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
- Tension
- Story questions
- Voice
- Clarity
- Scene setting
- Character
Treva’s opening page: :
The moon was calling him again. Akinobu opened his eyes in the ink black of the little room, and lay for a moment, listening to his mother’s breathing. She showed no sign of being disturbed, and the building around them was as nearly-silent as an old bamboo in could be. Very well. It was the moon.
Akinobu rolled off the futon and stood, careful to make no noise. It took only a moment to slide the door open, only another moment to shut it noiselessly and pace down the hall, careful of the creaking board, careful of the sleeping patrons in the rooms around them.
The Inn always smelled like wet bamboo and sake. Akinobu paced, silent, finding his way by the slivers of moonlight from the shuttered windows. No one in the common room. Two samurai slept in the warm rooms that backed against the hot spring. He wondered if he could find some excuse to sneak into the room and see their swords, but if the Innkeeper caught him, he would be beaten, and if the samurai caught him they would probably cut off his head.
Just outside the inn’s back door, he stepped into his wooden geta, eyes already on the sky. A high mist hid the stars, but the moon shown bright. The light prickled along his skin and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He shivered once, as the cold night air seeped through the seams of his thin shirt.
Almost
This narrative promises an interesting world, a good voice, and good writing. But, if the hurdle to clear is “compelling,” this wasn’t for this reader, though I understand that others might want to turn the page.
A couple of things: I think the writing could be just a little tighter, although I like its lyrical quality. Secondly, this chapter was very short, only two pages. Is it a prologue, perhaps? Since it is so short, I wonder if it could be reworked to get a tension-producing element on the page. I’ll give that a try after the notes, along with a second poll.
The moon was calling him again. Akinobu opened his eyes in the ink black of the little room, and lay for a moment, listening to his mother’s breathing. She showed no sign of being disturbed, and the building around them was as nearly-silent as an old bamboo inn could be. Very well. It was the moon. I cut the last parts because they seemed contradictory. The passage opens with a definite statement that the moon was calling him. He knows this. So why would he be deciding at the end that it was the moon and not some sort of noise?
Akinobu rolled off the futon and stood, careful to make no noise. It took only a moment to slide the door open, only another moment to shut it noiselessly and pace down the hall, careful of the creaking board, careful of the sleeping patrons in the rooms around them.
The Inn always smelled like wet bamboo and sake. Akinobu paced, silent, finding found his way by the slivers of moonlight from the shuttered windows. No one in the common room. Two samurai slept in the warm rooms that backed against the hot spring. He wondered if he could find some excuse to sneak into the room and see their swords, but if the I innkeeper caught him, he would be beaten, and if the samurai caught him they would probably cut off his head. Avoid the repetition of “paced.”
Just outside the inn’s back door, he stepped into his wooden geta, eyes already on the sky. A high mist hid the stars, but the moon shown bright. The light prickled along his skin and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He shivered once, as the cold night air seeped through the seams of his thin shirt. Nice descriptive writing here, and inside the character’s experience.
Since this piece is so short, I wonder if the end of it could be transplanted to the first page. In fact, I’m not sure all the inn stuff is necessary even though it does a good job of setting mood and place. Below is an edited version of the end of this chapter, simmered down to 17 lines for an opening page (I go with either 16 or 17 lines, depending on what I need to get on the page).
Careful of each footstep, Akinobu picked his way across the village square. Old man Ito’s dog barked, a sharp sound in the night's stillness, and he closed his eyes and willed it to be quiet. Apparently the trick worked. Silence descended.
Vapor rose from the volcanic hot spring. All the mothers said that the water was too hot to touch and children must stay away. But now, in the night, when no one could see, Akinobu dipped his hands in to the wrist, willing himself not to be harmed.
“I’m a great lord,” he told the water, “You can’t hurt me. I’m magic.” The stream did not reply, but it did not burn him, either.
In the moonlight, at night, it did not matter if his belly was empty, or if the old innkeeper had beaten him the day before. In the moonlight, he could remember his mother’s whispered stories, her secret promises.
“You were born samurai. Your father counted his ancestry back fifty-four generations, and I count mine back for sixty-two. Your grandfather was a Daimyo, and it was never his fault that our family fell. These peasants around us, they are nothing. You will avenge our house. You will bring glory back to our family’s name. The magic of all my family, and your father’s great skill with a katana will both walk in you, and you will avenge us all.”
Shivering in his cotton shirt, Akinobu whispered to the moon, “I will.”
For me, this has a lot more tension in it, yet still has mood and mystery. The setting could be enhanced on following pages—for example, he could return to his futon and we could “see” all the stuff about the inn and the samurai then. And then we could get into the story (if this isn’t actually a prologue—and it’s brief enough to be a good prologue).
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
To keep a reader reading—especially an agent or editor overwhelmed with submissions—I believe a narrative must continually spark story questions in a reader’s mind. Emphasis on continually: please, no scenic side trips. There’s no more important time to sprout questions than when your novel opens. I learn best by example, so I thought a look at how some of the pros do it might be helpful to you. These are from books on my shelves.
Here, from the Storytelling section of my book, 