Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Rose: would you turn the page?

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Interview with yours truly up on Buzz Balls & Hype Thought you might be interested—there’s video of one of my old commercials that’s fun. Go here.

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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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Rose has asked for feedback on which of two scene with which to open her “gentle women’s fiction.” An agent at a conference suggested that she rewrite the beginning to give more of a feel for a small town. The first set of 16 lines:

James Rollins rolled his shoulders and shifted in the driver’s seat. Almost there. It couldn’t be soon enough for him.

An earsplitting siren’s wail forced his hand to tighten around the steering wheel. Red and blue lights flashed in his side mirror. What now?

Michael jerked toward the front seat and bumped his head on the padded ceiling. “What’s up, Dad?”

“He’s getting pulled over by a cop.” Sarah’s voice held more excitement than she’d exhibited the entire three-hour trip. “Way to go on our first day in town, Dad.”

Pulling the minivan off the road onto the gravel shoulder, James shoved the car into park. His heart shifted into overdrive. “I’m sure I wasn’t speeding.” He pointed toward the dashboard. “Libby, look for our registration and insurance in the glove box while I find my license.” He twisted around to reach his back pocket and retrieved his thick black wallet.

A tall young deputy approached their vehicle.

James rolled down the window, his pulse accelerating into turbo-supercharge. “Hello, Officer. Anything wrong?” He drew in a deep breath and held it.

“Yes, sir. I noticed your left rear tire is pretty low. Thought you better get it fixed before (snip)

Rose’s second option for an opening scene:

While waiting for her husband, Libby Rollins stewed. Both men they’d met had been very helpful, but doubts still built a web in her brain. Had this whole move been a mistake?

Mistakes. They littered her life’s story like a trail of breadcrumbs, no longer visible except to the recriminating eyes of her soul. Her mind ping-ponged, her neck tension increasing with each volley. Had this move been a wise choice, or would the relocation prove to be another mistake?

Small towns had advantages, like people being the first in line to help a neighbor, in good times or bad. But small towns had disadvantages, too, like those same people being the first in line to gossip, first in line to judge.

She watched as James left the building and moved toward them. By the pleased look on his face, this unexpected stop hadn’t wrecked their cash flow too much. What a relief. The move had been more costly than they had anticipated. Even a small sum would put a crimp in their tight budget. The price of a new tire could steamroll it.

“Load ‘em up, cowboys. This wagon is moving on down the trail.”

Her husband hadn’t even been here an hour and he was already talking like a local yokel. Did he think they’d moved to Dodge?

Maybe I just don’t get women’s fiction

Despite good techniques of opening with a scene and clear writing, I didn’t find either opening to be truly compelling. It wasn’t difficult to stop, primarily because there’s little tension reflected here, or any consequences. In the first scene, we have a low tire and a helpful cop. In the second we have internal musing about anticipated complications of living in a small town. Is that the story?

In the remaining chapter, we meet a teen son and a younger teen girl. The girl is sarcastic and pissy, and the mom wonders if they’ve moved far enough away from the girl’s not-so-good previous associates. None of this is terribly threatening. As I say, I may just not get what’s compelling in women’s fiction, so would you women out there please speak up?

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Gayle: would you turn the page?

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Interview with yours truly up on Buzz Balls & Hype Thought you might be interested—there’s video of one of my old commercials that’s fun. 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.

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Gayle’s first 16 lines:

The man huddled over papers piled on his desk did not hear the uninvited click of the library door.

“Look up!” shouted a young man, face flush with expectation, the muzzle of his rifle pushing the door open. The final lingering snippets of daytime draped the area in a soft shimmering haze making it impossible to distinguish anything across the room—almost.

Fitzwilliam Darcy jumped up and raised his hands above his head, dropping a paper crammed with perplexing terms. He hated to admit defeat to the world of words floating to the floor or surrender to the lesser man pointing a gun at his chest.

His butler, Geoffries, attempted to grab the weapon. “Mr. Bingley has gone daft.”

“What is this? Is your one hundred thousand pound inheritance not adequate for you? Are you no longer rich enough? Must you rob me of my wealth too?”

A scarlet blush crept upwards from Charles Bingley’s neck as he lowered his rifle and remained fixed on the spot until Darcy waved away the butler. “No, no. I was just excited about the rifle.” He patted his firearm.

“Is this the gun you used to shoot more birds than I did last year? The one you refused to let me hold?”

Bingley held out the rifle. “Yes, but much improved.”

