First, another good reminder of why we do this from agent Jon Sternfeld at the Irene Goodman Literary Agency in his interview on Guide to Literary Agents.
“Work like mad on that first paragraph of your manuscript. Sadly, 98% of queries don’t get read past that. I’m not a fan of dialogue as the opener (though my more commercial fiction colleagues say this isn’t such a no-no). Nevertheless, I tend to delete manuscripts that open with a line of dialogue (esp. one with an exclamation point) and those whose opening line “dumps” exposition. Both of these let me know that you don’t quite have the hang of en media res or of disguising exposition.”
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.
Art has sent the opening chapter for Something Sinister Goes There/.
OK, so I shouldn’t be here. I’m not the only one, but I’m the one most liable to die because of it.
It had started a couple of days ago. I was enjoying a solitary beer at a favorite watering hole on the Seattle waterfront—well, I wasn’t downtown, but close enough. It was late enough in the afternoon that the shadow of the Cross-Sound Bridge was starting to cross the marina.
“Here you go, Chief,” said the waitress as she handed me the first beer of the afternoon. That’s because I’m a retired Navy Chief Warrant Officer, thirty plus years of service but now a government consultant. I lived near the bar aboard my trawler, the Lost Art at the marina.
I had just put the schooner to my lips when I saw it—the black boat. Now, I’m somewhat of a connoisseur of recreational marine art, and I’ve seen just about everything afloat. I mean either from my moorage or out on the water.
The strange boat -- it must’ve been a forty, forty-two footer—that’s twelve to thirteen meters to you metric types -- eased up to the fuel dock. Damn thing was flat black—like the insertion boats we’d used when I was a Seal. Rather than take the time to wait for the check, I finished my beer, laid a ten on the table—they know me here—and meandered down to the water.
It was very streamlined, put me in mind of that old ferryboat that lurks around Puget (snip)
Nice hook, but then . . .
I thought the opening line was good, raised story questions, started pushing the tension button. . .and then we had “It had started. . .” Argh! Here comes backstory and exposition. I want to know why he’s in danger of dying, not what started anything a couple of days ago. Later in this set-up chapter some interesting details surfaced—the men on the boat paid for their fuel with currency that include $25 and $3 denominations.
But nothing continued the story promised by that first line. I suggest, Art, that you go from that first line to whatever happens right then and weave in what you need to as you tell that story. In this scene, and in this chapter, there are no stakes or consequences for this character. I think the comment from the agent cited above applies here. Start this one en media res. Notes on the writing:
OK, so I shouldn’t be here. I’m not the only one, but I’m the one most liable to die because of it. I suggest “likely” rather than “liable.”
It had started a couple of days ago. I was enjoying a solitary beer at a favorite watering hole on the Seattle waterfront—well, I wasn’t downtown, but close enough. It was late enough in the afternoon that the shadow of the Cross-Sound Bridge was starting to cross the marina. The part cut seems like overwriting—the scene is already set on the waterfront, and we don’t need to know that he was almost downtown. Watch out for unintended echoes such as “Cross” and “cross.”
“Here you go, Chief,” said the waitress as she handed me the my first beer of the afternoon. That’s because I’m a retired Navy Chief Warrant Officer, thirty plus years of service but now a government consultant. I lived near the bar aboard my trawler, The Lost Art at the marina. For me, this bit of info dump in the last two paragraphs was the author intruding with a very flat piece of data. Where’s the story!?
I had just put the schooner to my lips when I saw it—the black boat. Now, I’m somewhat of a connoisseur of recreational marine art, and I’ve seen just about everything afloat. I mean either from my moorage or out on the water. The “I’ve seen” part seems to set up a statement that he’s never seen anything like this, but it never comes.
The strange boat -- it must’ve been a forty, forty-two footer—that’s twelve to thirteen meters to you metric types -- eased up to the fuel dock. Damn thing was flat black—like the insertion boats we’d used when I was a Seal. Rather than take the time to wait for the check, I finished my beer, laid a ten on the table—they know me here—I paid for my beer and meandered down to the water. ”Strange” is a conclusion word, and we have no information here as to what makes it “strange.” Show us strangeness, telling us does no good. Please, don't slow the narrative with a little side note on the metric system. Nice way to include his Seal past, though, and well woven into the description in an experiential way. I felt, obviously, that we needed to get him moving, thus the simplification of the last part of the paragraph.
It was very streamlined, put me in mind of that old ferryboat that lurks around Puget (snip) ”Very streamlined” is more “telling.” Illustrate it with images. Also, while I know about that old ferryboat in Seattle because I lived there, I don’t think that detail will work for the rest of the country.
Knowing what comes later in the chapter, I suspect that Art has an interesting story to tell. I just wish his first chapter had started with that story.
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