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.
A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.
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
Mike has sent his opening chapter for Wizard Rising (a working title for the second book in a series). There are two polls on this one.
Black magic smells like nothing else. It’s worse than the oily smoke of a rancid grease fire overlaid with the tang of decayed meat. It wraps around and layers the tongue like a thick paste of ashes and motor oil. Its evil would have triggered his gag reflex if it really were a smell.
Sig walked along the middle of a narrow, cracked asphalt road. Parked cars and pickups lined both sides. Beyond the vehicles on his left, a row of scraggly trees defined the fence line guarding a cornfield. On the right, past the moat of a drainage ditch, stood a whitewashed wooden building rising to a sharp steeple and sporting stained glass windows. The smell emanated from there. It’s wasn’t the first evil to hide within a religion.
Grampa Thor strode along the road next to him, metal cane tip clacking. Oblivious as always to the sensation Sig experienced.
They turned up a warped and fractured concrete walkway in need of the gentle ministration of a jackhammer. The organ music and singing they had been hearing jumped in volume when the side door to the church popped open. A large woman with salt and pepper hair and skin that rarely saw the sun bustled toward them with raised hands. “Stop. You can’t come in. Unbelievers are not welcome,” she trumpeted over the noise from inside.
Grampa Thor tilted his head and squinted at her. “Ma’am, no disrespect intended but you don’t know us. Why do you say we’re unbelievers?”
Yes, but . . .
Good, clear writing and a good voice were inviting positives. The first two paragraphs provoked story questions strong enough to get me to turn the page, but I have to add that I found things on the second page that I wished could go on the first. Specifically, these lines, or part of them:
Evil radiated toward Sig, from the woman or from behind her. Each malevolence carries a distinct sensation. Sig hadn’t encountered this one before. He nodded at Grampa and began to step around.
She sidled in front of him to block his progress and hissed, “I command you to go away.” Her eyes glowed crimson before dimming back to sparkling blue.
For me, that raised the tension by creating jeopardy for the protagonist. I think room could be made for much of this with some judicious editing. I think some of the scene-setting could be reduced in the interests of adding tension. Let’s see:
Black magic smells like nothing else. It’s worse than the oily smoke of a rancid grease fire overlaid with the tang of decayed meat. It wraps around and layers the tongue like a thick paste of ashes and motor oil. Its evil would have triggered his gag reflex if it really were a smell. I really like the idea of black magic having a smell. I don’t think I’ve encountered that before. A good use of a sense not commonly associated with magical fare.
Sig walked along the middle of a narrow, cracked asphalt road. Parked cars and pickups lined both sides. Beyond the vehicles o On his left, a row of scraggly trees defined the fence line guarding a cornfield. On the right, past the moat of a drainage ditch, stood a whitewashed wooden building rising to a sharp steeple and sporting stained glass windows. The smell emanated from there. It’s wasn’t the first evil to hide within a religion. while seeing the pastoral setting is nice, things like the drainage ditch don’t add much and do slow the pace.
Grampa Thor strode along the road next to him, metal cane tip clacking. Oblivious as always to the sensation Sig experienced.
They turned up a warped and fractured concrete walkway in need of the gentle ministration of a jackhammer. The o Organ music and singing they had been hearing jumped in volume when the side door to the church popped open. A large woman with salt-and-pepper hair and skin that rarely saw the sun bustled toward them with raised hands. “Stop. You can’t come in. Unbelievers are not welcome.” she trumpeted over the noise from inside.
Grampa Thor tilted his head and squinted at her. “Ma’am, no disrespect intended but you don’t know us. Why do you say we’re unbelievers?” Although this is good stuff and so was the exchange that followed, including her recognition that one of them was a wizard, I would sacrifice its presence on the first page to include the above lines, and then come back to this part.
I looked at the original and found that more would need to be cut to include the lines I like. The edited version would go something like this (remember, some material has just been shifted).
Black magic smells like nothing else. It’s worse than the oily smoke of a rancid grease fire overlaid with the tang of decayed meat. It wraps around and layers the tongue like a thick paste of ashes and motor oil. Its evil would have triggered his gag reflex if it really were a smell.
Sig walked a narrow, cracked asphalt road. Parked cars and pickups lined both sides. Ahead stood a whitewashed wooden building rising to a sharp steeple and sporting stained glass windows. The smell emanated from there. It’s wasn’t the first evil to hide within a religion.
Grampa Thor strode next to him, metal cane tip clacking. Oblivious as always to the sensation Sig experienced.
Organ music and singing jumped in volume when the side door to the church popped open. A large woman with salt and pepper hair and skin that rarely saw the sun bustled toward them with raised hands. “Stop. You can’t come in. Unbelievers are not welcome.”
Evil radiated toward Sig from the woman or from behind her. Each malevolence carries a distinct sensation. Sig hadn’t encountered this one before. He nodded at Grampa and began to step around.
She sidled in front of him to block his progress and hissed, “I command you to go away.” Her eyes glowed crimson before dimming back to sparkling blue.
What do you think? An improvement, or leave it alone?
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