Flogging the Quill

Flogometer forSammy. Would you turn the page?

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My book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, is now available for pre-order at Amazon.com. I should be shipping within 2 or 3 weeks, and early orders will be tremendously helpful.

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Free e-book for friends of FtQ
In appreciation for all who 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 a sporadic email about workshops, appearances, and new books. I also hope you'll post a review on Amazon.com, and spread the word to fellow writers. To sign up, go to myFriends of FtQ page.

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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). 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.

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Sammy has returned with a rewrite. His first 16 lines:

The speed of Zackaria Kato’s jet-cycle told her something terrible would happen. A thousand feet in the air, she drove too fast. Too many pedestrian walkway tubes blocked her path, making her do wild dips, turns, and spins. One wrong maneuver would end everything. And yet she ignored the dangers screaming at her. With her eyes wide with excitement, she drank the intoxicating rush of flying through the tight spaces of Pantor City’s tall slender buildings. Accelerating her cycle, she felt confident that she would reach her high school before the late bell rang.

Within minutes, her school’s large campus came into view. Daly Caber High was a small aggregation of maroon buildings locked behind tall silver gates. The private academy contained two track fields, greenhouses, and spacious gardens along with other amenities that accommodated its students.

It’s been a month since Zackaria attended the posh academy and like all her previous schools, she hated it, but she dared not tell her parents to send her somewhere else. They were done school hunting for her and her sisters, Chrisa and Meliz. Her parents had even tried home-schooling on and off, but that never worked because the private tutors always ran away after a few sessions. She suspected that her parents had nightmares about the girls’ past school experiences.

No yet, for this reader
Sammy’s working hard to start with lively action, but the first paragraph felt “heavy” too me—like there is just too much of it, I think. And then the third paragraph diverts into backstory, and the speeding jet cycle crashed for me. There is some good, clean writing, but there are some craft issues as well. Notes:

The speed of Zackaria Kato’s jet-cycle told her something terrible would happen. A thousand feet in the air, she drove too fast. Too many pedestrian walkway tubes blocked her path, making her do wild dips, turns, and spins. One wrong maneuver would end everything. And yet she ignored the dangers screaming at her. With her eyes wide with excitement, she A thousand feet in the air, Zackaria Kato drank the intoxicating rush of racing her jet cycle flying through the tight spaces obstacle course of pedestrian walkway tubes connecting of Pantor City’s tall slender buildings. Accelerating her cycle, she felt dipped and swerved and spun, confident that she would reach her high school before the late bell rang. (Parts of this felt like her parents talking, and I wasn’t getting the character’s feelings of this. The parental part, for me, came from things such as “something terrible would happen” and “drove too fast” and “would end everything.” This is a teen-age girl, a thrill-seeker who is confident of her abilities. Would she be thinking about dangers and too fast and terrible things? Or living the moment? There were clarity issues, too—if the walkway tubes actually blocked her path, she would crash into them. As a thought-starter, I made the changes you see, but I think it could be better than that. Sammy needs to be inside her, not reporting what’s happening from outside. Phrases such as “her eyes wide with excitement” are a camera’s point of view, not the experience of the character.)

Within minutes, her school’s large campus came into view. Daly Caber High was a small aggregation of maroon buildings locked behind tall silver gates. The private academy contained two track fields, greenhouses, and spacious gardens along with other amenities that accommodated its students. (The second sentence sounds more like it came from a brochure than the way this girl would think of the school. “Large” is a conclusion word, a relative term that doesn’t mean much unless you know what it relates to. And this probably isn’t the way this girl would think of her school. Thought-starter: Clear of the city, she dove toward the maroon buildings and tall silver gates of Daly Caber High. Description that’s experiential, part of the action, flows much more easily into the reader’s mind and doesn’t feel so much like description and more like part of what’s happening.)

It’s been a month since Zackaria attended the posh academy and like all her previous schools, she hated it, but she dared not tell her parents to send her somewhere else. They were done school hunting for her and her sisters, Chrisa and Meliz. Her parents had even tried home-schooling on and off, but that never worked because the private tutors always ran away after a few sessions. She suspected that her parents had nightmares about the girls’ past school experiences. Besides the fact that all of this is backstory and needs to wait for later, there’s a clarity issue in the first sentence. It says that she hasn’t been at the school for a month, but I think that what is meant is that she has been attending the school for a month. But, at this point in the story, who cares?)

