Flogging the Quill

Raising story questions: a little writing fun

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action. I’m going to rest my flogging arm today and for the holidays, and will return to that cruel practice next Monday. Meanwhile, maybe this will be a little bit of writing fun for you.

What follows is an example I created to illustrate building tension through story questions from the very beginning of a story. But I’m going to leave off part of the last line and. . .well, you’ll see. Here’s the excerpt:

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Perhaps my list (of 6 vital story ingredients) should have started with story questions, for without them there would be no tension. You create story questions with information that forces a reader to wonder what will happen next (by information I mean action or dialogue in a scene). For example, how about this for the very first sentence you encounter in a novel?

The spider crept onto Judy's bare neck.

Your knowledge of spiders raises instant questions: Will it bite Judy? Is it poisonous? Is it deadly? What will happen if she's bitten? Will she feel the spider and avoid the bite? What's going to happen next?!

Let's add a little more information and see what happens to the story questions.

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck.

Uh-oh. Now you know it's poisonous, and its bite has more serious consequences—the stakes have been raised, the story question is intensified, and the tension mounts. And now you “see” the spider more clearly—it’s black! Is that enough tension? Enough story questions? Maybe, but we can do better.

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck. She stirred in her sleep.

She's asleep? Ohmygod! New story question: will she wake up in time to deal with the spider? Once more:

The black widow spider crept onto Judy's bare neck. She stirred in her sleep. A second black widow crawled onto her naked skin.

New story questions (and tension): How many black widows are there? Where is she that there are so many? What will happen next?! And we did this with only three sentences. Just for fun, what if this comes next?

Judy opened her eyes just as the first spider crawled onto her cheek. She looked down to see what tickled, and . . . (snip)

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Okay, your turn. How would you end that last sentence in a way that adds yet another story question? Tell me with a Comment. When I return on Monday, I’ll show you how I finished the sentence with a twist that I think multiplied the tension and “compel factor” already created.

Have fun. And have a great Thanksgiving.

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 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 Janelle: 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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Janelle has sent an “inspirational historical (1830).” Her first 16 lines:

Paisley survived a venomous snake bite, escaped from a tribe of cannibals, and forged across crocodile infested waters, but all the dangers in her life seemed like a stroll in Hyde Park compared to the hazards inside this ballroom of a London mansion. With a wary glance around her elaborate surroundings, she leaned into her pretty cousin to whisper, “Going to a ball is on the top of the list of my most hateablist things.”

Ruby gave her an amused smile. “Is hateablist an American word?”

“No. It’s my word. I made it up.”

Ruby’s mother cast them a harsh glare of rebuke. “The daughter and niece of the Earl of Hastings should not be seen whispering. It’s the height of rudeness.”

Paisley loved her aunt, but she loved provoking her even more. “Aunty, on the coach ride here you said not referring to the aristocracy with their proper titles was the height of rudeness, and before that you said laughing out loud was the height of rudeness. In the multitude of degrees of rudeness, which one is truly the height?”

She let out a longsuffering sigh. “Paisley, what am I going to do with you? This is the Duke and Duchess of Manchester’s ball. The event of the season. It’s one of the most important nights of Ruby’s life. Don’t ruin it for her.”

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I turned the page
I liked that Janelle started with a scene, the Paisley character has considerable appeal, and the last line hinted at just enough trouble ahead for me to turn at least one page. I must say that this reads more like an historical romance, starting with young women at a ball and all that. I’m sure the inspirational stuff comes later. However. . .some notes: it.

Paisley had survived a venomous snake bite, escaped from a tribe of cannibals, and forged across crocodile infested waters, but all the dangers in her life seemed like a stroll in Hyde Park compared to the hazards inside this ballroom of a London mansion. With a wary glance around her elaborate surroundings (thoughtstarter) She gazed at the ballroom’s overdone red and gilt wallpaper and crystal chandeliers, and then leaned into her pretty cousin to whisper, “Going to a ball is on the top of the list of my most hateablist things.” (I thought “this ballroom of a London mansion” was a bit clumsy, and the descriptive sentence was more telling than showing, so the suggestion is a way to get in the fact that they’re in a ballroom and to give an actual picture of it. The addition of “overdone” makes the description “experiential,” filtered through the POV character’s view of things.)

