Submissions invited: If you’d like a fresh look at your opening chapter or prologue, please email your submission to me re the directions at the bottom of this post.
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
Ellen sends the first chapter of The Alligator Purse.
In the café’s dimly lit bathroom, Savannah pulled the pink box out of a crumpled lunch bag. She chewed on the end of the packaging to rip through the plastic wrap. The looped letters on the label offered so much hope and promise, but she could only muster up hesitation. In her solitary world, the implications of a baby were tremendous.
Before she could bring herself to search for answers she wasn’t sure she wanted, she set down the box and checked her pockets. They were empty of money but she found one small cellophane bag with a powdery residue lining the corners. Savannah ran her spindly finger along its inside edges, then closed her eyes and licked the white film.
Letting out a heavy breath, she grabbed the pregnancy test and turned to make sure the bathroom door was locked. She lifted up the tattered edges of her skirt and squatted over the ceramic stool. With one shaky hand on the brick wall and the other holding the plastic wand, Savannah followed instructions for the first time in years. Her amber stream of urine was steady and it didn’t take long to soak the stick.
Reading the pamphlet that came with the test while she waited for an answer proved unhelpful. Savannah focused on the explanation. If two lines appear, you are pregnant. Flipping the pamphlet over, she hoped to find out more. But there was nothing in it about what to do next or how to fix her broken life. She absolutely believed that she shouldn’t bring a child into her (snip)
Not yet
There’s good writing here, but, in my view, too much of it at times as the narrative veers into overwriting. The character seems sympathetic and troubled, and that’s good. But the pace of the narrative, slowed by detail after detail, didn’t gain enough momentum to carry me forward. Getting more into the stakes she faces on the first page would help. As it is, the only story question is whether or not she is pregnant, but we don’t have an idea of what the consequences would be if she is, or if she isn’t. Notes:
In the café’s dimly lit bathroom, Savannah pulled the pink box out of a crumpled lunch bag. She chewed on the end of the packaging to rip through the plastic wrap. The looped letters on the label offered so much hope and promise, but she could only muster up hesitation. In her solitary world, the implications of a baby were tremendous. Even with the extremely detailed description—looped letters, etc.—I had no idea what this mysterious package was. I don’t see why the fact that it’s a pregnancy test was withheld. I suggest that you make this a lot quicker. For example: In the café’s dimly lit bathroom, Savanna pulled the pregnancy test out of a crumpled lunch bag and opened it. The test offered hope and promise, but she could only … etc. That’s what’s important, not the look of the logo or how she opens it.
Before she could bring herself to search for answers she wasn’t sure she wanted, she set down the box and checked her pockets. They were empty of money but she found one small cellophane bag with a powdery residue lining the corners. Savannah ran her spindly finger along its inside it edges, then closed her eyes and licked off the white film. Using “spindly” is a little step out of point of view—most folks don’t think about their body parts that way unless they are focused on them. There’s a little clarity issue about the white film—was it on her finger, or in the bag? I added “off” to try to give a better picture, hoping that the reader will think of the finger.
Letting out a heavy breath, she grabbed the pregnancy test, and turned to make sure the bathroom door was locked. She lifted up the tattered edges of her skirt, and squatted over the ceramic stool. With one shaky hand on the brick wall and the other holding the plastic wand, Savannah followed instructions for the first time in years. Her amber stream of urine was steady and it didn’t take long to soak the stick. The last sentence was more information than we need.
Reading the pamphlet that came with the test while she waited for an answer proved unhelpful. Savannah focused on the explanation. If two lines appear, you are pregnant. Flipping the pamphlet over, she hoped to find out more. But there was nothing in it about what to do next or how to fix her broken life. She absolutely believed that she shouldn’t bring a child into her (snip)
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
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“I'm a writer want-to-be working on my first novel. I've read four creative writing books and I think that Ray's book has been the most helpful and easiest to understand.” HMS
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 for your turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
© 2013 Ray Rhamey