Flogging the Quill

Free FtQ chapter—dialogue tags

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Today we move on to the Dialogue section of section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells: “Tags: a game writers shouldn’t play”

Because each of us has a lifetime of experience with talking, writing dialogue in a novel seems like it should be easy, and maybe it is for some writers. But for others it’s the weakest part of their narrative. Three common flaws I see in beginning work are:

• Botched use of dialogue tags
• Lack of effective action beats
• Explaining the dialogue instead of showing it happen

Here’s a snippet of dialogue guaranteed to make you flinch:

“Please don’t do that,” he articulated.
“What?” she interrogated.

Okay, perhaps that’s a touch over the top. But how many times have you seen dialogue tags like the following?

Melissa turned to Irving. “Why don’t you zip up your pants?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Air conditioning,” he replied.

What’s with “she asked” and “he replied”? The question mark clearly tells the reader that a question was asked, and the response is clearly a reply, and the reader damn well knows what they were. Yet “she asked” and the ever-popular “he replied” clog thousands of pages like verbal cholesterol.

When it comes to dialogue tags, a couple of clichés should be applied:

1. Less is more.
2. KISS—Keep It Simple, Stupid

Tags can tangle dialogue and slow pace; their absence can smooth and accelerate. Over-explanatory tags (he huffed, she whimpered) create lazy writing; replacing them with action or description gives the words meaning and tone that involves the reader, creates pictures, and enhances emotional effect.

Rarely is there a need for a dialogue tag other than “said,” even with a question. For example, there’s no need to use “asked” or “interrogated” or “queried” if you write

Farnsworth said, “Where do you think the monster is hiding?”

The reader understands that Farnsworth has asked a question—that’s what question marks are for. To add tonality, use description and action, and remove the “said.” For example:

Farnsworth’s voice came from under the couch in a whispery hiss that ended with a sob. “Where do you think the monster is hiding?”

To illustrate minimizing dialogue tags in a scene, here’s an excerpt from my novel, We the Enemy. In the scene, Marion Smith-Taylor, the U.S. Attorney General, is calling her office from out of town. See what you think, tag-wise.

Time enough for one last hail-Mary call—she opened her cell phone and auto-dialed her office. Suzanne Fisher answered. “Ms. Smith-Taylor’s office, how may I help you?”

Marion pictured Suzanne, not in an office outfit but bundled up in her pale blue terry-cloth robe, blond hair tousled, fair cheeks flushed. If Marion had her druthers, Suzanne would be helping her to a tumbler of Scotch—but that would have to wait until she was home. “Hi, it’s me.”

“I was just thinking about you.”

That was one of the things Marion loved about Suzanne—no coy games, she just said how she felt. “Me, too. Listen, they’re about to get here. Anything on the Alliance from Joe Donovan or Sally Arnold?”

“No word.”

“Damn.” She’d been praying for better information on the Oregon situation before the meeting. But she wasn’t surprised; Joe and Sally had been less than helpful for months. Something had changed with them. “If you hear from them in the next hour, call.”

“I will.”

Damn. Damn-damn-damn.

Seven speeches from two characters and no dialogue tags. And I’ll bet you didn’t get lost.

Enough articulated?

What about “he thought?”—on using internal monologue

A common way of indicating the thoughts of a character are to signal with “he thought” and then include the thought in italics or use quotes.

But italics can be hard to read, quotes can lead to confusing thoughts with dialogue, and writing “he thought” isn’t really necessary.

You can include a character’s thoughts as a part of the narrative via internal monologue. Very simply, it’s the thought expressed in the same person and tense as the rest of the narrative. For example, in this scene the protagonist, Jake, sees a woman being assaulted in an alley:

The woman staggered her attacker with a kick to his leg. He slapped her, and then had to dodge a knee aimed at his crotch. Girl had guts. Jake sighed, stepped into the alley, and drew his nine-millimeter Glock from the holster under his windbreaker.

“Girl had guts” is a snippet of internal monologue showing Jake’s thought. It’s a lot quicker and cleaner than this:

Jake thought, the girl has guts.

Here’s a passage with a couple of instances of internal monologue from the woman who was being attacked. This happens after Jake intervenes and stops the attack. We’re now in her point of view.

Jewel settled herself down. Her mama had always said, “In this world, you got to be hard. Ain’t nobody there for you but you.” Hallelujah, Mama.

She’d been lucky today. She felt compelled to thank the guy, even if he was white—Mama’d taught her manners, too. Jewel hurried after him, trying to arrange her torn top into decent coverage, but one tit or the other kept falling out. Great, now she had to walk down Michigan Avenue with her boobs hanging out. And wouldn’t they love it back at the office.

