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.
- Story questions
- Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)
- Voice
- Clarity
- Scene-setting
- Character
Tony has sent a revision of his opening chapter for Lights Out.
The restless Fenway Park crowd stirred. Danny Hamil retreated behind the mound, rolled the baseball in his palm and fingered the raised seams. The fingers on his pitching hand were turning blue. The cold numbness returned. He hadn’t told anyone yet. Didn’t plan to. He slid his hand into his back pocket and pawed the talisman that the Haitian gave him. Icy sparks tingled in his fingertips like a roman candle. The Red Sox Manager, Art Coley, chased him up the hill. Danny pounded his glove. “I had a hard time getting loose, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Coley, squirted tobacco juice through pursed lips, crossed his arms and planted himself between Danny and home plate. “You lied to me.”
“I’m throwing strikes.”
“One after another,” Coley’s eyes narrowed. “Right down the middle.”
“I’m fine.”Danny didn’t like lying to Coley, but the risk was worth it. He spread his tingling fingers. “I lost the feel for the curve, but I got enough to stay in—get a few more outs.” He needed to stay in the game.
“You’re not fine.” Coley shook his head and tongued the pinch of dip behind his lower lip. “This is Kansas City all over again.” He grabbed the front of Danny’s jersey and pulled him close—so close, Danny could taste his tobacco stained breath. “No games now,” he said. “No bullshit. It’s just you and me.” Danny felt him searching for some sign that he was withholding (snip)
Closer, but . . .
I like Tony’s voice and writing, and the characters are interesting to me, and so is the hint of the supernatural--but maybe that’s part of the problem for this reader; the hint may be too subtle. And there’s an allusion to Danny’s motivation, but then it slides away before giving us stakes that might matter to us. I’m not in favor of “on the nose” storytelling, but I think there could be more bait on this hook that could help pull me in.
Tony is working to strike a delicate balance here--he needs to avoid signaling that this is a “baseball story” and thus turn away readers who just aren’t interested. The way to do that is to emphasize that it’s a character story about a person resorting to magic to save his career.
For me, there's plenty of progress and this opening keeps getting stronger and more focused. Notes:
The restless Fenway Park crowd stirred. Danny Hamil retreated behind the mound, rolled the baseball in his palm and fingered stroked the raised seams. The fingers on his pitching hand were turning blue. The cold numbness returned. He hadn’t told anyone yet. Didn’t plan to. He slid his hand into his back pocket and pawed the talisman that the Haitian gave had given him. Icy sparks of the magic or whatever it was tingled in his fingertips like a roman candle. The Red Sox Manager manager, Art Coley, chased him up the hill. Danny pounded his glove. “I had a hard time getting loose, if that’s what you’re asking.” I used to always include a character’s last name when first introducing him or her, but I’ve realized that it isn’t really necessary and just adds clutter. There are other little details that I felt didn’t contribute. Missing, for me, was a certain sense of the supernatural aspect of this story, so I’ve added a thoughtstarter. Clue the reader in. There was an echo of “finger” from one sentence to the next, so there’s a suggestion to avoid that.
Coley, squirted tobacco juice through pursed lips, crossed his arms, and planted himself between Danny and home plate. “You lied to me.” two comma glitches in first sentence. The style used in publishing calls for the “serial comma” to be placed after the next-to-last item in a series. The first comma wasn’t needed.
“I’m throwing strikes.”
“One after another,” Coley’s eyes narrowed. “Right down the middle.”
“I’m fine.”Danny didn’t like lying to Coley, but the risk was worth it. He spread his tingling fingers. “I lost the feel for the curve, but I got enough to stay in—get a few more outs.” He needed to stay in the game. Right here I suggest that you give us something of why he needs to stay in the game, of the consequences if he doesn’t. What are the stakes?
“You’re not fine.” Coley shook his head and tongued the pinch of dip behind his lower lip. “This is Kansas City all over again.” He grabbed the front of Danny’s jersey and pulled him close—so close, Danny could taste his tobacco-stained breath. “No games No bullshit now,” he said. “No bullshit. It’s just you and me.” Danny felt him searching for some sign that he was withholding (snip) I cut the “no games” line for a couple of reasons. First was clarity--they’re playing a game, so what does he mean about no games? The other is redundancy--the no games and no bullshit say the same thing, no need to repeat. As for the grab, where else would he grab other than the front of the jersey? I cut the Kansas City line because I didn’t think it would mean anything to the reader as there’s no hint of what it refers to. You can use the space to crank up the conflict--either that or make it more specific. For example, what if Coley said instead something such as: You’re about to blow the game just like Kansas City. However, I would prefer a more direct threat to Danny’s need to stay in the game. I could do without tasting the tobacco-stained breath if it gave me room to do the other things this first page needs to do. The breath could come on the second page, for example--it’s a good detail, but here it doesn’t serve to propel the story. I think the first page needs to devote EVERY WORD to compelling the page turn.
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
- your title
- your complete 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.
© 2012 Ray Rhamey