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
John’s opening page of The Crooked Bridge
Sidney Bidwell never looked up from his very important text message to see the box truck slow to a halt. He failed to realize the slight curve of the Tappan Zee Bridge, as it rolls across the mighty Hudson, wasn't really that slight. He knew
-- hell, we all know-- weaving between lanes doesn't save much time, but how else would you drive a Porsche with a boxer engine? Sidney Bidwell was a busy guy. He never felt a thing, which (had it made the news report) would have led some who knew him to say it just proves life isn't fair. The delay on the bridge that morning was brutal.Dazed and disoriented, Sidney stumbled through the dense, dank fog. He heard whistling, and moved toward the flat melody. The mist drifted, ever so slowly; it seemed to thin out in front of him. The clearing revealed a short, stout man.
“Hello, Sidney.” The little man smiled. “I’m glad you could make it, Sid.”
“Where am I?” Sidney asked, politely. “How do you know my name?”
“You died, Sidney…a few minutes ago.”
Sidney recoiled, horror melded with disbelief.
“I’m not dead”, Sidney shouted. “How could I be dead? Who the hell are you?”
“Calm down, Sidney. I'm dead; you're dead…what's the difference? You died on the bridge. I’m Patrick, and I’m the only friend you’ve got”. Patrick pulled a shiny silver clipboard from under his arm, and read aloud. “Sidney Bidwell, 45; divorced, two kids.”
I turned the page
The story questions raised by this afterlife kind of scenario were enough to provoke my curiosity enough to want to read more, and this is definitely an inciting incident. Still, there were issues with the narrative here, and later. Notes:
Sidney Bidwell never looked up from his very important text message to see the box truck slow to a halt.
He failed to realize the slight curve of the Tappan Zee Bridge, as it rolls across the mighty Hudson, wasn't really that slight. He knewHe never felt a thing, which (had it made the news report) would have led some who knew him to say it just proves life isn't fair. The delay on the bridge that morning was brutal. (Not only does the part I cut slow things down, it creates confusion. He’s reading a text message, but he’s also weaving in and out of traffic while he’s doing that? I don’t know if I want to read about a character that stupid—it just doesn’t make sense that anyone would weave in and out of traffic while simultaneously reading their phone. The details—the Porche, the Tappan Zee bridge—were nice, but not terribly necessary.)-- hell, we all know-- weaving between lanes doesn't save much time, but how else would you drive a Porsche with a boxer engine? Sidney Bidwell was a busy guy.
Dazed and disoriented,Sidney stumbled throughthedense, dank fog. He heard whistling and moved toward the flat melody. The mistdrifted, ever so slowly; it seemed tothinned out in front of him. The clearing revealed a short, stout man. (The first piece I cut was “telling.” This is a time to show. And why would the mist “seem” to thin? It either thinned or it didn’t.)“Hello, Sidney.” The little man smiled. “I’m glad you could make it, Sid.”
“Where am I?” Sidney asked
, politely. “How do you know my name?” (Not only is the adverb not especially helpful, it’s contradictory—it turns out that Sidney is a double-barreled jerk, and he wouldn’t have asked politely.)“You died, Sidney…a few minutes ago.”
Sidney recoiled, horror melded with disbelief. (More telling [horror mixed with disbelief]. Show us. For example: Sidney flinched back a step, and a scream tried to rise in his throat. That couldn’t be true. Not possible. Using description and internal monologue, you can get closer to the character’s experience than you can with telling.)
“I’m not dead”, Sidney shouted. “How could I be dead? Who the hell are you?”
“Calm down, Sidney. I'm dead; you're dead…what's the difference? You died on the bridge. I’m Patrick, and I’m the only friend you’ve got”. Patrick pulled a shiny silver clipboard from under his arm, and read aloud. “Sidney Bidwell, 45; divorced, two kids.”
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred):
- your title
- your 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
- 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 first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait you turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
© 2010 Ray Rhamey