Ruby gave her an amused smiled. “Is hateablist an American word?”

“No. It’s my word. I made it up.”

Ruby’s mother cast them a harsh glare of rebuke. “The daughter and niece of the Earl of Hastings should not be seen whispering. It’s the height of rudeness.”

Paisley loved her aunt, but she loved provoking her even more. “Aunty, on the coach ride here you said not referring to the aristocracy with their proper titles was the height of rudeness, and before that you said laughing out loud was the height of rudeness. In the multitude of degrees of rudeness, which one is truly the height?” (I liked this saucy response. The girl has both spunk and a sense of humor.)

She let out a longsuffering sigh. “Paisley, what am I going to do with you? This is the Duke and Duchess of Manchester’s ball. The event of the season. It’s one of the most important nights of Ruby’s life. Don’t ruin it for her.” (That last line was enough to provoke me to wonder what would this charming but rebellious girl do to ruin things.)

As you see, there were a few too many adjectives for me, especially ones such as "elaborate" that doesn't really convey a picture. Watch out for telling rather than showing. A couple of notes on what follows. The first chapter is 23 pages long—I’d look for places to break it up, ending the breaks with some kind of suspense. Also, you have Paisley “Trying to find the oxygen in the room.” I think her knowing about oxygen in 1830 might be a bit of an anachronism—would a young woman, the daughter of a missionary, know about such things?

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 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.

---

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:

The boy is called from the side of his old nurse to attend his father—His Highness, the Prince—and marched down a hall so long that the other end dims in haze. He trembles as they go, and at one point stumbles, only to receive a clip in the small of his back—a reminder that he is to keep his bearing soldierly—otherwise it will be the worse for him, as he well knows from many sad experiences. He is nine years old.

In no time they are at the end, halting before the high and heavy double doors of the Arms Chamber. It had only been a trick of vision, for in his mind's eye he had seen himself and his tutor from the back as they advanced, furlong after furlong down an endless passageway.

A footman cracks the left-hand door and bawls, “His Royal Lordship and His Lordship's Preceptor!” then steps back and swings it wide.

Knees barely supporting him, the boy marches unsteadily to his father's chair, stopping four paces short and bowing deeply (feet together—none of your sashaying pixie-like curtsies), then stands at attention, his eyes fixed at a point over his father's right shoulder. Each corner of the room holds a glass-shielded pedestal candelabrum so tall linkboys must stand a-tiptoe to light it. Above his father's dais hangs a chandelier raised (snip)

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Yes, but. . .
“Story” moved me to turn the page, but there were reluctances. I wanted to know what was going to happen to this very sympathetic, terrified little boy. On the other hand, I felt very distant from him, almost to the point of not caring enough to want to know more. I think that’s a risk. And then, before tightening its grip on me with story, the narrative lapses into fairly dense description of the room. Those things and the pronoun with no apparent antecedent just about stayed my hand. Some notes:

The boy is called from the side of his old nurse to attend his father—His Highness, the Prince—and marched down a hall so long that the other end dims in haze. He trembles as they go, and at one point stumbles, only to receive a clip in the small of his back—a reminder that he is to keep his bearing soldierly—otherwise it will be the worse for him, as he well knows from many sad experiences. He is nine years old.

In no time they are at the end, halting before the high and heavy double doors of the Arms Chamber. It had only been a trick of vision, for in his mind's eye he had seen himself and his tutor from the back as they advanced, furlong after furlong down an endless passageway. (What is the “it”? Perhaps it’s what comes in the second half of the sentence, which refers to seeing himself from a distance. This backwards construction was a stumble for me, not good at a point where things need to flow smoothly.)

A footman cracks the left-hand door and bawls, “His Royal Lordship and His Lordship's Preceptor!” then steps back and swings it wide. (A tiny bit of overwriting; it doesn’t matter to the story or visualizing the scene which door he cracks.)