Sammy is working on characterizing this girl for us with her reckless behavior, but for me it could be a lot less, or maybe even not there.

Later (too late) came a scene in a hallway, after the character has been punished with detention and more. This, if it could come on or near the first page, would be a real page-turner:

“I’m so DAMN angry!”

Zackaria slammed her fist into a maroon locker, making it explode into countless pieces. The impact of the punch rippled toward the lockers adjacent to it. Sharp metal shrapnel flying out from the explosion cut Zackaria’s hand and face. The personal items of the locker owners threw up all over the floor, electric sparks jumped and colorful wires leaked out from the broken lockers’ keypads.

This fascinating action came about 12 pages into the story. Sammy, I think you’ve got a lot of “throat-clearing” that could be broomed. It seems to me that you have terrific characters and world, you just need to focus on story.

Comments, anyone?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Tips & Subscriptions Your generosity helps defray 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, it’s okay to update the submission.

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Jim. Would you turn the page?

---

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.

---

Free e-book for friends of FtQ
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:

Chapter 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)

Didn’t hook this reader
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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Book Launch! You can pre-order Flogging the Quill

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 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. This is a self-publishing enterprise.

---

Free e-book for friends of FtQ
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 .

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The final proof is ordered, and, all being correct, the print order will go out by the end of this week. I hope you'll visit the website and read the reactions of publishing pros. Meanwhile, here's my press release copy:

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Flogging the Quill is a one-book remedy for a host of beginner-novelist ailments, and a tune-up for published novelists.

Rich with advice and coaching from editor/author Ray Rhamey, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, ranges wide but with a single focus: lifting a novel manuscript to a publishable, professional level.

The first section, covering the craft of storytelling, includes lessons on creating tension, creating the character “care factor,” what drives a plot, the six vital story ingredients, and tools for spotting shortcomings in a narrative.

In Description, writers learn how experiential description can characterize, plus how to handle the tricky character-description hurdle, staging, and overwriting.

The Dialogue section helps writers avoid leaden overuse of dialogue tags, enliven a dialogue scene with action beats, and deliver the sound of dialogue.

The vital “when to tell, how to show” lesson in the Technique section has been praised by literary agents and college teachers. The section also coaches on point of view, including the problems “head-hopping” can cause with readers.

With the Words section, Rhamey reveals unique insights to the good and bad of using adverbs in a fiction narrative, and guides writers in weeding out weak, wasted, and wrong words.

Computer tips that make writing more productive are included, plus a “workout” section where writers apply lessons learned to real efforts by beginning novelists.

This all-in-one volume draws on the deep understanding of an editor and writer who brings to the task experience in advertising, screenwriting, editing novels, and writing them. Rhamey is the author of the internationally known “litblog,” Flogging the Quill.

As top New York publisher and editor, Lou Aronica, says, “Rhamey offers the kind of advice that could make a huge difference in a writer's prospects.” Bestseller Tess Gerritsen adds, “...it’s a must-have for any novelist.”

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For what it’s worth.

Ray

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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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Stu; would you keep reading?

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I have a post up on plotting at Writer Unboxed that might interest you.

---

Flogging the Quill has been named one of the 100 best writing sites here. There are other sites of interest, so you might want to give it a look.
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.

---

Stu returns with a revision. His first 16 lines:

The Harbingers of Death came into view.

The six Bedouins rode in a single file of silent shadows gliding across the landscape, rolling with each ungainly sway of the inelegant camels. Occasionally, the sands reflected a brief shimmer of silver light from the quarter moon across the reddened waves.

There was little splendor in the world he knew, yet their leader never ceased to wonder at the beauty of the desert by night. A flicker of movement to his left caught his attention. He reached down to the blanket spread across the front of his saddle and felt for the assault rifle beneath. Gradually he recognized the outlines of a pair of striped Hyena and relaxed.

The striped Hyena raised his wide snout towards scent of man. His dry nostrils wrinkled in confirmation and he glanced back to the female. Weakened by the additional burden of carrying an imminent litter she lagged some distance behind the male.

