Flogometer for Ann—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 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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Ann’s opening page of a middle-grade story, Dreamcatcher

The beat-up station wagon kicked up clouds of dust as it rumbled through the wrought iron gates of Savage Ranch. The long gravel road that led to the big house was lined on either side with tall pine trees, neat white fences, and rolling green pastures. Grazing in the pastures under a wide blue sky were some of the finest horses in the state of Wyoming. Equines of all colors – grays, bays, sorrels, duns, chestnuts, paints, and palominos – raised their magnificent heads, curious about the two occupants of the car. After it passed, they dropped their muzzles to the grass and got back to the business of being horses.

The station wagon continued past the big house to the stables, where it stopped. The driver stepped out and stretched, trying to untangle the kinks of a long drive.

“We’re here,” he called to his son who’d just now climbed out of the passenger’s seat. “Nice, isn’t it?”

The boy shielded his eyes from the strong afternoon sun. He stood quietly, with his back to his father as he took in the three large stables. Located a short distance from each other and connected by a paved road, each stable had its own parking area, paddocks, round pens, and schooling rings. They were the nicest he had seen, the boy admitted to himself, so clean and white they shimmered in the sun’s rays. He guessed that each stable, with its green trim, (snip)

Didn’t move me

While there’s some nice, clear writing here, for me this narrative lacked the three of the elements above that are most necessary for getting a page turned: tension, story questions, and character. To refer to characters as “the driver” and “the boy” distances the reader from the very people they want to be engaged with. The boy is named a couple of pages later, and so is the driver (his father), so why not name them now?

While I think there’s more description on this opening page than I think necessary, it would help to put the opening paragraph (and the rest) from within the boy’s mind. Show his experience—how does he feel about what he’s seeing? The first sentence is very distant, a long shot from outside the car, and then the rest is impersonal. For example, the horses—what if the description went more like this?

Jesse smiled when the horses grazing in the pasture -- grays, bays, sorrels, duns, chestnuts, paints, and palominos—raised their head and followed the car as they drove past.

More than distance, though, the primary shortcoming in this opening, for me, is lack of story. Jesse is arriving at a new place to live, the third move in a year—how does he feel about it? More than that, what is there about the move or the place or his story that means trouble? You need to get some story on the first page and leave the lush description to later. Notes:

The beat-up station wagon kicked up clouds of dust as it rumbled through the wrought iron gates of Savage Ranch. The long gravel road that led to the big house was lined on either side with tall pine trees, neat white fences, and rolling green pastures. Grazing in the pastures under a wide blue sky were some of the finest horses in the state of Wyoming. Equines of all colors – grays, bays, sorrels, duns, chestnuts, paints, and palominos – raised their magnificent heads, curious about the two occupants of the car. After it passed, they dropped their muzzles to the grass and got back to the business of being horses. The first sentence tells about the car rather than shows. Instead of “beat-up,” which is non-specific, maybe something such as The dust they’d kicked up caught them when they slowed at the wrought-iron gates of the Savage Ranch, and the dented fender rattled when they rumbled over the cattle guard in the road. I liked the touch of voice where the equines “got back to the business of being horses.”

The station wagon continued past the big house to the stables, where it stopped. The driver stepped out and stretched, trying to untangle the kinks of a long drive. Let us know who the players are. Instead of “The driver” give us “Jesse’s dad.”

“We’re here,” he called to his son who’d just now climbed out of the passenger’s seat. “Nice, isn’t it?” Why not “called to Jesse” instead of “called to his son?” This seems like a useless bit of dialogue anyway—if the boy has already gotten out of the car, then he knows that they’re “here.” You need to use everything to create character and advance story, and this doesn’t do much of either.

The boy shielded his eyes from the strong afternoon sun. He stood quietly, with his back to his father as he took in the three large stables. Located a short distance from each other and connected by a paved road, Each stable had its own parking area, paddocks, round pens, and schooling rings. They were the nicest he had seen, the boy admitted to himself, so clean and white they shimmered in the sun’s rays. He guessed that each stable, with its green trim, (snip) As you see, I felt there was a little overwriting going on here. Note that adjectives such as “large” are relative terms and, since we don’t have anything here to relate it to, doesn’t mean much. The later description of paddocks and pens shows us that they are large. Also, why is “admitting” to himself that they were nice?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

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Submitting to the Flogometer:

Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred):

1. your title
2. your 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
3. Please format with double spacing, 12-point font Times New Roman font, 1-inch margins.
4. Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ.
5. And, optionally, permission to use it as an example in a book if that's okay.
6. If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
7. If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.

© 2010 Ray Rhamey