Knees barely supporting him, the boy marches unsteadily to his father's chair, stopping four paces short and bowing deeply (feet together—none of your sashaying pixie-like curtsies), then stands at attention, his eyes fixed at a point over his father's right shoulder. Each corner of the room holds a glass-shielded pedestal candelabrum so tall linkboys must stand a-tiptoe to light it. Above his father's dais hangs a chandelier raised (snip) (You bring me to a moment of tension like this and then talk about candelabrums and chandeliers? This took your foot totally off the gas pedal for me. Carry on with the story. Then, if these details are absolutely necessary, describe them through the point of view of the boy with experiential description that colors what he sees with what he feels about them.)

The narrative continues with the boy for another page and a half, then switches to past tense and an info dump about the world he’s in. I would have stopped right then and there as an agent because I would see that the author doesn’t show me that he/she knows that it’s “story” that is most important here, and that details of the world can be woven in.

And I have to wonder why the author kept me so distant from the point-of-view character, never giving him a name, staying an arm’s length from him, outside of his POV. I was ready and willing to connect with the character, but was not taken close enough.

Nice writing, though. For me, letting me inside this little boy and staying with his story would be the keys to a much more compelling opening.

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 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 Richard: 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.

---

Richard’s first 16 lines:

‘Come in.’

The same knock sounded on the door.

‘It’s open!’

Still no one entered.

Heaving a sigh William shoved his chair aside and strode to the door. He almost gagged as a disgusting smell filled his nostrils. What was that? It was as if someone had left their lunch to rot behind the radiator.

Grasping the handle he opened the door, but took a step back when he saw the man standing before him, partly because of the horrid smell he was giving off, but also, because of his appearance.

Wearing a dark travelling cloak and hood that could barely hide the scarred and mangled face that lurked beneath, the man was dripping wet mud onto the floor. William tried to recall it raining that day, unable to do so.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m here to see Mr Prince,’ the man growled.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

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Didn’t get me there.
While Richard is definitely doing the right thing for me in opening with a scene, there are some craft and clarity issues and, for this reader, a lack of tension in that the only story question that rises is what does this man want, and, while he’s not pretty, his actions aren’t threatening. I think too many of these precious 16 lines were used up by knocking and not responding. Some notes:

‘Come in.’

The same knock sounded on the door.

‘It’s open!’

Still no one entered.

Heaving a sigh William shoved his chair aside back and strode to the door to answer the knock. He almost gagged as a disgusting when the smell of rotten meat filled his nostrils. What was that? It was as if someone had left their lunch to rot behind the radiator. (The cuts speak for themselves—all that time no doing anything other than speaking to a closed door, but I should point out that “a disgusting smell” is telling, and using a “conclusion” word. Better to show, as in the use of rotten meat.)

Grasping the handle he opened the door, but took a step back when he saw the man standing before him, partly because of the horrid smell he was giving off, but also, because of his appearance. (“Grasping the handle” is an example of “overwriting”—unnecessary detail that slows pace. “Horrid smell” is a case of telling again. And I cut the whole paragraph because I felt that the rotten smell was plenty of mystery, and that we don’t really need William’s reaction to something we, the reader, can’t see yet—“because of his appearance” shows us nothing. We can get the door open in the next paragraph without all this.)

Wearing a dark travelling cloak and hood that could barely hide the scarred and mangled face that lurked beneath, the man was dripping wet mud onto the floor. William tried to recall it raining that day, unable to do so. (I think the first sentence tries to pack too much information into one burst. Let us see the cloak, etc., and then get to the dripping. Also, if he’s dripping mud, that implies it’s on his cloak, not just his shoes, right? But how is that logical? The picture isn’t clear and needs to be. Having William try to recall rain is, for me, slow on the draw. Why not have him just wonder where the mud had come from on a clear, dry day? For example: When he opened the door, a man stood there in a dark travelling cloak, mud spattered to the waist and dripping on the floor. Mud? On a clear sunny day? The hood shadowed a scarred and mangled face. William took a step back from the man’s stench.)

‘Can I help you?’ (In the real world, we would spend time saying things like this. But here I think we can ditch the courtesy and get to the mysterious stranger.)

