Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Susan: would you keep reading?

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Another day off this coming Friday. I’m becoming quite the slacker this holiday season—not really. I’m doing a major rewrite of a novel on these days off. But I’ll be back to bending over a hot Flogometer on Monday.

Meanwhile, visit my new website that includes info on Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action, my new book that bestselling author Tess Gerritsen calls “a must-have for any novelist.” Go to www.ftqpress.com. I'd appreciate any feedback—there's a contact page—and let me know if you’d like to be notified when it’s available. Happy New Year!

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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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Susan’s first 16 lines

Two lofty men with seething eyes and hard expressions guarded the doors of the chapel. Inside, mourners filed past the closed casket to pay their respects to the Luna family- Roberto and Marietta Luna, and their only surviving child, fourteen year old Augusta. As friends and family passed the portrait of twelve year old Marco, such youth surrounded by vases of roses, carnations and colorful flower arrangements, some released pent up cries, others hung their heads in sorrow.

When all had gone except for the Luna family, Roberto laid a fresh rose atop the casket and moved toward the back of the chapel. Marietta threw her hand to her mouth and broke into sobs.

“Oh, Mama, it’s okay,” Augusta whispered, putting her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Marco’s at peace now. He doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Roberto kissed his wife’s forehead, and then touched Augusta’s long chestnut hair.

“Brownie will take you both home now.”

Roberto watched as Augusta helped her mother toward the back of the chapel and then out the door. He glanced at his watch. He had instructed the guards, “the boys”, to allow Alex Burns in with no questions or commotion. He would arrive soon.

Roberto turned his attention back to his son. It was too much to bear knowing that his (snip)

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Didn’t quite get there
I think it was the string of adjectives in the first sentence that were initially off-putting, and then there wasn’t much in the way of tension that developed. For me, there was a little overwriting as well. I like that we start with a scene, and it takes place at a dramatic moment—a child’s funeral.

This 4-page chapter felt more like a prologue to a story about a Mafia-like family, and I never quite hooked up with a character. This chapter is in the pov of the father, but there’s no clue to that on the first page. I suggest that the author get into Roberto’s head and help us feel his grief and anger. This could be done in the first paragraph as he places the rose on the casket. The other mourners could already be gone. In other words, set the scene quickly and efficiently, and get to the characters and the story. Some notes:

Two lofty men with seething eyes and hard expressions guarded the doors of the chapel. Inside, mourners filed past the closed casket to pay their respects to the Luna family- Roberto and Marietta Luna, and their only surviving child, fourteen-year-old Augusta. As friends and family passed the portrait of twelve-year-old Marco, such youth surrounded by vases of roses, carnations and colorful flower arrangements, some released pent up cries, others hung their heads in sorrow. (Here’s an example of how to put the first sentence into Roberto’s point of view: The two men Roberto trusted most to keep his family safe guarded the chapel doors as mourners filed past the closed casket inside. I stumbled over “such youth.” )

When all had gone except for the Luna family, Roberto laid a fresh rose atop the casket and moved toward the back of the chapel. Marietta threw her hand to her mouth and broke into sobs. (The staging—moving to the back of the chapel—isn’t needed here, and slows pace. An example of overwriting—the inclusion of detail that doesn’t characterize or advance story.)

“Oh, Mama, it’s okay,” Augusta whispered, putting her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Marco’s at peace now. He doesn’t hurt anymore.” (I felt that this didn’t contribute. Also, the “doesn’t hurt anymore” line suggests that the boy died of natural causes, but on the next page we read about bullet holes. It would be far better to bring in the bullet holes, and thus the boy’s murder, on this page.)

Roberto kissed his wife’s forehead, and then touched Augusta’s long chestnut hair.

“Brownie will take you both home now.”

Roberto watched as Augusta helped her mother toward the back of the chapel and then out the door. He glanced at his watch. He had instructed the guards, “the boys”, to allow Alex Burns in with no questions or commotion. He would arrive soon.

Roberto turned his attention back to his son. It was too much to bear knowing that his (snip)

For me, this narrative needs to be crisper and more evocative. There’s good writing, too, so keep at it, Susan.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Your generosity helps defray 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 Sammy: would you keep reading?

