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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.
James has returned with a revised prologue and first chapter. Here are the prologue’s opening lines:
Caught and forced into a wall-less chamber, the imp glared at her captor—an astral bully who seemed to exist for no other purpose than to pick on spirits who refused to incarnate. No one knew the futility of arguing better than the imp. Even so, its basic nature compelled it to try. That was the problem; it always did to no avail.
“But I don’t want to live. No one ever listens, so what’s the point? Look what happened the last time. I warned them till my face turned pink, and they still fell for the stupid trick.”
The enforcer, who bore a ghostly resemblance to the warrior Achilles, herded the imp into a forest and gestured to the nearest tree. Forgetting where it was and what it was, the imp tried to stamp a non-existent foot. Its tormenter loomed closer, backing it against the trunk.
“Absolutely not! I know my rights, and I’m not leaving. You can’t make me.”
Poked by an astral spear, the imp scrambled up the tree. At the first branch, the imp—now a human but still an imp—studied the forest in the hopes of finding a kindred spirit. As far as she could see, human spirits crawled up similar trees without seeing themselves, each other, or the trees they climbed. Heaving a dispirited sigh, she resumed her ascent.
For twenty-two years—until she discovered that trees of life respond to thoughts—her climb produced the expected frustrations. Then the forest shuddered.
The first chapter opens this way:
Definite improvementThe activist signed her graffiti on the roadside placard.
The most dangerous truths are truths unfaced. Cassandra Shavano.
The sign mocked her latest attempt to raise eco-awareness: No Trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted. Beyond it, a gravel drive arced up a canyon that groaned with mechanical thunder. She scowled at the sign and kicked the post because the official warning dwarfed her graffiti, because writing graffiti felt pathetic, and because she got up at five o’clock to bake three dozen muffins that no one would eat. Her protest had flopped.
Despite her creative visualization the previous night and burning a yellow candle, no celebrities, fellow activists, or reporters were in sight—only two ravens on a power pole, ponderosa pines along a county highway, and the virgin peaks she longed to defend. Spooked by the kick, the ravens flew off.
She gave the road a last hopeful look and gazed up the canyon. Her common sense urged her to leave. If she stayed to picket, it would just be her, her dog, and a bunch of angry miners. Next time she would try a weekend. She turned to go and blanched.
“No!” she screamed at her beagle. “Don’t!”
Laced with cyanide, a torrent cascaded beside the drive. Plants along the streambed hung (snip)
I found the prologue interesting, and would probably have turned the page. But there were two problems for me. The imp is first in a chamber, but then moving toward a tree and climbing it. What happened to the chamber? A slip like this hurts the narrative’s credibility.
Then I found the last paragraph confusing. Perhaps too much is collapsed into one sentence. Does the imp climb for twenty-two years? Does she discover that the tree responds to thoughts on this climb? What were the expected frustrations? Don’t they happen this time? These are not story questions that will pull me forward, they’re confusions that are stoppers.
I liked the voice and the character in the chapter’s opening, but
feel that there’s too much throat-clearing. From this beginning—and
through some very pleasant writing and characterization that, for me,
was short on tension
When Cassandra rounded a bend, she slowed to a crawl to study the battlefield.
Fifty meters away, a guard shack fronted a cyclone gate set in a matching fence. Behind the gate, a man-made basin the size of a soccer field contained a maintenance garage, corrugated storage sheds, and a two-story building. A sign hung on the fence: The Bismarck Mine, Colorado’s Future Shines Golden Again.
Passing the shack, she waved to the guard and parked along the fence. After filling Homer’s water bowl and waiting while her beagle drank, she unloaded cardboard placards.
She affixed a miniature placard onto Homer’s back, donned a two-sided placard, and picked up a sign. She gave the road a last hopeful look, but no one had responded to her call to march. If she picketed now, it would be just her, her dog, and a bunch of angry men.
The guard was on the phone, she hoped calling the police. She squared her shoulders and started her protest with Homer trotting at her side. They weren’t going to get away with poisoning the land.
What do you think? Enough to get that page turned?
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
- Email your 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter as an attachment (.doc or .rtf preferred, .docx okay) and I'll critique the first page.
- Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins.
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
- And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
- If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a line edit/critique of up to 15 pages.
- If you rewrite while you wait you turn, send me the revision.