Flogging the Quill

Flogometer for Gregg—would you turn the first page?

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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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

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Gregg’s opening chapter of Quad Squad starts thusly:

The hood was unexpectedly tight and confining. “Has to be,” the tech explained as she worked it over my head. It was much worse than the shell helmet used in the initial training. This must be what it felt like when a circus lion tamer put his head in a lion’s mouth. After years of lying helpless on a bed, as unmoving as a gutted fish, I didn't expect my first reaction to be claustrophobia.

“It will take getting used to.” The tech tugged on a side of the hood. The air tasted of rubber and smelled of ozone from the racks of electronics. “It has to be snug so the electrodes can’t break contact with the scalp. And it holds your eyes shut. The hood cuts off sight and hearing and provides all of your sensory inputs, blocking out distractions. Your mind is forced inward.”

The isolation hood was stretchy and had to be worked over my head, bit by bit. Pulling it on was aided by slimy, sour-smelling grease. The consistency reminded me of the silicon window seal goo that came in a tube.

“Alien snot.” The technician smiled reassuringly as she worked the hood over the stubble of my skull, the hood alternatively sliding and stopping. “It’s electroconductive and keeps the interface computer in communication with your brain. Close your eyes,” she instructed. “You won’t be able to shut them later.” As she tugged and pulled, I heard other beds being wheeled in. My new squad mates. Quadriplegic squad mates. A first group session.

I turned this page

Story questions got to me, along with good writing and a confident voice. The opening description of the character lying there like a gutted fish was striking and interested me in this person. And then the closing line about his new squad mates.

However, I do think this could do with a little less process on the opening page. I would shorten it so I could include this paragraph after the current last one on the page. This was taken from the second page.

It was ironic that the Army recruited people hopelessly ruined in accidents or paralyzed by incurable problems. Brains of the new ultimate fighting machines. An army of quadriplegics. A brain hooked up to military hardware. The big brass never tired of telling us we were ultimate warriors.

For me, this sets up an interesting new world that I’d like to explore. Notes on the original page:

The hood was unexpectedly tight and confining. “Has to be,” the tech explained as she worked it over my head. It was much worse than the shell helmet used in the initial training. This must be what it felt like when a circus lion tamer put his head in a lion’s mouth. After years of lying helpless on a bed, as unmoving as a gutted fish, I didn't hadn’t expected my first reaction to be claustrophobia. I cut the line about the initial training because it refers to something I know nothing about and doesn’t really mean or ad much, and I think the lion tamer line that follows is much stronger. I liked the last line a lot. Visual, emotional, and it characterizes. Nicely done.

“It will take getting used to.” The tech tugged on a side of the hood. The air tasted of rubber and smelled of ozone from the racks of electronics. “It has to be snug so the electrodes can’t break contact with the scalp. And it holds your eyes shut. The hood cuts off sight and hearing and provides all of your sensory inputs, blocking out distractions. Your mind is forced inward.” This is a little on the info-dumpish side—surely he would have heard all this before. I’m cutting pieces to tighten the pace and make room for the paragraph I’d like to include.

The isolation hood was stretchy and had to be worked over my head, bit by bit,. Pulling it on was aided by slimy, sour-smelling grease. The consistency reminded me of the silicon window seal goo that came in a tube. RE window seal goo, I’d consider a reference to something that might be more familiar, especially to women. Isn’t this a thick ointment, sorta like heavy duty Vaseline? Or maybe rubber cement?

“Alien snot.” The technician smiled reassuringly as she worked the hood over the stubble of my skull, the hood alternatively sliding and stopping. “It’s electroconductive and keeps the interface computer in communication with your brain. Close your eyes,” she instructed. “You won’t be able to shut them later.” As she tugged and pulled, I heard other beds being wheeled in. My new squad mates. Quadriplegic squad mates. A first group session.

The cuts were enough to get the first two lines of the extra paragraph on the page, which includes the intriguing phrase, “an army of quadriplegics.”

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 Carolyn—would you turn the first page?

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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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

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Carolyn’s opening chapter of Marvin’s Money starts thusly:

When the dogs started raising Cain out front Bess went straight to the front door and peeked through the lace curtains. Time was she would have just thrown the door wide open without looking. The dogs carrying on like that meant company, and used to be company was always welcome at River View. But times had changed, and now she always looked first. The young man standing on the front porch looked harmless enough. He was dressed in ragged jeans and a tee shirt, his thin face showing his fear as he glanced back over his shoulder at the hounds. He was about 16, barely driving age, Bess thought. She figured he most likely turned off on the wrong road and got lost.

She opened the door and ordered the dogs into silence. The boy stepped inside, slipping past Bess without so much as an ‘excuse me’. Then he pulled the screen door closed, leaving the dogs outside whining in frustration.

“They don’t bite,” Bess assured him, “they’re all bark”

The young man thrust his hand into the pockets of his worn jeans, jingling change with his fingers as he stepped further into the room.

“Are you here by yourself, Ma’am?” Bess didn’t like that question, the hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle with unease.

I turned the page

 

Like Bess, there was that prickle of danger ahead caused by this guy’s behavior. You know me, though—I think it could be tighter. Notes:

When the dogs started raising Cain out front Bess went straight to the front door and peeked through the lace curtains. The dogs carrying on like that meant company, and used to be company was always welcome at River View. Time was she would have just thrown the door wide open without looking, but . But times had changed, and now she always looked first. The young man standing on the front porch seemed looked harmless enough. He was dressed in ragged jeans and a tee shirt, his thin face showing his fear as he glanced back over his shoulder at the hounds. He was about sixteen 16, barely driving age, Bess thought. She figured he most likely turned off on the wrong road and got lost. I moved that sentence to make the information proceed more logically. And then tightened the result—the phrase “time was” lets us know that things are different now. I changed the second "looked" to avoid the echo.