The leader of the Bedouins guessed the pair had been following for some time. They must have traveled some distance for he had not seen any possible location where a lair might have been dug. Not even a wadi had they passed since so many had been dried out over the years. He pushed up his goggles and reached into his pack for the night vision glasses. He studied the animals and across the distance between them the animal’s hunger was obvious, (snip)

Still doesn’t grip this reader
In the previous version, this opening was a 1-page prologue written from one of the Hyenas point of view. In this version, the POV is uncertain at times, and head-hops from the Bedouin leader to a Hyena. I’m having trouble understanding what role the Hyenas play in the story—I read through the rest of the chapter, and they don’t return. More than that, though, although much of the writing is good, this lacked the grip of compelling tension for me.

One other little note—the author is fooling the reader here. The narrative is about 6 Bedouins, but it turns out that they are Americans disguised as Bedouins. I’m not sure this deceit is necessary. Some notes:

The Harbingers of Death came into view. (This line, in the previous version, was the end of the prologue, and from the Hyena POV—it referred to the humans. Here, though, we don’t know who it refers to or what the point of view is. Ungrounded, for me it lost meaning.)

The six Bedouins rode in a single file of silent shadows gliding across the landscape, rolling with each ungainly sway of the inelegant camels. Occasionally, the sands reflected a brief shimmer of silver light from the quarter moon across the reddened waves. (For me, the adjective was excess and actually pulled me out of the story just a little. And, so far, no tension, no hook.)

There was little splendor in the world the leader he knew, yet he their leader never ceased to wonder at the beauty of the desert by night. A flicker of movement to his left caught his attention. He reached down to the blanket spread across the front of his saddle and felt for the assault rifle beneath. Gradually he recognized the outlines of a pair of striped Hyena and relaxed. (The pronoun “he” has no antecedent, so I switched things around so that it did. I found the capitalization of “Hyena” sticking out, so went to my online dictionary, and it wasn’t capitalized. I suggest making it lower case. The mention of the weapon does raise a story question, but then the guy relaxes. If the gun was described as “hidden” or “concealed,” it would help.)

The striped Hyena raised his wide snout towards scent of man. His dry nostrils wrinkled in confirmation and he glanced back to the female. Weakened by the additional burden of carrying an imminent litter, she lagged some distance behind the male. (Both lack of clarity and head-hopping here. Suddenly we’re in the hyena’s point of view, but we don’t know which one—the opening sentence refers to “the” hyena, but we know that there are two. “Additional burden” is unclear as well because we don’t know what the initial burden is.)

The leader of the Bedouins guessed the pair had been following for some time. They must have traveled some distance for he had not seen any possible location where a lair might have been dug. Not even a wadi had they passed since so many had been dried out over the years. He pushed up his goggles and reached into his pack for the night vision glasses. He studied the animals, and across the distance between them theirthe animal’s hunger was obvious, (snip) (Repetitions or echoes here—two uses of “some” in the first sentence, and then later “the animals” twice in once sentence. This is a harbinger of potential craft issues because it isn’t as tight as it needs to be. And still no tension for me.)

It turns out that these men are on their way to attack a camp of Syrian soldiers, yet there’s no pre-battle tension within the men. They ride up and are easily admitted even though it’s very early in the morning (a missing setting detail). It seems that perhaps the author wanted to surprise us with the fact that these were Americans in the same way that they do the Syrians, but to what purpose? Perhaps the unidentified “leader” is not the protagonist or a significant character, but the story would fare better for me if we were in his close point of view and some emotion and tension were injected. And if he’s not a significant character, why are we focused on him now? I think Stu needs to get this story going in a more involving way—we’re rather distant at this point, and the events aren’t compelling enough to pull me forward.

I don’t know this, but with the hyenas I suspect that Stu is hanging onto elements from the previous version that he likes and is reluctant to give up. My suggestion is that he should try slipping himself into the leader’s head and rewriting the scene from in there, not from an omniscient camera overhead.

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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Millar; would you keep reading?

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A reminder of why we’re doing this
Agent Kristin Nelson was the Secret Agent in the monthly contest on misssnarksfirstvictim blog. You submit the first 250 words, i.e. the first page, much like here. The secret agent reads them and offers a note of criticism, then chooses winners—those who managed to “hook” Kristin got to send their first 30 pages to the agent.