Here, “Hallelujah, Mama” is internal monologue. And so is

Great, now she had to walk down Michigan Avenue with her boobs hanging out. And wouldn’t they love it back at the office.

In Self-editing for Fiction Writers, authors Renni Browne and Dave King give a good example of this technique, which they call “interior monologue.”

Big Jim Billups fondled the .38 in his pocket, waddled over to the back of his truck, and spat. Could’ve stopped the whole damn thing last night—they don’t carry no guns. What was the use of doing a job if you didn’t do a good one? He rocked, shifting his weight from one leg to another and spat again. The sound of the marchers was closer now. Soon it would be time.

As Browne and King point out, readers move easily from Big Jim’s actions to his thoughts and back again without being aware of what they’re doing. Renni and Dave’s chapter on interior monologue gives excellent guidelines on the artful use of the technique.

For what it’s worth

Ray

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© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Kent—would you turn the first 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.

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Kent’s first chapter of Zen and the Art of Explosive Devices opens with this:

I will never forget the killing. But what I think about most often is the girl I met twenty minutes earlier. I was stretching against the far wall of the gym, so I missed her entrance, but Porcelli said you could tell she was going to hit someone.

Named in a bygone era, Ocean Beach Boxing has evolved into a full-fledged mixed martial arts gym. Aerobics classes are not offered. There is no yoga, Tae Bo or salsa dancing. No floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls, no flat-screen TVs, no complimentary white cotton towels. We have heavy bags, wrestling mats, and half the walls are padded. There are rolls of paper towels to wipe up blood.

Any woman who walks in the place is going to stop half the guys from working out. The furious brunette in the yellow summer dress stopped all the guys from working out. She stopped half of them from breathing. Before I could register the meaning of the sudden silence, I felt a tap on my shoulder and a young woman's voice behind me asked, "Mac?"

I turned around and looked down into a pair of high-voltage eyes, and for a moment I could only stand there stunned like I had jammed my finger in a light socket.

That's when she slapped me. Her hand met the side of my face with a crack like a starting gun. The guys literally went ape, jumping up and down, clapping and shouting, "Ooo! Ooo! Oooooo!" Muhammad Ali didn't get that big a reaction when he knocked out Sonny Liston.

I turned the page, however…

 

The writing is good and has one of those qualities that agents and editors look for, its own voice. The story questions raised by the foreshadowing and the action, especially the slap, made me want more.

However, there’s one big narrative flaw that bothered me. We’re in close third person, and Kent is doing a good job of putting us into Mac’s head. But Mac describes a bunch of what happens that HE CAN’T SEE. He doesn’t see the girl’s entrance, and he can’t see the girl he doesn’t know is there’s hair, or dress, or the guys stopping their workouts.

I can’t think of any story reason for this, so I’d just have him see her like all the rest, stop his stretching, and wonder why she homes in on him. The slap will still be a surprise.

In addition, there was excess stuff that I’ll point out. It caused two very strong hook lines to fall to the next page. How would you have reacted if you had been able to read this at the bottom of the first page?

She balled her hands in fists and glared while I searched her face for a clue as to who in the hell she might be.

For me, the fact that he doesn’t know her increases the intrigue. Notes:

I will never forget the killing. But what I think about most often is the girl I met twenty minutes earlier. I was stretching against the far wall of the gym, so I missed her entrance, but Porcelli said you could tell she was going to hit someone. I cut the line about Porcelli because it doesn’t really add anything but extra words that allude to what’s about to happen, and we don’t need an extra name tossed at us at this point. It’s made clear here that he could not have seen the girl. Frankly, if it were me, I’d have him see the entrance of this striking and furious woman. It would be a lot more interesting to me and would start raising story questions from within Mac’s point of view, and could help characterize him.

Named in a bygone era, Ocean Beach Boxing has evolved into a full-fledged mixed martial arts gym. Aerobics classes are not offered. There is no yoga, Tae Bo or salsa dancing. No floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls, no flat-screen TVs, no complimentary white cotton towels. We have heavy bags, wrestling mats, and half the walls are padded. There are rolls of paper towels to wipe up blood. I really liked the last line about the paper towels, but for me this paragraph of description is about one line too long. I’d cut the fourth sentence about mirrored walls, etc.

Any woman who walks in the place is going to stop half the guys from working out. The furious brunette in the yellow summer dress stopped all the guys from working out. She stopped half of them from breathing. Before I could register the meaning of the sudden silence, I felt a tap on my shoulder and a young woman's voice behind me asked, "Mac?" See what I mean? He describes her and the effect of her entrance, but his back is turned. For no real good reason.

I turned around and looked down into a pair of high-voltage eyes, and for a moment I could only stand there stunned like I had jammed my finger in a light socket. I liked the high-voltage eyes, but felt the simile fell a little flat. Could have done without it.