He accepted it from his friend and studied the gun’s unique firing mechanism after which he (snip)

Didn’t quite get me
This Austen-style romance shows some promise, but there are clarity and small craft issues even though the there are things I liked about the writing, and it seems to be evoking the right style. The tension caused by Bingley’s entrance quickly vanishes, but isn’t replaced by other story questions. Some notes:

The man huddled over papers piled on his desk did not hear the uninvited click of the library door. (This turns out to be a little bit of a point-of-view inconsistency as we go into a close third POV in the third paragraph. If we’re in a close POV, then things that the character isn’t aware of don’t belong in the narrative. Even using “unnoticed” won’t work because, if it’s not noticed, it doesn’t exist in the character’s mind.)

“Look up!” shouted a young man, face flush with expectation, the muzzle of his rifle pushing the door open. The final lingering snippets of daytime draped the area in a soft shimmering haze making it impossible to distinguish anything across the room—almost. (About those “lingering snippets:” while this may reflect the style of Victorian novels, I think this borders on overwriting and that a blend of then and now could work better. However, a man bursting in the door with a gun is a terrific story element and raises questions right away.)

Fitzwilliam Darcy jumped up and raised his hands above his head, dropping a paper crammed with perplexing terms. He hated to admit defeat to the world of words floating to the floor or surrender to the lesser man pointing a gun at his chest. (So now we’re in his close POV, which is fine. What isn’t fine, though, are details such as “perplexing terms” that can mean nothing to the reader. Unless it means something to the reader, why have it there?)

His butler, Geoffries, attempted to grab the weapon. “Mr. Bingley has gone daft.” (Clarity/staging issue here—was the butler in the room the whole time, which seems unlikely if Fitzwilliam is working on something perplexing, or did he dash in after the guy with the gun? If he’s already in the room, we need to see that before any grabbing begins. If he dashes in, we need to see that first. By the way, since Fitzwilliam knows Charles, then I think his name should be used in the second paragraph instead of “young man.” This has to do with establishing and keeping a close third-person POV.)

“What is this? Is your one-hundred-thousand-pound inheritance not adequate for you? Are you no longer rich enough? Must you rob me of my wealth too?” (Without digging through my style guide, I believe “one hundred thousand pound” here is a compound adjective and should be hyphenated.)

A scarlet blush crept upwards from Charles Bingley’s neck as he lowered his rifle and remained fixed on the spot until Darcy waved away the butler. “No, no. I was just excited about the rifle.” He patted his firearm. (Staging gap here—he remains “fixed” until Darcy waves away the butler, but the narrative doesn’t show us what he does after the butler retreats. Either have him move in some way or disconnect the waving away from the fixed on the spot parts.)

“Is this the gun you used to shoot more birds than I did last year? The one you refused to let me hold?” (Nice way to slip in a snippet of backstory.)

Bingley held out the rifle. “Yes, but much improved.”

He accepted it from his friend and studied the gun’s unique firing mechanism after which he (snip) (Antecedent problem here—“He” refers to Bingley, the last named human in the room. You need to use Fitz’s name here to be clear.)

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Penny: would you turn the page?

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Hey, pal, can you spare a review for Barnes & Noble? There are 17 reviews of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells up at Amazon, but none at Barnes and Noble. If you can spare a minute and have read my book, I would appreciate your adding a review here. Thanks.

---

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.

---

Penny’s first 16 lines:

All I can see is an empty bottle of pills, rolling on its side, lacquered wood tile, sad rueful silhouettes, a gauzy space-bent overture of light and sound, density-deep colors sink, bubbling pink above the fray- I can see a carcass carried, past paintings, pictures, idle eyes idyllic times, creak and slam the doorway pans, a blinding blot of sun, whose rays now string the scene undone, undulating cityscape, arrhythmic limbs defiant faces, “By God’s great glory stay awake!” eyelids in and out, lashes flurry, nails hook, pressing, prying with whim, a schism of skin, dwindling curvatures, feral fangs of searing sun, phantasmagoria too fast wrung, amorphous globs of flesh gyrating, debating, howling incantations, train stations fair maidens, jogging, “Buy Rod’s stale whorry paint!”, noses lips teeth hips, turns and dips, whip, singing skin, whip, again and again, by follicles hung a slithering slump, “I hypnotize the Devil’s brain!”, rain, weeping windows receding sunstrobe SMACK, red nose, a river flows a pitcher throws SMACK, red nose grows, joins slack sedated maw, serrated spades in vocal chains, “Playyyywithtrayyys!”, incoherence, interference, SMACKSMACK, stillness surrounds, I can see them lug a body out, involuntary spasms, writhing mechanic, automatic doors crystalline floors, wheelchair circumventing stairs, perpetual frisson denial implicit, shirt off pants down lay back go NOW, wires plastered to skin, tubes funneled within, white coats brown faces, deft (snip)

I just wasn’t willing to work that hard
There are poetic elements in this stream-of-consciousness narrative, but this imposing scramble of words and thoughts didn’t engage me. The thought of inching through much more was off-putting, and I just wasn’t hooked by interest in a character or what might be going on to turn the page.