She opened the door and ordered the dogs into silence. The boy opened the screen door and stepped inside, slipping past Bess without so much as an ‘excuse me’. Then he pulled it the screen door closed, leaving the dogs outside whining in frustration. Clarity issues here. She opened the door, but not the screen door. I felt that needed to be shown. And for him to do that without being invited increases the tension because this is not normal behavior.

“They don’t bite,” Bess assured him, “they’re all bark”

The young man thrust his hand into the pockets of his worn jeans, jingling change with his fingers as he stepped further into the room. “Are you here by yourself, Ma’am?”

Bess didn’t like that question, tThe hairs on the back of her neck started to prickled with unease. The first sentence is "telling," and the next sentence shows us that. Using ”started to” is one of those hesitations that isn’t necessary. Let’s go ahead and get those hairs prickling. I also thought that the reader will understand how she feels in this circumstance, so "with unease" was an explanation we don't need.

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—get the word weeder out

From the Words section of section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells: “Weed out weak, wasted, and wrong words.”

It’s a cliché, it’s a truth: Every word counts. Reading and imagining and experiencing your narrative is a cumulative process. Meanings and usage add up, bit by bit, into gestalts that insert what’s happening to the character into your reader’s mind.

Weak words fail to deliver vivid pictures and actions—do you want that? Waste words take up space and slow the pace—and are among the first discouraging things a professional spots. Even worse, wrong words, words used in an incorrect way, confuse your reader and take them out of the story, not to mention costing you credibility and suspension of belief. Yet the manuscripts of novice writers are filled with just that. Here are some of the worst offenders.

-ing

Let’s start with half a word. “Inging,” over-use of the present participle, frequently slows pace and mushes meaning. More often than not, “ings” should be “eds” for crisp writing.

She was polishing her glasses as she searched for the right words. I think this is passive and slow to create a picture in the reader’s mind. Much more to the point, and quicker to create a picture, is:

She polished her glasses as she searched for the right words.

Examples from samples I’ve received:

The rain was turning into snow as they drove. (turned)

Dylan was circling the cabin. (circled)

Joanne was hoping that she would get to see her family skiing. (hoped, ski)

Bob was getting more and more nervous. (grew)

“No,” the heavy woman said, rummaging through the shopping bag she was carrying. (carried)

Lulu was feeling tipsy. (felt)

There are times, though, when “ing” (for me) helps convey an ongoing process. For example, consider “Thinking of his face, she hesitated.” versus “She thought of his face and hesitated.” For me the first version puts a thoughtful look on the character’s face and creates a pause in whatever she’s doing, and the second version is just action.

some

A waste word, a verbal habit something like the “uh” many people use in speech. A few examples (I almost said “some,” but that was so vague); see how cutting the “somes” costs nothing yet makes the sentence crisper.

Married women always wore some bangles around both their wrists.

Do you have some pressing business?

My big band attained some modest local fame and national press.

There was some movement as the crocodiles attempted to steer clear.

She had some packing to do.

Some tantalizing smells were wafting towards them from across the river. (and let’s change were wafting to wafted)

He had to have some new tires installed.

very

Another waste word.

William was one of very (the) few who knew. (not needed)

I want the very best students. (redundant—best is best)

Mr. Simpson has been very eager to meet you. (there are no degrees of eagerness—redundant)

. . .in the very coldest part of winter. (redundant—coldest is coldest)

They were very hungry. (starving or famished are more specific, more effective)

During lunch she becomes very quiet. (redundant—quiet is quiet)

of

In my first novel a reader picked up on a habit I had of overusing “of” as in, “He emptied his pot of coffee.” I used my word processor’s search tool to hunt for “of” and found many that I could change to either a possessive or use an adjective, e.g., “He emptied his coffee pot.” This may seem mindlessly simple to you, but I found lots of places to tighten my narrative, which helped with pace and clarity.

eyes

This is an example of improper usage. Many writers use “eyes” when what they really mean is gaze, or glance, or stare. Some examples in which I take the usage to the next logical step:

Her eyes were on the floor. (Luckily, no one stepped on them.)

His blue eyes bored into her. (And then blood gushed from the two holes in her belly.)

She felt the woman’s eyes searching for her. (It tickled when they slid across her face.)

His tired eyes land on me as he glances around the room. (Then they drop to the floor and roll under the couch.)

My eyes follow the headlights. (I ignore the wrenching pain when they leave their sockets.)

Roger kept his eyes on the road. (He realized his mistake when the ice cream truck ran over them.)

Fire up your word processor, open your manuscript, launch the search tool, and type these weak, wasted, or wrong words in the Find what: box and go hunting for opportunities to make your narrative stronger and sharper.

For what it’s worth

Ray

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© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Ian—would you turn the first page?

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.

---

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

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Ian’s opening chapter starts thusly:

I can see the fox quite clearly, his nostrils quivering slightly as he picks up the scent of something just ahead of him. He lifts his head higher, refining his search. Otherwise there’s no movement in the heat blasted air, just the sand shifting beneath the pads of his feet.