That's when she slapped me. Her hand met the side of my face with a crack like a starting gun. The guys literally went ape, jumping up and down, clapping and shouting, "Ooo! Ooo! Oooooo!" Muhammad Ali didn't get that big a reaction when he knocked out Sonny Liston. Since this story isn’t about boxing, I felt that the last line was fat that could be trimmed. Yes, it speaks to the character a little bit, but I think how he reacts to what is going on is more important. And it help makes room for getting in the lines that had to wait on the second page.

Good start, Kent, just keep in mind the physical reality of the scene and write it accordingly. I think you missed some opportunities for characterization and suspense building by not having Mac see the girl from the start.

Comments, please?

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.

 

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Lance—would you turn the first 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.

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Lance’s first chapter of Identity opens with this:

DOHA, QATAR 

“Is he drunk yet?”

“He was drunk when he walked in here,” Amzi answered, irritated. “So much for Ramadan, eh?”

Refael Gur crossed his arms and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window at the panoramic view. Reduced to lights and geometric glows, central Doha wasn’t as jumbled and ugly at night as it was in daylight. The National Islamic Center’s honey-lit spiral tower spiked above the dark low-rise shambles at its feet; the Tomorrowland glitz of the new city wavered in the black mirror of Doha Bay. Behind him, reflected in the glass, Amzi bent over the pig Talhami, suit coat off, sleeves rolled up, half-empty bottle of vodka in one gloved hand.

“How much longer before the scoline wears off?”

“It already has, but he’s too drunk to do anything about it.” Amzi spread his hands. “Well?”

Gur glanced at the soccer game on the flat-screen television and said, “All right, get his clothes off.” He touched his Bluetooth earpiece. “Bring the woman in.”

Amzi pressed Talhami’s fingers and palm against the bottle several times, then dumped it on the carpet and started roughly stripping the business suit off the muttering Hezbollah thug. A (snip)

I turned the page

The voice is working, the writing pretty clean, and good story questions were raised. The narrative showed me enough of what was up to make me wonder what it was and to wonder what would happen next. I think there were spots that could be more clear or smoother, and perhaps a little extraneous detail, but it worked. Notes:

DOHA, QATAR 

“Is he drunk yet?”

“He was drunk when he walked in here,” Amzi answered, irritated. “So much for Ramadan, eh?” I cut "irritated" because the narrative gave no hint as to why he is irritated, or what about. So it's essentially a meaningless word here.

Refael Gur crossed his arms and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window at the panoramic view. Reduced to lights and geometric glows, central Doha wasn’t as jumbled and ugly at night as it was in daylight. The National Islamic Center’s honey-lit spiral tower spiked above the dark low-rise shambles at its feet; the Tomorrowland glitz of the new city wavered in the black mirror of Doha Bay. Behind him, reflected in the glass, Amzi bent over the pig Talhami, suit coat off, sleeves rolled up, half-empty bottle of vodka in one gloved hand. “the panoramic view” is a little bit of telling, and the crossing of the arms unnecessary detail. While the description serves to set the scene, it could have been more effective if filtered through the point of view of Refael—what were his feelings as he saw what he saw? Even more, why is he doing this? As it is, it’s just the author turning the puppet’s head to make him serve the author’s needs—this should be motivated and come from within the character. I found the phrase “the pig Talhami” briefly confusing—where did a pig come from? If you want to call him a pig, fine, but earlier where the conext makes it more clear. More than that, the drunk guy is a terrorist—why not label him that, or go further and describe him as the killer of innocent Israeli children? In addition, the description in the last sentence was unclear as to who had his suit coat off, sleeves rolled up, etc. That would be clear if the description followed the name Amzi.

“How much longer before the scoline wears off?”

“It already has, but he’s too drunk to do anything about it.” Amzi spread his hands. “Well?”

Gur glanced at the soccer game on the flat-screen television and said, “All right, get his clothes off.” He touched his Bluetooth earpiece. “Bring the woman in.” Having action beats in dialogue is a good thing, except for when they don’t characterize or advance the story. The soccer game did neither. If he’s going to glance at anything, make it the victim, and include some emotion.

Amzi pressed Talhami’s fingers and palm against the bottle several times, then dumped it on the carpet and started roughly stripping the business suit off the muttering Hezbollah thug. A (snip) Didn’t think the adverb added anything—use a stronger verb, perhaps "yanking." I also felt that “muttering Hezbolla thug” was a clump of words that didn’t go down easily.

Comments, please?

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.

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Free FtQ chapter—dealing with overwriting

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Here, from the Description section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. is “Overwriting: the attack of killer verbiage”

Some writers new to the task of the novel put in every possible nuance and detail of a scene or action—and drown their pace and tension in a sludge of words. Invisible and deadly, overwriting can suffocate a narrative.