‘I’m here to see Mr Prince,’ the man growled. (Sigh. People only growl growls, not words. Just use said. If you want to characterize the words, do it differently. For example: ’I’m here to see Mr Prince.’ His words were more like a growl than speech.)

‘Do you have an appointment?’

As the narrative continues, the man shoves his way in and knocks William to the floor. Much more interesting action than unanswered knocks, don’t you think? And, with judicious editing, it would be possible for Richard to get that on the first page, I think. Richard, you’re getting there, but I think you need to attend to what I see as overwriting—describe action simply and clearly, and let the reader fill in much of it. For example, if you write “He opened the door” the reader will automatically “see” him reach out, grasp the knob, turn it, and pull the door back. There’s really no need to describe all that. Keep at it, though, because the story sounds interesting.

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 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 Jon: 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.

---

Jon has sent two alternative openings for his first chapter. Will either of them get you to turn the page? Number 1’s first 16 lines:

Henry's Wall loomed ten meters high, twice the height of the ramparts that held back the Coral Desert and the voracious Bugs that tunneled beneath its restless sands. The Wall provided a stark contrast to the city's fortifications; while the outer walls were quarried whitestone, scratched dull by the patient desert's endless abrasion, Henry's Wall was graffiti-littered concrete, three meters thick and the color of drying blood.

On Po-side, the human side, where the Marketplace buzzed with commerce from dawn to dusk, the ubiquitous stamping boot was the running motif. Stencils were available, if a would-be protestor/vandal knew where to look. A quick burst of spray would leave the ghost of a boot, bent at the ball of the foot with six improbably-long legs curled around the toe from underneath.

On the side the humans called Freaktown and the Betas called home, wind-borne sand tended to collect on the ground (snip)

Number 2 alternative:

Every time I think I can't hate this city any more, I do. At night, I hate the way the winds send the red sands sleeting against the outer walls with a sound like eternity passing. During the day, I hate the way the sun soaks through my body armor to run down my chest and pool in my boots like blood.

I hate my brother's wall, the one they call Henry's Wall. I hate the way it looms like a bloody shadow. I hate the way it divides the city: the east side, Po-side; the west, Freaktown. The east side, human; the west side, beast.

I hate the Peacekeepers, perched atop Henry's Wall and the towers that thrust up from it like fists. I hate the way their plasguns never stop moving, the way they never stop looking for a legal kill.

But most of all, I hate myself. For agreeing to a plan that made me one of them, however temporarily. For needing to sneak back to Po under a dead man's name. For causing it all.

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Alternative 1 didn’t do it, but #2 worked
The first opening, while well written, is scene-setting from an omniscient point of view. While interesting stuff, for me it raised no story questions, at least none about people.

Alternative 2, while intense, raised lots of story questions and had the intimacy and passion of first person. While I hope it eases up a little, I did want to read more to find out what was going to happen to this very unhappy man in this new world. You also get scene information through Jon’s use of experiential description—while you learn about blowing sand, the protagonist characterizes it, and, in the process, characterizes himself. This is one of the topics in my upcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action.

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 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 Lorraine: 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.

---

Lorraine has sent both a prologue and a first chapter. Will either of them get you to turn the page? The prologue’s first 16 lines:

If storms can embody malevolence, this one did. Rain clouds emptied onto the earth with a desperate violence, attempting to wash clean the stench of destruction and disaster. Heavens bellowed and spears of lightning threatened any soul brave enough to leave the safety of shelter. Citizens shuttered windows, bolted doors and drew close to their fires to dispel the dark misery oozing through the damp.

Into this howling, raging storm a woman ran, bent over with the burden she carried. She was as dark as the darkness around her and as wet as the deluge threatening the countryside. Although every part of her was in agony, she moved steadily through the fog that obscured the nearly submerged land bridge. No one had yet detected her flight, but she feared that soon they would and then no power on earth could save her precious package from the wrath of the new queen.

