Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Marcel. Would you turn the page?

---

Charity auction for FtQ Book + 50-page critique almost over. At Brenda Novak’s Online Auction for Diabetes Research, I’ve donated a signed copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, plus a critique of the first 50 pages of a novel. The auction only has 2 days to go. Right now, somebody’s getting a great deal—book and critique for $63! What I offer is worth a minimum of $200. You can do better! Or visit the auction and browse for other terrific items.

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book -- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Which works, prologue, chapter, or both? First, the first 16 lines of Marcel’s prologue.

His last footstep was awkward.

Roland Tidwell squints at his Bvlgari watch in an attempt to focus on the hands behind the polished crystal. He sighs as he takes in the burnt sienna sunset over the Great Salt Lake from his backyard high in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. Only a downpour could rid the valley of the inversion layer, but for now, the smog was imparting an intense color to the evening sky. He scans the guests dotting his lawn.

Attorneys and politicians have gathered around the fountain. They are shaking hands, patting each other’s backs and baring bleached smiles. Along the fence, print and television people are mingling, confabulating while they search the distinguished crowd for tomorrow’s headline. The civil servants are huddled next to the pond. Yap, yap, yap. They do what comes naturally.

A hazy glow—a yellowish hue dipping into the green spectrum—form a halo around the patio lights. Damn this new medication. He considers checking the listed side effects and calling his doctor. Well, maybe tomorrow morning. His eyesight will get better. It has to. After all, it is his birthday.

His Italian loafers feel like cinder blocks as he staggers away from the stone ring where (snip)

Now for the first 16 lines of Chapter 1.

News travels fast.

While I was moonlighting at Primary Children’s ER, an odd thing happened in the examination room. I was tending to a twelve-year-old girl with a broken arm—courtesy of her scumbag father—when he “slipped,” jaw-smack against the edge of a gurney. The impact zapped his short-term memory clear into last week. Well, for a few hours at least. I know. I treated him too.

That was the tale I told the hospital staff at the pediatric hospital. My swollen knuckles, the ones that had connected with solid mandibular bone, told a different story. I’d kept them hidden inside the abyss of my lab coat pockets.

The dirtbag’s account? Like I said: forebrain, midbrain, hindbrain—all essentially mush.

That was six hours ago. Though I was still rattled by what had happened, I stood my ground in the hallway of the University Hospital ER where I worked full-time. I studied the approaching man with a touch of apprehension. He flashed a worn Salt Lake City PD badge. A surge of Old Spice wafted by and was soon soured by a tidal wave of rank sweat. The bags under his eyes told me that he hadn’t slept much. Join the club.

For me, no on the prologue, yes for the chapter
To this reader, the prologue lacked tension. That, and the strange switch of tense from past to present after the first sentence. While the writing is nice and the voice is interesting, nothing much happens except description. The point-of-view character eventually collapses and dies, but I’d have never gotten there.

The chapter works much better for me. I like the voice, and I like the character—I’m immediately on the side of someone who defends children. And a good story question is raised—what does the cop want? I was willing to turn the page to find out.

For the chapter, I don’t think the opening line is useful because we don’t know what he’s talking about, which is seeing the copy walk toward him. I’d cut it. In the first paragraph, the last part of the second sentence -- when he “slipped,” jaw-smack against the edge of a gurney. -- confused me. Something is missing there. Otherwise, I liked the writing, the tone, and the tension.

If I were Marcel, I'd cut the prologue and start with the chapter. I got the sense that we didn't really need to know what the prologue offered.

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

Channeling Characters

---

I’m a pantser; I write the story to discover what it is—and who it’s about. For example, in the opening scene of my first novel I had a couple of punks assault a young woman in order to show my protagonist’s prowess in dealing with violence. That was her sole purpose—she was a “spear carrier.”

But she followed the protagonist to thank him, and then became the co-protagonist in the novel. She was completely unplanned, and I’m glad she stepped up the way she did.

Channeling a character is about opening your inner doors and letting the character step out without you pre-defining most of his or her character traits—appearance, politics, shoe size, quirks, past, likes and dislikes, all the things that make up a person. It could be that all that stuff is already there, in your subconscious, and only needs a turn of the latch to make an appearance. That’s how it worked for me in the novel above, and in others.

I know that some pundits advise writing a thorough character biography with a list of as many character traits as possible, and it may be that doing so calls upon the same kind of subconscious mining that channeling does. If that works for you, fine. I’ve always resisted it.

Can channeling be better in some way?

For some writers, at least this one, channeling allows a character’s characteristics to surface in the context of a scene. A scene’s action evokes the characteristics a character needs to deal with it, and those characteristics guide the action. For me, this interaction between characteristics and story can’t happen in the process of simply listing them.

