Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Margaret sends a first chapter of The Lore Keepers.
A handful of dirt-encrusted fingers swatted irritably at the straggle of hair that undermined even a token tribute to tidiness. A tattered sleeve, threadbare along its edges, shifted to the more pressing task of suppressing a sneeze, which would have ended any hope for continued stealth and concealment. It was the disquieting sound of the stable's side door opening that held the boy to the upper rafter as effectively as any mortar could have.
The child balancing precariously on the rough beam was nondescript at best. Of an indeterminate age, and possessing an abundance of hair that overshadowed the features of his face, his small slender build could mislead many into mistaking him for a damsel – only, the stables were not typically the provinces of women.
In many respects his footing was little different from that of the stray dogs wandering in the yard in hopes of finding a forgotten morsel, and as such, he was often the recipient of clouts and kicks from those who considered themselves his superiors. To those who had the power to curb the abuse, his plight went unobserved. If it is true that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, it was not in this wisp of a boy's character to make a sound, not even a whimper. He was as easily brushed away and forgotten as the motes of dust that had been roused in response to his recent furtive movements in the upper reaches of the timber and stone stable.
He was called Paidyn, a designation assigned to him like the tunic upon his back. It was a (snip)
This elegant writing and distant point of view is consistent with what I think of as an earlier form of epic fantasy, though that’s not to say that fine stories are not still written and published in this vein—it’s just not the more active sort of narrative that many have become accustomed to. For readers who like a leisurely read, I think this story will work well. In considering the test put to first pages here at FtQ, this one doesn’t do much of raising a story question. The chapter that follows also takes its time with generous description of the area and the stables (I’ll confess to beginning to skip large parts of that). A story does seem to be in the offing later on, but the role of Paidyn isn’t clear at all—he serves as a way to overhear a plot against the king. For me, this was an “almost” where the voice was strong enough to interest me in a second page—perhaps.
Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Sherry sends a first chapter of Undefeated. The rest of the chapter follows the break.
By the time I hit 16 I'd been playing football for ten years. Two things kept me connected to football. My dad and my hope for a scholarship to a Division One school. Lately, those two things hadn't felt like enough. I'd had enough of football, and really, enough of my dad. And now I suspected my coach would risk anything to win this football season.
Dad had shown up unannounced, as usual, at Nan’s today. Nan is his mother, my grandmother, and I've lived with her most of my life. After Dad divorced Mom, he'd lived all over the place, leaving Mom behind in the cottage on the back of Nan’s property and me behind with Nan. Mom had been too sick with cancer to take care of me. He'd done me a huge favor when he'd left me behind. Today he just happened to be in Kentucky.
We always ended up outside tossing the ball around. Dad never stayed indoors any longer than he had to. Today was a balmy late summer day, just enough breeze to rustle the leaves and control the sweat of playing hard. Late summer in our neighborhood smelled like chlorinated pools and new-mown grass.
“Go out for a long one, Hunter,” Dad said as he threw the football. Blasting in the background was Dad’s latest CD from his band, not bad if you like pop rock in the nature of Maroon 5.
I caught that long throw and a few dozen more before Dad said, “I'm going on the road (snip)
Once again, we see good writing and a good voice, but no story question raised. There’s exposition and backstory here that, while some contributes to character, none seems to contribute to story. The actual story later in the chapter seems to be about the protagonist’s concern about doping on the football team. Here’s an alternative opening using material from the next page.
By the time I hit 16 I'd been playing football for ten years. Two things kept me connected to football. My dad and my hope for a scholarship to a Division One school. Lately, those two things hadn't felt like enough. I'd had enough of football, and really, enough of my dad. And now I suspected my coach would risk anything to win this football season.
