Friday Fun and Flogometer for Marji—would you turn the page?

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Call for submissions I’ll exhaust the current supply of openings in a few days, so submissions for a good flogging are welcome. See the directions below. Thanks.

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This is the final chapter in the free podcast of The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles . You can start the series or subscribe to it here or on iTunes. You can read sample chapters here. You can order a paperback or e-book copy there, too.

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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 or 17 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.

Storytelling Checklist

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.

• Tension
• Story questions
• Voice
• Clarity
• Scene setting
• Character
  

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Marji’s opening page:

Quebec 1650

Surrounded by the ocean, a man stands on the deck of a large ship. He wears the long black robe and flat, black, broad-brimmed hat of his Jesuit order. He watches as dolphins arc through the foamy sluices made by the wooden ship, twisting and rolling in its wake. Sea birds ride the air currents, squealing as they dive for fish, which flop from the water as if for their pleasure. The deck hands make busy with lines and square sheets, climbing like monkeys and deck-dancing as the ship is brought about, heading toward the watery mouth of a vast wilderness, its coasts lined with primitive pines shooting up out of aged rock faces.

The black robed missionary scrutinizes the land. He sees past the massive pine forests, imagining lush thickets full of small game and boundless prairies where large herds of deer and elk graze, rivers that teem with fish, their frigid water cascading over and between great boulders and huge cliffs.

Surely, those are demons skulking about on the shoreline, watching the ship pass. No, they are men, with bristles for hair, dyed blood red, or head shaved clean. Their tattooed bodies are draped in furs, bones and teeth hang around their neck and from their ears. The man in the black robe looks up at the heavens, seeking the warmth of the sun and then, hearing the hiss of an arrow in flight, grasps his chest in pain, staring in to a blinding light.

Too distant for me

While introducing what may be an interesting world, I felt I was being “told” all of this, and the distance from the man prevented a connection. While there are flashes of nice writing, there were times we could do with a bit less. Notes:

Quebec 1650

Surrounded by the ocean, a man stands on the deck of a large ship. He wears the long black robe and flat, black, broad-brimmed hat of his Jesuit order. He watches as Dolphins arc through the foamy sluices made by the wooden ship, twisting and rolling in its wake. Sea birds ride the air currents, squealing as they dive for fish, which flop from the water as if for their pleasure. The deck hands make busy with lines and square sheets, climbing like monkeys and deck-dancing as the ship is brought about, heading toward the watery mouth of a vast wilderness, its coasts lined with primitive pines shooting up out of aged rock faces. (There’s no tension in this descriptive passage, and it feels a little overwrought to me. Some nits: “large” is a comparative word, and, without the reader knowing to what it is compared, doesn’t really mean anything. What are “primitive” pines? Are they different from the pine trees of today, which doesn’t seem likely. And I’m not sure how to visualize “the watery mouth of a vast wilderness.” This is an opportunity to engage me with the character through how he reacts to what he sees.)

The black robed missionary scrutinizes the land. He sees past the massive pine forests, imagining lush thickets full of small game and boundless prairies where large herds of deer and elk graze and rivers that teem with fish, their frigid water cascading over and between great boulders and huge cliffs. (If this man is arriving from Europe, how can he imagine these things which don’t really exist where he’s coming from?)

Surely, those are demons skulking about on the shoreline, watching the ship pass. No, they are men, with bristles for hair, dyed blood red, or heads shaved clean. Their tattooed bodies are draped in furs, bones and teeth hang around their neck and from their ears. The man in the black robe looks up at the heavens, seeking the warmth of the sun and then, hearing the hiss of an arrow in flight, grasps his chest in pain, staring in to into a blinding light. (How can he see such detail from a ship that has to be a pretty good distance from the shore? While a gripping moment, the concluding sentence seems more like an end than a beginning—and it is, because this opening is a dream. Next is a flashback to a boy waking from the dream, then some exposition, and then a “present” time of an established settlement in Quebec.)

Opening with a dream in this way usually results in a bit of a rug-pull for the reader, who is thinking that this is the story and it turns out it’s not. I think you need to start where something happens to this priest that affects his life immediately, that causes him to take action.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Submitting to the Flogometer:

1. 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.
2. Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman 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.

© 2010 Ray Rhamey