Here’s an example drawn from another novel. Before I put fingers on keyboard to write the scene that introduced this character, I “knew” only this:

• the character’s name and his role as an antagonist
• that he was a leader of a clan of people like him
• that he was inside a vehicle in which he traveled and lived
• that the outside of the vehicle was wooden -- I didn’t even know what kind of vehicle he was in
• that he was in a forest preserve outside of Chicago in wintertime.

And that was it. I didn’t know what he looked like, nor did I know any of the details about the other things in that list. No description; no psychology other than his desire to eliminate humankind, and even then only half the real reason why; no list of likes and dislikes. I had no idea of what the room he was in was like.

Pretty much a tabula rasa. Here is the earliest draft I could find of what I wrote, and although it is richer in detail than the true first draft, it all stems from my process of discovery via channeling. I’m going to cut big chucks of narrative so you’ll just see the description of the character and his environment that I discovered. Note: “lledri” is an old Celtic word for “magic.”

Drago slides a blue velvet curtain aside and peers out a porthole in his galleon’s quarterdeck cabin. Though the morning is well past dawn, the light is dim, of a piece with the gray sky. With distaste, he eyes the sparse snowflakes that fall on the barren trees and snow-covered forest floor surrounding the half-acre clearing where his ship rests.

Within view are the tall, curved hulls of three of his clan’s twelve vessels, sixteenth-century Spanish ships long gone from the high seas. Their glossy wooden flanks provide a warm contrast to the dull, gray-brown bark of the trees that surround the snow-bound meadow. He has never been partial to the supports that, like the legs of daddy longlegs spiders, angle out from lower decks to hold them upright while their keels rest on the forest floor, but there was no better way to park a sharp-keeled ship on land.

(snip)

Drago shivers, closes the curtain against the draft, and gathers enough lledri to increase his personal warmth. Warm light from kerosene lamps gives the impression of comfort, but despite woolen Oriental carpets insulating the hardwood floor and the heavy oaken wall panels, the cabin is unpleasantly chilly. He’s tempted by the pot-bellied woodstove in the corner, but a column of smoke couldn’t be hidden, and the danger of discovery is too great this close to a lessi city acrawl with people like maggots in a carcass.

Drago gazes at a scene from clan history a master craftsman has carved into the nearest wall panel, a portrait of his direct ancestor, Merlin, deep in conversation with King Arthur. The artist portrayed Merlin as tall and lean, with a handsome beard that reaches his chest. Drago wishes he looked like the carving instead of sporting the balding, plump appearance he associates with a ruddy-cheeked butcher in a small-town grocery store. He suspects that the real Merlin looked much like he does, and the majesty portrayed on the panel is no more than imagination at work.

(snip)

He strokes his moustache, the one thing he has in common with the carved image. His is still dark brown, as is what remains of his hair. If only he had found his key to rejuvenation before he reached his thirties and his scalp had become a barren pink dome rising above a low hedge of hair. That he’s stuck with his looks for the rest of his days -- unless he decides to allow himself to age -- is one of life’s minor irritants.

I swear to you that before I sat down to write, I didn’t know that he was bald and pudgy, and a little vain. I did add things later. For example, he was totally one-dimensional at this point, all rage and bent on revenge for the death of his son. I added a couple of elements to his character to humanize him—his concern for clan children, and his affection for two blue jays that he had trained—and those were deliberate. But most of the things that put flesh on this character were, well, “received.”

Sometimes they talk to you

For a time, when I moved to a new job, I commuted most weekends across the state of Washington, about 5 hours one way. I’d been toying with an idea for a new twist on the vampire genre, a vampire kitty-cat. But how to tell the story? I really didn’t know where to begin until, on one of those drives, the character’s voice entered my head and started telling me his story. His first words were,

Just after dark, death grabbed me by the tail.

Honest, that’s what came into my mind. In a way, after a little preliminary thought about aspects of the world this character inhabited, but very little planning, the character pretty much dictated his story to me, one episode per week. I’d sit down at the computer, re-read the last week’s episode, and then “listen” to what happened next.

I channeled “catness,” too—my character’s voice has an arch, sorta smart-ass quality to which cat people say, “Yep, that’s the way a cat is.” So my subconscious, apparently, contains a cat. (Hmm. Does that mean there’s a litter box in there, too?)

That novel is currently on Authonomy and was recently requested by an editor at a U.S. publishing house after a fan wrote to her and pitched it. Sometimes it pays to listen.

If you haven’t channeled a character, can it work for you? There are as many ways to write a story as there are writers, but you might find it fun to try.

If you’re just starting a project and a character is just beginning in your mind, sit down and write a scene through his or her point of view. See what you can discover. Try for an organic way to become aware of his or her appearance (NOT standing in front of a mirror!) and characteristics.

For what it’s worth.

Ray

Flogometer for Amanda. Would you turn the page?

---

Announcing a new workshop in October I’ve just been invited to do my Crafting a Killer First Page workshop at the Write on the Sound Writer’s Conference. It’s in the Puget Sound area, and a good one—this is a return visit for me. The workshop is a live, group version of what we do here on FtQ, both fun and educational.