On the next page the ramble/rant ended and the narrative took a more ordinary form. Let’s see if you think that works better—caution, adult language ahead.

Almost as soon as I get up I’m pushed back down. “Hospital policy.” A flower-scrubbed nurse and a guard in standard garb are rolling me steady down a sky-lit hall. The nurse, a forty-something frazzled looking single mother type, hasn’t stopped musing since we left the ICU, in that cozily altruistic single mother fashion. The guard has remained mute save for the informative bit, and walks authoritative at our back.

“I guess I’m crazy.’

“You’rrrre not crazy,” she assures, the nurse does, in a long drawn slur. “Just a little mixed up.” I enjoy her coddling.

“I’m a fuck up, a headcase, a downright disappointment.” It’s not as if I haven’t my own mother. It’s not as if my own biological mother doesn’t strive to show affection, and it’s not as if I don’t shunt those efforts defiantly. This is beyond me, or rooted, wired, wrought deep within me, a disease of the cells that shoots to the brain and aches in the heart.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re a wonderful kid.” She ruffles my tufts of hair.

I’m getting some excessively sick and possibly somehow sexual pleasure out of this. Rather than digress into a nasty gambit of perhaps incestuous but undoubtedly fucked up Freudian-esque theoretical debauchery I’ll just take it for what it is. Just to spite my own (snip)

I would have turned the page with this narrative to see what happens next. The character, by the way, is female, and for some reason I thought it was male. Possibly because I am male and, absent any other clues, I went to my personal default. There’s strong writing here, and a strong voice, but it walks a line—be wary of throwing too much incomprehensibility at the reader at once.

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Jamal: would you turn the page?

---

Hey, pal, can you spare a review for Barnes & Noble? There are reviews of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells up at Amazon, but none at Barnes and Noble. If you can spare a minute and have read my book, I would appreciate your adding a review here. Thanks.

---

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.

---

Jamal’s first 16 lines:

The worst year of my life started moments after the birthday sex, seven hours before I cut the cake, and twenty-two days before the start of my last year in college. I had just turned twenty-one.

“…but, what do you want to do next year?” Vivian asked. “I hear all these options, but I haven’t heard you express an opinion yet.”

“I’m not sure. Like I said, I haven’t heard back from Clifton yet...” I said.

“If they offered you a job right now, would you take it?”

“Maybe…it’s in my field, you know?”

“I didn’t ask you if it’s in your field. Would you take it?”

“It’d be really convenient and—”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“I know it’s not what you asked me. But it’s more complicated than that…”

“Danny, look,” she said, “you could do anything you set your mind to. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your girlfriend, but forget about what you’re supposed to do because you’re a psych major or because of what people expect of you…just do what you want. It’s the rest of your life—you reserve the right to be selfish about it.”

Not for this reader
While cleanly written, and while the opening sentence works at foreshadowing interesting times, I saw no particular tension on this page. Nor a lot else—it would have been nice to have set the scene, just a bit. Are they in bed still? In bed where? You might say that there’s nothing much happening here, at least nothing that could cause serious problems in the protagonist’s life.

Despite that the opening promises the worst year of his life beginning seconds after birthday sex, which I assume is when this dialogue takes place, the rest of the chapter never gets there. As the chapter continues, we learn that his girl is going to take a job in another town while he finishes school, and then there’s a lot of backstory involving another character, and how the protagonist lost a school election, which was hardly a dire thing. Nothing “worst” happens to this character in the first 9 pages. I looked for a stronger opening, but didn’t see one. There’s a reason I suggest that writers read the two posts recommended above -- Story as River and Kitty-cats in Action.

There’s not much craftwise to nit-pick, so I’ll leave it with this admonition: GET ON WITH IT! (The story, that is.)

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Richard: would you turn the page?

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I have a guest post up on Writer Unboxed It’s about writing for the YA audience. Go here.

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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.