The sky is white, the burning circle of the sun chewing up the clouds. The fox moves up the dune with a slow, certain gait, his tawny coat perfectly camouflaged against the backdrop of the mountains.

I swoop down. The fox and I are now one. His eyes are my eyes, his legs are my legs, our hearts beat to the same regular rhythm. Together we move across the crest of the dune, our feet kicking up the sand. There’s some sort of building below, probably a deserted farm-house, one of several that lie like the bones of dead animals, gradually rotting back into the earth. We pause for a moment, watching the scene through narrow eyes. The smell is stronger now. Pungent. We haven’t eaten in days. Our stomachs are growling on empty. We move down, following the scent.

The building is just beyond the small hill to our left. The house, with the sand lapping around its sagging timbers, exerts a strange, compelling power. Hunger overcomes fear. We push open the battered front door and shuffle down the dark corridor, the feeling of dread growing within us.

I turned the page

It’s mysterious, I’m interested in how or what whoever the narrator is manages to be in the mind of a coyote. And I wanted to know what happened next. Nice writing, clear voice. But, as usual, there are things to point out, mostly in the realm of adverbs.

I can see the fox quite clearly, his nostrils quivering slightly as he picks up the a scent of something just ahead of him. He lifts his head higher, refining his search. Otherwise there’s no movement in the heat-blasted air, just the sand shifting beneath the pads of his feet. Quivering is, by nature, a “slight,” small movement, so the adverb is redundant. To the reader, “the scent of something” is the equivalent of the scent of nothing since nothing is explained, so this adds unnecessary words and slows pace. I’m not sure about “heat-blasted air,” but am willing to live with it. If he lifts his head, it will be higher, right?

The sky is white, the burning circle of the sun chewing up the clouds. The fox moves up the dune with a slow, certain gait, his tawny coat perfectly camouflaged against the backdrop of the mountains. Are the mountains tawny? Most mountains, if in the distance, look sorta blue. Mountains also bring to mind images of slopes covered with green forests. Is this in the desert? There’s a lack of clarity in this description for this reader.

I swoop down. The fox and I are now one. His eyes are my eyes, his legs are my legs, our hearts beat to the same regular rhythm. Together we move across the crest of the dune, our feet kicking up the sand. There’s some sort of building below, probably a deserted farm-house, one of several that lie like the bones of dead animals, gradually rotting back into the earth. We pause for a moment, watching the scene through narrow eyes. The smell is stronger now. Pungent. We haven’t eaten in days. Our stomachs are growling on empty. We move down, following the scent. Rotting, by nature, is gradual, so the averb is useless here. About this smell or scent: we later learn that it is fresh blood. A hunter like a coyote would, I think, recognize what that smell is right away. Withholding the nature of the scent isn’t consistent with the coyote. Also, I think it would increase the suspense and tension of the reader knew that the smell was of fresh blood.

The building is just beyond the small hill to our left. The house, with the sand lapping around its sagging timbers, exerts a strange, compelling power. Hunger overcomes fear. We push open the battered front door and shuffle down the dark corridor, the feeling of dread growing within us. I think the description of the location of the house, hill, etc. is just not needed and is a touch of overwriting. "Strange" is one of those "telling," conclusion words that doesn't actually mean much in the way of description.

Nice stuff, Ian. The chapter ended suspensefully and left me wanting more.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

Tweet

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—the yin and yang of adverbs

Sorry about no post today (Wednesday). Traveling and had no access. Back on the air Friday.

From the Words section of section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells: “Adverbs: good? Bad? Yes.”

Here’s a simple-minded example of one of the reasons adverbs can be the bane of writing for effect. This is fundamental stuff, and I don’t mean to insult you…I just want to contrast effect to info. A story starts with this:

Jimmy walked slowly across the cluttered room.

Simple information. I see, fuzzily, a guy walking. Not very fast (but I can’t really picture it). There’s stuff in the room (but who knows what).

The effect? Not much. No clear picture comes to mind. First thing to do: ditch the verb/adverb combo and choose a verb that evokes a picture, at the least, and at best characterizes the action. If, for example, your story is suspense, then how about…

Jimmy crept across the cluttered room.

Better. Here are other possibilities, depending on the story:

• In a fight scene, Jimmy would have lunged across the room.
• If Jimmy is a dancer, then he glided.
• Make Jimmy a burglar and he skulked.
• If Jimmy is in no hurry, then he ambled.
• If Jimmy is in a hurry, then he dashed.
• If Jimmy has been over-served at a bar, then he weaved. Or maybe he tottered, or staggered, or lurched, or, my personal favorite, sloshed.

Each of those verbs evokes a picture of Jimmy’s body moving in specific ways. They are “visual” verbs that created a specific effect in your mind.
Stimulus > response.

There’s another bit of lazy writing in the example sentence—the adjective “cluttered.” It did nothing to create a picture. At the very least, we should see what the room was cluttered with, e.g.:

Jimmy crept across a room cluttered with shrunken heads.

Ooooo. See how specificity stirs up story questions? Don’t you want more? What about the room? Is it dark? Any smells? Sounds? Is anyone else there? What about characterization? Put on Jimmy’s skin and…

He was glad that the light of his candle was dim—all those tiny faces staring up at him were entirely too creepy. He set a foot down and winced at a crunch. He froze, listening for sounds of renewed pursuit. But only the scurrying of rats troubled the air, musty with the dust of the dead.

Rats?

Oh, fine.

Let’s get back to adverbs. There’s a reason adverbs rob you of effect.