---

Amazon now stocking my book For those of you who might have had difficulty in ordering my book from Amazon, it seems to be working fine now. Have you seen the reader reviews?.

---

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.

---

Amanda has reworked her opening after an FtQ critique, and here are the new first 16 lines of her YA novel:

Jenna should never have opened the box.

She should never have entered Matthew’s room at all. If she’d slipped past to the bathroom like she’d said, none of it would have happened. But the door had been ajar, and the mystery inside had glowed at her, beckoning her to unravel the truth about him.

A secret she was never meant to know.

She lifted the lid of the box and saw a key, resting on the velvet cradle of the lining. It was worn, antique even, made of black iron with a single tooth and a round handle—sturdy, but plain. Threaded through the tiny loop was a thick coil of silver-and-gold ribbon, an extravagant band for a simple key that only stretched across her palm.

“What’s it for?” Jenna whispered, her eyes scanning the clutter of Matthew’s room. It was too large for a diary, and she was pretty sure Matthew didn’t keep one; boys didn’t do that, did they? The key looked too small for a door.

“Jenna?” Matthew’s voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. Jenna gasped, fumbling with the key and trying to replace it in the box with shaking hands. She heard his socked feet padding up the stairs. The box wouldn’t close, silver-and-gold coils snaking out the sides. Matthew’s hand touched the knob and it was creaking, turning, revealing Jenna’s intrusion.

I turned this page
Good story questions, well presented, moved me to page two. The voice is clear, the character and the situation interesting—and the character is about to be discovered sneaking, which creates plenty of tension. The hints of mystery, and the “never should have” foreshadowing combined to catch my interest. There are still craft nitpicks, but I thought this was much improved over the first version. Notes:

Jenna should never have opened the box.

She should never have entered Matthew’s room at all. If she’d slipped past to the bathroom like she’d said, none of it would have happened. But the door had been ajar, and the mystery inside had glowed at her, beckoning her to unravel the truth about him. (Little trims for pacing, and the “like she’d said” didn’t make a lot of sense, especially since we didn’t see her say it. I’m a little uneasy about “glowed” because it could be read as a real glow. What is really meant is called to her or pulled at her, but those are less colorful ways to say it. Clarity, though, is a key issue in the opening.)

A secret she was never meant to know.

She lifted the lid of the box and saw a key, resting on the velvet cradle of the lining. It was worn, antique even, made of black iron with a single tooth and a round handle—sturdy, but plain. Threaded through the tiny loop was a thick coil of silver-and-gold ribbon, an extravagant band for a simple key that only stretched across her palm. (In this case, “thick” is a conclusion word and doesn’t really contribute an image.)

“What’s it for?” Jenna whispered, her eyes scanning the clutter of Matthew’s room. It was too large for a diary, and she was pretty sure Matthew didn’t keep one; boys didn’t do that, did they? The key looked too small for a door. (the “pretty sure” part suggests that she knows Matthew pretty well, but in fact she doesn’t . Maybe something more accurate would be …It was too large for a diary—she didn’t know Matthew very well, but boys didn’t do that, did they?)

“Jenna?” Matthew’s voice called out from the bottom of the stairs. Jenna gasped and tried , fumbling with the key and trying to replace it the key in the box with shaking hands. She heard his socked feet padding up the stairs. The box wouldn’t close, silver-and-gold coils snaking out the sides. Matthew’s hand touched the knob and it was creaking, turning, revealing about to reveal Jenna’s intrusion.

Way to keep at it, Amanda. Your work is paying off. By the way, the “I couldn’t find the bathroom” excuse she gives on the next page is so lame that it makes her look less than competent. Since she was there ostensibly to study with him, could she claim to be looking for the English book or maybe something to write with since she’d forgotten her stuff? I mean, in any ordinary American house, the bathroom’s location is generally quite obvious. Just a thought.

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 Zoë. Would you turn the page?

---

Special forum appearance today/tonight I’m doing a 7-hour gig on the Writer’s Digest Forum, Critique Central, Sci-Fi/Fantasy category. I’ll be critiquing openings and answering questions from 3 to 10 Pacific time.

---

Now in stock at Amazon If you had a pre-order returned, there should be no problem now. Whew! Free critiques and conversation with proof of purchase of my book -- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Zoë’s first 16 lines.

The events surrounding my death are still vague in my memory. In truth I remember only this; atop ragged cliffs, squinting out at the boundless ocean with the trenchant wind tearing at my clothes and hair, I leaned over the precipice, craving death. As I plunged downwards, the relief was both instant and absolute.

When I awoke, cold and alone on the sharp rocks below, I knew I was dead. My body was not broken, but I felt the absence of both breath and heartbeat the same way I would have sensed the absence of a limb.