Dad had shown up unannounced, as usual, at Nan’s today. Nan is his mother, my grandmother, and I've lived with her most of my life. After Dad divorced Mom, he'd lived all over the place, leaving Mom behind in the cottage on the back of Nan’s property and me behind with Nan. Mom had been too sick with cancer to take care of me. He'd done me a huge favor when he'd left me behind. Today he just happened to be in Kentucky.
We always ended up outside tossing the ball around. “Go out for a long one, Hunter,” Dad said.
“Did you ever get tired of football, Dad?”
“Hell no, best time of my life. Don't you let anything get in your way. College football is golden. You'll be big man on campus, all the women you want…”
“It's different now, they expect you…” I said, before he interrupted me. I wanted to tell him my suspicions about Coach dosing players.
“You just do whatever your coaches tell you to do, you hear me. Whatever they tell you, they're the boss, no questions asked.”
What do you think? For me, it introduces conflict on more than one level.Would the opening page be stronger with this content on it?
In traditional print books there are usually pages of “front matter.” For Indie authors, here’s a useful article from PW Select, a publisher’s digital magazine, on what front matter consists of and where it goes.
On the other hand, I’ve heard some say that with ebooks they’re putting the front matter at the rear of the ebook in order to give their book the best chance of capturing a reader’s interest with the story, not book information. That makes sense to me—with a print book it’s easy to quickly flip to the first page of chapter one, but with ebooks that takes laborious scrolling.
Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Elizabeth sends a first chapter of Ace. The rest of the chapter follows the break.
Winning was all that mattered now.
Fife kept her fingers busy. Flicking the pages would bring too much attention, so she traced the leather cover instead. If they stopped for a moment her fingers would hold her nose... or begin to shake uncontrollably. She wanted neither.
They smelled like animals herded into a pen. Well, technically it was the Administration Room. It didn’t matter what you called it, though, the names all meant the same. Fife’s personal favourite was The Gauntlet. She was stuffed in the corner of a largish hallway with yelling students all around her. Calling them bloodthirsty might be taking it a little too far, but still, The Gauntlet’s name fitted rather nicely.
“Form two lines, in alphabetical order according to first name.”
Fife slammed A Collection of Fairytales closed. She jumped to her feet too fast and black dots swam into her eyes. She elbowed through the crowd, ignoring the glares shot from behind. She really didn’t need a headache now. It could sabotage everything.
She took her spot in the line. With arms folded she rocked on her heels and wished, not for the first time, that her name wasn’t so close to the top of the alphabet. Not only was there more shoving up here, but she’d have to perform first.
Headmaster Bullwarn faced the first student and Fife glanced to the entrance. Some of (snip)
Good writing, and we’re starting with an immediate scene, which you know I prefer. I think I might have fared better if the scene had been set for me up front. And, for me, this narrative has clarity issues. Not least among them are what I call “information questions” (dealt with in the new book): they are references in the narrative to things that the reader doesn’t and can’t know but that knowledge is key to understanding what the narrative is saying. Lastly, the one kind of question I don’t see is a story question. Maybe it is whether or not she is going to win, but I don’t have a clue as what she’s going to have to do to win or what the consequences of losing are. Notes:
Winning was all that mattered now. Winning what? It would help the reader connect if she knew what was being referred to. I call this an “information question” that often leaves a reader in the dark. What happens to the character if she doesn’t win? What are the consequences, the stakes? What does she desire/fear?
Fife kept her fingers busy. Flicking the pages would bring too much attention, so she traced the leather cover instead. If they stopped for a moment her fingers would hold her nose... or begin to shake uncontrollably. She wanted neither. Unclear as to the antecedent for “they.” It’s her fingers? And they could independently decide to hold her nose? I found this paragraph confusing.
They smelled like animals herded into a pen. Well, technically it was the Administration Room. It didn’t matter what you called it, though, the names all meant the same. Fife’s personal favourite was The Gauntlet. She was stuffed in the corner of a largish hallway with yelling students all around her. Calling them bloodthirsty might be taking it a little too far, but still, The Gauntlet’s name fitted rather nicely.Another antecedent issue: who is the they? I’m assuming it’s not the fingers, but who? And then there’s the “it,” which seems to be a room but she thinks of it as a gauntlet? I don’t think a room can be a gauntlet. The lack of a sense of the scene before we get to this point, of where we are, is limiting my understanding and involvement.
