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
Holly has sent the opening of a short story titled A Great Evil,.
It was silent in the office for several seconds and then Mary Cassatt said, “I’ve never seen this video.”
“Are you up to it?”
Mary didn’t answer.
Jillian Varela looked at her. The human body is a remarkable instrument, efficiently repairing many serious injuries to body and mind. Although only thirty-two, Mary looked as if she were out of warranty. She was pale and very thin, fragile even, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. Her hair was blonde, patchy in places, and cut very short. She wore no makeup and her black dress looked three sizes too large. It seemed to Jillian that if something didn’t jolt her out of it soon, the deaths of her daughter and husband would mean a very early death for her.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” She moved her hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture.
Jillian pressed play, and a surprisingly clear surveillance video of Westfield Mall/Valley Fair in San Jose appeared on the screen. The camera stayed focused on the Victoria’s Secret store entrance. The time stamp indicated 12:29 p.m. At exactly 12:31, Twelve year old Amy Cassatt and two friends exited the store. Mary’s sharp intake of breath caused Jillian to pause the recording. Mary put her hand to her mouth and nodded. Jillian pressed play. Amy said something (snip)
Yes, with reservations
It was story questions that moved me from page 1 to page 2—this is a tragic situation with a sympathetic victim. I did want to know more. However, there was a clarity issue, and I think the writing could be stronger. Notes:
It was silent in the office for several seconds and then Mary Cassatt said, “I’ve never seen this video.”
“Are you up to it?”
Mary didn’t answer. This could be stronger with description instead of this “telling”—her body language, what she does with her eyes, something. Using no dialogue would show that she didn’t answer, but something visual would be helpful.
Jillian Varela looked at her. The human body is a remarkable instrument, efficiently repairing many serious injuries to body and mind. Although only thirty-two, Mary looked as if she were out of warranty. She was pale and very thin, fragile even, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. Her hair was blonde, patchy in places, and cut very short. She wore no makeup and her black dress looked three sizes too large. It seemed to Jillian that if something didn’t jolt her out of it soon, the deaths of her daughter and husband would mean a very early death for her. I think “looked at her” could be stronger. How about “studied her client”? For me, the philosophical bent of the statements about the human body and out of warranty try a little too hard. I’d be happier with a straight-forward description and getting on with the story. The last line, however, about the deaths of her family, is involving and raised those story questions as well as created sympathy for Mary.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” She moved her hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture. I think the description of her action is stilted. Look for a more fluid way, for example: She waved her hand to go ahead. OR, more simply, She motioned to go ahead.
Jillian pressed play, and a surprisingly clear surveillance video of Westfield Mall/Valley Fair in San Jose appeared on the screen. The camera stayed focused on the Victoria’s Secret store entrance. The time stamp indicated 12:29 p.m. At exactly 12:31, twelve-year-old Amy Cassatt and two friends exited the store. Mary’s sharp intake of breath caused Jillian to pause the recording. Mary put her hand to her mouth and nodded. Jillian pressed play. Amy said something (snip) clarity issue: the piece starts with Mary saying that she’s never seen this video, but here Jillian presses play and the video appears. So what was Mary reacting to earlier? The implication is that she has seen a video of some sort that she hadn’t seen before. I’d look for another way to say “caused …to pause” For example: Mary gasped, and Jillian paused the video.
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