---

Richard’s first 16 lines:

“Next!” the voice boomed through the corridor, the deep bass tones seemed to shake the walls of the dank hallway.

Shelton Chance snapped awake.

An open copy of Digital Mechanics Magazine flopped off his lap and clattered to the floor.

Shelton got down on his hands and knees and reached for the book.

At the sound of the command the other boys in the corridor snapped to attention and lined up along the wall.

Someone rushed past Shelton, their leg collided with his forehead and knocked him flat. The offending boy did not seem to realise what he had done and just carried on his way, leaving Shelton sprawled out on the floor.

He bit back a comment that would no doubt get him into trouble and struggled to his feet. Then he snatched up the magazine and flipped it open.

A few scratches were visible on the old liquid crystal screens, but otherwise there was no harm done.

He carefully closed the magazine’s outer panels together and fell into line with the others.

Shelton found himself standing behind a heavy set gorilla of a boy who, despite being (snip)

Compelling? Not for me.
That’s the challenge: a narrative with a story question that’s irresistible, or so loaded with tension that I have to know what will happen next. While this opening does the right thing by starting with a scene, for this reader it pretty much lacked a story question, and for tension we have a boy waking up from dozing (but no consequences for having dozed). Some notes:

“Next!” the voice boomed through the corridor; the deep bass tones seemed to shake the walls of the dank hallway. (Comma fault—this needed a semicolon or a conjunction. A missed chance to make the scene visual -- where is this dank hallway? What's special about it?)

Shelton Chance snapped awake.

An open copy of Digital Mechanics Magazine flopped off his lap and clattered to the floor. (A magazine that clatters is a nice, subtle clue that this is a different world. )

Shelton got down on his hands and knees and reached for the book. (I would move this sentence to after the one that follows.)

At the sound of the command the other boys in the corridor snapped to attention and lined up along the wall.

Someone rushed past Shelton, their leg collided with his forehead and knocked him flat. The offending boy did not seem to realise what he had done and just carried on his way, leaving Shelton sprawled out on the floor. (I didn’t see how this action detail contributed much to story or characterization. Also, it would be good to set the scene just a little so we can visualize where this is happening.)

He bit back a comment that would no doubt get him into trouble and struggled to his feet. Then He snatched up the magazine and flipped it open. (We’re spending a lot of time on the magazine, here and in the next sentence. While it does help build a world, I wonder if it could be shorter and less important)

A few scratches were visible on the old liquid crystal screens, but otherwise there was no harm done. (Trim the magazine. Get to story, or tension.)

He carefully closed the magazine’s outer panels together and fell into line with the others. (A chance to add to the setting—where is this line? Why is it there?)

Shelton found himself standing behind a heavy-set gorilla of a boy who, despite being (snip) (Actually, he knows who the boy is. If we’re deep in his point of view, he wouldn’t be thinking “a heavy-set gorilla of a boy,” he would be thinking “Bunce, who was the size of a gorilla," or somesuch.)

As it turns out, Shelton is called next and Bunce grabs him, holding him and taunting him, which could lead to trouble for Shelton. While that’s not gripping, getting to that moment on the first page might be enough tension to keep a reader moving. Potential is here, but unrealized by opening action that dawdles and the amount of focus given the physical nature of the magazine. Work to get some kind of story element on this first page if you can.

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Celise: would you turn the page?

---

Hey, pal, can you spare a review for Barnes & Noble? There are 17 reviews of Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells up at Amazon, but none at Barnes and Noble. If you can spare a minute and have read my book, I would appreciate your adding a review here. Thanks.

---

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.

---

Celise’s first 16 lines of a YA novel:

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end again. Reaching up to smooth them down, I glance at the empty chair next to me. Rader DeChanel is tardy again, but he’s close. I can sense him. For real. The feeling goes no further than a prickle at the back of my neck, but it’s enough. I call it my EWS (Early Warning System). It came in handy when I discovered The Foster Couple From Hell (aka The FCFH) were involved in illegal activities and had been under investigation by the FBI. I did a little-big favor for the bureau and BOO-YAH! I’m recruited into the Youth Informant Division, and transplanted from New York City to Phoenix, Arizona. Attending this school. And dealing with a consistently tardy lab partner. A six-foot-two inch, brown-haired, blue-eyed guy named Rader DeChanel.