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Do me the favor of visiting my new website that includes info on the new book, editing services, and workshops that I offer. Some quite positive comments are coming in, including one from NYT bestselling author Tess Gerritsen. Go to www.ftqpress.com. I'd appreciate any feedback

-- there's a contact page. And let me know if you’d like to be notified when the book is available, probably January. 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. Sammy’s first 16 lines of what seems to be a YA novel: Zackaria flew a thousand feet above the ground. She loved how the cool October wind beat against her clothes and rode the waves of her long black hair. Holding tight to the side of her jetboard, she maneuvered the vehicle into downward spirals. She performed another tight corkscrew before easing her board back toward her destination, flying through the spaces between Pantor City’s skyscrapers. Her eyes widened. She approached one of the pedestrian walkway tubes that connected one building to another. Her heart thrashed her chest with rising anticipation. Zackaria released a breath. Feeling risky in the early morning, she waited until the walkway was a dangerous distance away from her before directing her board under it. Another walkway came her way and she gasped, swerving to the right only to find herself flying straight into a building. Thinking fast, she rocketed straight up. She sailed alongside the tall skyscraper and touched the glass windows with her fingertips. Gusts of wind splashed against her face through her helmet’s window. Zackaria closed her eyes, smiling. She flew above the building and greeted the rising sun. Rays of sunlight pierced her eyes and she blinked, consuming the view of the dense city. Not enough I think we have another example of “throat-clearing” before getting to story. Although Sammy has opened with a scene and with action, he’s just having his character having fun, and there’s really no tension here. Here’s what I’d do to start with: Zackaria flew a thousand feet above the ground. She loved how the cool October wind beat against her clothes and rode the waves of her long black hair. Holding tight to the side of her jetboard, she maneuvered the vehicle it into downward spirals. She performed another tight corkscrew before easing her board back toward her destination, flying through the spaces between Pantor City’s skyscrapers. Her eyes widened. She approached one of the pedestrian walkway tubes that connected one building to another. Her heart thrashed her chest with rising anticipation. Zackaria released a breath. Feeling risky in the early morning, she waited until the walkway was a dangerous distance away from her before directing her board under it. Another walkway came her way and she gasped, swerving to the right only to find herself flying straight into a building. Thinking fast, she rocketed straight up. She sailed alongside the tall skyscraper and touched the glass windows with her fingertips. Gusts of wind splashed against her face through her helmet’s window. Zackaria closed her eyes, smiling. She flew above the building and greeted the rising sun. Rays of sunlight pierced her eyes and she blinked, consuming the view of the dense city. After the first paragraph, I’d go to this one from page 2: “If you keep playing around like that, you’ll definitely lose this race,” Chrisa said in the communicator receiver in Zackaria’s helmet receiver. So we have some overwriting and throat-clearing. That’s too bad, because much later in the chapter we learn that this is a most unusual and interesting girl with a mysterious past. Sammy, whip out that delete key and get us to the story and some tension, and then you’ll have something. Comments, anyone? For what it’s worth. Ray Your generosity helps defray 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 format your submission as specified at the front of this post. 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

What's your 2009 writing plan? Poll.

As this year ends, I'm looking forward to my upcoming writing year, and I wondered about what yours has in store for you. Mine's gonna be busy.

First there's the marketing of my writing book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action. There are a few more blurbs that I hope will come in, then I plan to print a bunch and let you know about it.

On the writing side, I've a bunch of rewriting ahead of me. My speculative thriller, We the Enemy, is undergoing major surgery thanks to the input of editor Lou Aronica. I've worked out all the plot changes, solved the logic problems he had, and done serious character removal -- took out two key players. Now comes the rewriting. I've managed to pick away and take care of the first half, but next week will be all rewrite all the time, thanks to taking time off from the day job. I'm really looking forward to finding out how I'm going to pull it all together.

Next on the rewrite list is my satire/urban fantasy, The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles (no, I'm not obsessed with kitty-cats, their continuing presence in my books is purely coincidence). My queries a year ago got several agents to request fulls, and they all loved the writing. But the story didn't quite get them there. Also, I queried an editor at a publishing company who was interested because of the nature of the query -- it was written by my protagonist, Patch, the kitty-cat in the book -- but said that, at just under 70,000 words, it was too short to be a commercial novel. It's been sitting long enough now that I hope to be objective enough to see the story shortcomings and fix them.

And a third novel is going to get a long second look. I posted the opening of Finding Magic here a while back for feedback, and then got involved with returning the primary protagonist's narrative to first-person. I liked the result, but it causes a key logic problem that I need to solve. If I can, it'll go to market next year.

So what are you going to be writing? I'd love to hear specifics in the Comments section, but at the least take a moment and choose a choice or two in the poll below.

Here's wishing you a hugely successful writing year. Flogging will continue next week.

Best,

Ray

Flogometer for Phil: would you keep reading?