That relief I had felt as my body turned over and over in space, speeding towards the rocks on which I now lay, was gone. Gone the way only things that are lost forever can be gone. Regret consumed me as the awareness of what I had done wrapped itself around me like a shroud. Offering neither solace nor the peace I had craved, eternity yawned before me.

# # #

No one noticed me at my funeral. I watched the small group gathered around my grave as they listened disinterestedly to a soft-voiced funeral director. I balked at his cookie-cutter eulogy. The short, simple ceremony reflected nothing of who I had been.

The ache that had begun the moment I awoke in my dead body churned within me, (snip)

I moved on
Story got me to turn the page—it’s interesting to learn about death. But there was a clarity issue that nearly stopped me, and it wasn’t cleared up later in the chapter, either. While the writing is quite sound, for this reader it was a little “more” than I would have liked. Not exactly overwritten, but taking the long way there at times. I think it could be tighter.

We’re talking about voice here, both the writer’s and the character’s. As an editor, I respect voice, and help writers to make the most of theirs. But I also let them know the consequences of the choices they make. In this case, the formal nature of the narrative suggests a period in the past, when writing and speech was more formal. Is this what the writer intends? Does this voice reflect a contemporary young woman? Some notes:

The events surrounding my death are still vague in my memory. In truth I remember only this; atop ragged cliffs, squinting out at the boundless ocean with the trenchant wind tearing at my clothes and hair, I leaned over the precipice, craving death. As I plunged downwards, the relief was both instant and absolute. (A thought on the opening sentence: “The events surrounding” is a formal, distant phrase. Would the narrative lose anything if, instead, it said: My death is still vague in my memory. Does that make it more personal, closer?)

When I awoke, cold and alone on the sharp rocks below, I knew I was dead. My body was not broken, but I felt the absence of both breath and heartbeat the same way I would have sensed the absence of a limb.

That relief I had felt as my body turned over and over in space, speeding towards the rocks on which I now lay, was gone. Gone the way only things that are lost forever can be gone. Regret consumed me as the awareness of what I had done wrapped itself around me like a shroud. Offering neither solace nor the peace I had craved, eternity yawned before me.

# # #

No one noticed me at my funeral. I watched the small group gathered around my grave as they listened disinterestedly to a soft-voiced funeral director. I balked at his cookie-cutter eulogy. The short, simple ceremony reflected nothing of who I had been. (Here’s where the confusion set in for me. It seemed like she was still “in” her body after the fall, yet here she is at her funeral, presumably with her body inside a coffin. Since a body can’t be in two places at once, she must be a ghost or spirit of some sort, but that’s not at all what the second paragraph says—she’s in a dead body there. This needs to be clarified. I thought at first she was a vampire because she stayed in the body, but that’s not the case. Other notes: “small” is a conclusion word that doesn’t actually show anything because it’s a relative term. It wouldn’t hurt to be specific—why not specify a half-dozen, or a dozen, or nine? The adverb “disinterestedly” is also a fakir trying to describe—show us, i.e. gazes wandering, scratching at itches, etc. Help us witness it, and draw our own conclusions.)

The ache that had begun the moment I awoke in my dead body churned within me, (snip) (Again a reference to being “in” her dead body, but she’s not in it now. How come?)

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 Aminta. Would you turn the page?

---

A charitable opportunity I’ve donated a signed copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells plus a critique of the first 50 pages of a novel to Brenda Novak's On-line Auction for Diabetes Research. The page ishere. Look around, there are many writerly things to bid on.

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book -- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Aminta’s first 16 lines.

Outside my window I saw a red river of courtyards. Inside the courtyards, elderly women chatted on stools or tended small gardens. The courtyards were affixed to drab contemporary apartment blocks making them even more striking: an explosion of red brick and verdant vines, of character and history. Somehow I knew that each courtyard had been built by the hands of someone who lived there, or who had once lived there. They seemed like a piece of the village, a part of the old world taken with their residents to the city when they had come seeking a better life.

Each courtyard had a gate. Like the courtyards, the gates were all slightly dissimilar, some with red tile roofs, others with wrought iron doors. Faded red paper couplets adorned with Chinese calligraphy marked the sides and tops of most of them. Each gate, though composed of simple materials, managed to look grand, as if to say boldly and with just the slightest amount of condescension: Is one really making an entrance if one doesn’t pass over a threshold and under a roof?

In old China, women rarely went beyond gates such as these. They remained in seclusion, guarded away from prying eyes, retaining their mystery at the expense of their freedom. The gate also defined insiders from outsiders, family from strangers. Where one stood in relation to the gate defined who one was.

I knew this society clearly defined me. I was a stranger. I was a foreigner. I stood outside the gate.

I turned the page
I turned the page, but a ton of tension wasn’t why. The 16th line did raise enough of a story question to create some—what will happen to her—and that, plus the voice, did the job. I turned it knowing that I was in for a leisurely journey into a new and different world, and that “different world” aspect was the draw, and is often a big factor in creating compulsion in a reader.

