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—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
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
Adan sends the first chapter of One Night in the Hill Country . The full chapter follows the break.
Parked in the shadows of a line of one and two story western style wood buildings, Tara spied the young girl, barely a teen, if that, start and stop to cross the small border town's roughly paved street.
Hesitant. Fearful. Hearing the protestors down the street like a funeral procession.
Yet, hiding it well, thought Tara. Remembering to flick her hair, gaze upward, as if unfazed, walking about. Definitely a girl with her bearings about her. Definitely someone the right age her brother would want. Rolf will be proud of me, Tara smiled.
Down the flat street, dusty as a barren riverbed, just a few blocks down, the immigration rally picked up momentum. In a spurt, bullhorns chanting, it began heading their way.
Tara stepped out and shoved the old pickup truck's door closed. Just loud enough to catch the young girl's attention, yet not alarm her.
Sharp dark eyes, wary, yet unafraid, peered back at Tara. The little girl looked like a Mexican version of a young Shirley Temple. Pixie, full head of curls softening the wide bright eyes. Stretching slightly, Tara mimicked the young girl's practiced motion, also glancing upward, feeling the hot blue sky, unwavering as ice, above them. Peripherally, she saw this set the young girl somewhat at ease. Like a bluster, settling into a breeze.
The child grinned, then hid it, hearing the marchers, a slow motion flood of bodies, now half (snip)
For me, there just wasn’t enough tension to either earn a page turn—although it came close in that department—and to overlook the craft needs. There’s what is to me overwriting, breaks in point of view, and clarity issues. I do think there’s good stuff here and in the rest of the chapter, but the narrative needs to worked with to be more crisp and clear. The rest of the chapter follows--and it suggests a good story might come along. Here are notes on the first page:
Parked in the shadows of a line of one and two story western style weathered wood buildings, Tara spied the young girl, barely a teen, if that, start and stop to cross the small border town's roughly paved street. Not sure what a “western style” building is. Are you thinking of the old buildings we see in Western movies? This bit of over-description, including the texture of the street, slows the action. And part of that is unclear—how does the girl start and stop to cross a street? Do you mean started to cross and then stopped? That would be clear. Words such as “young” and "small" are conclusion words and are relative—a 40-year-is young compared to an 80-something. The “barely a teen” did the job, the reference to young just isn’t needed.
Hesitant. Fearful. Hearing the protestors down the street like a funeral procession. Break in POV—Tara can’t know if the girl is actually fearful and is hearing the protesters. You can use expressions such as an unhappy frown to suggest fear, but don’t tell us. And what kind of a funeral procession is a protest like? I associate protests with shouts and chanting, and funeral processions are silent unless they’re in Louisiana or Mexico, where they can be noisy. The simile didn’t work for me as it is.
Yet, hiding it well, thought Tara. Remembering to flick her hair, gaze upward, as if unfazed, walking about. Definitely a girl with her bearings about her. Definitely someone the right age her brother would want. Rolf will be proud of me, Tara smiled. Hiding what well? If Tara thinks she’s an illegal immigrant and hiding that, then we need more of a clue than a pronoun with no antecedent. The reader needs to know what’s going on. The detail about her brother was tantalizing, but unclear. If there were a little more, something such as “would want her to bring to him,” would strengthen the suggestion of jeopardy or troubles ahead for the girl.
Down the flat street, dusty as a barren riverbed, just a few blocks down, the immigration rally picked up momentum. In a spurt, bullhorns chanting, it began heading their way. The description is trying too hard for this reader. Keep it simple. We know this is a border town, and if it’s hot and dry, it doesn’t make much to signal that. Once again, keep it simple and easy to see/grasp. I’m not wild about “in a spurt” and suggest deleting it and starting with the bullhorns chanting.
Tara stepped out and shoved the old pickup truck's door closed. Just loud enough to catch the young girl's attention, yet not alarm her.
Sharp dark eyes, wary, yet unafraid, peered back at Tara. The little girl looked like a Mexican version of a young Shirley Temple. Pixie, full head of curls softening the wide bright eyes. Stretching slightly, Tara mimicked the young girl's practiced motion, also glancing upward, feeling the hot blue sky, unwavering as ice, above them. Peripherally, she saw this set the young girl somewhat at ease. Like a bluster, settling into a breeze. For me, the description is getting in the way, similes and metaphors all over the place. And saying a hot sky is like ice took me out of the story to deal with the contradictions--I know you're going for stillness, but "hot" and "ice" are the strongest words and lead the reader's thoughts.
The child grinned, then hid it, hearing the marchers, a slow motion flood of bodies, now half (snip) “hearing the marchers” is another break in pov, she can’t know what the girl is hearing. the way to do this is something like: The child grinned, then hid it when a burst of cheers came from the marchers. That shows the girl hearing something, and doesn’t tell us that she has inappropriately.
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 Felpe Adan Lerma
(continued)
the distance from where they stood - the street, otherwise, nearly deserted.
Tara grabbed the kitten through the truck's open window, its eyes wide below the striking white on black starburst on its forehead. Walked directly to the child. Looked back to the crowd approaching the next block, the chorus of protest becoming strident voices, abrupt shouts – Tara giving the young girl the hint she was afraid also – and thrust the wiggling kitten into the small girl's hands, the protestors crossing the intersection into their block.
“Smile,” Tara smiled to the little girl.
She smiled.
“Wave if anyone looks at us.”
Both girls waved. Big sister, little sister, it must have seemed, to the passersby intent in shouting their meaning. Like thunderclaps rumbling away, the marchers passed. The dust settled back where it'd always been. The young girl choked a sob, and flicked a tear, as if clearing an errant strand of hair from her vision.
Silently, she offered the kitten back to Tara.
Tara began walking. “Keep smiling. Talk to me, pretend I am your sister.”
The child reached for and grasped Tara's hand, tugging it.
“Your kitty -”
“You like him?” asked Tara.
“Oh, si -”
“It's yours. If you take care of him.”
The girl nodded.
Tara felt relief. Yes, her brother will be proud of her. Another illegal for them.
Tara gazed down at the girl - staring at Tara's childhood whelp on her arm. Dry and gnarled as the land around them.
“No matter how hard. Or, how much..it hurts...” Tara said, eyeing the wiggly kitten.
But Tara already knew the girl's answer. It was in her gait.
Child-like, she'd pressed the kitten to her chest.
“Si. Con todo mi corazon.”