Submissions needed. 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--new: I've added a request to post the rest of the chapter.
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
Heidi sends first chapter for a Regency Romance, Her Endearing Young Charms. The rest of the narrative follows the break. Help the writer with your comments.
A few things bothered Lord Alexander Rochester about the Honourable Miss Merrybelle Hales' story of highway robbery. Quite a few, actually.
He watched her from across the crowded floor of Almack's, a hundred thoughts tumbling through his head, a billion emotions warring in his heart. The spitfire of a girl he knew as a child had grown into a most elegant creature. Oh, the fire was still there, and the love of drama. Even now, she'd drawn a circle of rapt listeners, hanging on her every word.
She and her parents were held up by highwaymen yesterday. They had been waylaid and robbed of their valuables. Sir Phillip Hales had informed Alexander of this that very morning by post. Whereas he'd been expecting news of his ailing father (for they had passed that way), he learned of this instead. That was the first thing that bothered him.
The second bothersome thing: this happened in Lower Bromley, a village beholden to his father, the Earl of Bromley. For this, Alexander blamed himself. He should never have asked Sir Phillip to check on his father, especially seeing that Sir Phillip had been on his way back from visiting his own ailing mother. If he hadn't, the Haleses would never have been in Lower Bromley. This would never have happened.
And the third, most disturbing thing of all? His realisation that he absolutely, positively loved Miss Merrybelle beyond anything he'd ever loved before.
I confess that I don’t feel totally qualified as to what a compelling story question is for a Regency Romance, and whether or not it needs to be on the first page. It may be that lots of set-up and backstory are appropriate. If you have some expertise in the Regency Romance area, I hope you’ll comment.
Still, there seems that this opening could be stronger. Interesting things happen later—not only were valuables stolen in the highway robbery, but the thief also stole a kiss. And Alexander deduces who it is. I suggest looking for a way to condense or skip all the set-up—what do things such as his ailing mother or the other family’s father’s condition matter to the story?—and get to the interesting stuff (stolen kiss, knowing the robber, a vow to get him) on the first page. I think it can be done and this writer can do it. Then the other world set-up stuff can be woven in.
I'd rather see a lively scene with something happening rather than a character just tell us stuff. My advice: even in a Regency Romance make something happen on the first page that affects the protagonist.
The rest of the chapter continues after the fold.
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 include in your email permission to post it on FtQ. Note: I’m adding a copyright notice for the writer at the end of the post. I’ll use just the first name unless I’m told I can use the full name.
- Also, please tell me if it’s okay to post the rest of the chapter so people can turn the page.
- And, optionally, include your permission to use it as an example in a book on writing craft 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.
Flogging the Quill © 2014 Ray Rhamey, story © 2014 Heidi
(continued)
What was he going to do?
The Hales had seen it fit to come to Almack's that evening (it being Wednesday), despite their ordeal.
His gut instinct was to gather up Miss Merrybelle--Miss Hales now, that she was the only unmarried daughter left--and whisk her away from this too-public place.
A circle of young ladies and silly young bucks surrounded her, the glittering center of attention at Almack's. Her eyes shone bright. Her soft lily hands moved in illustration as she told of her and her family's adventures.
Something was different about her tonight. She seemed so fresh, so innocent, so vulnerable--completely lacking in the Town Bronze he'd mistaken on her before. Had the robbery done that? He wanted to gather her up and protect her from the cruelty of the world.
That was quite a change from his childhood attitude. The Hales often spent summers at Bromley Park, the scions of the two families thrown together. Miss Hales and her sisters were just another Bunch of Girls, best avoided by boys. He'd teased her then, and she gave as good as she got.
The next quadrille started, but none of the crowd surrounding Miss Hales dared abandon her and her tale.
It disturbed him. The rest of the ton found it fascinating. He drew near, itching to drag her away from the pressing crowd.
"The sun shone down, illuminating the world in innocence." Her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "We still had some ways to go until we reached London when...
"'Stand and deliver!'" she cried, startling the crowd. A few of the nearer dancers lost their step as they turned to look towards the cry.
Lord Alexander jumped, the hair of his neck standing up. He looked around to see if anyone noticed. He spied one of the Patronesses--Lady Jersey--raise a quizzing glass in their direction. She did not drop it, but continued to study the large knot of young creatures not dancing. Oh no.
Miss Hales continued. "The carriage lurched and the coachman cursed. I've never heard such words!" She managed a maidenly blush. Real, or drama? One could never tell with her.
"Then the door of our carriage was wrenched open and a pistol shoved at us inside." She held up her finger, pistol-like. "We were forced to exit into the dusty road."