Adverbs are telling

I believe that adverbs that modify action verbs are merely a form of telling. They are abstractions of action, pallid substitutes for the real thing, mere stand-ins. As a result, they rarely give the reader much of an experience. For example, one of my clients wrote,

She grinned mischievously.

Now, the average reader would take that in, plug in some sort of vague image, keep on rolling and never realize she had been cheated—but she was. There’s a much more lively and concrete picture to be created in the reader’s mind. For example:

She grinned, mischief sparking in her eyes.

In the original, because you have to interpret “mischievously” (what, exactly, is that?) the effect is to evoke an unsure image of a grin. In the second, you see a face in action: lips curve, you see a grin, you see eyes, you see playful activity behind those eyes. All that from four extra words chosen for effect. Or, hey, what about something like this…

She grinned like a fox that had just found the keys to the henhouse.

The third example goes beyond word choice to tap into meaning and characterization beyond a simple visual.

Watch out for adverbs in dialogue tags

Many writers use adverbs to explain dialogue rather than show how the dialogue is delivered. For example:

“This is my dialogue,” he said hesitantly.

That’s lazy use of an adverb. You could say something like. . .

He hesitated, then said, “This is my dialogue.”

But that’s not precisely what “said hesitantly” means, is it? There would be a hesitation in there somewhere. Wouldn’t it be more effective if we dramatized the hesitation so the reader experienced it rather than read about it? For instance, let’s show it this way:

“This. . .” He swallowed and glanced at her face. “. . . is my dialogue.”

Go on an adverb hunt and replace them with the action they only hint at and you’ll be writing for effect.

But not all adverbs are bad guys

I was reviewing one of my manuscripts the other day and spotted, gasp, an adverb. Here’s the sentence:

She saw Murphy, like a big, round boulder parting a stream of girly secretaries cramming in a buzz of noontime shopping—except this boulder stared blatantly at their bobbing chests as they passed.

“Stared blatantly?” Damn. Another case of making an adverb try to do the work of real description. To be fair, this was from my first novel, written several years ago, on the lower slopes of my learning curve.

In this case the answer lay, as usual, in the verb. I swapped out “stared blatantly” for “leered.” Much better, giving a clear picture with fewer words. While I was at it, I tightened the sentence a little, too:

She saw Murphy, like a big, round boulder parting a stream of girly secretaries cramming in a buzz of noontime shopping, leering at their bobbing chests.

And then I came upon a pair of adverbs in one sentence…

He found Emmaline to be annoyingly cheerful but pleasingly proficient.

But these adverbs worked for me. Wait, I thought, how come they seem right when I’ve preached loud and long to avoid adverbs? Then I noticed that these modified adjectives rather than verbs.

Good cholesterol and bad cholesterol?

There was a time when we believed that all cholesterol was bad. Then we learned that there is good cholesterol and bad cholesterol.

Well, I changed my position that all adverbs are suspect, if not bad. I think there are “good” adverbs, the ones that add just the right flavor to an adjective, enhancing it with a more complete shade of meaning.

Consider the sentence describing Emmaline. Could I have achieved what I wanted, which was to give insight into one character’s feeling and attitudes toward another, without the adverbs?

He found Emmaline to be cheerful but proficient.

Nope. I’ve lost how the viewpoint character feels about Emmaline’s personality.

I went on a search for other adverbs (using Microsoft Word’s Find tool to locate “ly” in words).

Her fair cheeks fetchingly reddened by the cold, she looked no older than a teenager.

Yep, for me this works as well. It would have been okay to write. . .

Her fair cheeks reddened by the cold, she looked no older than a teenager.

. . .and you would have gotten a picture. But take “fetchingly” out and you lose the point-of-view character’s reaction to the girl’s cheeks. With the addition of the adverb to this adjective, you also get the character’s experience, i.e. his emotional reaction to the appearance he sees—fetching, attractive.

The pattern I was discovering seemed to be that adverbs are a positive addition when coupled to adjectives in order to add a point-of-view character’s nuance to what would otherwise be simple description. Another instance from the same manuscript:

He loved the Staffordshire blue-and-white rose pattern, beautifully detailed and botanically accurate right down to the thorns on the stems.

Take “beautifully” and “botanically” out of that sentence and I think it loses both meaning and flavor. Once more:

She changed her disguise to the queenly dignity of a white-haired society matron she’d met in Brussels.

Now, to “show” without the adverb would have required something like this:

She changed her disguise to that of a dignified, white-haired society matron with the manner of a queen, whom she’d met in Brussels.

Not as effective, is it?

Here’s an example taken from a client’s manuscript of a good adverb and bad adverb in the same sentence:

A young waiter with carefully streaked hair smiled suggestively at her.

For me, the first adverb expands the picture of the waiter’s hair by giving a hint of precision in the arrangement of the streaks, which tells me something about him as well. But I’d like to see the second adverb replaced with something more truly pictorial.

When you go hunting for adverbs, it’s when they modify action that you should consider looking for a better verb to do the job, and when they amplify adjectives that you may find adverbs to be good cholesterol.

For what it’s worth

Ray

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© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Guest post: crafting the first page of a YA novel

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Please welcome Tracy Marchini, an editorial consultant and freelance writer who has also worked at a literary agency, a newspaper, and as a book reviewer. She is the author of Pub Speak: a Writer’s Dictionary of Publishing Terms.

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5 Things You Should Do on the First Page of Your YA Novel

1.) Set the scene.

