, jeopardy, or whatever drives the novel, but still fraught action that has a chance of moving us on to the main situation. Lynda has high action that also lets us know a little about the world we're in. This opening did the job, for me, to give the next pages a chance to hook me. Some notes:

Just hold on. Wren would shout out loud if she thought it could control the numb weakness invading her muscles. Her blood warmed the cool steel of the steering grip in her palm. Her thighs ached from the her wide stance she struck, tryingas she struggled to maintain her balance as while the ship spiraled at a sickening speed. (Little things here. I made it "steering" for clarity. I think that it might be more dramatic if the weakness is invading her hands (the part doing the gripping) rather than the vague "muscles." A coming clarity issue: this mentions the steer grip being in her palm, but later it seems as if she holds it with both hands. And wouldn't she do that if she was struggling to hold on? The little bit of suggested rewriting is to "crisp up" the action a little.)

Her grasp slipped. Hold on!(For me, "grasp" was a softer word than "grip." However, Lynda may be avoiding "grip" because the thing she's holding is a "grip" -- that would account for instances of "grasp," "clasp," etc. Maybe a different term for the device would free up this descriptive language.)

A clanging claxon drowned out all beeps from the control panel. A large asteroid flashed in the view port before the ship spun away.

Desperate not to yield to fear, she turned her attention to glanced at Shuna O'Reill. The tall woman leaned over a bright consol screen, keying . She keyed commands with concentrated intensity. O'Reill's short hair bounced up and down and back and forth with each movement of the careening ship. (It turns out that Shuna is an android. I'd substitute "android" for "woman" here to let us know more about the nature of Wren's world. For me, "turned her attention to" seemed too leisurely for an action in the midst of a calamity.)

Wren kept her voice calm. "Hurry up."

She clasped the grip harder, and pushed against the pain screaming up from her raw and ravaged fingers. Letting go meant spinning out of control, it meant death - not an event she intended to experience so soon. Just a few more moments.

A hacking cough exploded behind her. Nok's deep, ragged, baritone came out in a chilling whisper. "There's too much smoke."

So, a good action scene. In the remainder of the chapter I found spots that could be crisper, but it was a well-imagined world with hints of conflict and danger. Keep at it, Lynda.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Tara: would you keep reading?

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4-year Anniversary
This month marks four years that I've been doing Flogging the Quill, averaging almost 2 posts per week. As a result, I've made many Internet friends and am producing a book of the best of FtQ. Titled Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action, it incorporates many "coachings" on storytelling and craft and some floggings.

If you'd like to be notified when it's available, please email me and I'll send you a note.

And, if you haven't yet answered these questions, please do. What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

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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, 12-point type, 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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Tara's romantic comedy with paranormal elements, the first 16 lines:

"Go talk to him." Amy bumps her hip against mine, knocking me closer to the cute executive by the elevator.

"No! He's way out of my league," I hiss back in a biting whisper.

She closes the distance between herself and the man in the expensive suit and squeezes his bicep. "Hmm, he's yummy. Come on." She's got that petulant, pleading look on her face. The one that always seems to get me into trouble. "Junie, do it for me. Please?"

I let out a gush of air, knowing I've been suckered in once more. I can't deny her anything. I step forward and proceed to drop the pile of papers I'm holding. Right at his feet.

*

Amy and I have been best friends since the first grade. We spent Friday nights eating pizza and playing with Barbie Dolls. Long summer afternoons were for trading Nancy Drew books. We gabbed about boys during marathon phone calls. But ever since she died, she has really started to get on my nerves.

Don't get me wrong, I still love her with all my heart, but she has gotten me into quite a bit of trouble over the years.

Take the time she made me go to that frat party in college and get drunk off the "punch". I'm still finding videos on the Internet of my impromptu striptease on the coffee table.

---

Craft issues, not story, held me up
While I enjoyed the action with the ghostly friend and the apparent premise, there were other issues that caused me to hesitate, and then stop. While the writing is good, and clean, some what I see as overwriting at the beginning and a lack of a sure hand on the pacing kept this from being compelling for me. Notes:

"Go talk to him." Amy bumps her hip against mine, knocking me closer to the cute executive by the elevator. (I wouldn't mind a clue that Amy is a ghost here. While there is a certain level of tension created when we think that she's real, the revelation leaves me feeling a little bit hoodwinked when it happens. I think that a ghost bumping someone raises plenty of story questions without the pseudo tension. For example, later we learn that it took the ghost a while to learn how to "touch." Thought-starter: Once again I wish she hadn't learned how to touch me with her ghostly whatever a couple of years back. Or something like that.)