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Day off this coming Friday. However, stop in, I’ve a question for you then. And I hope you’ll do me the favor of visiting my new website that includes info on the new book, editing services, and workshops that I offer. Some quite positive comments are coming in, including one from NYT bestselling author Tess Gerritsen. Go to www.ftqpress.com. I'd appreciate any feedback

-- there's a contact page. And let me know if you’d like to be notified when the book is available, probably January. Happy Holidays! 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. Phil’s first 16 lines: The mouth-watering aroma of baking banana bread curled appealingly up the grand staircase, mingling with the steam of her hot shower. Finished bathing, she stepped out of the stall and into a thirsty Turkish towel. A pleasurable smile curled the corners of her full lips as the delectable scent reached her olfactory senses. She suddenly realized she was starving. She twisted the towel around her blonde tresses and paused a few seconds before the floor length mirror assessing her feminine qualities. Her beauty eluded the woman as her critical gaze swept up the 5’2” frame to her “almost” pretty face, dominated by unbelievably large emerald eyes. Honesty, empathy, and intelligence exuded from those windows of her soul; but like an anorexic, which can never be thin enough, Rebecca Rainbow could not see her feminine elegance. Moreover, her gynecologist husband, Ted, reinforced her poor self-image by harsh criticism, constantly comparing her to his patients. He often told her, “It’s a good thing you can’t get pregnant! You’re so short; you’d look like a bowling ball.” She slipped into a clinging silk dressing gown, intent on a hot slice of banana bread. As she descended the curved staircase, the oven timer sounded, reinvigorating her Pavlovian hunger pangs. However, the tone puzzled her, coming as though in surround sound. The second beep seemed to be coming from behind her in her bedroom. Her bewilderment yielded (snip) Not for this reader There's little tension here, plus craft issues. To me, strong fiction involves me by delivering the experience of a character through how the character experiences what’s happening. I cover this a lot in my upcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action, which is about far more than starting a novel. But here we’re given lush (overly, for me) descriptions of the character from way outside her point of view. I don’t think a woman would think of herself in such a way. More importantly, is it important that we know about her blonde tresses and unbelievably large emerald eyes? Does her appearance figure in the story? If not, sketch it in through natural observances. If anything, her husband’s line (without being told that she’s 5’ 2”) shows us more than all the description. While Phil has give careful thought and much work to word choice, for me it’s overburdened with adjectives, adverbs, and wordy circumlocutions. For example, which better gives you the experience of the character? This: A pleasurable smile curled the corners of her full lips as the delectable scent reached her olfactory senses. Or this: She smiled at the warm, nutty aroma of fresh banana bread. Some notes on logic and other craft problems: The mouth-watering aroma of baking banana bread curled appealingly up the grand staircase, mingling with the steam of her hot shower. Finished bathing, she stepped out of the stall and into a thirsty Turkish towel. A pleasurable smile curled the corners of her full lips as the delectable scent reached her olfactory senses. She suddenly realized she was starving. She twisted the towel around her blonde tresses and paused a few seconds before the floor length mirror assessing her feminine qualities. Her beauty eluded the woman as her critical gaze swept up the 5’2” frame to her “almost” pretty face, dominated by unbelievably large emerald eyes. Honesty, empathy, and intelligence exuded from those windows of her soul; but like an anorexic, which can never be thin enough, Rebecca Rainbow could not see her feminine elegance. Moreover, her gynecologist husband, Ted, reinforced her poor self-image by harsh criticism, constantly comparing her to his patients. He often told her, “It’s a good thing you can’t get pregnant! You’re so short; you’d look like a bowling ball.” (1. (logic) I don’t see how the aroma of baking banana bread downstairs could possibly reach her inside the stall of a hot shower upstairs. Hot air and moisture flow out of such a shower, and would push any aromas away. 2. (logic) Turkish towels are large, plush towels, in my understanding entirely too large to twist around one’s blonde tresses. 3. What is a “pleasurable” smile? Pleasurable to whom? Wouldn’t it be to an observer, who is not there? 4. So how large is “unbelievably?” Are we to believe whatever size they are?) She slipped into a clinging silk dressing gown, intent on a hot slice of banana bread. As she descended the curved staircase, the oven timer sounded, reinvigorating her Pavlovian hunger pangs. However, the tone puzzled her, coming as though in surround sound. The second beep seemed to be coming from behind her in her bedroom. Her bewilderment yielded (snip) (For me, there’s overwriting and telling throughout. For example, “Her bewilderment yielded. . .” Why not, simply, “She understood when. . .”) My advice to Phil is to strip out the adverbs and most of the adjectives, then get inside Rebecca’s head and give us what she’s experiencing, which would not be “her full lips” of her “Pavlovian hunger pangs,” in my view.) I'm not mocking your writing, Phil, but only trying to show how someone could see it as over the top. I think that if you tone it down and use the vocabulary and way of speaking of your character to show her experiences, you'll clear the way for your story to come through and hook me. A shower and banana bread isn't a tension-filled hook. I understand that you're setting up what current life is like, but where's the inciting incident? Isn't it on page 7, where Rebecca learns that her husband has been killed in an accident, another woman with him? For me, there's too much throat-clearing here. Let us learn about her character through how she reacts to challenges, not banana bread. 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 format your submission as specified at the front of this post. 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 Trudy: would you keep reading?