Leaving the mists of the coast, Sianna ran inland toward the great forest. Only when she had reached the protection of the giant evergreens did she stop and look back. Rising sobs washed away the last of her strength and she wept uncontrollably, gradually melting the hard block of ice that lodged in her heart days ago. With the melting came unbearable pain as she thought of the loss of her adored husband and son as well as the magical kingdom that had been her home since marriage. Now she feared losing this tiny daughter clutched inside her cloak.

And now for the first chapter opening:

The day was golden and tingling with a slightly smoky smell of autumn. After checking to make sure no one was watching Maia squatted under the maple tree and gathered a huge armful of amber and crimson leaves. It’s like the trees are decorating themselves in their most festive colors just for my birthday, she exulted. “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me!” she sang at the top of her lungs, heading towards the barn to get ready for the evening milking.

“Well, someone sounds like they’re in a good mood for a change,” teased Aiden as he came around the corner. “You don’t really expect that anyone remembers this is your birthday, do you? And even if they do, so what? It just means you’ve had another whole year of being a pain and a strain and a drain on my brain!” With that he took a handful of straw and shoved it down Maia’s back.

“Even you can’t provoke me today, Aiden,” Maia replied, sticking her tongue out at him. “No matter how rude and crude you are, I just know that today is going to be wonderful. My whole new life as a woman is just beginning. I’m thirteen now, and don’t you forget it!”

“A woman!” snorted Aiden. “I’ve seen barn boards with more of a woman’s shape than you have. Thirteen you may be, little girl, but take it from me, a woman is one thing you are not!”

“You wouldn’t know a woman if you saw one,” Maia snipped. “Just because Tara’s been (snip)

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Not the prologue, but the chapter for me
A couple of things about the prologue stopped me. While the writing is good, it’s sorta heavy. You have to work your way through it. Maybe tightened up a bit, with fewer adjectives, it would be okay. And, while it starts with action and a scene, I felt that I’d seen this story before—the peasant rescuing an infant from an evil ruler’s wrath. Yes, it’s a traditional plot in fantasy, but there was nothing in this opening to suggest that this would be a fresh take on it.

I would turn the page on the chapter opening. I liked the voice, and there was just enough of what Donald Maass calls “bridging conflict” to get me there. The mood was light and happy, and the narrative flowed well. If there were anything I’d look to do, it would be to find a way to inject a little foreshadowing of trouble ahead for Maia.

A couple of small notes: I’d look for a way to put the first descriptive sentence into Maia’s point of view. And her exultation, It’s like the trees are decorating themselves in their most festive colors just for my birthday, she exulted. I’d turn into internal monologue so tenses aren’t hopping around, i.e.

It was like the trees were decorating themselves in their most festive colors just for her birthday.

Nice work, keep at it, Lorraine.

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 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 David: 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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David’s first 16 lines:

The bellow of the green dragon nearly deafened him. Nathaniel’s hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the shaft of his spear. Aaron’s face showed serious concern as he stood beside his friend, and with good reason. Magical construct or not, this dragon could hurt or even kill you, as all of the Guardes-In-Training had witnessed earlier that day. Michael had gotten too close to a sizable red dragon construct and took a razor-sharp tail spike to the chest, dying instantly.

The instructors purposely did not halt the lesson, and in the chaos two more trainees were injured: one of them by fire from the same red dragon and the other by the crystalline claws of a white dragon. Stephen lost one of his eyes to the cruel dragon claws, and Mark might yet die from fire poisoning.

A close swipe of the powerful dragon’s tail and a warning shout from Aaron returned Nathaniel’s mind to the present threat: the bellowing earth dragon intent on crushing the life out of them. A powerful creature by nature, somewhat dim-witted but extremely tenacious, green dragons were very difficult to kill. Nathaniel had been drilled repeatedly on the “correct” method of dispatching such a threat, but a spark of an idea grew in his mind. Their performances today would determine their placement in the Guarde, and Nathaniel was determined to one-up his best friend and comrade-at-arms, Aaron.