I’m not sure why, but I see many more children’s manuscripts that start with, “My name is (blank).” than I’ve ever seen in adult fiction. And while it does work on the rare occasion, in general I think it sets the stage for an info dump instead of a scene.

On the first page, we should know what time period we’re in (historical versus contemporary), where the character is at that particular moment in time, and what they are doing. Avoid the urge to have the character tell us, “My name is Cathy and I’m sitting in English, which I hate.” Instead, set us in a classroom and show us why Cathy hates English.

2.) Introduce the main character.

Whether you’re writing in first, second or third person, the reader needs to be introduced to your main character. We don’t need to know their entire life story, but we do need to know some basic facts, including their gender and approximate age. We also need to get a sense of their personality.

In young adult fiction, you have a slight advantage in the way you can use clues in the character’s dialogue, inner monologue or surroundings to tell us their age. A senior level executive in an adult novel could be anywhere from mid-thirties to late-sixties, but a senior in high school is generally 17 or 18. To bring us back to Cathy:

“If it weren’t for the fact that one more skip means I can’t cheer for my last homecoming game, I’d be in the parking lot right now with all the other seniors.”

From this line, we know that Cathy is a high school senior, so we can guess that she’s 17/18. She’s a frequent class skipper, values cheerleading more than school, and is probably mid to high on the school’s social ladder. We also don’t hear her as a typical cheerleader–there’s no “OMG’s!” or other bubbly slang. This makes her a little more interesting, because it sets her apart from the stereotypical cheerleader. This one line also helps to set the scene–we know that Cathy’s at school, and probably sitting in a classroom.

3.) Set the tone.

The words you choose will tell the reader a lot about the story they’re about to read. Romance, mystery and contemporary fiction all have a different tone. If the tone doesn’t match the story we’re about to read, it can be jarring for the reader and it may take them out of the story entirely. For example, if we read:

“So I was at the mall today, buying the most gorgeous pair of three-inch stiletto heels with rhinestones up the sides, and then, you’ll never believe what happened! I found a body, gross!”

The reader is immediately pulled out. The statement that the character found a body gives the reader the impression that we’re about to read a mystery or thriller, but the tone is more Clueless than Clue. It’s hard to believe (without adequate background information about the character) that their first instinct would be to focus on the details of their shoes rather than their disturbing find. And it doesn’t seem like this character would be one that would go after the killer.

Ultimately, if the tone doesn’t match the plot of the novel, the reader will have a hard time suspending their disbelief and will start to focus on what’s not working in the story instead of the story itself.

4.) Show your voice.

Sometimes when you’re writing your draft, the voice of the novel doesn’t come through until you’re already a few chapters in. You may also find that the actual start of the novel isn’t the first page you wrote, but three chapters in. Make sure that once you’ve finished your revisions, you’ve reread your first chapter to make sure that it still fits with the finished novel. Make sure it is just as strong as, if not stronger than, the following chapters, and that your voice is consistent throughout.

5.) Set us up for the journey.

By the end of the first chapter, the reader should be asking themselves a question–why does the protagonist hate Jeff? Who stole the notebook? How are they going to save their brother? The first page should put us in a scene that is going to help set up that question.

It may seem like there’s much to accomplish on the first page and not that many words to do it in. But many of these elements work hand-in-hand. The way you describe your character will also set the tone for the piece. What the character thinks is important is going to illuminate their future journey. If you’re still having trouble with your first page, reread the first pages of your favorite YA novels, and look at how the author accomplished the five things above.

Happy writing!

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Visit Tracy on her blog and on Twitter as @TracyMarchini. Pub Speak: a Writer’s Dictionary of Publishing Terms is available in Kindle and other ebook formats.

Many thanks for your insights, Tracy.

Ray

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Flogometer for Elizabeth—would you turn the first page?

But first, a reminder of why we’re doing this.

Literary agent Kristin Nelson does a workshop in which a writer reads aloud from the opening page of a manuscript. Kristin simulates what happens when she reads submissions at her agency by saying “stop” when she would not have continued reading. She then explains why.

In her most recent workshop, only one entry made it past page 1. For the majority of the rest, she said stop after the first 2 paragraphs.

The first 2 paragraphs.

On a happier note, I received a note from a reader named Julia who apparently got well past the first two paragraphs of We the Enemy. An excerpt from what she had to say,

"I devoured We the Enemy. At one point I was reading in bed with a headlamp on so as not to disturb my mate while I read until 2 in the morning. Perhaps the highest praise I have for the book is that it made me (and continues to make me) think about the nature of our justice system and struggle internally about the complex justice vs truth vs legal system conundrum. I also think it would make a great summer blockbuster political thriller!"

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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.

---

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

---

Elizabeth’s opening chapter of The Lost Soul of John Armytage Cooper starts thusly:

Spook was behind one of the boarded-up shops, still ferociously kicking the broken body that had, only ten minutes before, been a living, breathing human being.

A short, stocky lad, he was powerfully built with thick neck and enormous biceps that strained at the cheap cotton fabric of his t-shirt. His clothes were spattered with blood, his Doc Martens soaked in it. He wiped his bloodied hands on his jeans, pulled a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, lit one and took a long, slow drag. He was slightly out of breath, nothing more.

Then he saw them, three of them, standing in the shadows, watching. At a rough guess they were his own age; seventeen, eighteen; tall, especially the one in the long leather coat, the one in the crombie slightly shorter, the one in the parka shorter again. Even he was a good three inches taller than Spook, though. Still, they were weedy, thin and pale; not a problem.