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Check out my new website. I've launched a new website that includes info on the new book, editing services, and workshops that I offer. Some quite positive comments are coming in, including one from NYT bestselling author Tess Gerritsen. Go to www.ftqpress.com. I'd appreciate any feedback

-- there's a contact page. And let me know if you’d like to be notified when the book is available, probably January. 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. Trudy’s first 16 lines of a YA urban fantasy/romance: The fasten seat belt light popped on with a ding, made hard to hear by the fact that my ears were completely screwed up by the altitude change, (something I always hated about flying), and the plane started making its descent to the Cancun airport. “So, you excited?” my mother asked, leaning over to look out the window next to my seat. “Um, yah, of course!” Sometimes mom was so incredibly obvious, what was I going to say to that? How could I NOT be excited about a whole week in tropical Mexico? “Well I thought you might be just a little bit nervous too, you know it is our first time out of the country?” I looked over at mom. She had her blonde hair clipped up off her face but an errant strand had fallen down and she was nervously twirling it in her fingers as she vacantly stared out at the approaching runway. “So why haven’t you ever left the country before? I mean, I know you like to travel and you and dad have the money.” “Oh I don’t know. I guess we just never had a reason, and you know your father is always so busy. It’s hard to own a business, that’s why he couldn’t even be here now of course.” She turned from the window towards me and smiled a crooked little smirk “Secretly, I think he’s afraid of flying.” This Grinch says no The writing is good and clear, the author opens with a scene—all good. And I liked the voice. But, to this reader, there was virtually no tension, nor did story questions make an appearance, and there’s no hint that this was an urban fantasy or, for that matter, a romance. I think we’re seeing “throat-clearing” here. That’s the author giving us information she thinks we need to understand the story. In my view, this story needs to start with story in media res -- in the midst of things happening. This 21-page chapter has about 9 pages of set-up and arrival at a resort in Mexico that gives us lots of detail of what it’s like to travel there. At last, things get interesting on page 9. I’m going to put in a teensy introductory bit and cut a fair amount of overwriting and then show you the first 16 lines of that narrative. Mom and I were getting settled in our room for our holiday at the Cancun Paradise resort when her face screwed up funny, like she was in pain. She bent over and dropped to her knees. “Mom, you okay?” I hopped from the bed down to the floor beside her. She let out a long breath. “That was really weird. It was like someone punched me in the stomach.” I put my arm around her and held her while she sat shaking and breathing hard, ignoring the sharp tingling sensation that seemed to flare along my whole body. Oh God, what’s wrong! I’d never seen my mom in this much pain before. We were in Mexico; did they even have hospitals here? “Mom, mom, what do you want me to do? Should I call down to the front desk, ask about a doctor or something?” “Oh no, no, it’s passing. I’m feeling better, just give me a minute.” She let out a long sigh and rose her feet. “There, that’s not so bad.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She was standing, but she was still doubled over with her hands on her knees, panting to catch her breath. For me, that was interesting. Trudy can fill in background details as needed, but let’s get going. Trudy, you’ll see by the cuts in this passage that I think there’s plenty of trimming needed, but you should keep at it. Sounds like a good story in the making. Comments, anyone? For what it’s worth. Ray 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 format your submission as specified at the front of this post. 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 Lorraine: would you keep reading?

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Check out my new website. I've launched a new website that includes info on the new book, editing services, and workshops that I offer. Go to www.ftqpress.com. I'd appreciate any feedback -- there's a contact page.

---

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 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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Lorraine has returned with a rewritten prologue and chapter. Their first 16 lines:

Arowyn shivered and strained at her bindings, attempting once more to gaze into the lump of crystal on her lap. Her voice trembled at the ferocity of the man towering over her. "It's like I said, my lord, I can't see them anywhere in Trelvayne. The storm is hiding them, but I don't know where." The lie sat uneasily on her tongue. Averting her eyes from Vakar's, she shrank as far back into the shadows as her restraints allowed. Deception was her only hope. Nothing could undo the evil of the past, but maybe she could affect the future. It was a desperate chance but she was dead anyway. One of the hazards of being a seer is the 'seeing', and she had already seen her death.

