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
Rachel sends the first chapter of Messenger to the Gods. Please vote—the feedback helps the writer.
An intrepid maggot flopped out of the dish. Bored by its squirming, she snatched it up, savouring the abrupt crunch of its demise.
Her movement lured the lantern bearer closer, an outstretched arm holding his body distant, ill-defined in the gloom. Wrapping her teeth around him would produce a more satisfying crunch.
Not yet… Feeble light tingled across her skin, trickling slowly into torn, aching limbs.
Feeding her maggots, he brought the nourishing lantern.
Playing with his interest, she nurtured his ignorance.
Soon his foolish scheming would benefit one of them.
Soon she would be free.
Mya ran sweat-dampened hands over her arms, as her breathing slowed. While always vivid, her dreams often brought poignant sensations and joy. Yet she always awoke to cramped, painful arms and the urge to react against some undefined terror. She closed her eyes against lingering disquiet and burrowed back under the blanket.
Hasty footsteps sounded on the stone steps to her turret. She sat up and glared at the eleven-year-old bundle of energy that skidded into the room.
“How many times have you been told to knock?”
Nope
While there's some nice writing here, for me there’s just not enough of something to latch on to. The dream sequence isn’t clear enough as to who or what “she” is—certainly doesn’t sound human, yet the person who wakes is. The waking isn’t clearly shown. Finally, though, there were no story questions raised for me other than what was that thing in the dream, and it didn’t compel a page turn.
I looked later in the chapter for possibilities and found something that might work. I’ve created a little scene-setting and then the narrative that I found (trimmed). See what you think of this alternative. Following the second poll I’ll give some editorial notes on the original.
Mya answered the summons to the castle great room, where Staff bustled around a large table laden with food, the clatter of dishes bouncing off stone walls. Grith stood quietly, taking in her arrival, his smile stilted. Where was the trusting, laughing smile she had grown to appreciate? “Mya,” he said, his smile more genuine now. “Your uncle has found you.”
“My uncle?” Mya rejected the memories that surfaced. They made no sense. Her family was dead, even her grief a distant memory.
As a strange man turned towards her, she floundered. It was Nythra, his jarringly coloured robes swirling around him. “Mya, sweetling, it has taken me a long time to find you, but not so long that you could forget me. Now I have found you, you can come home.”
Almost silently she mouthed, “Home?” This was home, this Greathouse, these people. Nythra did not belong here, he … he was gone, left far behind. “No,” she whispered, turning. Nythra grabbed for her arm. “NO!” she repeated.
The doors were closed. The cold metal of the heavy handles pressed into her hands. The latch jangled discordantly with the blood pounding in her ears.
Benit’s surprised face faded from memory as she pushed past him, racing to the safety of her turret. A flash of rational thought swung her towards the front door.
Gravel crunched under her feet as she sprinted down the carriageway. Swerving into the (snip)
Notes on the original:
An intrepid maggot flopped out of the dish. Bored by its squirming, she snatched it up, savouring the abrupt crunch of its demise. Maggots look to me like worms, so I don’t get where a crunch would come from.
Her movement lured the lantern bearer closer, an outstretched arm holding his body distant, ill-defined in the gloom. Wrapping her teeth around him would produce a more satisfying crunch. What does “an outstretched arm holding his body distant” mean? Whose arm is holding his body? Do you mean that he holds the lantern away from his body, his arm outstretched? That would make sense, but that’s not what the narrative shows.
Not yet… Feeble light tingled across her skin, trickling slowly into torn, aching limbs.
Feeding her maggots, he brought the nourishing lantern.
Playing with his interest, she nurtured his ignorance.
Soon his foolish scheming would benefit one of them.
Soon she would be free. Free from what, where? The lack of place in this sequence gives me no context, no environment to imagine/see.
Mya ran sweat-dampened hands over her arms, as her breathing slowed. While always vivid, her dreams often brought poignant sensations and joy. Yet she always awoke to cramped, painful arms and the urge to react against some undefined terror. She closed her eyes against lingering disquiet and burrowed back under the blanket. There’s no sense of awakening, of a transition from the dream. Echo of “always” in adjacent sentences.
Hasty footsteps sounded on the stone steps to her turret. She sat up and glared at the eleven-year-old bundle of energy that skidded into the room.
“How many times have you been told to knock?”
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Free sample chapters—click here for a PDF
“If you're thinking of writing a novel, put this one in your shopping cart and read it before you start. 'Flogging the Quill' is filled with advice on improving your writing and story telling, but the difference is numerous examples showing you what works and what doesn't. A bonus near the end is ten 'workouts.' These are samples of writing for you to review, critique, and edit. 'Flogging the Quill' is that rare how-to book that tells you what to do, shows you how to do it, and then gives homework to develop your writing and revising skills.” Anderson
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