My EWS locked onto him during my first semester here at Craycroft School of the Arts. He strolled into my biology class, making every girl's breasts perk up. Except mine, of course. Although I’m not attracted to white guys, Rader is a pretty good-looking guy. His girlfriend is Taffy Royale, resident Drama Queen and owner of an irritatingly perky giggle. Yes, it’s true. She doesn’t laugh, she giggles. If she were a doll, she’d be Tickle Me Elmo’s kid sister. And what’s with the name Taffy? A person can get a cavity just from saying her name.

The slap of the closing door draws everyone’s attention to the front. I look up and watch (snip)

Voice earned a page turn, but. . .

The lively and fun voice got me to turn the page, along with the story question raised by the FBI part. However, you’d better get to some story pretty soon for this reader. I’ve noticed that in some YA novels that I’ve read the narrative often spends a lot of time introducing a character, and this sample seems to fit that mode. Personally—and professionally—I think it’s better to also be introducing a story at the same time. In fact, I reached the end of the chapter 14 pages later not knowing much more about the story/case/plot. Some notes:

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end again. Reaching up to smooth them down, I glance at the empty chair next to me. Rader DeChanel is tardy again, but he’s close. I can sense him. For real. The feeling goes no further than a prickle at the back of my neck, but it’s enough. I call it my EWS (Early Warning System). It came in handy when I discovered The Foster Couple From Hell (aka The FCFH) were involved in illegal activities and had been under investigation by the FBI. I did a little-big favor for the bureau and BOO-YAH! I’m recruited into the Youth Informant Division, and transplanted from New York City to Phoenix, Arizona. Attending this school. And dealing with a consistently tardy lab partner. A six-foot-two inch, brown-haired, blue-eyed guy named Rader DeChanel. (Couple of small things: I don’t think that the hairs on the back of your neck that “stand up” are really the long kind that you might smooth down—are they? Isn’t this more of a goose-bump reaction? Also, I suggest that she call the couple the Foster Parents from Hell rather than “Couple.” Foster Parents communicates so much more quickly, and is the common term. More than that, why the vague, abstract “illegal activities” instead of what the activities really were? Is there a reason for withholding this? Details make reality and character, and here it would contribute to both to name the crime, IMO.)

My EWS locked onto him during my first semester here at Craycroft School of the Arts. He strolled into my biology class, making every girl's breasts perk up. Except mine, of course. Although I’m not attracted to white guys, Rader is a pretty good-looking guy. His girlfriend is Taffy Royale, resident Drama Queen and owner of an irritatingly perky giggle. Yes, it’s true. She doesn’t laugh, she giggles. If she were a doll, she’d be Tickle Me Elmo’s kid sister. And what’s with the name Taffy? A person can get a cavity just from saying her name. (I found it interesting to learn that girls’ breasts can perk up. Really? The snarky description of Taffy was part of what got me to turn the page, though, as you can see, I think it can be trimmed just a little.)

The slap of the closing door draws everyone’s attention to the front. I look up and watch (snip) (I think things like “the slap of the closing door” are overwriting. Just get the guy into the room—some details, while also creating a reality, also create sludge.)

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Camille: would you turn the 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.

---

Camille’s first 16 lines:

Imitating sleep was more painful than it looked, especially when confined in the backseat of an unkempt old van. Slumped over, challenging the constraints of the seatbelt that crossed her chest, Genny tried to keep her breathing in check. Meanwhile, Dr. M. drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of some imagined song.

Does he really believe I’m asleep? she wondered. Under normal circumstances he would have been all over her for pulling such a childish stunt.

If he really thinks I’m sleeping, I could catch him off guard, wrap the seatbelt around his neck, wrench it around the headrest while he tried to claw the strap loose, while his skin changed color as he gasped for air and my knuckles turned white from the strain, just until the car swerved across the lane into oncoming traffic, until we hit…

A siren sounded and the scene went black.

Genny’s fingers ached.

Did I...? Please tell me I didn’t kill us!

She pictured things she couldn’t yet face: splintered headlights, contorted limbs in rigid poses, blood red shadows growing under the seats.

The van rocked as the wailing siren rushed past.

Interested, but not compelled

Lots of good elements, here—starting with a scene, setting the scene so I can see where it’s taking place, clean writing. I think that, ultimately, it was a lack of clarity that stopped me. Maybe I was just sleepy or something, but still, I was confused. I’ll point that out in my notes.

But first, here’s something from the second page that, if it had been on the first page, would have gotten me to turn the page:

Hey Dr. M., I just imagined strangling you and killing both of us. Do you still think I’m stable enough to live with this foster family?