Displeasure rippled across the king's features. "I know how seer stones work!" He snarled at the woman. "Anything that's hidden can be found by that thing. Keep looking until you see them if you want to live to enjoy the morning." His presence unnerved her. As he strode from the room the seer glanced once more into the depths of her stone, grateful for the haze of blood that hid the view of those she was protecting.

Outside, the turbulence increased. Dense clouds emptied violently, as though attempting to wash clean the stench of destruction. Arowyn finally freed her hands, wrists raw and throbbing. She moved as close to the meagre fire as her ankle chains allowed, hoping to dispel the dark misery (snip)

The first chapter opens thusly:

'Crack,' the riding whip snaked through the air, catching the young nobleman around his ankles. With one jerk Maia pulled him off balance and he toppled into the soft mud at their feet. "Oh, aren't you brave," she mocked, "running over a helpless dog in your path! Someone as mighty as you should be smart enough to know that when your horse trips over the dog, it's your own stupid fault. The horse wasn't the one who needed the beating! " The young girl stood over her captive, her face twisted in scornful fury. Two shivering farm children stood at the roadside in awe watching her temper and tongue rip the young aristocrat's ego to shreds.

Aiden thundered up on his horse to gaze drop-jawed at the scene. "What are you doing?" He grabbed Maia's elbow and swung her around to face him. In a calmer voice he said, "That's the son of Baron Rendall!"

"I know who it is, I'm not dumb, Aiden." She turned back to the source of her anger. "People who hurt helpless things are worse than animals!" She was tempted to spit out the bad taste in her mouth. Her face darkened in a fierce scowl as she slid off her mount. "I feel like leaving you here to wallow in the muck where you belong!"

Dropping her whip, she turned to stroke the abused horse. Sooner than Aiden could dismount to soothe ruffled feelings, the Young Baron unbound his feet and rose from the ground. Slashing (snip)

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You’re getting closer
For me, there are a few craft dissonances, but the action and nature of these opening scenes are good. The seer’s dire straits raised plenty of story questions, and the conflict in the chapter’s opening were good enough to keep me moving. But, still. . .

The prologue leads to a pretty traditional smuggling-the-royal-baby-away-to-be-raised-by-peasants scenario. I don’t think this is needed, unless it can be freshened by unexpected twists. This backstory could be revealed later.

Craft issues include:

• In the prologue, the prisoner is aware of the storm outside. Even though she’s a seer, we aren’t told that she uses her powers to know this.
• I wouldn’t open with ‘crack’ in the chapter. Sound effects seldom work well. You can say “With a crack,” and achieve the same result.
• I’m not sure about a “riding” whip being able to snake out. Riding whips, or crops, are usually only long enough to reach a horse’s flank by a rider in the saddle. A bullwhip, a whip used to motivate teams of oxen or horses, has the length to do what’s described.
• ”The young girl” took me out of the character’s point of view, and young doesn’t really mean anything. Find another way to let us know her age, probably when Aiden speaks to her.
• Phrases such as “her face darkened in a fierce scowl” felt over the top to me. Simplify for the best effect and pace.
  

These are just some notes, but you should be encouraged. And I urge you to look at opening with the chapter and weaving in what you need of the prologue later.

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 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 Jeanne: would you keep reading?

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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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Jeanne’s first 16 lines:

Warmed by the crackling fire on the hearth of the inn, Wrai leaned back in his chair and tipped his slouch hat down over his eyes. Outside, the inn’s sign banged in the wind. He propped his feet up on the rungs of the wooden chair opposite him at the little table. No doubt, he looked half-asleep. Inside, he smacked his fist against the wall at being stuck in this armpit of a town. He’d promised Sharista that he’d be there for her birthday, and he wouldn’t break that promise. She wouldn’t ever have reason to think her father didn’t care. Not like his…

Wrai banged his mug down on the table. The innkeeper lifted his head to stare, so Wrai nodded to the man and tipped his hat a little further down over his eyes. No one else paid him any mind.

Middling height, neatly built, dark hair and eyes, thin moustache, he looked like nothing special. Well, Sharista’s mother had thought that he did. Damn it, he still missed her.