Overwriting is insidious, and can grow just a word or two at a time. Here are two examples from a client’s work:

He tasted her in his mouth. (Where else would he taste her?)

Her heart clenched in her chest. (Better there than in her purse, I guess.)

What pains me are far worse examples in published novels. Take the following trudge from The Experiment by John Darnton.

The scene: a woman enters a darkened bedroom. In the bed sleeps a man who she assumes is her love interest. Spreading minutiae like a blanket of kudzu, Darnton writes…and writes…and writes…

She thought that perhaps she should try to take a nap, too; the trip home had exhausted her. She walked around the bed, sat in a chair and unstrapped her shoes and took them off, placing them to one side. She stood up and unzipped her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap and bent down to pick it up and drape it over the back of the chair. She slipped her thumbs into the waist of her panties and slid them down her legs, placing them over the dress. Then she unfastened her bra and placed it on top. From the bed, she heard his breathing shift as he moved to a different level of sleep.

She walked to the right side of the bed, lifted the sheet and slipped underneath, pulling it up to her chin. The cotton felt cool to her skin.

Does the word “turgid” come to mind? If not, see a therapist immediately. Trust me on this: the entire purpose of this passage was to get the woman into the bed. Her method of disrobing had absolutely no bearing on anything that had gone before or anything that happened afterward.

It didn’t matter that she walked around the bed. Or sat in a chair. Or where she placed her discarded shoes. Or what she did with her dress or bra. Nor did her panty-removal process have any bearing—the person in the bed was asleep, and there was no sexual intent to the scene. And it didn’t matter which side of the bed she got into, either. Don’t get me started on other deficiencies in this dawdle.

When it comes to description, I’m with Stephen King, as expressed in his On Writing. To quote from his book,

Look—here’s a table covered with a red cloth. On it is a cage the size of a small fish aquarium. In the cage is a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink-rimmed eyes. In its front paws is a carrot upon which it is contentedly chewing. On its back, clearly marked in blue ink, is the numeral 8.

As King points out, the paragraph doesn’t tell us what the cage is made of. Wire mesh? Steel rods? Glass? It doesn’t tell us because it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reader “sees” allows him to visualize the rabbit inside and the most important story part of the description, the number on its back.

King says that good description makes the reader a participant in the story. Exactly right. Crisp, tight description lets the reader fill in the details, especially if they don’t matter to the storyline.

In the above example from Mr. Darnton’s book, all that verbiage boils down to this:

Exhausted by the trip home, she thought she should try a nap. She undressed, slipped underneath the sheet and pulled it up to her chin, the cotton cool on her skin.

Here’s a technique that might have helped Mr. Darnton avoid his logorrhea—read your narrative aloud. If, at some point, you detach and drift, your voice a drone in the background while your mind searches for something interesting to think about, your narrative has been binge expositing, and you need to apply the cure—vigorous exercise of the delete key.

For what it’s worth

Ray
© 2011 Ray Rhamey

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Flogometer for Densie—would you turn the first 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.

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Densie’s first chapter opens with this:

The memory slams me like the recoil of a shotgun.

I’m in the kitchen preparing marinade for the steaks we’ll later throw on the grill in celebration of a perfect New York summer evening. My husband’s music drifts from his office and blends in with the hum coming from the kids’ rooms, creating a kind of musical porridge that sounds just right. A jasmine-scented breeze waltzes in from the garden, rises and falls, and pauses just long enough for me to breathe it in. It carries memories of its own, warm memories that caress and comfort.

The television in the next room is announcing the news to no one in particular, when the anchor’s words shatter my meditative mood and I sprint from the kitchen, a bowl still in my hand. I’m planted in front of the screen, my feet leaden, yet my knees pliable as rubber, as the words burrow deep under my skin.

“A woman, identified as 27-year-old Kathryn Wilson, was arrested today on charges of attempted murder after allegedly attacking Justin Walker, the 23-year-old lead singer of the group, Caveat Emptor, and his girlfriend. According to investigators, Wilson had been stalking the singer and claims he is the father of her 1-year-old daughter. Walker and his girlfriend have been hospitalized with multiple stab wounds. There is no word yet on their condition.”

I turned the page

I liked the first line. Even though it might signal the beginning of a dreaded flashback or backstory, I’m interested in something that could have that intense an effect. The voice is attractive, and the writing pretty clean, though there’s a point of confusion in paragraph three. The news report is dramatic, too, and raises the question of what such a violent event has to do with the character’s tranquil life. Notes:

The memory slams me like the recoil of a shotgun.

