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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.
Christina sends the first chapter of Mother Mona.
On the airplane from LA to Alaska, Mona locked herself in the bathroom, leaned her head against the cool plastic wall, and cried.
When the flight attendant knocked the second time, Mona put her head next to the door and said, “I’m fine.” To the woman in the mirror, pale and shaking, she whispered it again. “I’m fine ...”
Making her way back to her seat, Mona kept her eyes on the floor between the aisles, her head down, her hand tentatively touching every other seatback for support. Back in her seat, she pulled her carry-on from underneath the chair in front of her, and held it with both arms. Then she unzipped it and touched the little stuffed dog inside. With her hand on its neck, she fell asleep.
At the Anchorage Airport, Mona almost gave the black stuffed dog away to the little Native child in the stroller. The child had been watching her with a quiet intensity that had unnerved her, as she sat at the gate moving her fingers tightly through the curled polyester fur.
The dog was ridiculously soft, a little lap-sized, lifelike thing, with glossy black eyes and grey-tinted whiskers. Waiting to board, she had taken it out of her carry-on; a distraction. A talisman, of sorts. It was to be a get-well gift, a peace offering. But perhaps Beth wouldn’t want it. Perhaps it evoked a memory better forgotten. It was a pathetic gesture.
Nope.
The writing is clean although, for me, there’s some overwriting here too. We open with an immediate scene and a clear sense of a character in distress—but I didn’t find much tension. About the only story questions raised are why does Mona feel so low and whether or not Beth will like the gift. Nothing of any particular import seems likely to happen. I think this is another case of starting the story too soon. The rest of the chapter was exposition and backstory, primarily. I think you need to start when Mona is wherever she’s going and something happens to knock her life into a spin. Notes:
On the airplane from LA to Alaska, Mona locked herself in the bathroom, leaned her head against the cool plastic wall, and cried. Engages me with the character right away, a good thing, and raises a story question.
When the flight attendant knocked the second time, Mona put her head next to the door and said, “I’m fine.” To the woman in the mirror, pale and shaking, she whispered, it again. “I’m fine ...” No need to tells that she says it again when you immediately show us that she does.
Making her way back to her seat, Mona kept her eyes on the floor between the aisles, her head down, her hand tentatively touching every other seatback for support. Back in her seat, she pulled her carry-on from underneath the chair in front of her, and held it with both arms. Then she unzipped it, and touched the little stuffed dog inside. With her hand on its neck, she fell asleep. I felt that the detail cut was detail that didn’t advance the story.
At the Anchorage Airport, Mona almost gave the black stuffed dog away to a the little Native child in a the stroller. The child had been watching her with a quiet intensity that had unnerved her, as she sat at the gate moving her fingers tightly through the curled polyester fur.
The dog was ridiculously soft, a little lap-sized, lifelike thing, with glossy black eyes and grey-tinted whiskers. Waiting to board, she had taken it out of her carry-on; a distraction. A talisman, of sorts. It was to be a get-well gift, a peace offering. But perhaps Beth wouldn’t want it. Perhaps it evoked a memory better forgotten. It was a pathetic gesture. Again, more detail/backstory that didn’t, for me, contribute to story.
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Free sample chapters—click here for a PDF
“As an aspiring author in the Internet age, I thought there was enough information out there in the blogosphere to provide me with everything I needed for my arsenal. Boy, was I wrong. I wish that I had purchased Flogging the Quill months ago. Had I bought the book when I first learned about it, I'm confident it would have saved me a tremendous amount of time and effort in the crafting, writing, and rewriting of my first novel.” Shannon
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
© 2013 Ray Rhamey
There is an often reflexive opinion “out there” that opening a story with a dream is not a good thing to do. Ever.
I’d rather subscribe to the “no rules” rule—there are no rules in writing fiction if what you write works to engage the reader and tell the story. I’ve read dream openings that failed miserably—primarily because they went on for a long time and seemed to be the real story, and then came a rug-pull.
And I’ve seen some that worked just fine. There’s a poll after this:
I
offer here the opening page from my novel, We
the Enemy. The first few lines are a dream. The dream is slowly revealed
through the course of the novel and relates directly to the character’s inner
conflict.
I don't have a poll for this opening page, but please comment if you have a thought.
The young woman laughed and swung the child back and forth.Words came from Jake, but he couldn’t make them out because they were muddied and slow, as if made of molasses.
The woman frowned at him. She pulled the child in and said underwater words that made no sense. The look on her face was angry. Wild.
A nasty mechanical buzz blasted him—his alarm clock yelling at him. Jake groped and turned it off, then realized that he was holding his breath, his jaws clenched.
Why?
As he did every morning, he turned to a snapshot in a plain black frame on his nightstand—Amy in her favorite flowery party dress, forever five years old. He touched the tiny silver crucifix hanging from the frame by its chain. Amy wore it in the picture.
Why could he see her face in the photo but not in his memory? The crucifix glittered, and he couldn’t look at her picture any more.
He swung out of bed and his foot came down on an empty wine bottle. God, his head hurt—the price of self-medication. He scowled at all the damn sunshine coming in the window.
Should he blow off his meeting with the attorney general of the Unites States? After she’d come all the way to Chicago so she could keep the meeting secret? Should he stiff a (snip)
How do you feel about opening a story with a dream? You can make more than one response.
Ray
© 2013 Ray Rhamey
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.
Irene sends the first chapter of A Sari for Miriam.