‘Tosser asked for it.’

They nodded; said nothing.

He walked towards the main road. They fell in behind him. At the crossing, he checked over his shoulder. They were about ten metres behind, staring straight at him. If he’d had more time, he’d have taken them all on. He didn’t have time, though; had to get his stuff (snip)

I turned this page

I wanted to know what was going to happen with this nasty character. It looks like there’s trouble ahead for him, and I want to see him get it. Good writing and voice, too. But this could be tighter, crisper. Notes:

Spook was behind one of the boarded-up shops, still ferociously kicking the broken body that had, only ten minutes before, been a living, breathing human being. “ferociously kicking” is an example of a lazy bit of description, using an adverb to do the job. Look for a stronger verb that pictures the violence better—thought-starter: “still slamming kicks into the broken body…etc.”

A short, stocky lad, he was powerfully built with thick neck and enormous biceps that strained at the cheap cotton fabric of his t-shirt. His clothes were spattered with blood, his Doc Martens soaked in it. He wiped his bloodied hands on his jeans, pulled a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, lit one and took a long, slow drag. He was slightly out of breath, nothing more. While there’s nothing wrong with the description that I cut, I deleted it because it doesn’t contribute to the story. This is a disposable character. It simply doesn’t matter what he looks like. At this point, a reader will be picturing a generically sized male who is strong and fit enough to beat someone to death. That’s all they need. This guy’s size doesn’t matter in a story way, in any significant sense. Later, he can’t toss off one of the three who pins him to the ground, and that works, but it doesn’t need this description of size to do so.

Then he saw them, three of them, standing in the shadows, watching. At a rough guess they were his own age; seventeen, eighteen.; tall, especially the one in the long leather coat, the one in the crombie slightly shorter, the one in the parka shorter again. Even he was a good three inches taller than Spook, though. Still, tThey were weedy, thin and pale; not a problem. Same thing here. It just doesn’t matter that they were three different heights, or that they are taller than Spook. Not a whit. Cutting this extraneous description keeps the pace up and lets you get more compelling narrative on the first page.

‘Tosser asked for it.’

They nodded; said nothing.

He walked towards the main road. They fell in behind him. At the crossing, he checked over his shoulder. They were about ten metres behind, staring straight at him. If he’d had more time, he’d have taken them all on. He didn’t have time, though; had to get his stuff (snip)

Here are the lines that could have been on the first page with the trimming noted above (well, I also cut a paragraph of description from this, too).

in the wash before the old woman came home and started asking awkward questions.

He walked along the alley between the gardens, relaxed but alert. As he turned the corner he saw two of them waiting at the end; a right pair of dickheads, standing directly under the streetlamp. He retraced his steps.

Less than a second later his back hit the tarmac, hard, knocked the air clean out of his (snip)

So, what do you think?

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—flashbacks

From the Technique section of section of my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells: “Flashing back.”

Flashbacks are risky. You chance losing readers (like me) who really, really, really want to know what’s going to happen next which, if you’ve done your job, is exactly what they should be interested in.

When should you use flashbacks, if at all? Editors and agents see scores of manuscripts with openings slowed to a halt by the weight of flashbacks and explanatory exposition.

Some say to never use them, and that’s possible. But there are times a flashback can enrich a story, adding depth and meaning that would otherwise not be there. There are times when, without knowledge of the past, a character’s actions will seem unmotivated, and thus not credible.

So when and how do you use flashbacks? I advocate using them only when the knowledge revealed in the flashback is absolutely critical for understanding what’s going on in the story’s present. Beginning writers need to be tough on themselves here. They’ll feel like a reader needs to know things about a character that, truthfully, are not necessary for understanding the NOW of the story. It’s the NOW that readers want to be immersed in.

Another reason for flashbacks is necessary characterization—an example is coming right up.

We pause for notes on how to create a flashback that works.

1. Weave it as seamlessly as possible into the action. Words such as “remembered” and phrases such as “thought of the time when” are bright red flags that signal to many readers that coming soon to a page near them is a part to skip. Transitions are key.
2. Make the flashback a true scene with action, dialogue, tension, and all the storytelling elements that you use to keep a reader engaged. Avoid telling a past event, show it (unless it can be done in one brief, crisp paragraph). Readers want to experience what’s happening, not just receive information. A good flashback, for the moment, becomes the “now” of the story.

Here’s an example of slipping from the present to the past and back in order to give the reader necessary information about a character. Note: in the story, lledri refers to an energy these people can manipulate like magic.

Graeme had been so full of life the day they strolled through Central Park . . . if only she hadn’t said, “I thought the Met’s new sculpture exhibit was excellent.”

Graeme had shrugged. “Perhaps.” He gestured at the people who plodded through the park. “But there’s little else of excellence from that sorry race.”

Ailia’s contrary side had reared its head at the unfairness of the bias against the lessi that Graeme inherited from his father. “There’s plenty of good in them, and you know it.”

“I do not.” He surveyed the people around them. Dozens wandered, for it was a sunny day. “See their colors, Ailia. Is there kindness or good will anywhere?”

She had looked, and the lledri auras around their heads writhed with the nasty burgundy of hostility, the bilious color of lies, the ash-violet of depression, and the bruised red of violence. That, of course, only served to rally her resistance. “Perhaps not here, not now, but there are many good-hearted lessi.”

He made an exaggerated moue and said, “A wager?”

