My book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, is now available for pre-order at Amazon.com. I should be printing and shipping within 2 or 3 weeks, and early orders will be tremendously helpful.
In appreciation for all of the readers who visit and contribute to this blog, I'm making a free PDF copy of my book available until April 1, 2009. In return, I ask you to sign up for "NewsNotes," a sporadic email notice about workshops, appearances, and new books. I also hope you'll post a review on Amazon.com, and spread the word to friends and fellow writers. To sign up, go to my Friends of FtQ page on the website.
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). Directions for submissions are below.
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.
Jim’s first 16 lines:
Didn’t hook this readerChapter 1 1500 hrs Thurs, 14 August 1969 Alex’s Room In First Battalion Lines
The stench of damp, gray woolen socks, a touch overdue for the laundry, overlaid with a hint of Sergeant-major’s soap and just the faintest whiff of young men housed in too-close quarters tugged at the narrator’s nostrils. As he drifted upstairs, the hallway echoed and re-echoed with the sounds of ghostly, ancient farts, tell-tale evidence of the regularity, if you’ll excuse the term, of many beans and wieners suppers through the years. He was accompanied by the lingering aroma that clung to the stairwells as if the troops, dashing to their duty position, stopped long enough to let a few go as they headed out the doors, he crept unannounced into room 224 of building D-27.
That building was home to the living-in privates and Corporals of Delta Company of the First Battalion of the Canadian Highland Infantry. It was a perfect time to wander into the room. Private Tommy Judges, or TJ, stood in his olive drab combat pants, a white tee-shirt and half-unlaced combat boots.
“I’m off to Woodstock for the weekend,” he said.
TJ’s roommate, Private Alex Murphy, lay on his back on his red-blanketed bed in his white tee-shirt, white boxers and gray socks. “It’s Thursday, ass, you’ve got to suffer through (snip)
Jim wrote that he’s trying to write his novel in a style similar to P.G. Wodehouse. I’m not familiar with Wodehouse’s work, so I’m guessing that’s where the “narrator” comes from. It’s a device that didn’t work for me. It might have, though, if there were any tension in this opening page.
While the writing is good and the description fulsome, there were no
compelling story questions raised for me, nothing to make me wonder
what was going to happen next. It may be that in a literary novel this
leisurely opening and good voice would be enough to get an agent to
turn the page, but I think it’s taking a chance. Notes:
Chapter 1 1500 hrs Thurs, 14 August 1969 Alex’s Room In First Battalion Lines (I wouldn’t use one of my precious 16 lines for this, I’d work it into the narrative if it was important.)
The stench of damp, gray woolen socks, a touch overdue for the laundry, overlaid with a hint of Sergeant-major’s soap and just the faintest whiff of young men housed in too-close quarters tugged at the narrator’s nostrils. As he drifted upstairs, the hallway echoed and re-echoed with the sounds of ghostly, ancient farts, tell-tale evidence of the regularity, if you’ll excuse the term, of many beans-and-wieners suppers through the years. He was accompanied by the lingering aroma that clung to the stairwells as if the troops, dashing to their duty position, stopped long enough to let a few go as they headed out the doors, he crept unannounced into room 224 of building D-27. (For me, there’s confusion here. The narrative suggests that the “narrator” is physically present, but he’s not. While there are certainly no rules against a stylistic thing such as this, it just didn’t work for me. Which is a subjective response. But, still, we’ve read all this and there’s no sign of story ahead yet.)
That building was home to the living-in privates and Corporals of Delta Company of the First Battalion of the Canadian Highland Infantry. It was a perfect time to wander into the room. Private Tommy Judges, or TJ, stood in his olive drab combat pants, a white tee-shirt and half-unlaced combat boots.
“I’m off to Woodstock for the weekend,” he said.
TJ’s roommate, Private Alex Murphy, lay on his back on his red-blanketed bed in his white tee-shirt, white boxers and gray socks. “It’s Thursday, ass, you’ve got to suffer through (snip)
Comments, anyone?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Tips & Subscriptions 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.
© 2009 Ray Rhamey