I’m in the kitchen preparing marinade for the steaks we’ll later throw on the grill in celebration of a perfect New York summer evening. My husband’s music drifts from his office and blends in with the hum coming from the kids’ rooms, creating a kind of musical porridge that sounds just right. A jasmine-scented breeze waltzes in from the garden, rises and falls, and pauses just long enough for me to breathe it in. It carries memories of its own, warm memories that caress and comfort. Sets a mood nicely, though for me it goes on a little too long. Since the memories referred to in the last line are never mentioned, I think it could be cut.

The television in the next room is announcing the news to no one in particular when the anchor’s words shatter my meditative mood and I sprint from the kitchen, a bowl still in my hand. I’m planted in front of the screen, my feet leaden yet my knees pliable as rubber, as the words burrow deep under my skin. The inclusion of a past tense verb bothered me. It sorta works, but pulled me out of the first-person intensity. Why not “I plant myself in front of the screen. . .” etc.?

“A woman, identified as 27-year-old Kathryn Wilson, was arrested today on charges of attempted murder after allegedly attacking Justin Walker, the 23-year-old lead singer of the group, Caveat Emptor, and his girlfriend. According to investigators, Wilson had been stalking the singer and claims he is the father of her 1-year-old daughter. Walker and his girlfriend have been hospitalized with multiple stab wounds. There is no word yet on their condition.” There are confusing pronouns in the sentence about stalking. He is stalking the singer (a man) and then claims he is the father of her daughter. I know this is meant to be the girlfriend’s daughter, but that’s not what it says.

Comments, please?

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.

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Debbie—would you turn the first 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.

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Debbie has sent a prologue and first chapter for her novel. The prologue opens with this:

The Storyteller stood before the small group of people. They all enjoyed listening to the things he had to say. That was how they learned their history, and future storytellers would someday pass the tales down to their grandchildren.

His hair turned gray years ago. Two feathers and an animal tail hung near his right ear. No one knew his age. He did not even know himself. Unlike many others his age, he still stood tall and straight. His skin was dark and weathered like a deer hide that had seen too much rain. He was loved by young and old. The people listened with rapt attention as the Storyteller finished his tale.
?
"... so then once the Hare out smarted the Fox, the Fox realized Hare won. The Fox would be again hungry in his den."

Everyone stirred at once; some laughing, some smiling, and some with hoots of excitement.

"Tell us more, Storyteller."

"Yes, please, please do!"

The old man looked though the crowd while he tried to decide the next tale to tell.

The young brave Eagle, in the past heard only parts of the story he was about to request, and he wanted to know everything.

"Storyteller, please tell us the story of the Ghostwoman," he said.

"Ah, yes the Ghostwoman.”

Would you turn this prologue's first page? Be tough. Comments help the writer.survey software
The first chapter opens with:

 

“I love Spring. It's promising to be a beautiful day,” Cassie declared, for her ears only as she stepped outside on to her porch. It was a promise that would soon be broken.

Cassie leaned against the doorframe of her five-month-old split log cabin. Unconsciously wiping her hands on the sides of her apron trying to remove the last traces of flour that remained from the preparation of the biscuits, she just pulled from the oven. Her eyes squinted when the sun's glaring rays hit her face, instinctively her left hand rose to shield her light brown eyes. Breakfast now waited inside for her husband and their neighbor. All that remained was to get their attention. She observed two figures moving at the bottom of the gully her those of husband Frank and neighbor Todd. They started to scramble up the slope toward the one-room home.

From the first day they met, the two men started doing everything together. Their wives labeled them, bosom buddies. The men challenged each other constantly. Which one could do this or that better? The same silver dollar they wagered each time changed hands at least twice a week.

The men had been up before dawn, fixing Frank Clark's pigpen again. One of the little piglets was an escape artist. This was the third time he had broken out. Fortunately, it did not ramble too far away. The pigsty, now repaired with the animals secured, everyone hoped for the last time. The friends were ready for their well-earned breakfast.

Neither opening was compelling for me

 

In reading through the material Debbie sent, I can see that there seems to be a fascinating story to be told, but there were too many craft shortcomings for it to reach a professional level…yet. Keep studying and learning, though, because you have the imagination. A caution for you: the scene where the Indians attack was greatly overwritten and needs to be pruned mercilessly.

The prologue just didn’t create any tension. As it happened, on the very next page was something that would have gotten me to keep reading.

The Storyteller knew the tale extremely well. Parts of it he never, nor would he ever, repeat. These parts remained locked deep in his heart, and they would stay there forever. But, he would tell it. Enough so those listening would learn what personal sacrifice and love can mean.