"No! He's way out of my league," I hiss back in a biting whisper. (Here's the first overwriting, for me. For one thing, people don't really hiss words. And what is a "biting" whisper? It's not easy to put tonality into a whisper. Why not just have her whisper? And have the man notice?)

She closes the distance between herself and the man in the expensive suit and squeezes his bicep. "Hmm, he's yummy. Come on." She's got that petulant, pleading look on her face. The one that always seems to get me into trouble. "Junie, do it for me. Please?" (Second instance of overwriting -- the whole bit about closing the distance. Was all that necessary? Also, if she squeezes his bicep, wouldn't he notice? I would. Consider some other gesture that wouldn't cause dissonance.)

I let out a gush of air, knowing I've been suckered in once more. I can't deny her anything. I step forward and proceed to drop the pile of papers I'm holding. Right at his feet. (More overwriting. The reader will fill in simple action and there's no need to clutter narrative with minutia of detai.)

*

(I didn't think this separation was necessary, and it cost a line space.)

Amy and I have been best friends since the first grade. We spent Friday nights eating pizza and playing with Barbie Dolls. Long summer afternoons were for trading Nancy Drew books. We gabbed about boys during marathon phone calls. But ever since she died, she has really started to get on my nerves. (We're slipping into backstory here, and that's a pace and momentum killer. Limit it to what we need to understand what's going on.)

Don't get me wrong, I still love her with all my heart, but she has gotten me into quite a bit of trouble over the years. (I'd keep the love part and attach it to the previous paragraph, but the rest is just telling and not necessary.)

Take the time she made me go to that frat party in college and get drunk off the "punch". I'm still finding videos on the Internet of my impromptu striptease on the coffee table. (Now we're into full backstory mode, and on the first page. For me, get on with the interaction with the cute executive.)

So. Good stuff, and then too much extra. Focus on story, Tara, and you'll stand a much better chance of engaging your reader.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Darla: would you keep reading?

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4-year Anniversary
This month marks four years that I've been doing Flogging the Quill, averaging almost 2 posts per week. As a result, I've made many Internet friends and am producing a book of the best of FtQ. Titled Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action, it incorporates many "coachings" on storytelling and craft and some floggings.

If you'd like to be notified when it's available, please email me and I'll send you a note.

And, if you haven't yet answered these questions, please do. What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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.

---

Darla is a return floggee, and has reworked her opening chapter. The first 16 lines:

I wiped the sweat from palms onto my pants under the table and met the gaze of my brother's one-time fiancée. At least that was the word I recalled Chesser using when he spoke of Anastassia Delyn in the weeks before his death.

She leaned forward, her long, armored coat emitting a faint creak. "Well Vayen, you're probably wondering why I invited you here."

"It's been five years." Curiosity over her invitation had goaded me into taking the trip halfway around my homeworld to meet her in a mid-class room at a spaceport hotel.

"I've been busy since I quit my position as a spy for Balor's army. You may have heard that I advise the Narvan system now?" Delyn's green eyes crinkled at the corners, highlighting lines I didn't remember seeing there when we'd last met.

The three Balorian worlds, the three worlds of our Caltessian enemies and two others - all under silent control of the human woman across the table. Busy seemed an understatement. I nodded.

"Then you'll understand why I'm looking to hire a bodyguard. Your excellent record during your training and advancing to head of security in just three years speaks for itself. Are you interested?"

---

For me, not yet
While the character is feeling tension, we're not sure why, and there's not much in the action. Basically, this is set-up for what's to come. The whole chapter is that, giving us background on what has happened and exposition on the character's current state. Although there's plenty of interesting stuff about the world Darla has created here, for me the narrative lacked any real jeopardy or urgency for Vayan. Were I you, I'd look for the part in, perhaps, chapter two where things happen to create a need to do things for Vayan, things that she must do to survive. All of the backstory and exposition that's necessary (and you might be surprised how much of it is not) can be worked in.

Darla has a clear and deep picture of the world her characters operate in, and, naturally enough, feels that we the reader need that same understanding in order to fully know what's going on. It ain't necessarily so. If you want to send the second chapter for a look, please do. Meanwhile, some notes on tightening this narrative.

I wiped the sweat from palms onto my pants under the table and met the gaze of my brother's one-time fiancée. At least that was the word I recalled Chesser had used using when he spoke of Anastassia Delyn in the weeks before his death.