What do you think? Now, notes:

Imitating sleep was more painful than it looked, especially when confined in the backseat of an unkempt old van. Slumped over, challenging the constraints of the seatbelt that crossed her chest, Genny tried to keep her breathing in check. Meanwhile, Dr. M. drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of some imagined song. (Good setting of the scene, but one thing confused me: why is she trying to keep her breathing in check? In check from what?)

Does he really believe I’m asleep? she wondered. Under normal circumstances he would have been all over her for pulling such a childish stunt. (This was the second thing that took me out of the story: to what childish stunt is she referring? Something that happened before the story opened? If so, that doesn’t work for bringing the reader on board. If it’s the pretending to be asleep, why is that a childish stunt? And how would he know in order to get “all over her?”)

If he really thinks I’m sleeping, I could catch him off guard, wrap the seatbelt around his neck, wrench it around the headrest while he tried to claw the strap loose, while his skin changed color as he gasped for air and my knuckles turned white from the strain, just until the car swerved across the lane into oncoming traffic, until we hit… (This, however, is terrific, really gets into character. If this had been followed on this page with the line I pointed out above, I’d have been there. There would have been room for it if the “breathing in check” sentence and the second paragraph were cut. They really aren’t needed, and the second paragraph was unclear to me.)

A siren sounded and the scene went black. (This confused me, too. If she’s pretending to be asleep, with her eyes closed, the scene would already be black. So what scene does this refer to?)

Genny’s fingers ached.

Did I...? Please tell me I didn’t kill us! (This is an interesting line, too. It tells us that she doesn’t really mean her murderous imagining. What might straighten things out for me would be a change in the order of things. I’d get rid of the scene going black and put the next paragraph about picturing things in that paragraph, right after the siren sounding. Then I’d put the fingers aching and this paragraph after that, and then, after the siren goes past, the paragraph I singled out from the following page.)

She pictured things she couldn’t yet face: splintered headlights, contorted limbs in rigid poses, blood-red shadows growing under the seats.

The van rocked as when the wailing siren rushed past.

Since the reconfiguration of what I meant sounded confusing to me, here’s the edited version (14 lines):

Slumping over to imitate sleep was more painful than it looked, especially when confined in the backseat of an unkempt old van. Meanwhile, Dr. M. drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of some imagined song.

If he really thinks I’m sleeping, I could catch him off guard, wrap the seatbelt around his neck, wrench it around the headrest while he tried to claw the strap loose, while his skin changed color as he gasped for air and my knuckles turned white from the strain, just until the car swerved across the lane into oncoming traffic, until we hit…

A siren sounded. She pictured things she couldn’t yet face: splintered headlights, contorted limbs in rigid poses, blood-red shadows growing under the seats.

Genny’s fingers ached.

Did I...? Please tell me I didn’t kill us!

The van rocked when the wailing siren rushed past.

Hey Dr. M., I just imagined strangling you and killing both of us. Do you still think I’m stable enough to live with this foster family?

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Lloyd: would you turn the page?

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My book is currently discounted heavily on Amazon. The price is down to $13.57, in case you’re interested. It’s also distributed nationally and can be ordered from your local bookstore.

---

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.

---

Lloyd’s first 16 lines:

Only one person on board the Lady Luck knew its fate as the motor yacht left the Indian River for the last time and made the turn north on the intercoastal in Mosquito lagoon. Three miles ahead at marker 29, two kayaks and an outboard skiff waited. The kayakers paddled in lazy circles outside the channel, their weapons concealed under blue life vests They waited for the signal from the man in the skiff, known only to them as Raven. The skiff sat unanchored in two feet of water at the edge of a sand bar, its bow pointing south, motionless in the still waters of the lagoon.

When the sixty-four foot Hatteras entered the channel, Raven's two-way radio squawked twice. He pumped his arm in the air, and the men in the kayaks took up positions by the channel marker, then wagged their paddles to acknowledge the signal. Raven raised his binoculars and kept them trained down the channel, waiting for the built-in rangefinder to step down to a thousand yards. Another spotter was positioned farther north, and would signal if southbound traffic approached. The channel north was clear. When the Lady Luck came into view, Raven's pulse quickened and he gauged the time it would take to reach their position at the marker. Judging by the water displacement at her bow, the Hatteras was making less than five knots and would take another fifteen minutes to close the distance between them. As he waited, an osprey dove in the water and popped up with a mullet. The bird flew off and landed on the channel marker, and began tearing off pieces of flesh, unaware of the drama (snip)