She picked up the gauntlet. “Yes.” She pointed down a curving walk. “I say we’ll find a worthy lessi that way.”

“The stakes?”

She ran her hands over her breasts and down her belly.

Oh, that smile of his. He said, “It’s a bet.”

She congratulated herself on her good luck when they came upon a woman pulling a two-wheeled shopping cart; her aura radiated a rosy gold, the rich hue of caring. Perhaps sixty years old, the woman was stout, anchored to the earth like an oak tree. She stopped before a trio of homeless men who sprawled on ragged blankets.

When she opened a brown paper bag from her cart, Ailia caught the aroma of bologna. The woman took a sandwich from the sack and handed it to one of the men. He sat up and attacked the food.

Graeme spread his arms in surrender, lifted his gaze to the heavens and said, as if to a higher power, “Why have you once again given Ailia victory over your poor servant Graeme?”

She poked him in his ribs and said, “I believe you owe me.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m ready.”

His body let her know that he was indeed ready. Her pulse had quickened, and she had wanted to take him by the hand, find a cluster of bushes, cast a shadow illusion for concealment, and make love. But she had pushed away and said, “If we’re so advanced, we should help.”

Oh, if only. . .

He had laughed, and then put on a thick French accent. “But of course, ma cherie.” Stepping to the woman’s side, he gestured to the sack of sandwiches and said, “May I?”

She smiled and nodded, and Graeme took a sandwich from the bag and thrust it at a whiskery man whose bristles made him look like a wild boar.

The boar man scrambled to his feet, digging into a pocket. Too late Ailia saw in his aura the acrid tornado of colors that meant madness. He pulled a knife from a pocket, flicked it open and thrust it into Graeme’s chest. Graeme collapsed as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Ailia had dropped to her knees beside him and plunged lledri into his chest to heal the wound with touch—but his heart had been sliced almost in two. There was no way she could mend him. She had looked into his eyes and seen terrible fear . . . and then an even more terrible absence.

If only she hadn’t . . .if only. . .

The “if only she hadn’t” bookends the flashback to ease you into the past and back to the present. Connective tissue such as this can help move your reader into and out of a flashback and help tie its meaning to the story.

This example, brief at it is (just two manuscript pages), expands the reader’s understanding of why the character is depressed and suicidal, yet it has conflict and tension.

Later, to deepen the reader’s understanding of the other primary protagonist, this novel uses a mini-flashback to plant the seed for a longer one that added to characterization later. First, the mini-flash:

Gabe had never found a word for what he saw when people lied. Aura? But it wasn’t a glow so much as streaming sparks of translucent, luminescent color that he could “see” even with his eyes closed. He’d never heard of anyone else seeing them. People would probably think it was a good thing, being able to tell when people lied. But he hated it. He’d felt . . . outside since he was seven and perceiving the color of lies in action had cost him his best friend.

The character’s feeling of not belonging is a powerful motivator for later action, and this brief glimpse needed expanding—but not at this moment in the story. The full history wasn’t needed for understanding, but his ability to use lledri needed to be introduced and explained, along with planting the seed for a flashback that later expands the experience that motivated his feelings.

His son has inherited his ability, and the effect on the boy resembles autism, which is something the father needs to understand. So, eighty-five pages later, when the other protagonist says to him, “You know the effect that possessing this ability can have on a child, don’t you?” this is Gabe’s response:

Oh, yeah, Gabe knew how seeing a weird color in the air can affect a kid. In second grade, he’d seen Marty Simmons swipe an oatmeal cookie from Heather’s lunch sack. It was scorched on the bottom like all the cookies Heather’s mom made. When Heather noticed Marty eating it, she accused him of taking her cookie.

He had told her his mom had baked cookies yesterday and that Heather was crazy—and a nasty greenish color had flickered around his head. Gabe studied the other kids at the table as they watched Marty tell his lie. Their eyes never shifted and they never reacted to the color swirling around Marty’s head, not even when Heather started to cry.

They just couldn’t see it. Gabe had decided he wasn’t crazy because he knew what he saw was true, but he felt . . . outside, as though he was across the room from everybody else. Gabe had wanted to ask his mother about it, but he’d been afraid she would look at him in that scared-angry way that said he was nuts . . . strange . . . weird.

Soon he’d had no friends, and it wasn’t until his mother moved and he changed schools that he was able to make himself pretend he was like everybody else and be friendly again.

Both the “mini flash” and the longer flashback were tied directly to the action in the scenes, and the longer one briefly summarizes a scene complete with action and conflict.

My advice: keep flashbacks to a minimum, and avoid, if at all possible, launching into one within the first few pages of your story. A flashback in the wrong place can be a momentum-killer.
For what it’s worth

Ray

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© 2011 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer for Suzanne —would you turn the first page?

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.

---

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

---

Suzanne’s opening chapter of The Rogue King starts thusly:

Koral looked up through the glass panel in the roof. The combined light of four moons made it difficult to see the stars with only a scant few bright spots able to punch through that pallid glow. Which of the bright points, out of the hundreds he knew were truly out there, belonged to the alien creatures raising him? They’d come from another world, somewhere beyond the moons and the twin suns. At least that’s what he’d been told. From a planet they called Earth.

“Excuse me.”

He spun at the words, sighing with the knowledge he’d been found out. How did she always manage to move so silently on metal flooring?

“Get your tail back to bed, mister.” Amelia stood in the doorway, hands on hips. She was considered short by the men, who weren’t much taller than she was. He had recently surpassed all of them height-wise and their last scans promised he would grow further still.