After reviewing 60 submissions, Kristin said this on her blog:

Two problems rose to the surface on why I said “not hooked, wouldn’t read further” on some of the entries and I’m going to share those two things with my blog readers right now.

The two top problems were:

1. To much telling instead of showing the character in the scene (or too heavy a reliance on back story to jumpstart the story).

And

2. Not enough mastery of the craft—in other words, the writing needed to be tightened. Too much wordiness, overuse of adverbs, immediately explaining what was just revealed in dialogue, etc.

---

Flogging the Quill has been named one of the 100 best writing sites here. There are other sites of interest, so you might want to give it a look.
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.

---

Millar’s first 16 lines:

A swim in Deadman’s Lake in the middle of winter is, for the young men of Pelly Crossing at least, the only sanctioned method through which one’s mettle can be demonstrated and affirmed.

“Go on ya fuckin’ pansy. Jump”, Raymond Whitefeather shouted.

James, naked and uneasy, stared at the hole in the ice from atop Warrior’s Bluff. He knew this was a place he did not belong.

“Jump! Jump! Jump!”, the others taunted as they tossed their empties. That would be all the coaxing he would need as the bottles shattered against the rock showering the pristine winter crust with thousands of amber shards.

That morning, Jesse Quinn had argued against: “He’s not part of us”, he said, “It’s not fucking right.”

“Forget it Jess.” “Let it go.” “What difference does it make”, chimed the others.

Earlier that summer, James Gardener had married Betty Sheldon in a traditional Tutchone ceremony in the Longhouse of the Kluane First Nation; a union that had not earned unanimous approval and did not sit particularly well with Jesse Quinn whose relationship with Betty Sheldon ended long before James Gardener showed up in Pelly Crossing on his way to Dawson City to study the Northern Lights which were, at the time, unusually active.

But now, back at the lake, in the dark, the once raging bonfire has died away leaving a smoldering snag (snip)

I tripped over a block of backstory
The good thing is starting with action and a tense situation. The killer was stopping for a dense and, for this reader, uncomprehensible chunk of backstory. Too bad, because on the next page was these words, “as the falling snow covers the blood soaked trail to the hole in the ice just below Warrior's Bluff.” There were a few technical shortcomings, too. Notes:

A swim in Deadman’s Lake in the middle of winter is was, for the young men of Pelly Crossing at least, the only sanctioned method through which one’s mettle can could be demonstrated and affirmed. (I felt that the tense of this opening should match the rest of the story, which is in past tense. This is not exactly a powerful hook, and I think the information it contains could have been wove in. The next line is a much better start.)

“Go on ya fuckin’ pansy. Jump,” Raymond Whitefeather shouted. (If you want the reader to get how a speech is said, the clues [i.e. “shouted”] need to come before the words are said.)

James, naked and uneasy, stared at the hole in the ice from atop Warrior’s Bluff. He knew this was a place he did not belong.

“Jump! Jump! Jump!” the others taunted as they tossed their empties. That would be all the coaxing he would need as the bottles shattered against the rock showering the pristine winter crust with thousands of amber shards. (The second sentence was too long and complicated for me. And, if we’re to be in James’s point of view, would he really use words like “pristine” and “amber?”)

That morning, Jesse Quinn had argued against: “He’s not part of us”, he said, “It’s not fucking right.”

“Forget it Jess.” “Let it go.” “What difference does it make”, chimed the others.

Earlier that summer, James Gardener had married Betty Sheldon in a traditional Tutchone ceremony in the Longhouse of the Kluane First Nation; a union that had not earned unanimous approval and did not sit particularly well with Jesse Quinn whose relationship with Betty Sheldon ended long before James Gardener showed up in Pelly Crossing on his way to Dawson City to study the Northern Lights which were, at the time, unusually active.

But now, back at the lake, in In the dark, the once raging bonfire has had died away leaving a smoldering snag (snip) (Clarity problem here—if it’s dark, how can he see the hole in the ice below the bluff?)

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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Stephanie; would you keep reading?

---

Flogging the Quill has been named one of the 100 best writing sites here. There are other sites of interest, so you might want to give it a look.
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.