I do wish, however, that there had been more of a hint of tension or jeopardy ahead. The rest of the chapter “arrives” the character and her family to a small city in China, where they are teachers. We end the chapter familiar with what she’s doing there and why, and a foreshadowing that they will be living that new life for two years, but there are no signs of anything ahead with meaningful trouble for this character, and fiction is really about trouble and how characters handle it, not just experiencing a new world. If her experiencing of Chinese society is all that this book is about, I don’t think that’s enough to make it a publishable novel. Some notes:

Outside my window I saw a red river of courtyards. Inside the courtyards, elderly women chatted on stools or tended small gardens. The courtyards were affixed to drab contemporary apartment blocks, making them even more striking: an explosion of red brick and verdant vines, of character and history. Somehow I knew that each courtyard had been built by the hands of someone who lived there, or who had once lived there. They seemed like a piece of the village, a part of the old world taken with their residents to the city when they had come seeking a better life. (Clarity issue: the last sentence didn’t flow for me. I think it’s an agreement problem—“they” evokes plural, but that’s not here. For example: They seemed like pieces of villages, parts of the old world taken with their residents to the city when they had come seeking a better life.)

Each courtyard had a gate. Like the courtyards, the gates were all slightly dissimilar, some with red tile roofs, others with wrought iron doors. Faded red paper couplets adorned with Chinese calligraphy marked the sides and tops of most of them. Each gate, though composed of simple materials, managed to look grand, as if to say boldly and with just the slightest amount of condescension: Is one really making an entrance if one doesn’t pass over a threshold and under a roof? (Another clarity issue: “couplets” means to me a form of poetry, and this may be what was meant, but it says that there are paper couplets. Is the real meaning that couplets, written with calligraphy on red paper, adorn the gates?)

In old China, women rarely went beyond gates such as these. They remained in seclusion, guarded away from prying eyes, retaining their mystery at the expense of their freedom. The gate also defined insiders from outsiders, family from strangers. Where one stood in relation to the gate defined who one was.

I knew this society clearly defined me. I was a stranger. I was a foreigner. I stood outside the gate. (As mentioned, I did like the story questions this last line raises, and it hints at story. However, more of what the story is, in regard to impact on the character’s life, or what desire she needs to fill, failed to appear in the chapter.)

Very nice writing, descriptive and evocative. But what’s the story? As Robert McKee talks about in his book, Story, stories are powered by the gap between what a character needs and its achievement, by the ongoing and frustrated efforts of the character to achieve a goal. What’s the need or goal here? Or the stakes if it is not achieved? Give me more of that—on the first page if possible, and for sure in the first chapter—and you’ll have a reader here.

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 Dai. Would you turn the page?

---

A charitable opportunity I’ve donated a signed copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells plus a critique of the first 50 pages of a novel to Brenda Novak's On-line Auction for Diabetes Research. The page is here. Look around, there are many writerly things to bid on. 

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book-- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Dai’s first 16 lines. Note: The character <Þ> in alien names is meant to signify a phoneme intermediate between

and

The sea-raider called out in FÞoekÞægh, the lingua Franca of DwoentuÞ Lagoon and its environs. “Hear, man of dirt—give me the female and it will go better for you.”

Altridge managed to keep his return shout steady, partly due to the concentration necessary when speaking an alien language. “So, man of blood—what use for a female of dirt have you?”

He had maneuvered before the grapnel was thrown, keeping the outrigger toward the pirate boat. Waves hissed and slapped in the fifteen feet of water separating him from the muscular bronze humanoid—not distance enough.

The pirate glanced to one side at the audience—his crew—then back. “So: Is there a time when a true man has no need of an additional female?” A few hoots arose behind him. Even on Nova Austrasia it was deemed wise to laugh at the boss’s jokes. Yet the crossbowman beside the chief laughed not, nor did his aim stray from Altridge’s chest.

The pirate continued, “If no use to my lusts, yet might she gain us costly gifts.”

“So:” Altridge hated this tongue, not least due to the need to make each statement a declamation. “Might not I be also the means of gaining you gifts?”

“Hear: The true man lives not by wealth alone, but by deeds of boldness—the quelling of adverse life and the desolation of lands. Yet give up the dirt female—this woman of Earth—and (snip)

I turned the page
Dai’s confident voice promises good writing ahead, and she opens with an action scene in an exotic world, so this reached the level of compelling for me. Dai takes more chances, however, than I would. There are science fiction readers who would enjoy mastering (and then reading for an entire novel) the character “Þ”, but I can’t make my tongue do that, or at least I really can’t figure out how it should sound. For me, making the reader work at any point to take in my story is something I try to avoid.

One little cut I’d make:

Altridge managed to keep his return shout steady, partly due to the concentration necessary when speaking an alien language.

This didn’t seem necessary, and if this is cut then the last line on the first page could have read this way if there’d been room:

Yet give up the dirt female—this woman of Earth—and your death shall be speedy. Thus say I, BahkæÞt.