“Tell me another story,” he said, giving her a smile that, usually, let him get his way.

“Very well,” she said with a sigh, a glimmer of humour in her green eyes. “I suppose, seeing that it is your birthday, I can be lenient. What one shall it be?”

The battle won again, he dove under his bedcovers and waited while she tucked him in. “I want to hear about the space ship.”

Yes, but almost no

Good writing and voice, an interesting character, good story questions—all those got me to turn the page. The little bit of doubt I had was the lack of tension. This opening led to about 7 pages of well-done exposition and backstory, a long introduction to this world. This is not atypical of science fiction novels.

But, still . . . as I do with submissions, I read ahead. I came to a passage that would have had me turning the page in a flash. It starts later in the story, and some of that backstory would have to be woven in later or as things happened, but I would suggest that Suzanne take a bold step—do a “save as” on your computer, cut the stuff before what I’ll show you below, and see if you can open this story here and carry on without too much exposition. Here’s the part I found filled with tension—readers, what do you think?

“He’s a monster,” Kyle said, clipping each word. “We can’t let him live. They’d kill us if they knew he wasn’t pure.”

Koral inched closer while the man spoke, shuffling on his heels in an effort to keep his claws free of the metal floor. The hand he extended towards the curtain shook. He knew the man didn’t like him, he’d thought it was perhaps a soldier thing, that anyone who’d spent a long time defending his people would be loath to extend friendship to others. Never had he thought that aversion would go as far as the man wanting him dead. And why now? He’d never given any of them a single reason to distrust him.

“A monster,” Amelia echoed wearily, as if they’d had this conversation before. “And how shall you do it, my dear sergeant? Smash his head open with a rock? Strangle him?” Her cheeks glistened in the dull candlelight, eyes shining with unshed tears. “As gentle as he is, he won’t let you touch him if he thinks you mean ill.” Arms folded over her breasts, a small smile, proud yet sad, curved her lips. “You’ve more chance of drowning a man in the middle of a desert than harming my Koral.”

“How many times must you be reminded that he is not yours?” he growled. “You were nothing more than a vessel.”

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

Tweet

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 Terry—would you turn the first page?

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.

---

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

---

Terry’s opening chapter of The Gift of Death starts thusly:

The gators fed at dusk.

I showed up early, but not suspiciously early, and pulled my car behind the Escalade. The isolated house on stilts resembled some of the crab shacks on the Causeway, a shack that could handle a couple hundred guests.

Most Saturday nights, even this early, the parking area would be half full, and by midnight, cars would be searching for spots all the way along the drive that banked down to swampland. Saturdays, Duncan's place was party central, and the late-comers to the party weren't thinking of sleeping alligators or snakes.

Drugs made you invincible. In Duncan's case, they made you rich, and if not invincible, arrogant enough to think you were.

He was certainly arrogant enough to think he was going to kill me.

I stood, staring up at the big house, and the Why? puzzled me almost as much as the How? Then Duncan appeared at the near side of his house, wearing a tent-sized turquoise shirt covered with white sharks and carrying a heavy green garbage bag.

He must have heard my car crunching the gravel, but he gave no notice and shuffled along the terrace to a spot where a fresh towel had been nailed to the railing, and a crude wooden table sat just past it. He heaved the garbage bag to the table, and the bag flopped over and pieces (snip)

I turned the page

I like the voice and the writing, and there were enough story questions raised that I wanted the answer to. However, since I did read on (and found an even more interesting chapter, quite well done), I think this opening could be better. There’s also a bit of a logic problem that I’ll point out to Terry. Notes:

The gators fed at dusk. I like this.

I showed up early, but not suspiciously early, and pulled my car behind the Escalade. The isolated house on stilts resembled some of the a crab shacks on the Causeway, a shack that could handle a couple hundred guests. The character is a cop, and I think tension would be increased if we knew that. Is he driving his squad car? That would be a way to show us that he’s a cop. Terry, there’s a logic problem here—later we learn that Duncan, the bad guy, expected the hero at dusk. But here the narrative says he’s early. But he’s not.

Most Saturday nights, even this early, the parking area would be half full, and by midnight, cars would be searching for spots all the way along the drive that banked down to swampland. Saturdays, Duncan's place was party central, and the late-comers to the party weren't thinking of sleeping alligators or snakes. Technically, cars can’t search for a spot. Suggest “partiers” or “customers” or something else. I like the inclusion of sleeping gators and snakes; increases the sense of danger.,

Drugs made you invincible. In Duncan's case, they made you rich, and, if not invincible, arrogant enough to think you were.

He was certainly arrogant enough to think he was going to kill me. Good tension-inducing piece.

I stood, staring stared up at the big house, and the Why? puzzled me almost as much as the How? Then Duncan appeared at the near side of his house, wearing a tent-sized turquoise shirt covered with white sharks and carrying a heavy green garbage bag. Our character can’t know whether the bag is heavy or not.

He must have heard my car crunching the gravel, but he gave me no notice and shuffled along the terrace to a spot where a fresh towel had been nailed to the railing, and a crude wooden table sat just past it. He heaved the garbage bag to the table, and the bag flopped over and pieces (snip) I shortened this for a crisper narrative and to get to more interesting things that happen on the next page sooner. The towel plays a role only in that the bad guy wipes his hands on it later, and doesn’t seem like it’s worth including here, at least not in such detail.

Comments, please?

For what it’s worth.

Ray

Tweet

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