---

Stephanie’s first 16 lines (YA story):

The world ended in a cacophony akin to a crappy Britney Spears song. Manufactured on the top floor of a multi-national company in Los Angeles, it was a mishmash of humping noises and synthesized wah-wah sounds that couldn't finish too soon. In the dance club of the final days the lights went out and billions of hipsters wavered on the floor with no one to tell them what to believe in. And then came the fever and the storms and the angels of death, and everyone fell down.

Everyone except me. I am heavy metal, the beast that cannot die.

* * *

I head north along the highway, churning my skinny legs as fast as I could. Its tornado seasons and the dust storms swell and curl over the cracking road, but I can't slow down to wipe my eyes or drain the snot from my nose.

Don't ask me which highway I'm walking. The Highway to fucking hell, for all I care. All the signs blew over, and I ain't stopping to ask directions. Where I am and where I'm going is of no concern to me as long as it ain't where the Seraphs are.

I figure maybe New England ain't been hit by fires, and maybe the forests will clot out this incessant dust. I figure the Seraphs are too busy expanding their territory to the (snip)

I turned the page
Except for a couple of careless mistakes, the writing is clean and the voice is strong. And I’m a fan of post-apocalyptic fiction. I do wish the character didn’t use “ain’t,” but that’s personal—it’s a word that’ grated on my ears since I was a kid. There is tension here because he’s being pursued, but more than that the story questions of what caused this world and what will happen. Notes:

The world ended in a cacophony akin to a crappy Britney Spears song. Manufactured on the top floor of a multi-national company in Los Angeles, it was a mishmash of humping noises and synthesized wah-wah sounds that couldn't finish too soon. In the dance club of the final days the lights went out and billions of hipsters wavered on the floor with no one to tell them what to believe in. And then came the fever and the storms and the angels of death, and everyone fell down.

Everyone except me. I am heavy metal, the beast that cannot die. (This is misleading because later we find that he is pursued by people (as near as I could tell), and this implies that everyone died except him.)

* * *

I head north along the highway, churning my skinny legs as fast as I could. Its can. It’s tornado seasons and the dust storms swell and curl over the cracking road, but I can't slow down to wipe my eyes or drain the snot from my nose.

Don't ask me which highway I'm walking. The Highway to fucking hell, for all I care. All the signs blew are blown over, and I ain't stopping to ask directions. Where I am and where I'm going is of no concern to me as long as it ain't where the Seraphs are.

I figure maybe New England ain't been hit by fires, and maybe the forests will clot out this incessant dust. I figure the Seraphs are too busy expanding their territory to the (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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

A word to writers who comment on and submit to FtQ

Over this last year, the comments by FtQ readers on the openings submitted by writers have proven to be a hugely valuable part of this blog, and I cannot overstate my appreciation for all you’ve contributed.

However. . .

Lately there have been comments that were expressed in rude, or condescending, or insulting ways. Even worse, one commentor has disparaged the efforts of another who was offering advice.

That’s not acceptable, nor does it help the people I’m here to help—the writers who are working to improve their craft by putting their work out there to be seen and critiqued by anyone.

To paraphrase an old saw:

If you can’t say anything constructive, don’t say anything at all.

We all differ in our level of writing accomplishment, and some are clearly much better than others. This “superiority” does not, however, grant a license to snark or be mean-spirited. In my view, the effort and guts it takes for anyone to submit their work to this forum should be respected, and treated with courtesy.

For writers who submit work

“Turn the page,” as it’s used on FtQ, really means “publishable.” If the opening to your work isn’t enough to get me to turn the page, the work is probably not yet publishable. Yes, my judgment is subjective, as is yours, but it’s professional.

Even turning the page doesn't yet mean publishable -- often it means "highly promising," instead. As readers will have noted, almost never are there not improvements to be made.

I once read this quote from an acquisitions editor at a publishing house:

”Most of what we get should never have left the writer’s hand.”

Sometimes that’s true of the submissions to FtQ -- but how are people going to learn without fresh eyes pointing out shortcomings?

What standard does your writing need to meet to be publishable? Allow me to quote myself; this is from the opening chapter of my forthcoming book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells:

Today’s publishing climate is tougher than ever. To get an agent, your work has to stand out from hundreds and hundreds of submissions. For your agent to get you a book contract, your novel has to cut through hundreds more.