As for the chapter opening, same problem—no tension. And troubles with the writing. For example:

Cassie leaned against the doorframe of her five-month-old split log cabin. She would not be thinking of the age of the cabin—this is the author breaking in to deliver information Unconsciously wiping her hands on the sides of her apron trying to remove the last traces of flour that remained from the preparation of the biscuits, she just pulled from the oven. That’s not a sentence. And adverbs such as “unconsciously” don’t add. Her eyes She squinted when the sun's glaring rays hit her face, instinctively her left hand rose to shield her light brown eyes. Mentioning the color of her eyes is another break in point of view, an author stepping in. Breakfast now waited inside for her husband and their neighbor. All that remained was to get their attention. Overwriting. Why doesn’t she just call them? Get on with the story. She observed two figures moving at the bottom of the gully her those of husband Frank and neighbor Todd. A comma fault, and overwritten. Just show what she sees—“She observed” is distant, an authorial point of view. They started to scramble up the slope toward the one-room home. ”one-room” is another bit from the author, not the character’s experience

Keep at it, there’s a story to be told, but craft to be mastered, too.

Comments, please?

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.

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

News on my publishing front, including free enovels

First, I apologize for not being up sooner and with meatier content—I forgot all about it because I’ve been consumed this weekend with getting a new website up and with creating Kindle and ebook versions of my novels.

In a moment, details on getting a free enovel. But first . . .

I hope you’ll visit my new website

I’ve launched Ray’s Wordplace at rayrhamey.com as a central site for all the stuff I do, from novels to my online portfolio for my advertising/marketing work to editing services to a store.

New Kindle and ebook versions of these novels are now available

We the Enemy for the Kindle is here, and, for virtually all ebooks, including Kindle and Nook is here. If you want to read a free sample, click here—the links to ebook vendors are there, too.

Finding Magic for the Kindle is here, and, for virtually all ebooks, including Kindle and Nook is here. If you want to read a free sample, click here—the links to ebook vendors are there, too.

The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles for the Kindle is here, and, for virtually all ebooks, including Kindle and Nook is here. If you want to read a free sample, click here—the links to ebook vendors are there, too.

Free enovels offer for FtQ readers

The first 15 people who email me with a request for a free enovel (15 for each book) will receive a code for the novel on the Smashwords site that allows you to “buy” the book for $0.00. Virtually all e-versions are available: Kindle, Nook, PDFs, etc.

All I ask in return:

• email me with feedback on the book, whether you liked it or not
• if you like it, post a review on the Kindle page for the book. For obvious reasons, I’d rather not have negative reviews posted, but it’s a free country.

Here's how: email me with your name and your promise to give feedback and I'll reply with the code.

Here’s to the future.

And thanks for visiting Flogging the Quill. I truly enjoy this community of writers.

Ray

Flogometer for Julia—would you turn the first 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.

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Julia’s first chapter for The Sylvan Queen opens with this:

A metallic clang jolted Lia from her half-doze. She peered at the pulpit, where Father Chase wielded a rather large communion bell. Disapproval shadowed the priest’s lined face as he tried to determine whether he had sufficiently jarred his wayward congregation.

“Three or four is typical,” he said. “I’ll even tolerate as many as ten.” He clanged the bell once more before filling the temple with his rich voice. “But when half of Takadia sits snoring in my pews, I begin to wonder why I didn’t just stay in bed.”

The bell’s reverberation faded into uncomfortable silence in the massive stone chamber as Father Chase waited for the parishioners to feel suitably castigated. Lia shifted in her oak pew and pretended to examine the multihued bars of morning light that streamed down from the casement perched at the temple's pinnacle. The man seated beside her stared at his hands.

Finally, Father Chase sighed and set aside the heavy bell. “As I was saying, when we struggle with the hardships of everyday life, we must look to our Maker and never lose faith that he will give us strength. He had to remind us of this once when he dimmed magic. We thought if we had our magic, then we didn't need him. But, in truth, without him we will invariably fail.”

“Why, Father?” a new voice demanded. Lia blinked. What now? A few rows up, a tall, middle-aged man stood. “Why should I have faith?”

Lia recalled passing the farmer on her frequent trips into the city. She had never met him, but (snip)

Yes, but. . .

