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
Michael’s opening page
The feline tail was twitching like a nervous metronome. Even on high alert, my peripheral vision had just caught it. I continued down the trail, forcing myself to maintain pace and look straight ahead. My mind raced through training scenarios and tactics, but found it hard to settle on any. The fact the quivering tip was the size of a soup can wasn’t helping matters. This gal was big, even by sabercat standards. Running wasn’t an option; it would just trigger the attack sooner. I reached to my side to find comfort in the weapon that wasn’t there. Wiping the sweat from my palm, I let my breath out. The muscled haunches of the cat began to pump from side to side. Here it comes. I would have to time this perfectly.
A blur of tan came hurtling at me, nearly invisible against the arid landscape. I darted towards the motion, taking three steps then doing my best stop-drop-and-roll from Fire Safety. A deafening scream of anger erupted as Miss Kitty sailed over me. Sharp pain shot up my sides and back from the jagged rocks that littered the ground. No time for damage assessment, round two was about to begin.
I scrambled around a car-sized boulder, putting a stone barrier between us. Now what? The words of Master Ori popped into my head – “It’s not the size of the opponent…” I’m sorry, but a beast with paws the width of stop signs and the reflexes of a cat… Ok, did I really just say that?
Didn’t quite get me there
I liked opening with action and a clearly dangerous situation, but my jaded editor’s eye slowed too often at craft issues, and that suggested that the remainder of the manuscript would contain them.
A question: how many of you thought that this was an adult male narrating? I did—and then learned at the end of the chapter that it’s a ninth-grader. I really think that should be a part of what I know/see from the start. It was a shock to learn several pages that it was a boy.
I think there’s opportunity for success here, but I also think the writing needs to be tighter, more focused, and clearer. Notes:
The feline sabercat’s tail was twitching twitched like a nervous metronome. Even on high alert, my peripheral vision had just caught it. I continued down the trail, forcing myself to maintain pace and look straight ahead. My mind raced through training scenarios and tactics, but found it hard to settle on any. The fact the quivering tip was the size of a soup can wasn’t helping matters. This gal was big, even by sabercat standards. Running wasn’t an option; it would just trigger the attack sooner. I reached to my side to find comfort in the weapon that wasn’t there. Wiping the sweat from my palm, I let my breath out. The muscled cat’s haunches of the cat began to pumped from side to side. Here it comes. I would have to time this perfectly. Why wait until the sixth sentence to let us know that this is a sabercat? You task is to give me a CLEAR picture of what’s happening as soon as possible, and withholding this important clue let the narrative down. I liked the nervous metronome part, but not the passive gerund for a verb. Straight past tense is so much crisper. I cut the “continuing” action to pick up the pace. The size of the tip of the tail lets us know it’s big, so “this was big” wasn’t really needed. Two things about reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there—that made me think this was an adult, and the phrasing felt awkward. It tries to suggest that he habitually wore a weapon, but doesn’t really get there, so why would he reach for something that wasn’t there? Confusing to me. Watch out for “blank of the blank” construction when a simple possessive is tighter. Also, I am not a fan of “began to” or “started to”. This is action; just let it happen.
With all the edit markup, it’s hard to read the trimmed paragraph, so here it is again, edited.
The sabercat’s tail twitched like a nervous metronome. Even on high alert, my peripheral vision had just caught it. I raced through training scenarios and tactics, but found it hard to settle on any. The fact the quivering tip was the size of a soup can wasn’t helping matters. Running wasn’t an option; it would just trigger the attack sooner. The cat’s haunches pumped from side to side. I would have to time this perfectly.
A blur of tan came hurtling hurtled at me, nearly invisible against the arid landscape. I darted towards the motion, taking three steps then doing my best stop-drop-and-roll from Fire Safety. A deafening scream of anger erupted as Miss Kitty sailed over me. Sharp Pain shot up my sides and back from the jagged rocks that littered the ground. No time for damage assessment, round two was about to begin. Was the cat’s scream literally deafening? I didn’t think that added enough to warrant keeping it. I simplified the pain sentence for pace and because I think the reader will get it with those bits cut.
I scrambled around a car-sized boulder, putting a stone barrier between us. Now what? The words of Master Ori popped into my head – “It’s not the size of the opponent…” I’m sorry, but a beast with paws the width of stop signs and the reflexes of a cat… Ok, did I really just say that? I cut the distraction of the incomplete sentences because they were just that, a distraction, a diversion from good action. And they added elements that lacked clarity while not seeming to advance the story or to characterize.
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