Your book has to be polished, diamond-sharp, and a rarity–you not only have to have professional-caliber writing and a great story, your novel needs to kick-start with compelling tension.

Frankly, if you look at the opening pages of your novel, it seems like it should be clear as to whether or not they are ready to leap that hurdle. After all, there are hundreds of published novels that you can compare your work to.

It seems to me that anyone who hopes to be a professional writer must develop the ability to see their writing clearly enough to judge its merits.

Yet that doesn’t happen, does it? There have been a few submissions to FtQ that reached the publishable level, and a host that fall just a little short. Others have been far from the mark and have miles to go.

Okay, so some of us don’t yet have that clear and critical facility. Yet it can be learned, and a good place to start is here. I could simply refuse to post and critique efforts that are clearly a long way from publishable, but that would be of no help to all of the writers who come to FtQ to learn about what makes a novel’s opening page have the compelling qualities that it must have to reach the level of “agentable,” much less publishable.

The “rules”

It didn’t seem to me to be necessary to lay down any “rules” for commentors to follow on this blog. Indeed, for almost five years now, there hasn’t been a need. But maybe these troubling times wear on people, and troubles outside this tiny part of their world are wearing on them, hurting them, and it spills over.

The “rule” here is to be a grown-up. To be a parent—to approach commenting on a writer’s work as you would if you were trying to help your child understand a vital lesson in life. You wouldn’t, I hope, use sarcasm and talk down to your child. You would, I hope, try to offer constructive guidance to help him or her understand and grow, and you would do it in a way that makes sometimes tough advice easier to take.

That is not to say to hold back constructive criticism. I don’t pull punches (well, I don’t throw them, either), but I confine my remarks to the actual writing and storytelling.

I have not yet felt the need to try to block anyone from contributing to Flogging the Quill, and I don’t want to. But I will, in the future, seriously consider deleting mean-spirited commentary and, if it keeps up, figure out a way to block that person. And those people will not be eligible to submit work to FtQ.

How about making this promise?

In my first novel, an organization of citizens grows around this promise. It’s a requirement for membership in “The Alliance.”

I promise to help, the best I can.

I made that promise back when I wrote that novel, and do my best to live by it. I urge you to do the same.

Meanwhile, many thanks to all the able commentors and analysts who do make constructive comments on FtQ, and I hope you’ll continue to do so.

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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Larry; would you keep reading?

---

Flogging the Quill has been named one of the 100 best writing sites here. There are other sites of interest, so you might want to give it a look.
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.

---

Larry’s first 16 lines:

Ann put down on the car seat our introductory invitation to the Greenwich social scene. We were invited to Conyer’s farm first polo match.

She touched my arm, “Just look at the countryside awakening for spring. This is old, established money. Winston needs us to “meet and greet” to help him raise funds for our tissue typing and stem cell research.

Flashing police lights, a short siren burst interrupted our drive up North St. to Conyers farm. A single police car with what appeared to be two officers speeds past around a turn. We smelled the odor of a smoldering fire as we rounded the curve. A single patrolman fought the fire in the car that seemingly crashed into a tree. “Grab a second fire extinguisher from my patrol car. This is not a natural fire.”

As I went to comply I saw the round object hanging on the passenger’s side of the squad car was a police cap not another cop. A deliberate attempt to hide the fact the officer is alone, but that can only work once, I thought.

A gray haired man in a formal smoking jacket peered from behind the Grecian columns framing the entrance of his mansion, “oh mon dieu, I’ll call for more help.”

He shouted to his servant emerging from the garage.

Didn’t work for this reader
Despite the fact that Larry opens with dramatic action, the narrative had several problems that keep it from reaching the professional level he needs. There are many small, technical issues—punctuation, structure, grammar—and it seemed disjointed to me, and there were clarity issues. Some notes that I hope will be helpful:

Ann put down on the car seat our introductory invitation to the Greenwich social scene. We were invited to -- Conyer’s farm’ first polo match. (Here, “Conyer’s farm” seems to be possessive, later it’s a plural. Unclear as to whether it’s a person’s name or the name of a place. If a place, it needs to be “Conyer’s Farm.)

