Flogometer for Scott—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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Scott’s first chapter of Haktaw Heart starts thusly:

Something isn’t right. I don’t know…I can’t explain it, but I’ve felt it for the last hundred miles. Nothing’s happened. I’m just uneasy. Not anxious, anxiety is for the weak and I am not weak. It’s more like I am being watched, like someone is looking over my shoulder. I’ve even turned around twice, to see if someone’s hiding in the backseat. No one is there. Of course, no one is there. I shake off the feeling and continue to make my way closer to Taos.

The top’s down. The sun’s out. The day is perfect. How could I not enjoy this? But I’m not enjoying it because the feeling is still there. I’m not going to…I won’t look. I‘ve checked the back seat and I ‘m not going to look again. My blood sugar is probably low; that would explain the weirdness. Only another twenty miles and I’ll be in Taos. I can get a Coke and a bite to eat. Coke fixes everything.

Something rustles in the backseat. I jerk my head around to find a piece of paper trapped in the space above the floorboard surfing the wind currents. Damn it. I reach back and wad the paper into a ball so it won’t fly out.

When I turn back around, she is right there on the side of the road. I catch her in my peripheral vision. She flashes by in an instant. Had I turned my head around only a second later I would’ve missed her. My foot goes directly to the brakes and I crane my head around. She’s gone, but her image still hangs in my head. She was naked. Her skin was scraped and covered with dirt. (snip)

I passed, but . . .

First pages show you what to expect for the rest of the story. In this case, while the writing is clean and the voice good, the first three paragraphs were a bit of a slog—throat-clearing. The only reason for the third paragraph is to motivate the guy not noticing the girl earlier—not needed. Overwriting. The first two paragraphs tell you his state of mind, but, frankly, I didn’t find it interesting—nothing happening.

Instead of a line edit—there wasn’t much to pick at, though there are some nits—I’ll offer instead what I think would be a stronger opening. This starts with the last paragraph (edited a little) that was on the first page and continues with what followed for a total of 17 lines. See what you think.

She is right there on the side of the road. She flashes by in an instant. My foot goes directly to the brakes and I crane my head around. She’s gone, but her image still hangs in my head. She was naked. Her skin was scraped and covered with dirt. She looked as though she’d been in a fight. Tiny, she couldn’t have been any older than fifteen: dark hair, dark skin, and blood on her lips and chin.

I pull over but the road’s empty. Not possible…I just saw her. The hillside is rocky and barren. There’s no place to hide, not even for someone so small. I get out of the car and walk to where she should’ve been. No one. Ok…so I’ve had hallucinations before, but none since I’ve been sober. I’m fairly sure this was not a hallucination. The image was vivid, too concrete not to be real.

Standing alone on the side of the road I feel stupid and exposed. I’m in a vast open space, yet somehow the air smells like an old mildewed closet, a closet that is closing in around me. Just go, there is nothing here, get back to the car. No one is in the backseat, not that I’m checking. You can’t avoid seeing into the back seat when the top is down, not without making a conscious effort not to look, and what would be the point in that?

The road moves beneath me and the air is fresh again, but her emerald green eyes and blood stained mouth are stitched in my mind. This degree of detail shouldn’t be possible given the speed I was traveling and the length of time she was in my sight. What is happening to me?

For me, I would have turned the page with the second opening. Things are happening, a creepy mood is established, and I’m getting hints of character.

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