The storm had left ruts and potholes deep enough to swallow a horse. With the talk of war, none of the lords were repairing the roads like they should. It had been his ill-luck that the post-coach he was traveling in hit one full tilt. When the axle broke it had thrown the couch tumbling. The smith would take days making a new axle and repairing the damage. Another wasn’t scheduled through, if it came on schedule, for more two weeks. He sighed and took a sip (snip)

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I didn’t move on
While there’s nice writing here, and we do start with a scene, which is good, there were little staging and other craft issues that stopped me. And not a lot of tension—the only story question is whether or not Wrai will get to a birthday, which doesn’t seem all that problematic. Jeanne has imagined a rich world, so I have some confidence that there’s a good story to be told. Some notes:

Warmed by the crackling fire on the hearth of the inn, Wrai leaned back in his chair and tipped his slouch hat down over his eyes. Outside, the inn’s sign banged in the wind. He propped his feet up on the rungs of the wooden chair opposite him at the little table. No doubt, he looked half-asleep. Inside, he smacked his fist against the wall at being stuck in this armpit of a town. He’d promised Sharista that he’d be there for her birthday, and he wouldn’t break that promise. She wouldn’t ever have reason to think her father didn’t care. Not like his… (On the adjective cuts: most chairs are wooden, no need; “little” is a relative, conclusive word and doesn’t really give a picture, and it’s not really necessary. The “Inside, he smacked…” sentence threw me, mostly because the preceding sentence said that he looked half-asleep, and I drew from the tipping of the hat that he wanted it that way. So to smack his fist against the wall seemed the opposite of all that went before.)

Wrai banged his mug down on the table. The innkeeper lifted his head to stare, so Wrai nodded to the man and tipped his hat a little further down over his eyes. No one else paid him any mind. (Here’s where staging issues came into play. If his hat is “over” his eyes as we’ve been told, then he couldn’t see the innkeeper. And where did the mug come from? Was it in his hand when we started? Did he take a drink? For me, these two little craft issues were warning signs. When we most need clarity—the opening—we’re not getting it.)

Middling height, neatly built, dark hair and eyes, thin moustache, he looked like nothing special. Well, Sharista’s mother had thought that he did. Damn it, he still missed her. (A clear break in point of view here. He wouldn’t be describing himself to himself in this way. If his appearance is important to the story here, work in a reasonable way to include it. I don’t think it’s vital on the first page, nor is the fact that he misses Sharista’s mother, so, from a story view, this is a waste of 29 words. I would cut the whole paragraph and put the info later. On the next page, people arrive, and that could be a place for description. Wrai is avoiding attention, so he could think to himself that he didn't think that they'd notice a man of middling height...etc., but he stayed still and averted his eyes. Just a thought.)

The storm had left ruts and potholes deep enough to swallow a horse. It had been his ill-luck that the post-coach he was traveling in hit one full tilt. With the talk of war, none of the lords were repairing the roads like they should. It had been his ill-luck that the post-coach he was traveling in hit one full tilt. When the axle broke it had thrown the couch coach tumbling. The smith would take days making a new axle and repairing the damage. Another wasn’t scheduled through, if it came on schedule, for more two weeks. He sighed and took a sip (snip) (The antecedent for the pronoun “it” in the sentence I moved had the coach hitting one of the roads that weren’t being repaired. It didn’t seem that the schedule information was vital, either—we have enough to know that he will be delayed, and that seems like enough. What we don’t know yet, and perhaps it would help if we did, was what the delay will cost him, and how important to him that is.)

As I said, good writing here, it’s the storytelling that I think could use some sharpening. And pruning—too much detail (adjectives) and description slow pace. It’s definitely a very good start, though. Thanks, Jeanne.

Comments, anyone? They will help this writer.

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 Ajaya: would you keep reading?

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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.

---

Ajaya’s first 16 lines (which come all the way from Kathmandu):

Khemman was 7 years old when the ghosts of Archalswara, for some strange reason, stopped haunting him.

"You almost died out there," Kancha Bajay would often tell Khemman. "You were cursed by the ghosts of Archalswara."

Khemman knew Kancha Bajay was lying, but after that occurrence, Khemman's father stopped taking the family back to the village.

The visit was etched in Khemman's memory like the stone image of Shiva Lingam his grandfather had planted near the pandhera. Its eye sleepily followed him as he tagged along with his mother to fetch drinking water.

"What kind of Sarkar is this? Not letting us stay in peace," his mother Kanchi Nani complained when she learnt about the planned visit.

"Are we going back to the village Aama?" Khemman asked.

"We have to," Kanchi Nani said, "Sarkar has posted your father to a far far away place."

"Even further than Amrika?" Kancha Bajay had once told Khemman that America was the farthest place from Nepal.

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Didn’t pull me through
Despite the promise of an exotic world to explore, the narrative didn’t compel me. There are a lot of words that are strange to me, but I’m assuming that a Nepalese audience won’t mind that. No, I think it’s a lack of focus on what might happen to the boy. Some notes:

Khemman was 7 seven years old when the ghosts of Archalswara, for some strange reason, stopped haunting him. (The “for some strange reason” part, because it’s not defined and doesn’t have any meaning for the reader, doesn’t seem useful. Nonetheless, this is a good opening sentence, promising supernatural goings-on.)