Alexander swallowed. The highwayman used a pistol? He'd never heard of a pistol in news of previous Bromley robberies. Where'd he get it?
He looked at the satin gown, pale and high-waisted, that Miss Hales wore this night. Had she the sense to dress warmer yesterday? Granted, today's costume was better-suited to the humid and over-stuffy rooms of Almack's than for travel.
"There were but two of them to our three men, only they had a pistol. We had none, for the footman had dropped his when first assaulted by the highwaymen. One held the bridles of the horses and the second brandished his weapon at us.
"We had no choice but to climb out."
"Oh!" cried one of the young ladies of the ton. Lady Anne Ashton? He hadn't had a chance to make many a young lady's acquaintance. The Season was only a few weeks young. "The brutes, for making you leave the carriage."
"I know!" Miss Hales replied. "He was a vulgar sort, a common villain."
At this, Alexander agreed. But what could he do about it? Something had to be done.
"So he waves his pistol and demands we surrender our valuables."
Miss Hales cast down her eyes and demurred, much to the sympathetic noises of the surrounding young ladies.
Lord Alexander heard a warm voice in his ear. "Eh, wot's this?"
Alexander jumped, startled. A brief flash of a childhood memory flashed through his head at the sound of.
He turned to find his friend George Hales, sporting a big grin and an offer of refreshment. Trust Merrybelle's older brother to come through.
George held what appeared to be a glass of lemonade. One sniff revealed it held something stronger, no doubt smuggled in. The Patronesses strictly forbade any form of alcohol to be served. Prudishness or wisdom, Alexander wasn't sure. He took a gulp to fortify himself. Oh, it burned! He handed it back; George could keep his demmed drink.
George's eyes roamed over to Miss Hales. "What's this, then?" He sipped delicately--something Alexander should have done.
"Your sister's regaling the ton about your adventure yesterday. Is it really as bad as she made out?"
George shrugged. "Caught us napping, they did. Literally." He hung his head in shame. "By the time I woke up, the cove had a pistol on us. Took anything of value, not that it was much." He took another sip of lemonade before offering it again to his friend.
Alexander declined. "Did they get much?"
"No. Pater doesn't believe in carrying much of anything of value when we travel. Now I know why."
A sneaking suspicion nagged at Alexander's conscience. "George, do you remember what the highwayman looked like?"
His friend wrinkled his nose while he thought back. "Not much to tell. They wore cloaks, and kerchiefs over their faces. Common caps, so nothing fancy. The one with the pistol was tall like you, but stockier in build. The other one was skinnier, possibly a lad." George muttered. "Could have taken him out, had they not got the drop on us."
Alexander's heart thumped. He knew someone as tall as he, only stockier, especially who sometimes kept company with a scrawny lad. The lad would have been useless in a robbery; he must have been there only for show. But the main culprit... Alexander's heart grew cold at the thought of him.
George regarded the gaggle of young ladies. "How am I to cut one from the herd so I may have the pleasure of dancing with her?"
"Haven't figured that one out yet, thus my lonely status." Not that he'd given the matter any thought. Lord Alexander hadn't really noticed the other young ladies. His eyes had been on George's sister, and her alone. As children, of all the Hales girls, he'd liked her best.
Her dark curls bounced whenever she laughed. She never worried about hiding her lovely teeth. Her eyes sparkled as she held up her own in scintillating conversation. She moved with grace and her clothes were always impeccable. In short, she was an ideal young lady of Fashion. Amazing what three years of finishing school could accomplish.
And yet there was a solidity, a backbone of steel, one could say, to Miss Hales that the others seemed to lack. While she could simper and flirt her fan and giggle with the rest of them, she did not do it to excess and her conversation lacked the vacuous and thoughtless commentary other young ladies her age had.
Or rather, maybe not her age, for Miss Hales was nineteen, whereas most other debutantes were sixteen, and some fifteen. Too young for Lord Alexander's tastes, but nineteen suited his four-and-twenty years well.
Oh, what a difference a few years made! She'd not come across as a silly young miss, but had proven herself sensible and mature, with an indescribable allure that drew society's moths of all kinds to her flame.
So what was up with tonight?
Miss Hales had dropped to a whisper. Lord Alexander had to lean forward to hear what she said. George gulped from his glass.
Lady Jersey had not dropped her quizzing glass, but frowned through it. Uh oh. Not good.
Torn between wanting to hear the rest of the tale and not wanting to look part of the group, he took one tentative step closer, but turned his side to the crowd and faced the dancers instead. He cursed his empty hands. Why hadn't he kept the glass of lemonade to occupy himself?
Miss Hales had clenched her hands before her. "I thought we'd given him all we had, which I confess was not much, for who wears jewels while travelling? Then he pointed to my little silver locket and said, 'I want that!'"