Nope
Despite good, clean writing and the promise of violence, I wasn’t compelled to turn the page. For me, the main problem is too much detail. When we veered off to the osprey, my interest petered out. The detail may be pleasing to other readers—this is, after all, subjective—and might work for readers of techno-thrillers like Tom Clancy’s novels, but not for me. I think the distance of the omniscient point of view was low on the engagement factor, too. Some notes:

Only one person on board the Lady Luck knew its fate as the motor yacht left the Indian River for the last time and made the turn north on the intercoastal in Mosquito lagoon. Three miles ahead at marker 29, two kayaks and an outboard skiff waited. The kayakers paddled in lazy circles outside the channel, their weapons concealed under blue life vests. They waited for the signal from the man in the skiff, known only to them as Raven. The skiff sat unanchored in two feet of water at the edge of a sand bar, its bow pointing south, motionless in the still waters of the lagoon.

When the sixty-four foot Hatteras entered the channel, Raven's two-way radio squawked twice. He pumped his arm in the air, and the men in the kayaks took up positions by the channel marker, then wagged their paddles to acknowledge the signal. Raven raised his binoculars and kept them trained down the channel, waiting for the built-in rangefinder to step down to a thousand yards. Another spotter was positioned farther north, and would signal if southbound traffic approached. The channel north was clear. When the Lady Luck came into view, Raven's pulse quickened and he gauged the time it would take to reach their position at the marker. Judging by the water displacement at her bow, the Hatteras Lady Luck was making less than five knots and would take another fifteen minutes to close the distance between them. As he waited, an osprey dove in the water and popped up with a mullet. The bird flew off and landed on the channel marker, and began tearing off pieces of flesh, unaware of the drama (snip) (I would have kept referring to the boat as Lady Luck, not by its make. I doubt a lot of readers, including me, know what a “Hatteras” is, and this detail is not effective. The other spotter never came into play in the following narrative, so was pretty much unneeded text here, and slowed the pace. Is there a reason for telling us that the boat would take fifteen minutes to close the distance? Why not get it there and let the action begin?)

The later narrative had good story qualities and action, but the lavish detail still continued to slow the narrative for me. Again, this is subjective, but the opening chapter is, I think, the time to get on with it and get the story rolling. Get out your pruning shears and keep working, there’s good stuff here.

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Phillip: would you turn the page?

---

My book is currently discounted heavily on Amazon. The price is down to $13.57, in case you’re interested (just click on the ad to the right). It’s also distributed nationally and can be ordered from your local bookstore.

---

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.

---

Phillip’s first 16 lines (Aussie spelling).

Sam Spade looked back at me from the mirror at the back of the bar. He was one of my favourites and I had been unable to resist using his face considering the surname of my client. Besides, Sam and I had something in common; we were both private investigators.

"Want another one?"

The young barman, who’d served me my light beer, had been replaced by a woman in a smart business suit. She smelled of expensive perfume, perspiration and the faintest touch of arousal. To make it more interesting, I knew her. She had an apartment in the same complex as my own, different buildings, but we had kitchens that over looked the same courtyard and I'd often seen her at her window and admired the auburn colour of her hair. Of course she wouldn't have any chance of recognising me.

I smiled into my drink and said, "Okay."

She was a film buff no doubt, with a daydream of being laid by a memory. It happens occasionally when I take my face from the silver screen. I hoped the man I was waiting for wasn’t as up on his films; it was too late for a change now.

I flicked a look in the mirror and noted that the fat man I’d noticed on arrival was still engrossed in his meal. Mister Sydney, as I had dubbed him, was on his third mains. The (snip)

I turned the page
There were many factors, but the compelling one was “what’s this about using Humphrey Bogart’s face?” The strong, interesting voice and clean writing suggests that the story will be well written and professionally told. I think there are a couple of comma faults, but not much to pick on. Your thoughts? My notes:

Sam Spade looked back at me from the mirror at the back of the bar. He was one of my favourites, and I had been unable to resist using his face, considering the surname of my client. Besides, Sam and I had something in common; we were both private investigators. (I kinda wished he’d included the name so we could see the association, and I don’t know why it was withheld.)

"Want another one?"

