
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.
Mysti’s first 16 lines:
Voice pulled me forward, but then. . .In a split second a 300-pound Puerto Rican woman is jilted to the right by the lurch of the train. I’m anchored between an arm rail and an Indian kid. Across from me is a man made for centerfolds with eyes like little chips of onyx under a chocolate mop of hair. Despite the left and right, back and forth bobbing of the rickety car, his body remains motionless. Then everything goes black.
My view is blocked by a giant armpit—a dark patch of hair sprouting like a dead smelly fern. Another guy in a wife beater clings to the metal noose overhead. It’s 90 in Manhattan today, and 20 degrees hotter underground. It stinks like spoiled meat.
Clickity, Clank, BANG! The silver tin snake has whipped us to the edge of our seats. “DAMN!” someone yells. Mr. Model sends a smirk my way, and I notice his arm needled with ink, lines of Hebrew script curl around his bicep, and vanish under the edge of his sleeve. He’s reading the paper.
The train slows and the conductor’s voice booms, “34th Penn Station, transfer to the Long Island Railroad.” The doors part and a woman falls forward into the train, rammed by a ruthless mob behind her. I notice her eyes the size of plums, and her hands cradling her belly. She’s pregnant.
Despite some technical nits, this writer’s/character’s voice was fresh and appealing enough to get me to the next page. But then the story failed to show up. We ride the subway, get off, buy a bagel, go to work in the ad agency, and get exposition. Oh, and we shift from the present tense that starts the story to past tense. Because of the opening appeal, all that was disappointing. More later, but now some notes:
In a split second, a 300-pound Puerto Rican woman is
jiltedjolted to the right by the lurch of the train. I’m anchored between an arm rail and an Indian kid. Across from me is a man made for centerfolds with eyes like little chips of onyx under a chocolate mop of hair. Despite the left and right, back and forth bobbing of the rickety car, his body remains motionless. Then everything goes black.My view is blocked by a giant armpit—a dark patch of hair sprouting like a dead smelly fern. Another guy in a wife-beater clings to the metal noose overhead. It’s
90ninety in Manhattan today, and20twenty degrees hotter underground.It stinks like spoiled meat.(The previous “everything goes black” led me to expect that the lights went out or the character was knocked out or something like that, but it turned out to be exaggeration. Unrealistic exaggeration. That took me out of the story. Also, who is “another guy is a wife-beater?” The guy with the armpit, or someone else. Lack of clarity here. I deleted the last sentence because we didn’t need any more, having already been assaulted with a dead smelly fern, IMO.)Clickity, Clank, BANG! The silver tin snake
has whippedwhips us to the edge of our seats. “DAMN!” someone yells. Mr. Model sends a smirk my way, and I notice his arm, needled with ink, lines of Hebrew script curling around his bicep,and vanishing under the edge of his sleeve. He’s reading the paper. (We’re having some tense problems, which show up later on. Not a good sign. Also, there’s a lack of tension growing, as well.)The train slows and the conductor’s voice booms, “34th Penn Station, transfer to the Long Island Railroad.” The doors part and a woman falls forward into the train, rammed by a ruthless mob behind her. I notice her eyes, the size of plums, and her hands cradling her belly. She’s pregnant. (While the writer has given us a terrific sense of place, it’s not in the context of story. Which makes this end up as “throat-clearing,” that nervous writerly habit that precedes actually telling the tale—and robbing the narrative of the drive it needs to keep pages turning.)
Mysti’s character is a writer in an ad agency, and I suspect that she may be as well. That’s all fine, but just about all of the first chapter was us seeing her in that environment and getting a little backstory about her life. I felt that we needed something to happen that promised trouble for her, something to kick-start a need that she needs to take care of. And then there was the shift from present tense to past. Mysti, I think you’re a talented writer who needs to focus more on story and less on writing, and to pay attention to grammar issues like comma faults and verb tense. And your description sometimes became so clever that it took me out of the story—for example, when you described giving a man 75 cents as giving him “three shiny heads.” Keep at it, simplify, and GET TO THE STORY.
Comments, anyone?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
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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