She touched my arm, “Just look at the countryside awakening for spring. This is old, established money. Winston needs us to “meet and greet” to help him raise funds for our tissue typing and stem cell research. ” (The non-sequiter here, going from spring to old money, threw me, as did the line about the purpose of their trip. This is something the people both know, so why is someone saying it out loud? Answer: info dump.)

Flashing police lights and a short siren burst interrupted herour drive up North St. to Conyers farm. A single police car with what appeared to be two officers speeds sped past around a turn. We smelled the odor of a smoldering fire as we rounded the curve. A single patrolman fought the fire in the car that seemingly crashed into a tree. We stopped, and he shouted, “Grab a second fire extinguisher from my patrol car. This is not a natural fire.” (I didn’t understand “appeared to be” and “seemingly,” especially “seemingly.” It should be apparent whether a car is crashed into a tree or not.)

As I went to comply I saw the round object hanging on the passenger’s side of the squad car was a police cap not another cop. A deliberate attempt to hide the fact the officer is alone, but that can only work once, I thought. (For the “round object hanging” to look like a person seems not terribly credible to me. Hanging from where? If it’s a cap, then the lack of a head and a torso would seem to be apparent to anyone. And why would the narrator have this thought about an attempt to fool people?)

A gray-haired man in a formal smoking jacket peered from behind the Grecian columns framing the entrance of his mansion, “oOh mon dieu, I’ll call for more help.” )(This mansion seemed to appear out of nowhere, and the man had to be awfully close for us to hear what he said if it was in a normal voice.)

He shouted to his servant emerging from the garage.

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for James; would you keep reading?

---

Flogging the Quill has been named one of the 100 best writing sites here. There are other sites of interest, so you might want to give it a look.

---

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.

---

James sent a prologue/first chapter combo. The prologue’s first 16 lines:

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.

Take Salt Lake City, Utah, for example, nestled snugly below the Wasatch Mountains of the Rocky Mountain Range. By the looks of things, as you walk around those wide streets lined with modern skyscrapers, you might think there is more interest in business conventions and shopping malls than in the goings-on behind the closed doors of the Latter-Day Saint Temples.

Why the hell do I know this?

Because I was right there - in that very city! - pacing through a half empty Wal-Mart parking lot pushing my groceries toward my truck when I decided that our relationship had to come to an end.

I sought a quiet spot and parked my cart next to a cement pillar.

In England it was late afternoon, and because it was mid-summer, it would be as light there as the late morning sun is here in Utah.

I took my cell phone from my pocket and pulled up the contacts. S, P, E.

A full name lit up the screen.

I pressed SEND and brought the phone to my ear.

And now the opening of the first chapter.

April, 1978

It was such a windy day... as if a storm was looming.

It was the 17th of the month and the headlines all over the front page of the local newspaper read:

Boy Raped and Left Hanging from Tree

Augustos Santo's (age 9) was stabbed, raped and strangled with his own shirt and left hanging from a tree in the Harbour Area Square, not far from the train tracks that link the harbour to the meat packing plant, Anglo Inc. The boy’s naked body was found Sunday morning around 7 a.m. There were reports by neighbors that they had seen the boy walking in the company of a tall, fair skinned man wearing a long sleeve white shirt and a blue baseball cap. The neighbors also reported that on Saturday evening....

Chapter One

Was it the best decision I ever made?

Probably not!

I should have been home by 4:30, but I wasn't.

It was already past 5:00 as I sprinted down Gomez Carneiro Street sweat streaming down my chest onto my stomach. The wind making me shiver as I ran. It would have been easier if I had taken the bus from work. But instead I threaded my way back and forth along the back streets through Central Square and headed south towards the Harbour Area.

---

Heavy detail tripped me up
Despite clean writing, and then a good start with a nice, hooky first sentence, the prologue wandered off into the mechanics of making a phone call—overwriting. How important is it for the reader to see the character pull the phone from his pocket, and a name (that we don’t see) appear on the screen, and that he presses send and puts the phone to his ear. Not for me, and what tension was created by the opening line was long gone. More than that, the space taken up by non-contributory detail keep anything compelling off the first page.

On the chapter opening, the news item was riveting, but then the story part did the same thing as the prologue. Interior monologue about the decision (that we don’t know what was) by the character, the physical sensations of running down a street as opposed to alternative transportation. . .and it went on. For me, the second part of the opening was more throat-clearing—where’s the story? What does this narrator have to do with the first one? What does he/she have to do with the hanged boy? Those questions shouldn’t even have to be asked (they are more technique questions rather than story questions).