To this, all the young women gasped in great horror. "Oh no!" one of them cried. "Oh, Miss Hales! You worked so hard on that one."
"I know."
At this, Lord Alexander turned to look at her. The disappointment in her voice sounded real. Had the highwayman stolen something with great personal meaning? It's funny how the seemingly littlest trinkets could hold such value to a woman. They were terribly fond of their trifles.
"What choice did I have?" she continued. "It wasn't worth a bullet to the head. I shall have to make another."
"Ooh," squealed yet another debutante. "Did they flee after that?"
All the others leaned in closer. Miss Hales had them eating out of her hand. How could one person have so much power over so many silly little girls?
"No," she answered. "There was one more thing left to steal."
They all gasped as one. Even George leaned closer, not daring to miss the end of the tale. Lord Alexander took a step in.
"When all we had on our persons had been placed in his rucksack, he lifted my hand. I had thought he was to take off my glove to see if I had secreted away any rings. But no, he took my hand. It was then, he stole," she drew in a breath, "he stole a kiss."
The entire group of girls cried out as one, covering their blushing cheeks with their hands, turning away and fluttering open their fans. A few even threatened to faint.
"I say!" George exclaimed. "Putting it on a bit thick, en't she?"
A rushing of jealousy filled Alexander's ears, drowning out the noise about him.
He kissed her?
He kissed her!
A tight little feeling grabbed his heart and squeezed until it hurt. How dare he kiss her!
It was then Miss Hales looked up. For a moment, their gazes met. A small frown creased her brow. Lord Alexander couldn't bear it. He broke contact and turned away.
Just then, Lady Jersey made herself known. "You young ladies are depriving many a worthy gentleman of dance partners. Disperse. Please."
The majority turned and hurried away, chastened.
George immediately bowed to the flustered young lady by his side. Ever the opportunist. She gratefully accepted his invitation to dance.
Meanwhile Lady Jersey turned to where Miss Hales had been standing, but she had departed quickly, silently during the confusion. When had she escaped, and why hadn't he noticed?
Thus, Lady Jersey's wrath fell upon him. She shooed him away with her fan. "Dance. Now."
Lord Alexander found himself obligated to partner a young lady to whom he had not yet been introduced in the next quadrille, much to the young lady's later embarrassment.
She did not dare speak to him as they passed through their steps, and probably assumed his own silence was mere propriety. His mind was not on propriety, but on Miss Hales. He did bow and thank the child for the dance in the end and did bid her escort (whomever that was--he didn't know) that he would be honoured to make her acquaintance, et cetera.
And then he quit the dance floor, for how could his feet keep time when his thoughts were whirling through his head.
And thus he came to the fourth thing that bothered him about Miss Hales's story of highway robbery. It was her reaction to the kiss.
While most of the story seemed exaggerated for the benefit of the audience, he saw very well how her countenance changed when she described the kiss. Her mask of drama had fallen away, leaving her soul very bare. Her pulse had beaten against the lily-white skin of her throat and her eyes softened.
She'd enjoyed it!
Lord Alexander's imagination ambushed him. He could not rid his head of the image of a certain dark-swathed highway man, his cloaks flowing in the breeze, drawing Merrybelle close to him and lowering his face to hers...
He shook his head and bolted from the dance floor.
Unfair! He had only just found the best lady of the Season, had every plan on wooing her properly (none of this procuring Special Licenses or fleeing to Greta Green!) and what happens?
She is won over with a stolen kiss.
By a highwayman! And not just any highwayman. The worst man Alexander had ever the misfortune to know.
Of all the improper things.
Alexander found himself at the refreshment table, halfway through a glass of undoctored lemonade, but in the mood for something stronger. Where was George now, when his friend needed him?
He slowed down his anxious gulping and grabbed the nearest slice of dry cake. Alas, all the tables and chairs in the dining room were occupied, so he set off to the balcony, where the darkness of the night might give him the excuse to be alone and work out what had just happened.
Being early in the Season, the breeze was extremely brisk. He'd left his greatcoat in the cloakroom. Ah well. The coldness guaranteed his solitude. That's what he needed to think.
Now, many carriages passed through Bromley Park and Lower BromleyVillage to reach London, but few of them bothered stopping, not when they were so close to their goal.
So what was it about these three that led to their being targeted?
A bitter thought crossed his mind. What if they'd stopped at the Boar's Head?
That would explain much. The fifth disturbing thing of her tale made his head spin and spots appear before his eyes.
Alexander knew who the highwayman was. He'd taken a great many things from Alexander when they were young.
And now, he was stealing Miss Merrybelle Hales.
Bastard!