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.
Tony’s first chapter for Lights Out, a contemporary fantasy, opens with this:
G.J. Hamil didn’t tell anyone that the fingers on his right hand were turning blue. He lingered in the musty tunnel that led from the clubhouse to the playing field, killing time. Beyond the mouth of the tunnel, sunlight mixed with darkness in a fuzzy haze. There, Art Coley kept a watchful eye on the hitters from his perch behind the batting cage. Hamil spotted the Newark Bears manager and froze. Coley was waiting for him.
Hamil traced the cracked lines of the purple paint that splintered the walls with his finger. The blistered coating snapped apart where Hamil poked it and fell to his feet. He didn’t like lying to Artie, but at thirty-six, his options were dwindling each day. When Coley offered him a spot on the roster, he accepted without thinking. Now it was too late for the truth. Coming clean was out of the question. How do you tell the man giving you a chance to pitch again that you can’t grip a baseball without losing feeling from your wrist down to your fingertips?
Someone approached Coley and engaged him in conversation. Thankful for the respite, Hamil scanned the tunnel for another distraction. The pinstriped jersey clung to his clammy body in the steamy tunnel. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Uncomfortable as he was, he still wasn’t ready to head out onto the field.
The fluorescent lights flickered above. To his left, a plaque immortalizing the Bears return to New Jersey hung askew. He leaned in to inspect the photo. There he was, an inaugural (snip)
Some nice touches, but . . .
Tony clearly has a way with words—I liked the voice, and the narrative went down easily (mostly). But, story-wise, the narrative (for me) is stalling—hesitating from getting to the story-question parts. And there’s the matter of stakes; a hint of consequences for failure here would have helped. On the craft side, there were things that I thought needed to be better, or more clear. Definitely a good start. Tony’s email mentioned that there was little hint of the fantasy element in his opening chapter (there was none that I could see), and I wonder if that’s not a mistake. Mixing in that element up front, it seems to me, would enhance interest. Notes:
G.J. Hamil didn’t tell hadn’t told anyone that the fingers on his right pitching hand were turning blue. He lingered in the musty tunnel that led from the clubhouse to the playing field, killing time. Beyond the mouth of the tunnel, sunlight mixed with darkness in a fuzzy haze. There, Art Coley kept a watchful eye on the hitters from his perch behind the batting cage. Hamil spotted the Newark Bears manager and froze. Coley The Newark Bears manager was waiting for him. First, I changed “right” to “pitching” to, with one word, tell us more about this character and to help with setting the scene. If you know right away that he is a pitcher, you can immediately understand that the setting is part of a baseball park. I cut the part about spotting the manager because it was redundant—the previous sentence describes him sitting behind the batting cage. That means that Hamil can see him, so why then do we have him spotting him? It’s saying the same thing twice. And I have to say that the description of sunlight mixing with darkness in a fuzzy haze left me scratching my head—I have no idea what that means, especially in terms of what I’m supposed to be seeing. For me, it tries too hard to be fresh.
Hamil traced the cracked lines of the purple paint that splintered the walls with his finger. The blistered coating snapped apart where Hamil poked it and fell to his feet. He didn’t like lying to Artie, but at thirty-six, his options were dwindling each day. When Coley offered him a spot on the roster, he had accepted without thinking. Now it was too late for the truth. Coming clean was out of the question. How do you tell the man giving you a chance to pitch again that you can’t grip a baseball without losing feeling from your wrist down to your fingertips? A couple of reasons for cutting the description involving the paint. First, it doesn’t seem possible that the paint is splintering the walls, which this construction adds up to. Secondly, while I understand that you’re working to give the image of a run-down, not-very-successful place, this slows the narrative a lot, especially with the second sentence. This is what I meant with stalling. Yes, the character is stalling, not wanting a confrontation, but we get that from the narrative that follows. I cut the “coming clean” part because it was another redundancy. The “too late” sentence connected with the “how do you tell” sentence pretty much showed us this, and it wasn’t necessary. The occurrence of two redundancies in two paragraphs was a warning sign to me. On the other hand, I liked the way his problem, the numb hand, was revealed. That did add to tension and raise a story question.
Someone approached Coley and engaged him in conversation. Thankful for the respite, Hamil scanned the tunnel for another distraction. The pinstriped jersey clung to his clammy body in the steamy tunnel. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Uncomfortable as he was, he still wasn’t ready to head out onto the field. The author is cheating with us a little here—the “someone” who approaches is someone Hamil knows well from his past. If he can recognize the manager, he can recognize this man. More than that, there’s bad feeling between the two. It seems to me that bringing that recognition and bad feeling to the story here would increase the tension. The idea of him looking for another distraction is part of my comment about the story trying to stall. We the reader don’t need for him to put off the coming confrontation, we need for him to get on with it. And what would make him ready to head out on the field?
The fluorescent lights flickered above. To his left, a plaque immortalizing the Bears return to New Jersey hung askew. He leaned in to inspect the photo. There he was, an inaugural (snip) Now we’re turning away from any potential conflict for some exposition. Please, not on the first page.
I liked many things about Tony’s writing and voice, but, for this reader, the storytelling part needs to be more focused, tighter, and moving forward. While this was pleasant in most respects, I didn’t find it to be compelling.
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.
© 2011 Ray Rhamey