Raises the stakes and creates a sizeable story question. Now, there are no “rules” that say only 16 lines can go on the first page—that’s just what accepted formatting practice preaches: starting a page one third of the way down. If I can’t get the first page to break in such a way as to keep a provocative line on it, I’ve been known to format with 17 lines on the first page. Who’s counting?

Really nice work, Dai. Good luck with it.

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 Dale. Would you turn the page?

---

Congratulations to Livia on winning a copy of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells, from Writer Unboxed. Maybe I ought to do that once in a while.

---

Free critiques & conversations with proof of purchase of my book-- a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill. I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Dale’s first 16 lines of a middle-grade story:

JJ felt the heat on the soles of his feet intensify, even as the ever-thinning air grew colder. His thermo-suit popped and rattled, and he felt sure it would disintegrate before he tore free of Earth’s gravity. Sam isn’t going to like this, he thought as the blue sky darkened above him.

He was still being followed, but he dared not look down. The act of turning his head could send him careening off course, causing him to plummet to the surface thirty miles below. The blip on his heads-up display flashed a rhythmic red pulse. The beeping was slowing, so he had built some distance on the robot drones, but he knew they were still there, watching him rocket toward the blackness of space.

His brother, Hamilton, had told him the suit would never hold up under these conditions, but JJ knew Hamilton was just trying to discourage him from trying. “Don’t even consider leaving Earth in the thermo-suit,” he had said. “You will burn up. Then we will have to tell Mother and Father why their youngest son is nothing but a cloud of ash, drifting over the Atlantic.”

“Then why's the suit retrofitted with a second stage booster?” JJ had asked.

“Because,” his sister Sam had interrupted, “some day, we might need it.” She pointed to Hamilton and herself. “In case of an emergency.”

Well, if this wasn’t an emergency, JJ didn’t know what was.

Worked for me
Good, clean writing and opening with an action scene complete with story questions did the job here. Even though there’s some backstory, it’s integrated with and help us understand the action, so that works as well. Notes:

JJ felt the heat on the soles of his feet intensify, even as the ever-thinning air grew colder. His thermo-suit popped and rattled, and he felt sure it would disintegrate before he tore free of Earth’s gravity. Sam isn’t going to like this, he thought as the blue sky darkened above him. (A technical question: I don’t understand why heat would intensify on the soles of his feet. Is he standing on something? That doesn’t seem logical since he’s in a suit of some kind. Is the rocket thrust somehow doing it? There’s a lack of clarity here, and I’m not sure the heat detail helps anyway.)

He was still being followed, but he dared not look down. The act of tTurning his head could send him careening off course, causing him to plummet to the surface thirty miles below. The blip on his heads-up display flashed a rhythmic red pulse. The beeping pulse was slowing, so he had built some distance on the robot drones, but he knew they were still there, watching him rocket toward the blackness of space. (I changed the “bleeping” because the narrative hadn’t established a bleep.)

His brother, Hamilton, had told him the suit would never hold up under these conditions, but JJ knew Hamilton was had just been trying to discouraging him from trying. “Don’t even consider leaving Earth in the thermo-suit,” he had said. “You will burn up. Then we will have to tell Mother and Father why their youngest son is nothing but a cloud of ash, drifting over the Atlantic.” (There were two "trying"s in one sentence, so I eradicated one. I like the “cloud of ash” line. Nicely raises the stakes for JJ.)

“Then why's the suit retrofitted with a second stage booster?” JJ had asked.

“Because,” his sister Sam had interrupted said, “some day, we might need it.” She pointed to Hamilton and herself. “In case of an emergency.” (Actually, Sam doesn’t seem to interrupt anyone. She interjects her comment, if anything, but a plain old “said” works without explaining a dialogue.)

Well, if this wasn’t an emergency, JJ didn’t know what was.

Nice work, and the rest of the chapter developed smoothly and naturally. There are more places that could be tightened as I’ve done in this portion, and care need to be take to keep things clear, but this is a good start.

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 Kaycee. Would you turn the page?

---

Check out the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference It's in lovely Mendocino, California, July 30 through August 2. I'm doing my Killer First Page workshop there, plus private editing sessions. The workshop is like a live version of what we do here, and writers find it to be fun and educational.

---

I’m all a-twitter Reader reviews for the new book are coming in at Amazon, and nicely so—thank you, readers. And I’m trying the twitter thing, @RayRhamey, so let’s connect.

Free critiques & conversations With proof of purchase can come, if you’re interested, a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill; I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Kaycee’s first 16 lines:

Sarshyn started it.

On the way home after sword training, he poked an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.

“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”

He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.”

Aria grinned and brought her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left behind.

“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response with a smirk on her face. He mirrored her stance.