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A close call for me, but finally no
On story, I was ready, and David does indeed have an interesting story going. But there were craft issues that were also reflected in the rest of the chapter. Bottom line, there’s good imagination, fairly good writing (and some overwriting), and plenty of promise, but it doesn’t reach the publishable level for me, and that’s what it has to do for an agent. Some notes:

The bellow of the green dragon’s bellow nearly deafened him. Nathaniel’s hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the shaft of his spear. Aaron’s face showed serious concern as he stood beside his friend, and with good reason. Magical construct or not, this dragon could hurt or even kill you, as all of the Guardes-In-Training had witnessed earlier that day. Michael had gotten too close to a sizable red dragon construct and took had taken a razor-sharp tail spike to the chest, dying that killed him instantly. Beside Nathaniel, Aaron, his best friend and comrade-at-arms, looked worried. (The “of” construction instead of a simple possessive is a habit I have to avoid in my own writing—it’s more words with lesser effect, IMO. The introduction of Aaron in the second tangled sentence robbed drama from the opening, so I simplified it and moved it to the rear so that the reader will know that Aaron is there when it’s time for him to take part.)

The instructors purposely did had not halted the lesson, and in the chaos two more trainees were had been injured: one of them by fire from the same red dragon and the other by the crystalline claws of a white dragon. Stephen lost one of his eyes to the cruel dragon claws, and Mark might yet die from fire poisoning from the red dragon, and Stephen had lost an eye to the cruel claws of a white dragon. (There was “double” telling in this summary, so I cut and rearranged heavily to tighten it. The narrative told us that two trainees had been injured, and then told us again with descriptions of the injuries. There were some tense tangles, too.)

A close swipe of the powerful dragon’s tail and a warning shout from Aaron returned Nathaniel’s mind to the present threat: the bellowing earth dragon intent on crushing the life out of them. A powerful creature by nature, The somewhat dim-witted but extremely tenacious, green dragons were very difficult to kill. Nathaniel had been drilled repeatedly on the “correct” method of dispatching dragons such a threat, but a spark of an idea sparked grew in his mind. Their performances today would determine their placement in the Guarde, and Nathaniel was determined to one-up his best friend and comrade-at-arms, Aaron. (I found it hard to believe that someone confronted with a bellowing green dragon would be so distracted by what had happened earlier that he would have to have his mind returned to the threat at hand. “Powerful dragon” seems redundant—I think we all perceive dragons as powerful.)

David gets to some seriously interesting stuff a number of pages later, but the narrative needs tightening so we get there sooner. Keep at it, David.

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 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 Ray (yes, again): would you keep reading?

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Okay, it’s me again. Set free by your comments on the novel opening and the full chapter I posted last week, I edited me. And that led to a radical change, a reversion to a previous form. The protagonist’s story in this novel had once been told in first person, with the rest of the POV characters in third.

I’d been wondering if I’d lost something by switching her from first to third, and your notes prompted me to revisit that mode. Below is a rewrite using that POV. If you want to refer back to the original 16 lines, they’re here.

But wait, there’s more. When I rewrote, I returned to another aspect of the original approach—the first chapter had also introduced another character, the one in pursuit of Ailia at the end of the chapter posted last week.

You can read the new version of the chapter here—it’s only 9 manuscript pages long.

I really hope that those of you who commented on the previous version will take a look, and I invite new fresh eyes, too.

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But first, let’s attend to the initial 16 lines. See if this works any better for you.

As I neared one of the bronze lions that guard the Chicago Art Institute, a lean man in a black overcoat targeted me with a small video camera.

Reflexes from long years of living in hiding shot alarm into my gloom. I couldn’t let his camera see through my glamére—instead of the curly brown hair and olive skin of my “Ailia the tourist” illusion, the camera would reveal straight platinum hair bobbed short and skin so white it sometimes looked bluish. I pulled my hood close around my face and started up the stairs to the entrance.

The man’s lips moved, and the wind carried his words to me. “I think I got one.”

When I turned my gaze on him, he jerked the camera away and panned it across the Institute. I saw yellow-green strands of deceit blossom within the aura around his head—he wanted to hide his purpose.

But what did it matter? It could have nothing to do with me.

Besides, I planned to die today.