“Form two lines, in alphabetical order according to first name.”
Fife slammed A Collection of Fairytales closed. She jumped to her feet too fast and black dots swam into her eyes. She elbowed through the crowd, ignoring the glares shot from behind. She really didn’t need a headache now. It could sabotage everything. What is “everything?” Is it important to Fife? It won’t be important to the reader unless she knows what “everything” refers to. Another “information question.” If the reader doesn’t know what the words refer to, then they are, essentially, meaningless. Why would you want to have meaningless narrative on your first page?
She took her spot in the line. With arms folded she rocked on her heels and wished, not for the first time, that her name wasn’t so close to the top of the alphabet. Not only was there more shoving up here, but she’d have to perform first.
Headmaster Bullwarn faced the first student and Fife glanced to the entrance. Some of (snip)
the late ones were arriving. The ones with more pluck than necessary. But Ella had none of that. Even Fife didn’t. She bit her lip, and the scab came clean away. She swore quietly and dabbed at it with the sleeve of her blazer. The blood slowed a little, but not before dripping onto her pants.
“You seem bent on massacring you lips,” Fife started at the soft voice, “You will get marked down for that if you are not careful.” Ella stared at her, a box cradled in arms. Two thin brown plaits hung down her front, tied with red ribbons.
“Who do you think drove me to such insanity? You show up moments before you are kicked out for being late,” Fife said. She raised an eyebrow at the box, and her tone lowered, “Finally?”
“Yep. I was late finishing it. I’m sor-”
“Forget it,” she said. Fife figured she’d been too harsh, but there wasn’t time for niceties.
Ella poked her arm beneath the lid and fumbled for a moment, “Here it is.” She passed a bundle of black fabric to Fife. She didn’t bother eying it over. If she stopped to take a look, Headmaster Bullwarn would too.
“Thank you,” she murmured, tucking the costume beneath her arm. Ella took her position in front of Fife and they both faced blankly ahead. Fife was in certain danger of smiling as she noticed the other girl’s head barely came to her shoulder. She was too young for this stuff. So it had been a fair deal.
“Do you think I’ll do ok?”
“Yeah, I taught you what I knew.”
“But what if I don’t dance right during the performance?”
Fife spoke so her lips barely moved. “You will be fine, Ella. You danced well during our morning practices.”
Those practices had been Fife’s only human contact during the last semester. She would have evaded people entirely had it not been for the gain she had got from her end of the bargain. Ella had no talent in performances whatsoever, just as Fife couldn’t raise a needle without pricking herself. Part of her felt concern for Ella’s safety, but she couldn’t allow that. She had enough issues to worry about now without someone else’s. The Electroines would punish them both if they were found to be helping each other.
Bullwarn drew level with Ella. Fife froze up at the gleam of light on the metal bones. His frame was a skeleton, really, save for the blank slab of curved metal that served as a head. But what always unnerved her most was the throbbing heart inside a cage of ribs.
Turned out they were just Controlare officials. But there were enough rumours to make Fife question her sanity about creeping into the Library to practice every night. She’d never gotten used to them.
Then Ella was walking away from her. Fife started forward, but stopped herself as the little girl glanced over her shoulder. The huge brown eyes brimmed with fear. Fife managed a smile.
“Name?” Bullwarn’s voice had risen in case she was deaf. Fife jerked and stared at him. He asked a third time. “Name?”
“Fife.”
“Age?”
“16.”
“Division?”
“Dance.”
“Right. You are admitted.”
“OK.”
Bullwarn had registered the next three students before she remembered she needed to move.