The question the farmer raised is what got me to turn the page. It’s a big question, one that many people wrestle with, and I was interested in seeing what the priest’s answer was. And, despite a couple of craft issues, the writing is clean and the voice good. There was a later line that I liked a lot—after the service ends, “Conversations hung above the crowd…”

But there were a couple of point of view slips, but that’s easily correctible. A bigger worry is a hint of what this story is about for the protagonist. Does what’s happening here affect her life in any way? There’s no hint that it does. It might help if she had a reaction to the man’s question instead of slipping into a brief bit of backstory/description. Does what he says trouble her? Or signal trouble for her? The chapter ends with no tension having been developed or any story questions regarding the protagonist arising, and you need to work on that. Notes:

A metallic clang jolted Lia from her half-doze. She peered at the pulpit, where Father Chase wielded a rather large communion bell. Disapproval shadowed the priest’s lined face as he tried to determine whether he had sufficiently jarred his wayward congregation. The description of the communion bell as “rather large” doesn’t add because it’s a relative term—rather large compared to what? Moreover, she would have seen this bell many times, so wouldn’t be thinking about its size. And its size is irrelevant—what matters is that he rang the bell. Basically, a useless detail. And there’s a little “head hop” here. We go from Lia’s point of view into the priest’s when the narrative tells us what he’s trying to determine. Lia can’t know what he’s thinking, yet the narrative tells us. This is a point-of-view slip. She can assume or deduce that he’s thinking that, but not know it.

“Three or four is typical,” he said. “I’ll even tolerate as many as ten.” He clanged the bell once more before filling the temple with his rich voice. “But when half of Takadia sits snoring in my pews, I begin to wonder why I didn’t just stay in bed.”

The bell’s reverberation faded into uncomfortable silence in the massive stone chamber as Father Chase waited for the parishioners to feel suitably castigated. Lia shifted in her oak pew and pretended to examine the multihued bars of morning light that streamed down from the casement perched at the temple's pinnacle. The man seated beside her stared at his hands. A second POV slip—she can’t know that he’s waiting for them to feel castigated. More than that, this paragraph has no forward motion. Everything stops.

Finally, Father Chase sighed and set aside the heavy bell. “As I was saying, when we struggle with the hardships of everyday life, we must look to our Maker and never lose faith that he will give us strength. He had to remind us of this once when he dimmed magic. We thought if we had our magic, then we didn't need him. But, in truth, without him we will invariably fail.” I liked the way you slipped the reference to magic here. It raises some story questions. What would be more helpful would be, perhaps, to have her react with some internal monologue about how the fading magic has affected her life, or what it means to her in some way.

“Why, Father?” a new voice demanded. Lia blinked. What now? A few rows up, a tall, middle-aged man stood. “Why should I have faith?” As I said earlier, good question.

Lia recalled passing the farmer on her frequent trips into the city. She had never met him, but (snip) Oops, we stray from the story here. It’s not really important how she recognized the farmer. I’d rather have her react to the issue he raises, particularly if it can be connected with the dimming of magic. This story needs to be about her from the start, and it’s not—it’s about the priest and the farmer. It could be that this story is starting in the wrong place. What happens later in the story to change her life? What’s the inciting incident? Is this about the failure of religion in her life, as the chapter hints, or what? I’d look at a beginning that happens later to see if there’s a more involving scene that is about the protagonist in a more direct way.

Comments, please?

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.

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Chantal —would you turn the first 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.

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Chantal’s first chapter for Calista opens with this:

Calista opened her eyes. Through a sliver in the curtains light streamed into her room, creeping across the floor and up onto her bed to land directly over her sleepy eyes. The light made her blink and squint, and then move in frustration. The day always came too soon.

After a moment of hiding under her quilt she gathered enough will to drag herself out of her bed. The air swilling around her felt chilly and she realized she had left her window open a hair all night. Over by the window the ground was damp from rain that had fallen during the night. Calista yawned and stretched her arms up high, swinging her feet out from under the blankets and over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, sending shivers up her spine. She waited a moment, trying to get used to the feeling, and then stood up. Again, she stretched her legs and yawned, forcing herself to wake up much like the sun had just done.

Calista moved over to the window. She opened the curtains fully, allowing the sun to enter her room and warm up the floor. Outside gray clouds were on the horizon to the East over a gray ocean. The sun would not last for long, she guessed. Closing her eyes, Calista leaned out of the cold window, trying to soak up as much sun as she could. Winter was coming and for the next few months it would be dark with rain and snow, wind and storms. Now was the time to enjoy the sun.

Clean writing, but . . .

 

The writing is clean and the voice clear, but this opening lacks, for me, tension. What happens here? A woman wakes up and gets out of bed. The only hint of anything coming is winter, not exactly a pulse-raiser. The chapter goes on in much the same way. At the end, we get what I think we should have gotten on the first page—all the servants are leaving the manor because the family has no money, and this woman, the daughter of the owner, doesn’t have a clue. That raises good story questions, but came much too late. Notes:

Calista opened her eyes. Through a sliver in the curtains light streamed into her room, creeping across the floor and up onto her bed to land directly over her sleepy eyes. The light made her blink and squint, and then move in frustration. The day always came too soon. This opening is already leisurely, and I felt the sentence was a bit of overwriting. It could be condensed, i.e. She blinked and squinted, frustrated.