The January wind, named the Hawk by the people of this city, whipped my long coat and thrust icy talons under my dress, greedy for my warmth. Last I was here it had been a lively summer breeze; now it was a harbinger of death.

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Hey, thanks for all your support and feedback. And if you thought the page was worth turning, the rest of the chapter is here.

Comments, anyone?

For what it's worth,

Ray

---

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 WD: 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.

---

WD has sent a prologue that he’s not happy with and a first chapter. The first 16 lines of the prologue:

Our story starts in 1960; that seems about right. Or it could be 1961 or 1962 or 1959.

And our starting place? It's a small two-bedroom house that sits on a small lot on a quiet street. An oak tree grows out of the center of the front lawn, and an apple tree grows in the back.

Just a few tree-lined, red brick blocks away is the main street of the borough, its few blocks the home of various stores, a diner, the library, the post office, the fire house, the police station, a few bars, a movie theater, a gas station and some small office spaces. Many of the buildings are three story, with their businesses on the ground floor and apartments above.

A trolley line connects the borough to the nearby city.

The house and the borough and the city might be in Ohio or Indiana, or maybe Illinois. Or Pennsylvania? Yes, that sounds right. Let's call our little borough Laurelwood, population 17,000 or so, and place it on the eastern shore of the Susquehanna River, just a few miles north of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

And who are the people in our story? Allen and Mary Wheeler and their two boys, Kevin and David: ages 30, 28, 8 and 5, for now. And a few friends and neighbors and... well, we'll meet them all soon enough.

And what season is it? Why, it's the season that matters the most. It's Summer, of course!

And the first chapter starts out this way:

In the house, in the smaller of the two bedrooms, the lights were out and the boys were in their beds, soon to be asleep for the night, tired from a long day's play in their yard, and in friends' yards, and in the nearby woods that ran deeper than the young boys knew.

“Hey, David,” Kevin's whispered in the dark, “are you still awake?”

“Ya. Are you?” whispered five-year-old David.

“Wow, is that a dumb question!”

David let the insult pass. He didn't know why his brother, older by almost four years, thought his question was dumb when it was the same question he'd been asked.

“When I was out on the front porch this afternoon,” Kevin said, “I heard Mom and Dad talking in the living room about maybe going to Robert Hill Park tomorrow. I think they want to surprise us, so don't let on like I told you.”

“What's Robert Hill Park?”

“You were there before, but you must not remember.”

“So what is it?”

“It's a big place with lots of rides and food and stuff, and I know all about it,” Kevin said with big-brother authority.

---

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Not for this reader
The prologue? Just information that we could have gotten later, woven into a story. If you want to set the scene in a prologue, it needs to be a real scene, with action, a plot, and tension. For me, this gave me no reason to turn the page.

And you already know my problem with the first chapter opening—no tension. I skimmed through the rest of the chapter, and while there’s some nice writing, it’s all about a family getting up in the morning and going to an amusement park. The only bit of tension came at page 14, when the littlest boy sees a roller coaster in action for the first time and it scares him.

To my eye, this is an extended case of “throat-clearing.” There is good writing, but I suspect that this story grows out of the author’s actual experiences in some way, and he is revisiting that time here. But story is about desires frustrated, taking risks, jeopardy, conflict, struggle. In these 14 pages I didn’t see much of that.

If something happens in the amusement park to little David that changes his life, start there. You can fill in who Mom and Dad and Brother are later, as well as the time. And, apparently, the place doesn’t really matter since the prologue tells us it could be any of several places.

The tone in the opening is that of a kindly old storyteller with kids at his feet. The reality is that your first page is confronting a brower in a bookstore or a weary agent. As agent Lori Perkins says on her blog,

“Your novel has to grab me by the first page, which is why we can reject you on one page.”

That’s the standard your first page has to meet. And you’d better be darned tough in your assessment of how well it does the job of hooking the 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 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 Anne-Marie: would you keep reading?

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But first. . .