She leaned forward, her long, armored coat emitting a faint creak. "Well, Vayen, you're probably wondering why I invited you here." (For me, this signaled "info dump coming." She's about to tell Vayan stuff the author thinks we need to know. Maybe, maybe not. I'm not happy about the "emitting" participle. Why not: Her armored coat creaked when she leaned forward. BTW, "long" is a conclusion word and a relative term that doesn's show or tell us anything. Here it could mean to her waist or to her ankles.)

"It's been five years." Curiosity over her invitation had goaded me into traveling taking the trip halfway around my homeworld to meet her in a mid-class room at a spaceport hotel.

"I've been busy since I quit my position as was a spy for Balor's army. You may have heard that I advise the Narvan system now?" Delyn's green eyes crinkled at the corners, highlighting lines I didn't remember seeing there when we'd last met.

The three Balorian worlds, the three worlds of our Caltessian enemies and two others - all under silent control of the human woman across the table. Busy seemed an understatement. I nodded.

"Then you'll understand why I'm looking to hire a bodyguard. Your excellent record during your training and advancing to head of security in just three years speaks for itself. Are you interested?"

You've got the stuff, Darla, but let's get to the story and dribble in backstory as we are swept away.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Cat: would you keep reading?

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Tell me something, please.

What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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.

---

Before you read this, a reminder of the challenge: the opening has to compel you to turn the page. Nothing else will do. And "compel" is defined as "to force; to urge irresistibly."

---

Cat's first 16 lines:

I knew better than to cut through the center of Sambucu after midnight. If the errand hadn't been so urgent, I wouldn't have gone within a league of the warren of dead-end streets that curved and twisted past tightly shuttered homes. But it was the quickest route to my destination, so I took the risk.

I was halfway through when my nape prickled with warning. A second later two thugs plucked me off the deserted cobblestone street. Cursing my bad luck, I bucked and twisted to shake off their hands. The dim-witted, foul-smelling brutes chuckled at my efforts as they dragged me into an alley half the width of the street. My back hit a rough brick wall.

As I gasped for breath, a third man materialized from the alley's shadows. He wore a long cloak that masked his stride and gave him the appearance of floating. With no place to go, I shrank from the hand that reached out to clutch my throat. A cold, smooth object touched my forehead. As it began to glow, something crawled into my mind.

Disconnected thoughts scattered as an alien presence dug through my brain, ripping and tearing like a dog in search of a lost bone. The light from the object increased, illuminating the ageless face and ancient eyes of the man standing before me: a power seeker.

With my head a blazing agony, I renewed my struggles and kicked out. The stupidity of (snip)

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pollcode.com free polls

Would you turn Cat's first page?

Yes No

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Compelled me
This opening has it all: conflict, jeopardy, action, a strong voice, a scene, clarity, etc. But I do have some notes.

I knew better than to cut through the center of Sambucu after midnight. If the errand hadn't been so urgent, I wouldn't have gone within a league of the warren of dead-end streets that curved and twisted past tightly shuttered homes. But it was the quickest route to my destination, so I took the risk. (I don't think the vague "the errand" that's "so urgent" serves you well. A specific here would help engage the reader. As it is, "the errand" means nothing to the reader. If it's meaningless, why include it? Some hint of what the errand is or why it's so urgent would, in my view, add to the narrative.)

I was halfway through when my nape prickled with warning. A second later two thugs plucked me off the deserted cobblestone street. Cursing my bad luck, I bucked and twisted to shake off their hands. The dim-witted, foul-smelling brutes chuckled at my efforts as they dragged me into an alley half the width of the street. My back hit a rough brick wall. (I'm sorry, but "nape" used in this way was unusual enough to take me out of the story for an instant. There are times when wording out of the ordinary is fine, but at other times I think it's best to go with the quickest, easiest way to say it. In this instance, I think most people would get "back of my neck" quickly and easily. I don't see a need here to push it. At this point, she can't really know that her attackers are dim-witted; they could be stinky geniuses. I'd look for a stronger verb than "hit" for when she's shoved against a wall. Slammed?)

As I gasped for breath, a third man materialized from the alley's shadows. He wore a long cloak that masked his stride and gave him the appearance of floating. With no place to go, I shrank from the hand that reached out to clutch my throat. A cold, smooth object touched my forehead. As it began to glow, something crawled into my mind. ("long" is a relative term, and a "conclusion" word that doesn't really give a picture. "Full-length" or something more descriptive would help. How does the cold object get to her forehead? How about: His other hand pressed a cold, smooth object to my forehead. The "as" construction is a bit roundabout. How about: It glowed, and something crawled into my mind. Also, "something" is a bit vague. Can you picture it more specifically? A cold snake of thought crawled into my mind?)