While the writing is good and clear, on the storytelling side the writing alone isn’t capable of creating the tension needed to compel a turn of the page. As the little old lady once famously said in a television commercial, “Where’s the beef?”

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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Holly; would you keep reading?

---

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.

---

Holly’s first 16 lines:

In a narrow valley near the fork of the Bighorn River and Dry Head Creek, Wolf Bird lit a smudge of white pine needles. The thin cloud of sweet smoke drifted through the camp and the Crow warriors stood over it purifying their hands. They reverently opened their medicine bundles, looked skyward and prayed for success.

Back in the trees, their horses, already painted and adorned with scalp locks and war medicines, snorted and blew vapor, pulling on their pickets.

A pale gray suffused the tree line and the warriors began to paint themselves and sing their medicine songs in final preparation for the battle that was to come. Their songs echoed hollowly through the camp, muted and joyless, they all expected to die.

The fifteen warriors mounted and waited. Kill Many, his cheeks painted black signifying revenge and his forehead with a red circle representing the sun, grimly sat astride his horse. White Bear and Little Bull were mounted and ready. The warhorses knew what was coming and they wheeled, stamped and pawed the dirt, steam rising from their coats.

Just as the glow of sunrise touched the eastern horizon, Wolf Bird blew his war whistle three times and the men rode toward the valley mouth.

The sound of pounding hooves and gunshots suddenly rattled through the valley. War (snip)

---

Didn’t grab me
While Holly is beginning with a scene that promises action ahead, a good thing to do, I wasn’t compelled to turn the page. There were several factors for me. A lack of tension, for one thing. Even though there are warriors readying for battle, I didn’t feel it. That’s due to the distance here. We’re watching from far off, and not involved with any particular character. We don’t know whose story this is. Now, those things would be okay in a riveting action narrative, but this is the calm before the battle. It turns out that Kill Many is the POV character. Let us see and feel though his mind now.

And there were craft issues—clarity, commas, a little overwriting, and adverbs. Those little things added up to an anticipation of more of the same, and I didn’t want to go there. Notes:

In a narrow valley near the fork of the Bighorn River and Dry Head Creek, Wolf Bird lit a smudge of white pine needles. The thin cloud of sweet smoke drifted through the camp and the Crow warriors stood over it, purifying their hands. They reverently opened their medicine bundles, looked skyward and prayed for success. (Here’s an example of the need to keep reader expectations in mind. We expect the first character we meet to have a meaningful role in the story, if not be the main protagonist. Wolf Bird isn’t that—he’ s soon killed. Why not have Kills Many light the smudge and show his feelings?)

Back in the trees, their horses, already painted and adorned with scalp locks and war medicines, snorted and blew vapor, pulling on their pickets.

A pale gray suffused the tree line and the warriors began to painted themselves and sing sang their medicine songs in final preparation for the battle that was to come. Their songs echoed hollowly through the camp, muted and joyless,; they all expected to die. (The pale gray suffusion is unclear—this could be from the smoke we’ve already seen, even though I think that Holly means the early light of dawn. Needs to be clarified.)

The fifteen warriors mounted and waited. Kill Many, his cheeks painted black signifying to signify revenge and on his forehead with a red circle representing the sun, grimly sat astride his horse. White Bear and Little Bull were mounted and ready. The warhorses knew what was coming and they wheeled, stamped and pawed the dirt, steam rising from their coats. (When we last “saw” the warriors, they were painting themselves—suggest you have Kill Many mount his horse rather than already sitting.)

Just as the glow of sunrise touched the eastern horizon, Wolf Bird blew his war whistle three times and the men rode toward the valley mouth.

The sound of pounding hooves and gunshots suddenly rattled through the valley. War (snip) (Generally speaking, “suddenly” is a waste word and to be avoided. The description works just find without it. Besides, how is it sudden when the warriors are clearly anticipating it?)

Keep working at it, Holly. You clearly have a vision of what’s happening here, but try getting in to Kill Many’s head and feeling what happens as he prepares and then fights, and then show us that.

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,

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

© 2009 Ray Rhamey