My family is well traveled. So when the offer came to go to India for three months, I wasn’t fazed at all. It was just what I wanted, but surprisingly my family objected quite strongly. But here I am, on my way six weeks later. Two airports, Miami and Paris, twenty-two hours of flying, and the pilot is finally making his announcement. "Fasten your seat belts.” I jump at the sound. “We will be on the ground in about ten minutes." Here I go. Again. Just diving in and figuring out how later. I obey the pilot's orders and pull my blanket tightly around me. The flight's been cold. I lean back to shut my eyes and take some deep, calming breaths.
"Don't be nervous. Landings aren't so bad."
I open my eyes to my neighbor's voice. He hasn't spoken a word the whole trip. “Oh no, I'm not nervous about landing. I love to fly."
“So what is it?”
I don’t think I’d ask a stranger that question. "For the first time in my life, I'm about to land in India. I'm going to be here for three months. And I'm not…
"That's a lot of sight-seeing."
If you would let me finish my sentence. "I'm not a tourist."
"So you'll be working."
"I'll be teaching and I've never taught before. Truthfully? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Nope
Good, clean writing and a likeable voice with an immediate scene . . . but there wasn’t any tension for this reader. Oh, the character has tension, but with no stakes or consequences as a result of landing in India, there wasn’t any in me. This read so authentically I’m still not sure if it’s a memoir or fiction. The first chapter can be summed up pretty much as person arrives in strange, exotic environment and is often uncomfortable and stressed how well she will do in a teaching job. That’s about it.
There’s plenty of exposition and backstory, but not a lot happens, and there’s no sign of anything that might truly trouble the character—in other words, a strong story question that ought to be here whether it’s a memoir or not. Also, the person she speaks to on the plane doesn’t figure into the remainder of the chapter, so I guess the conversation is just a nice way to deliver some information about the trip. Instead, give me something to worry about other than landing in a strange country. The writing is fine, so I don’t have any editorial notes to offer.
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Free sample chapters—click here for a PDF
“As an aspiring author in the Internet age, I thought there was enough information out there in the blogosphere to provide me with everything I needed for my arsenal. Boy, was I wrong. I wish that I had purchased Flogging the Quill months ago. Had I bought the book when I first learned about it, I'm confident it would have saved me a tremendous amount of time and effort in the crafting, writing, and rewriting of my first novel.” Shannon
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
© 2013 Ray Rhamey
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.
Andre sends the first chapter of A Lion for Lambs.
38.7443 degrees north, 104.8468 degrees west. That is where I was headed. That is where He told me I needed to be.
I checked the digital clock on my car’s tape deck. Bright blue neon numbers flashed a five followed by a four and a three. A countdown if ever I saw one. If the clock on the radio followed suit with the rest of this junker of a car, it was likely off. I had to be sure. Time was no longer a luxury to be wasted. Hours, minutes, even seconds had become as valuable to me as a mother’s milk to an infant.
I checked my watch. Five forty-three, it read. Or was it five forty-four? It seemed the nicer the watch the less information it gave you. The Movado, a gift from my ex-wife and the single nicest thing I owned, came standard with a small silver dish where a twelve would typically be found, followed by a silver hash mark for three o’clock, six o’clock, and nine o’clock…and nothing else. A sorrier indicator of time when exact time was actually relevant, there was none. The burnished minute hand sat somewhere between the six o’clock hash mark and a third of the way to the nine o’clock mark. I growled at it, grit my teeth, and strained my eyes trying to figure out the mystery of the minute hand.
Horns erupted on the road ahead—I had drifted into oncoming traffic. With a gasp I jerked the wheel, swerving my old 89’ Mazda sedan back into its proper lane. The watch, guilty (snip)
Nope
Lack of story questions, thus tension, is the primary culprit. Is the opening page the place to do a rant on the design elements of a luxury watch? There were 10 more pages of what was, in essence, set-up and an attempt to build the character’s sense of urgency as he speeds on a highway—but we never learn why he’s hurrying or what the stakes are.
On the 11th page something does happen that would make me turn the page. I’ve edited it down to the salient elements. See if you think this alternate opening warrants a page-turn.
Look at him. Just look at him; sitting smugly in his cruiser, taking his sweet-ass time running this law-abiding, slightly speeding motorist through his database of wanton criminals! 6:07 flashed on the radio clock.
6:08.
6:09. Could he move any slower?
The cop came to the window. “Sir, I’m issuing you a citation for driving over the posted speed limit. Now I would advise you to slow it down. It doesn’t matter the hurry you’re in, if you get pulled over again, you’ve just wasted all the time you’ve gained, now haven’t you?”
He extended my documentation through the window, but before I could grab it, a loud thump hit the back seat, a thump from the trunk of my car. I forced a smile.
Thump, thump, thump.
He backpedaled, his hand moving down toward his sidearm. “Hands on the steering wheel! Stay right where you are—“
The left side of his face exploded, ripping his ear clean off. My first shot was off target. I over-anticipated the recoil of the .38 caliber revolver I kept between the parking brake and my seat. My next three shots were more centered. I aimed for the name tag pinned to his chest. R. Miller, it read. I wondered what the R stood for?
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Free sample chapters—click here for a PDF
I am not a fan of most writing books because they all seem to say the same things. "Show, don't tell." "Create believable characters." "Keep your plot interesting." Rhamey doesn't just tell you what to do, he shows you with concrete examples and a humorous touch. I learned more from this book than I have from all the other books on writing I've read so far combined. Writing Mom
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
© 2013 Ray Rhamey