“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”

His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind (snip)

I turned the page
The writing is basically crisp and clean, and the “micro-tension” of their play duel was enough to bring me forward. But I think there are opportunities to sharpen it, and there was some confusion about “Guides.” A tiny bit more scene-setting would have increased my interest, too—I think that these folks are faerie, partly because they and their folk live in a big tree. If there’s a way to hint at more of that, it would add. Some notes:

Sarshyn started it.

On the way home after sword training, he poked his an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army, don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.

“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”

He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.” (I know what you intend by “pretended to pout,” but a pout is a pout, so how do you show that he’s not really pouting instead of pretending to? Perhaps something like: A little grin spoiled his fake pout.)

Aria grinned and brought smacked her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left by the blade behind. (Just a suggestion or two for tightening and clarity.)

“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both her feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response with a smirk on her face. He mirrored her stance. (Unless the instructor’s name is important, this is an unnecessary detail. The “smirk on her face” is a little bit of a step away from her close point of view—stated this way, it’s more of something seen than done. I would suggest something more active. Thoughtstarter: She taunted him with a smirk. More than that, with trimming the narrative as suggested, you could work in a little of their environment. For example (if they are barefooted), a thoughtstarter: Settling her weight evenly on her feet, her toes gripping the bark of the Old One’s wide branch, she brought up her sword.)

“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”

His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind (snip) (For me, words got tangled here—the “Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind” just didn’t connect with meaning. While this is a meaningful part of this world, I don’t think it’s needed here. For one thing, “Duendes” didn’t mean anything. For another, I think “Guided” should be “guided” here, thus avoiding the confusion of capitals. I’d stick with something more experiential. For example, what about substituting this line from the next page: Little wisps of crimson that matched his hair sliced through the orange glow around his lean body as he raised his sword. Much more provocative for me.)

Nice work, Kaycee. Keep an eye out for tightening, and for places that might be unclear to someone not already imbedded in this world.

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 Kaycee. Would you turn the page?

---

Win a copy of Flogging the Quill The wonderful folks at Writer Unboxed are giving away a signed copy of my book. Check it out. Open through today, the 13th.

---

I’m all a-twitter Reader reviews for the new book are coming in at Amazon, and nicely so—thank you, readers. And I’m trying the twitter thing, @RayRhamey, so let’s connect.

Free critiques & conversations With proof of purchase can come, if you’re interested, a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill; I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

Kaycee’s first 16 lines:

Sarshyn started it.

On the way home after sword training, he poked an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.

“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”

He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.”

Aria grinned and brought her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left behind.

“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response with a smirk on her face. He mirrored her stance.

“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”

His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind (snip)

I turned the page
The writing is basically crisp and clean, and the “micro-tension” of their play duel was enough to bring me forward. But I think there are opportunities to sharpen it, and there was some confusion about “Guides.” A tiny bit more scene-setting would have increased my interest, too—I think that these folks are faerie, partly because they and their folk live in a big tree. If there’s a way to hint at more of that, it would add. Some notes:

Sarshyn started it.

On the way home after sword training, he poked his an orange elbow into Aria’s ribs. “I bet we’re ready to join the army, don’t you?” He swished his sword in a crazy series of swirls and zigzags that made no real defense or attack, and she laughed.

“Not with sword play like that. Besides, these practice blades aren’t even sharp.”

He pretended to pout. “You always spoil my fun.” (I know what you intend by “pretended to pout,” but a pout is a pout, so how do you show that he’s not really pouting instead of pretending to? Perhaps something like: A little grin spoiled his fake pout.)

Aria grinned and brought smacked her sword down on his wrist with a loud smack. His glow flashed a deep red and returned to its usual shade of sunset orange as he rubbed the welt she left by the blade behind. (Just a suggestion or two for tightening and clarity.)

“If you really wish to fight, then I challenge you to a duel!” she said in her best impression of their swordplay instructor, and stepped back. Settling her weight evenly on both her feet, she brought her sword up as Kyrlan had taught them, and waited for Sarshyn’s response with a smirk on her face. He mirrored her stance. (Unless the instructor’s name is important, this is an unnecessary detail. The “smirk on her face” is a little bit of a step away from her close point of view—stated this way, it’s more of something seen than done. I would suggest something more active. Thoughtstarter: She taunted him with a smirk. More than that, with trimming the narrative as suggested, you could work in a little of their environment. For example (if they are barefooted), a thoughtstarter: Settling her weight evenly on her feet, her toes gripping the bark of the Old One’s wide branch, she brought up her sword.)

“I accept, and the winner decides the loser’s punishment.”

His fire Guide made him easier to upset than Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind (snip) (For me, words got tangled here—the “Duendes Guided by earth, water or wind” just didn’t connect with meaning. While this is a meaningful part of this world, I don’t think it’s needed here. For one thing, “Duendes” didn’t mean anything. For another, I think “Guided” should be “guided” here, thus avoiding the confusion of capitals. I’d stick with something more experiential. For example, what about substituting this line from the next page: Little wisps of crimson that matched his hair sliced through the orange glow around his lean body as he raised his sword. Much more provocative for me.)