The next corridor ran in huge lengths on either side of her. A corridor before a line of cubicles. Few had been taken, but Fife jogged to its end before selecting the furthest. She slammed the door shut. The floor fell hard on her kneecaps as she buried her head in her lap.
She didn’t look at the black material she dragged it on. She rarely did. Ella had good taste, and a better hand at sewing. She trusted that. When she finally stood with trembling legs, there was a cloak attached to the costume’s wrists as Ella had promised. They draped on either side of her, like flightless wings.
Flightless.
Her stomach had given up flipping. It was too exhausted. It only throbbed now in an effort to keep the vomit from rising.
This wasn’t like before. She’d tried convincing herself otherwise, but now she saw the lies for what they were. Last year’s winner had been carted off to the Controlare. She had no idea what happened to the kid after that, but she didn’t care really. This time she could win. She could leave the Institution, and the Electroines and the others and Ella. She would see the Outside- and the stars she had read about so often.
Because this year she was first ranked.
But her Library would be left here, along with all her books. Fife flipped open A Collection of Fairytales. The inside cover was scrawled with her name. Swarming with it. The shaking hand that had inscribed the words with the ballpoint pen was long gone now. Four years gone.
Fife. My name is Fife.
That was when she remembered her name. But when she read the stories inside she remembered who she was. Until then, all she’d been was a bed full of feverish limbs. She couldn’t leave that book now. Not when it had most likely saved her life.
Even if the costume had no pockets, Fife always crept back a couple of days after her performance to retrieve it. And to mock her fear. But once she won this thing, she’d be taken immediately from the Institution.
Fife looked up from the leather cover. She secured the black mass of her hair with gold wire, and hoped no one would notice her incompetence at hair styling. All she saw now were her eyes. Her left eye blue, her right a searing yellow. She tried to train some form of confidence into them, but gave up with a huff.
They’d all notice. The million pairs of eyes that scrutinized every cell in her body would notice. They would type it all on their little black keypads.
She was about to restyle her hair when the opposite wall of the cubicle swung open. Soundlessly. No one had prompted it. At least, it had never seemed so. Fife stared at the space for a while. She should walk now before she snapped.
But then she saw the mask. It lay on the floor, fallen from the bundle of clothes. Its left side was gold wire. Its right side was blue wire. The opposite of her eyes. Ella had messed up the sides. Fife lifted it to her face, feeling it mould to the curves of her nose and too-stark cheekbones. The elastic fastened with a dull thwack
She looked forward. Always forward. Her feet were lumps of meat as she walked from the cubicle. The room was bare on all sides. All white. Her composure shattered and she glanced over her shoulder.
The door had already closed.
Fife’s bare feet froze on the white concrete. She only felt blank now. Perhaps that was worse. But she didn’t care as she reached for the Grand Theatre’s door. Her fingers moved in fractions, each strain of muscle another quiver, until she felt the smooth wood of a handle under the pads of her palm.
A mechanical voice. A voice incapable of feeling. A voice that knew nothing of this damned performance.
“Fife is summoned to the Grand Theatre.”
Fife lifted A Collection of Fairytales on impulse. She’d never kissed anything before, but the word came to her mind with its meaning. Unsummoned. As if she had known it all along.
She kissed the highest branch of the leather tree. Encased with fire. She let the book slip to the concrete. The reek of oldness made her grimace.
She twisted the knob. Every joint in her shoulder strained as she wrenched the door open.
Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Colleen sends a first page of Zondar Apocalypse.
I was hatched on the Planet Zondar in the year of our Lady, 39-trillion 12-billion and 6. (They're still on the Reagonomics Calendar.) Okay, I wasn't really hatched. I just tell that story because it's way less traumatic than my actual birth. I was supposed to arrive like most Zondarian babies do -- by stork. However, the stork got waylaid by an errant superhero flying well above the speed limit, causing an inter-celestial collision that necessitated the dreaded ethereal womb extraction with a fibre-optic chainsaw. Also, the Ob-Gyn was stoned on Kryptonite, and epidurals had been outlawed following the All-Natural She-Woman Revolution.