"You almost died out there," Kancha Bajay would often tell Khemman. "You were cursed by the ghosts of Archalswara." (This would be the time to let us know who Kancha Bajay was.)

Khemman knew Kancha Bajay was lying, but after that occurrence, Khemman's father stopped taking the family back to the village. (This knowledge of lying immediately strips the opening story questions about ghosts from the story. You wonder why we were even told about them if they are a lie. Also, we’re in Khemman’s point of view and, if this is his father (which isn’t really clear), is it the custom in Nepal for the boy to always think of his parents by both names?)

The visit was etched in Khemman's memory like the stone image of Shiva Lingam his grandfather had planted near the pandhera. Its eye had sleepily followed him as he tagged along with his mother to fetch drinking water. (I’m confused. What visit does this refer to? From reading on, it’s an upcoming visit to the old village, but this isn’t clear to me.)

"What kind of Sarkar is this? Not letting us stay in peace," his mother, Kanchi Nani, complained when she learnt about the planned visit.

Khemman said,"Are we going back to the village Aama?" Khemman asked. (This is one of my pet peeves, the use of “asked.” The question mark tells us it’s a question, and the ubiquitous “said” is usually the better choice.)

"We have to," Kanchi Nani said, "Sarkar has posted your father to a far far away place." (Again, I wonder if the custom is to refer to one’s parents by both names. If so, this is fine.)

"Even further than Amrika?" Kancha Bajay had once told Khemman that America was the farthest place from Nepal.

The later narrative follows Khemman on his journey, and then into a flashback. What it lacked, for me, was hints of trouble ahead for the boy, or an inciting incident that forces him to want/need something that he has to take action (and risks) to get. But it’s a fascinating world, with leopard traps and an ancient culture to explore. It just needs strong story elements to keep this reader moving forward. Thanks, Ajaya, for sending your work.

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 Kami: would you keep reading?

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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.

---

Kami’s first 16 lines

Red for the Goddess of Waking and Life, blue for the God of Dreams and Death, and gold for faith; Elanora's mother, the queen regent, used the décor in the ceremonial halls as a symbolic bludgeon to emphasize her point.

Elanora's first engagement ceremony had been so different. She'd been happy. Now she solemnly waited for her cue behind a gold lattice door in a side chamber while the guests mingled. At the moment it looked like an ordinary ball with the music and dancing, fine gowns and the long tables arranged with flowers and dainty food. She imagined herself as just another guest and managed a smile.

Thank God that she wore a mask. The smooth porcelain, feathers, silk and black pearls formed a joyous, smiling face, but it was so deep blue that it looked black, and gold tears sparkled on the cheeks. Nothing of her showed through.

A lone woman's voice rose above the eager conversation, full and clean. The crowd hushed. A smile colored the rich notes as she sang free form, wordless, bursting with energy. Elanora stood and a guard opened the lattice door. People gasped when they saw her.

A male musician joined his female counterpart and they improvised the fanfare. Choral members scattered among the crowd came together and the hall swelled with music. Elanora (snip)

---

I was drawn on
Story questions got me, and the writing was confident, promising a good tale well told. I wanted to find out more about Elanora—why is this her second ceremony, why is she no longer happy. Admittedly, this is a low level of tension, and I think Kami ought to look for ways to add to it. For example, what it this piece of narrative from page two followed the third paragraph:

Why give in to dread? Marten was handsome, kind, intelligent, brave. This would keep the peace, as all the intermarriages among the five royal families had kept the peace for many generations.

But all she could think about was loss. Her stomach twisted up until it hurt.

Some notes:

Red for the Goddess of Waking and Life, blue for the God of Dreams and Death, and gold for faith; Elanora's mother, the queen regent, used the décor in the ceremonial halls as a symbolic bludgeon to emphasize her point. (What is her point? Why not state it here? Tell us, don’t give us hints at something that isn’t revealed.)

Elanora's first engagement ceremony had been so different. She'd been happy. Now she solemnly waited for her cue behind a gold lattice door in a side chamber while the guests mingled. At the moment it looked like an ordinary ball with the music and dancing, fine gowns and the long tables arranged with flowers and dainty food. She imagined herself as just another guest and managed a smile.

Thank God that she wore a mask. The smooth porcelain, feathers, silk and black pearls formed a joyous, smiling face, but it was so deep blue that it looked black, and gold tears sparkled on the cheeks. Nothing of her showed through.