DisconnectedMy thoughts scattered as an alien presence dug through my brain, ripping and tearing like a dog in search of a lost bone. The light from the object increased, illuminating the ageless face and ancient eyes of the man standing before me: a power seeker. (I like the dog simile.)

With my head a blazing agony, I renewed my struggles and kicked out. The stupidity of (snip)

The rest of the chapter was riveting action as well, although there were spots it could be crisper. Good work.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for David: would you keep reading?

---

Tell me something, please.

What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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.

---

David has sent both a prologue and a first chapter. The first 16 lines from his prologue:

Graat fled.

Harsh words sounded through the night behind him. The Hounds were coming.

Graat pelted past the village bounds, feet splashing on the rough northward track. From there he turned into the sucking mud of the fields and ducked low into the grasses as he headed for the trees.

In his mind he began to count, hoping to keep his breath under control. They would hear him if he didn't.

One; he brushed the long grass aside, and peered into the darkness. Two; he stopped, listening for a sound. Three; deep breath and hold.

The crickets chirped. An owl hooted from the nearest tree. The grass whispered in the wind, and the rain tapped impatient fingers on the world.

Four; he released his breath and crept forward. Five; with a tense breath, Graat lowered his knees into the chill, wet mud. No squelch. Six; he crept forward on hands and knees. Seven; he ceased. Stopped. Held his breath.

The figure stood just paces away, seeming tall against the moon's white backdrop. It held a curved knife outstretched in one hand, a stab of darkness between the moon's perfect white and (snip)

And now the first chapter opening.

Belthus stared at the boots.

His feet had been clad in many different things during his life, from the heavy armored boots worn as a knight to the simple wooden sandals he made for himself as a child. This particular pair of shoes belonged to a middle category. They were slightly impractical, with gilt stitching down the sides in the shape of a galloping horse. They were lined up with the rest of his footwear along a raised section of the floor, just beyond a circle of fine white sand. Through some means, the shoes had come to be out of alignment with the others. They were off-center, angled a touch to the left when they should have been straight. -- it didn't seem to relate to anything.

Belthus tucked a curl of dark hair behind his ear and bit his lip, then took hold of the shoes with calloused fingers and edged them sideways. "Come on," he whispered. "Just a little more." He licked his lips, and let go. "Perfect."

A bell rang. Someone was at the front door. He ignored both the sound and the imagined person. There were things to be done here, in this imperfect room. Urgent things that could not wait. One of the children would answer the bell. Its noise irritated them.

Belthus walked to the wall and slid back a panel to reveal his wardrobe. He spent a few moments smoothing his shirts. He glanced about the room, then adjusted a few of the paintings (snip)

---

Prologue yes, chapter no
First, I enjoyed the writing. The voice is clear, and the narrative pretty clean of the usual glitches. The prologue's action and pace got me to move forward, and the character was clearly in jeopardy

-- unfortunately, it's the story of a guy who gets killed at the end of it. The prologue sets up the nature of the character introduced in the first chapter, but I wasn't happy about becoming invested in a character in the prologue who was then snuffed. Oh, and the counting did add to the tension, but then it wasn't paid off For me, the chapter opening, while the voice is strong and does promise more good writing ahead, and the perfectionism of the character is well-portrayed, there wasn't much in the way of tension, especially compared to the prologue. David, I think you need some hint of story and a good story question on this first page, some kind of tension needs to be introduced. Comments, anyone? For what it's worth, Ray Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ. Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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. ARCHIVES © 2008 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Paul: would you keep reading?

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Submissions, anyone?

What does FtQ do for you (if anything)? How does it help you (if at all)? Please email me with your feedback. And thanks.

---

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, 12-point type, 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.

---

Paul has sent both a prologue and a first chapter. The first 16 lines from his prologue:

There was no apocalypse. The old world of men died slowly of neglected and festering wounds, like an old man gasping for his last breath. Like giant, fat beasts we drank the blood of the earth and threw our excrement into the air, the sea, and buried it in the land. The world began to reek of human waste. You couldn't drink without tasting it, you couldn't step without stepping in it, and you couldn't breathe without it filling your lungs. We created law after law, and technology on top of technology…but it was all for not. The tipping point had come and gone; civilization, as it was once known and celebrated, was doomed.