After a moment of hiding under her quilt, she gathered enough will to drag herself out of her bed. The air swilling around her felt chilly and she realized she had left her window open a hair all night. Over by the window the ground (floor?) was damp from rain that had fallen during the night. Calista yawned and stretched her arms up high, swinging her feet out from under the blankets and over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, sending shivers up her spine. She waited a moment, trying to get used to the feeling, and then stood up. Again, she stretched her legs and yawned, forcing herself to wake up much like the sun had just done. ”Ground” suggests a dirt floor, and I don’t think that’s what’s meant. Also, if the window was open a “hair,” would rain really have come in? I cut the last couple of sentences for pace. They didn’t seem to contribute much to either character or story.

Calista moved over to the window. She opened the curtains fully, allowing the sun to enter her room and warm up the floor. Outside gray clouds were on the horizon to the East over a gray ocean. The sun would not last for long, she guessed. Closing her eyes, Calista leaned out of the cold window, trying to soak up as much sun as she could. Winter was coming and for the next few months it would be dark with rain and snow, wind and storms. Now was the time to enjoy the sun. At this point I was wondering when something was going to happen. For me, a character getting out of bed and contemplating a fairly ordinary future was not the stuff of compelling fiction.

I suspect there’s a good story to be told here and the writing talent to tell it, so consider cutting just about all of this and start with the last maid dragging her trunk out of the house and the discovery of penury.

Comments, please?

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.

© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Free FtQ chapter—doing the impossible

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Here, from the Description section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. is the second chapter, “Watch out for the incredibles”

The “incredibles” appear when you have a character do something either improbable or impossible. I see manuscripts peppered with little impossibilities and improbabilities, although I suspect that many readers would never notice them. At least consciously. If noticed, they can take a reader out of your story and damage your credibility. The suspension of disbelief may be destroyed. I suspect that they are noticed at some level, even if not consciously, and do their damage. Here are some from work I’ve edited:

He clenched his teeth and said, “I could kill you.”

“You always wanted to fly, Erin,” he said through gritted teeth.

Okay, now you try clenching or gritting your teeth and saying anything intelligible. Don’t fudge, keep your teeth clamped together. You’ll note that not only can you not talk very well, but a character would look darned silly doing it. I find it unrealistic to portray a character talking like this. Writers have argued with me that it’s possible, and yes, it is. Sort of like what a ventriloquist does. But have you ever, really, said something through tightly clenched teeth? I haven’t, and I don’t think a character would. If you want clenched or gritted teeth, separate them from the dialogue.

He clenched his teeth and then said, “I could kill you.”

Here’s a subtle impossibility.

I bent down, gingerly touching the small gray bone.

The sense of the sentence is that he touched the bone as he bent down, but that’s not right because the bone is on the ground and he can’t touch it until after he bends down. More accurately:

I bent down and gingerly touched the small gray bone.

Here’s a tidy impossibility:

He snarled silently.

A snarl is a sound, so you can’t snarl silently. Your mouth can curl as if snarling, though. A perennial favorite is using “eyes” in a silly way.

We stood for a long moment, our eyes locked.

So these people put their faces so impossibly close together that their eyes locked together? The writer means “gazes.”

Arlene shifted her eyes to the piles of vegetables.

Really, eyes are much more functional when they stay in your head, don’t you think? Another time when “gaze” was called for.

Here’s a different “eye” thing:

She wiggled to a sitting position, her eyes sleepy but bright, tugging at the neck of her footy-pajamas.

This sentence has this person tugging at the neck of her jammys with her eyes. Weird.

How people use their bodies often suffers from a case of the impossibles. In the following example, the writer could clearly see the action in her mind, she just failed to get it on paper phrased in a clear way.

I wrapped myself around him and we dropped to our knees.

This leads me to picture someone wrapping their arms and legs around someone else, right? And then they both drop to their knees? Naw.

I watched Ellen and her friend drive back to Studio City in their BMW as I waited for someone to answer my call.

Unless this character is in a helicopter or hot air balloon, he/she can’t watch someone drive to another city. The writer really meant “depart for” Studio City.

The voices began, too low to be heard.

If the character knows the voices begin, then he hears them. The writer meant that the words couldn’t be understood because the voices were so low.

She stood in the doorway blocking out the light on each side.

This means that the person was wider than the doorway and had somehow wedged her body into it, which seems highly unlikely.

(a man looks at a diapered baby) I saw instantly that the baby was wet.

Nope. You can feel whether or not a diaper is wet, but you can’t really see it, especially nowadays with disposable diapers.

These illustrate the need for fresh eyes. Sharp, picky eyes. Eyes that do not leave heads but instead stay put and search for the incredibles.

For what it’s worth

Ray© 2010 Ray Rhamey

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