A lone woman's voice rose above the eager conversation, full and clean. The crowd hushed. A smile colored the rich notes as she sang free form, wordless, bursting with energy. Elanora stood and a guard opened the lattice door. People gasped when they saw her.

A male voice musician joined the woman’s, his female counterpart and they improvised the fanfare. Choral members scattered among the crowd came together and the hall swelled with music. Elanora (snip) (I thought the first sentence was unnecessarily word, so suggested some trims. There are times when it’s best to keep it simple.)

Good stuff, Kami. Keep an eye on adding tension elements as you build this world, and look for tighter writing. You might want to check out my guest post on Writer Unboxed that talks about experiential description. I may put that post up here—an expanded version is in my upcoming book, Jump-start Your Novel with Kitty-cats in Action.

For what it's worth,

Donations go to the cost of hosting FtQ.

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 Stu: would you keep reading?

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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.

---

Stu’s first 16 lines of a brief prologue:

The scent of death flowed through the chilled night air across the unmoving sands of the desert. The Striped Hyena raised his wide snout towards the narrow light of a quarter moon. His dry nostrils wrinkled in confirmation and he glanced back to the female loping some distance behind him. She was tired this night, weakened by the additional burden of carrying an imminent litter. Striped fur and skin hung from their bones, loosened by a lengthy period without food now their prey had been driven away by the desert drying up many of its Wadis.

A desperate need to eat drove the Hyenas further from the safety of their lair. Set in the shadow of a large mountain, sheltered beneath centuries old warped and weathered rocks, descended from ancient long forgotten tombs. The male had dug out their lair six weeks earlier, ready for the cubs due in thirty days. A nocturnal creature by nature, he had burrowed deep so the lair might offer respite from the heat of the day.

The Hyena raised his head again. The smell had become stronger, closer, yet he knew it was not truly of death. It was the odor of man. But in the instincts accrued by the Hyena and its ancestors over the centuries, the odors of death and man invariably journeyed together. He moved forward with caution while the female followed obediently in his paw prints. Her instinct was simply to trust her mate. Devourers of carrion, the Hyenas would, if lack of food (snip)

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Not for me yet
There are things to like about this, and I suppose it’s a way to set the scene for the coming first chapter. However, unless the hyenas figure in the story, why aren’t we starting with the story? And there are some craft issues. Notes:

The scent of death flowed through the chilled night air across the unmoving sands of the desert. The Striped Hyena raised his wide snout towards the narrow light of a quarter moon. His dry nostrils wrinkled in confirmation and he glanced back to the female loping some distance behind him. She was tired this night, weakened by the additional burden of carrying an imminent litter. Striped fur and skin hung from their bones, loosened by a lengthy period without food now that their prey had been driven away by the desert drying up many of its Wadis. (For me, too many adjectives, here and later in this writing. “The scent of death” is an abstract; this is telling, not showing. For example, would this be more evocative? The sweet scent of rotting flesh flowed…etc. There was a disconnect between raising his snout to the moon and wrinkling in confirmation -- confirmation of what? The moon? I know you mean the scent of death, but that's not what this narrative is saying. Lastly, the last sentence. Perhaps this is a hyena point of view, but this makes the desert the entity that dried up the Wadis. Doesn’t make sense, and it’s a bit of a tangled sentence anyway. I suggest that you keep it simple, i.e. by the drying up of the desert’s Wadis.)

A desperate need to eat drove had driven the Hyenas further from the safety of their lair. Set in the shadow of a large mountain, sheltered beneath centuries old warped and weathered rocks, descended from ancient, long-forgotten tombs. The male had dug out their lair six weeks earlier, ready for the cubs due in thirty days. A nocturnal creature by nature, he had burrowed deep so the lair might offer respite from the heat of the day. (Info dumping site. And the second sentence isn’t a sentence—it’s a fragment. And all mountains are large. What does it matter how long ago the hyena dug the lair, or when his mate is due? Get on with the story.)

The Hyena raised his head again. The smell had become stronger, closer, yet he knew it was not truly of death. It was the odor of man. But in the instincts accrued by the Hyena and its ancestors over the centuries, the odors of death and man invariably journeyed together. He moved forward with caution while the female followed obediently in his paw prints. Her instinct was simply to trust her mate. Devourers of carrion, the Hyenas would, if lack of food (snip) (More info-dumping going on. And we’re doing a little hyena head-hopping here, I think, with a shift to the female’s point of view.)

There are clear signs of good writing here, but on the storytelling side we’re not building in much of the tension. In the chapter that Stu also sent, there were the same symptoms—lots of adjectives, and information/backstory that didn’t propel the story forward. With editing or self-editing, I think there’s plenty of potential, though.

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