Nice work, Kaycee. Keep an eye out for tightening, and for places that might be unclear to someone not already imbedded in this world.

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 Cathy redux. Would you turn the page?

---

Win a copy of Flogging the Quill The wonderful folks at Writer Unboxed are giving away a signed copy of my book. Check it out.

---

I’m all a-twitter Reader reviews for the new book are coming in at Amazon, and nicely so—thank you, readers. And I’m trying the twitter thing, @RayRhamey, so let’s connect.

Free critiques & conversations With proof of purchase can come, if you’re interested, a free critique of some pages or a phone conference about writing. Details are on my web site—the free stuff button in the section on Flogging the Quill; I hope you’ll check it out. To order it from Amazon, go here.

---

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.

---

I goofed on Cathy’s submission last week, having overlooked that she’d sent a prologue and a first chapter and didn’t do the comparison thing. So let’s take a look at the first chapter’s first 16 lines:

“I saw heaven standing open, and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire.”

Delah mouthed the words as she read them and pressed her forefinger on the icon located in the middle of her field trip permission slip. Elder’s fuzzy holographic image extended over the digital text on the plasti-tablet. The image repeated: Elder placed a holy sash over a young student.

Satisfied, she pinched the right-hand bottom corner of the clear plasti-permission slip and it rolled up. Delah couldn’t wait to witness her cousin’s ordination – and to share a secret with him.

Her mom had told her to stick close with her class -- that the mall was no place for a nine-year old to be wandering on her own. Delah ignored her classmates and teacher that were at the other end of the walkway. She spotted a section, right ahead of her where she could climb the railing, minus the maintenance droids and the caution holosigns. She’d remembered the last time at the mall she had squeezed a railing with her hands before the shield had pushed her away. That meant it was strong enough to support her weight.

The caution holosign flashed: “Warning - 30 Ft. Drop,” but that made it more exiting, courting danger. Wouldn’t it be fun to climb the rail, extend her arms, and imagine she was flying?

No go for me this time
Maybe it’s just because it’s Monday morning (but agents have Monday mornings, too), but this didn’t reach the level of compelling for me. The long quote in italics was part of it—and it turned out to not impact the story. As you’ll see in the notes, the overwriting is still with us. Some notes, and then a second poll:

“I saw heaven standing open, and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire.” If these words had fairly immediate impact on the action, they would be fine. Or if they had led to something later in the chapter. While including things like this as part of world-building can be fine, I question it at the opening of the chapter.)

Delah mouthed the words as she read them and pressed her forefinger on the icon located in the middle of her field trip permission slip. Elder’s fuzzy holographic image extended over the digital text on the plasti-tablet. The image repeated: Elder placed a holy sash over a young student. (The blue strikeouts go if the first paragraph goes. Details like pressing with a forefinger are, in my view, non-essential and go in to the overwriting category. The reader will fill in the image, so it's really redundant to include a specific finger unless it's vital to understanding.)

Satisfied, she pinched the right-hand bottom corner of the clear plasti-permission slip and it rolled up. Delah couldn’t wait to witness her cousin’s ordination – and to share a secret with him. (Too much detail on the permission slip that doesn’t contribute to story. Overwriting like this accumulates.)

Her mom had told her to stick close with her class -- that the mall was no place for a nine-year old to be wandering on her own. Delah ignored her classmates and teacher that were at the other end of the walkway. She spotted a section, right ahead of her where she could climb the railing, minus the maintenance droids and the caution holosigns. She spotted a section of railing that didn’t have maintenance droids and caution holosigns—she could climb it there. She’d remembered the last time at the mall she had squeezed a railing with her hands before the shield had pushed her away. That meant it was strong enough to support her weight. (First, a quick attempt to straighten out what I thought was a hard-to-parse sentence. And the second bit of backstory/exposition didn’t contribute, I believe. It turns out that this child has non-human strength, but this detail didn’t make that clear.)

The caution holosign flashed: “Warning - 30 Ft. Drop,” but courting danger that. made it more exiting, courting danger. Wouldn’t it be fun to climb the rail, extend her arms, and imagine she was flying? (Now this raises a good story question, but the tension had been pretty much deflated by extra detail before we got here, and it wasn’t enough to push me forward.)

Am I being harsh? I don’t think so—the agents to whom we submit have far less patience than I do. As literary agent Dan Conoway, Writers House, says,

I know most of what I need to know about a writer’s chops in about a line and an half. In the end, it’s all about the writing.

I think it’s a good idea to scour your narrative for verbal flab and get rid of it. Cathy does have an interesting character here (she’s a half-breed human/alien), but really needs to work at trimming away the non-essentials.

Compare this opening with the prologue done the last post and tell Cathy which was stronger—and if you can say why in a comment, that would be helpful.

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