Thanks to all the folks who commented on and voted on the turn of the page for my submission in the last post. Because the poll thingy got screwed up, I ended up with three separate polls. The sum of the results are

• Yes: 30
• No: 10
  

Here's the first chapter.For those of you who said you’d turn the page, I thought I’d provide what would greet you if you had—the rest of the chapter. I guess those of you who didn’t want to turn the page are out of luck. Here’s the first chapter, including the first lines that you’ve already seen so you can see how it all works together. I would appreciate your feedback.

---

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.

---

Anne-Marie’s first 16 lines of romantic suspense:

“On the sole count of first degree murder, how does the jury find?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Spectators in the galley gasped and murmured.

Assistant District Attorney Madison Montgomery choked back an automatic protest, swallowing the rising hysteria from the jury’s biased verdict.

“Order.” Thwack. “Order. I said order in this court!” Thwack.

The hammering of the judge’s gavel echoed over the din of the courtroom, but it was as if no one heard. Reporters rushed from the room and others continued to comment among themselves. Cries from the victim’s mother echoed like an eerie wail of a wounded animal.

Madison reached out to Mrs. Roth. “I’m so sorry. I let you down.”

She had promised Mrs. Roth justice but failed to deliver. How had she lost? Guilt from the jury’s verdict had Madison’s confidence sinking like the Titanic.

“No,” Mrs. Roth said, wiping tears from her eyes, “you didn’t do anything wrong. The jury did.”

Madison’s gaze darted from the victim’s mother to the jurors’ box, and finally to the defendant, Joshua Baldwin, who stared at the ceiling. Were those tears in his lying eyes? He (snip)

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Not quite
I wanted to want to turn the page, but the tension level just wasn’t enough to overcome a few craft issues. I am willing to turn the page even when there are writing issues if the intrigue gestalt is sufficient. I think this has promise, though. Some notes:

“On the sole count of first degree murder, how does the jury find?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

Assistant District Attorney D.A. Madison Montgomery choked back a n automatic protest to, swallowing the rising hysteria from the jury’s biased verdict. (I moved this paragraph up to get the protagonist in sooner, and shortened that incredibly long title. I snipped the “hysteria” part for a couple of reasons. First, if it’s her hysteria, that seems like too big a reaction—look it up. Second, it’s not totally clear whether the hysteria is hers or others.)

Spectators in the galley gasped and murmured.

“Order.” The judge’s gavel thwacked. Thwack. “Order. I said order in this court!” Thwack.

The hammering of the judge’s gavel echoed over the din of the courtroom, but it was as if no one heard. Reporters rushed from the room and others continued to comment among themselves. Cries from the victim’s mother echoed like an eerie the wail of a wounded animal. (“echoed?” In what must be a fairly large room with a whole lot of hubbub? I’d look for a different verb. And this one appears in the paragraph twice, which is another kind of echo that you want to avoid.)

Madison reached out to Mrs. Roth. “I’m so sorry. I let you down.” (I felt “reached out” lacked visual specificity. How about she puts her hand on a shoulder or something?)

She had promised Mrs. Roth justice but failed to deliver. How had she lost? Guilt from the jury’s verdict had Madison’s confidence sinking like the Titanic. (While the sinking confidence is characterization, the cliché pretty much sank the effort for me. Besides, from what I read later, this character doesn’t lack for confidence.)

“No,” Mrs. Roth said, wiping tears from her eyes, “you didn’t do anything wrong. The jury did.” (The problem with the jury seems key, but wasn’t followed up on.)

Madison’s gaze darted from the victim’s mother to the jurors’ box, and finally to the defendant, Joshua Baldwin, who stared at the ceiling. Were those tears in his lying eyes? He (snip)

What follows is some dialogue about the fact that she failed to prove that Baldwin is a dirty cop [I wish that had been on this page], some wonderment about why the jury went the way it did, and finally a confrontation with Baldwin, who I suspect is the romantic interest. Now that’s an interesting premise. Were I Anne-Marie, I’d give serious thought to collapsing time on this first page and get right to this, taken from a later page:

As she tried to get the hell out of Gotham City, long, strong fingers gripped her shoulders from behind.

“Miss Montgomery, I’d like to talk…”

She spun around and yanked free from the grasp. Baldwin. “You! You’re the last person I want touching me, so keep your hands to yourself.”

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 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