The young barman, who’d served me my light beer, had been replaced by a woman in a smart business suit. She smelled of expensive perfume, perspiration and the faintest touch of arousal. To make it more interesting, I knew her. She had an apartment in the same complex as my own, different buildings, but we had kitchens that over looked the same courtyard and I'd often seen her at her window and admired the auburn colour of her hair. Of course she wouldn't have any chance of recognising me. (Couple of things: I don’t think the character would be thinking so specifically that his beer was “light,” and it doesn’t seem germane to the story. Also, the mention of the young barman, unless it factors into the later story, doesn’t seem needed at all. The woman could be identified here, the narrative could be crisper, and the pace would not have slowed by that much. Later we get the following, and it could just as easily be here if the barman is deleted: said the woman whose badge identified her as an assistant manager named ‘Ruth Williams’)

I smiled into my drink and said, "Okay."

She was a film buff, no doubt, with a daydream of being laid by a memory. It happens occasionally when I take my face from the silver screen. I hoped the man I was waiting for wasn’t as up on his films; it was too late for a change now.

I flicked a look in the mirror and noted that the fat man I’d noticed on arrival was still engrossed in his meal. Mister Sydney, as I had dubbed him, was on his third mains. The (snip)

This promises lots of fun, and I’d have read on.

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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 Derek—will you turn the page?

---

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

Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). 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.

---

Derek has asked for opinions on which of 2 versions of his prologue works best. The first 16 lines of the latest version:

“Rise Jafar,” the Patriarch said, his words reverberating through the rebuilt cathedral. The acolyte had been prostrate on the dais for several hours, but now Jafar rose to his feet, towering above his master. The hooded pair occupied a small sphere of candle light, other priests continuing to chant in the darkness.

“The final trial awaits. Submit to the will of God, for only He can see inside your soul.” The Patriarch said, holding forth an antique revolver on an ornate pillow, three bullets beside it. An ink script covered the skin visible under his crimson robes. Jafar’s arms were also covered in writing, but his skin had the unnatural texture of plastic, like an animated mannequin. Fingernails, hair and appropriate wrinkles were absent from his crude prosthetic hands. The muzzle of an assault rifle protruded from under each sleeve.

Jafar took the revolver, loading it with the ammunition provided. In one motion he gave the magazine a mighty spin, slammed it shut, cocked the hammer, put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell with a click.

The Patriarch nodded behind the hood of his robe. “God has found you worthy. I name you First Initiate of the Holy Magi.” Bowing, Jafar set the gun on the pillow.

Now for the second version:

The cybernetic battle-priest had been prostrate on the dais for several hours. In the darkness around him other priests continued chanting the purification ritual. A second figure stood in the middle of the dais. Musab Bashir, Patriarch of the Luddite Inquisition, signalled silence with a sharp cut of his hands.

“Rise Jafar,” the Patriarch’s words reverberated through the chamber as he reached towards his disciple. “The final trial awaits. Submit to the will of God, for only He can see inside your soul.” The battle-priest stood and faced his master. The figures occupied a small sphere of candle light at the heart of a rebuilt cathedral. Scorch marks on the wall were painful reminders of the Second Secession War.

Musab held forth an antique revolver on a crimson pillow, three bullets casually scattered beside it. His arms extended past his sleeves, revealing skin covered in ink writing. Jafar took the revolver, loading half the magazine with the bullets provided. In one motion he gave the magazine a mighty spin, slammed it shut, cocked the hammer, put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

The hammer fell with a click.

Musab lifted his hands skywards in triumph. “God has found you worthy! Brother (snip)
Interesting, but craft issues stayed my hand
I preferred the revised prologue (first one above)—it introduced an interesting world with a scene, and didn’t have the authorial exposition inserted. But there were clarity issues for me. Here are some:

• There should be a comma after “Rise” in the first sentence.
• In the first sentence of the second paragraph, there should be a comma at the end of the quote and the “The” shouldn’t be capitalized.
• I don’t see how ink script could be visible under crimson robes.
• I couldn’t visualize this description: The muzzle of an assault rifle protruded from under each sleeve. Does this mean from his armpits?
• If this is a revolver, it doesn’t have a magazine, it has a cylinder. “Magazine” usually refers to what you load bullets into in a semi-automatic weapon.
• I don’t see how 6 very separate actions—loading bullets, spinning the cylinder, slamming it shut, cocking the hammer, putting the gun to his head, and pulling the trigger—could be done with “one motion.”
• I don’t see how someone can nod “behind” the hood of the robe he is wearing. “Beneath” might work, but one’s head can’t be behind the hood that covers it.
  

Seeing craft issues like these on the first page tells an agent or an editor that they are likely to happen again. Work on these clarity issues to achieve the potential of this narrative.

Comments, please?

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. Email: email 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 with double spacing, 12-point font, 1-inch margins.
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