As resources became scarce, governments began to panic. Alliances were made, lines drawn, and armies assembled. Ironically, humanity finally made its greatest leap into the stars; exploring other worlds for habitation. But the desperation and devastation of earth called all of our explorers home to fight for their families. Great fleets of low-orbit warships were assembled by all the warring factions in an attempt to command the skies above the skies. But a want of basic resources, such as food and water, eventually grounded them before they could annihilate each other.

But all in all, "civilization" ended in a whisper. Overcome by starvation, plagues, and even suicide, the human population that once filled every available corner of the earth dwindled (snip)

And then the first page of the first chapter:

The young girl struggled against her two captors all the way up the hill, her mane of red-golden hair slapping their dirty faces as she pulled against their grasp. Despite the fact that her hands were tied at her back, she threw them off balance as she flexed, for even though she was young, they stood no taller than she. The men made their way with their catch along a stone wall and eventually to a gate.

"What's your business?" said the man with the painted red face and the black circles drawn around his eyes. He held a spear and stood on a small platform inside the wall and he spoke with the arrogance of one who knows who his friends are.

"We've got a girl for the Great Father," said the man with the balding head. "She's young. Guaranteed to be fertile."

The guard came down from his perch and walked slowly around the petrified girl. He looked up into her eyes and smelled the air around her. He then reached out to touch her skin making her flinch.

"Ain't me you gotta worry about, sweetheart", he said. The younger of the two captors laughed as a bit of tobacco juice dripped from his chin. The guard shot him a look that shut him up quickly. "She'll do. Take her to the captain at the end of the walk", he said as he opened the gate.

---

Not there yet for me
While Paul has created an interesting world, and the first chapter does open with action and conflict, there are craft issues that need work before this, for me, is ready to go.

I wouldn't start with the prologue. It seems to me that this information can be folded in later. By the way, it's "all for naught." The first chapter has more promise, but. . .here are some notes.

The young girl struggled against her two captors all the way up the hill, her mane of red-golden hair slapping their dirty faces as she pulled against their grasp. Despite the fact that her hands were tied at her back, she threw them off balance as she flexed, for even though she was young, they stood no taller than she. The men made their way with their catch along a stone wall and eventually to a gate.
(On page 2 it turns out that we're in the girl's point of view. I suggest starting there instead of this distant, omniscient POV. You'd have to work in her hair color and height in a different way, but we'd know right off who to root for.)

"What's your business?" said the man with the painted red face and the black circles drawn around his eyes. He held a spear and stood on a small platform inside the wall, and he spoke with the arrogance of one who knows who his friends are. (Clarity issue here. The speaker could be one of the two holding the girl, especially because the narrative hasn't included anyone else yet. This guy needs to be established before he talks. I suggest using "guard" rather than "man" to give the reader an instant idea of his role.)

"We've got a girl for the Great Father," said the man with the balding head. "She's young. Guaranteed to be fertile." (Two reasons I cut "young" from the first paragraph: "girl" usually denotes youth, and the narrative tells us that she's young here.)

The guard came down from his perch and walked slowly around the petrified girl. He looked up into her eyes and smelled the air around her. He then reached out to touched her skin making her flinch. She flinched away from him. (When did she become petrified? She was struggling, and there's no reason for her to have stopped. And "petrified girl" evoked an image of a statue, which was amusing, and that's not what you want here. One nice touch was that he had to look up into her eyes, thus emphasizing her height compared to the men.)

"Ain't me you gotta worry about, sweetheart," he said. The younger of the two captors laughed as when a bit of tobacco juice dripped from his the guard's chin. The guard shot him a look that shut him up quickly. "She'll do. Take her to the captain at the end of the walk." , he said as he opened the gate. (For me, there's too much narrative spent characterizing these noxious men (shot him a look, balding) and not enough bringing me into the girl's experience. Paul uses the "as" construction here and on subsequent pages, sometimes when "when" is more accurate. I suggest you do a search for "as" and find ways to eliminate it and show the action in another way. After a while, it wears on a reader, in my view. I've a post on "watch your as" here.)

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

Thank you, Mike, for your generous donation. Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

---

Public floggings available. If I can post it here,

1. send 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter 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.
4. If you're in a hurry, I've done "private floggings," $50 for a first chapter.
5. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it's okay with me to update the submission.

ARCHIVES

© 2008 Ray Rhamey