As harrowing as Zondarian obstetrics are, my birth wasn’t horrific enough to make Mom want to leave her home planet, but Dad was desperate to get the hell out ever since that run-in with the Bustyernards Clan. Good thing politics were shifting. Before I'd learned to change my own diapers, The Grand Lizardess of Zondar decreed that no sporting events shall be televised. Mom, a closet fan of sportshagging, simply couldn’t abide, so we became Earthlings.
We fit in on Planet Earth, despite the sideways looks we got when people saw our pet. Thor was a neurotic rabbit who had the run of the house. Wasn’t weird to us because most Zondarian families have a pet Kangadile slither-hopping about. They're so cute with their beady reptilian eyes and scaly pockets with the beadier eyes of its young peeking out at you, just like a built-in purse dog. Thor wasn’t nearly as cuddly, but we loved him. Unfortunately, so did the gas man, who turned out to be Bustyernards kin.
Okay, here’s one of those first-person narratives that can ignore many of the guidelines for what works on a first page. A fine, tongue-in-cheek voice that romps through a parody of science-fiction worked for me. There is a stream-of-consciousness aspect to this that Colleen may have to be careful with as it can toss in some confusion now and then, as it did for me and the part about the pet. But carry on, this promises to be fun. Just one note:
I was hatched on the Planet Zondar in the year of our Lady, 39-trillion 12-billion and 6. (They're still on the Reagonomics Calendar.) Okay, I wasn't really hatched. I just tell that story because it's way less traumatic than my actual birth. I was supposed to arrive like most Zondarian babies do -- by stork. However, the stork got waylaid by an errant superhero flying well above the speed limit, causing an inter-celestial collision that necessitated the dreaded ethereal womb extraction with a fibre-optic chainsaw. Also, the Ob-Gyn was stoned on Kryptonite, and epidurals had been outlawed following the All-Natural She-Woman Revolution.
As harrowing as Zondarian obstetrics are, my birth wasn’t horrific enough to make Mom want to leave her home planet, but Dad was desperate to get the hell out ever since that run-in with the Bustyernards Clan. Good thing politics were shifting. Before I'd learned to change my own diapers, The Grand Lizardess of Zondar decreed that no sporting events shall be televised. Mom, a closet fan of sportshagging, simply couldn’t abide, so we became Earthlings.
We fit in on Planet Earth, despite the sideways looks we got when people saw our pet. Thor was a neurotic rabbit who had the run of the house. Wasn’t weird to us because most Zondarian families have a pet Kangadile slither-hopping about. They're so cute with their beady reptilian eyes and scaly pockets with the beadier eyes of its young peeking out at you, just like a built-in purse dog. Thor wasn’t nearly as cuddly, but we loved him. Unfortunately, so did the gas man, who turned out to be Bustyernards kin. I became confused here. Is Thor a rabbit or the Kangadile? Thor wasn’t as cuddly as what? A Kangadile? If Thor is a rabbit, why fill us in on what most Zondarians have?
I had the great luck and pleasure of working with a young man named Adam Ratliff on creating a host of award-winning videos when I was with Washington State University. Adam is moving on from the university and I want to broadcast that good news to anyone who can profit from utilizing his many talents: he describes himself as an “adventurous videographer, a tenacious editor, and a creative problem solver.” I can testify that he is all of those things, and more.
I strongly recommend Adam to anyone seeking the highest caliber for their creative work. You simply cannot do better. He has a profound understanding of the marketing and communications job that a video has to do and the talent to shape a video to do it. That talent is enhanced by his high intelligence and wide-ranging knowledge and interests. His portfolio website is here.
Update: Adam has a business creating marketing communications for colleges and universities. Recraft Media is here.
Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Carolyn sends a first chapter of Bellinger Beauty. The rest of the chapter follows the break.
Images of my husband’s dead body flooded my mind as I drove down Placida Road that Florida morning on my way to meet Howard Bellinger,
Throat tight and tears burning in my eyes, I pulled to the side of the road. Shockwaves tore through me as if I’d just received the news.
Two campers found Brett in the woods not far from here. The police had given up looking for his killer. I hadn’t.
A few quick glances out my window showed me Flamingo Mist looked pretty much the same, For every stucco palace with a tile roof, swimming pool and two-acre plot, dozens of trailer parks and cracker box houses sprouted like yard mushrooms after the summer rains. For some reason, the scenery calmed me and I drove back onto the road.
Flamingo Boulevard loomed ahead. I parked at the Elk's Lodge next to a sign listing Square Five and Lulu's Crew, the bands that would be playing for the dinner dances that week. When I stepped inside the two-story stucco building, the smell of fried chicken and French fries reminded me I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
The leather-faced man behind the desk stared at my business card before he stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. “How can I help you Miss Gale or should I call you Zoe?”
“Ms. Gale’s fine. Which way to Howard Bellinger's home?"
Good stuff here, I like the descriptions that give values to what we’re seeing, the voice, and a good story question. Well, it seems like the story question is who murdered her husband. It may still be, but that’s not clear in the chapter that follows, where it turns out that she’s a private investigator being hired to look for a missing college student. Suggestion to Carolyn: let the reader know on page one that she’s a PI. And, if the husband’s death is not the point of the story, then you might want to consider starting later when the current case is begun and if there are any consequences to Zoe for taking the case, etc. Nice work.
Submissions Wanted. 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.
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). Directionsfor 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.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page elements from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. 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. PDF copy available here.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Kelsey sends a first chapter of Blood Walkers The rest of the chapter follows the break.
In the dim candle light of her bedroom, Bryn skimmed her fingertips across the bowl of blood. She muttered an incantation and wherever she touched the blood it turned black. When the entire surface shone like midnight, she dumped it over another bowl filled with flowers. The flowers withered but did not completely shrivel into themselves like last time. They were supposed to turn to dust.
Bryn wiped her hand with a wet rag then flung it across the room.
“By the goddess!”
The clock above her bed chimed a dozen times. It was time for the midday meal in the great hall. Bryn wouldn’t have to hide the failure weighing down on her shoulders with smile since she never had one anyways.
She perched on a stool at the end of a table in the hall and ate her meal in silence.
After lunch Bryn made her way to her mother’s chambers for their afternoon tea. When she arrived her mother was already waiting by a pot and two steaming cups on delicate saucers. The thin cups were spider-webbed with cracks.
Bryn sat across from her mother. She would never be as graceful. Fair skin, dark red hair, such a contrast to Bryn. She imitated the crossed ankles with her own thick ones and folded her hands in her lap, waiting to reach for tea once her mother had.
Nice clear voice and good writing, the scene is set nicely . . . yet there’s little tension on this page and I don’t see a story question. It’s pretty much set-up, as is the rest of the chapter. While you do need to establish the world quickly, do that and raise a story question on the page, hopefully one with jeopardy for Bryn. Maybe give some thought to the First-page Checklist (PDF copy available here.)
By the way, later in the chapter it appears that she runs away, but that is not motivated at all and left me confused. Might give some thought to that. Notes:
In the dim candle light of her bedroom, Bryn skimmed her fingertips across the bowl of blood. She muttered an incantation and wherever she touched the blood it turned black. When the entire surface shone like midnight, she dumped it over another bowl filled with flowers. The flowers withered but did not completely shrivel into themselves like last time. They were supposed to turn to dust.
Bryn wiped her hand with a wet rag then flung it across the room.
“By the goddess!”
The clock above her bed chimed a dozen times. It was time for the midday meal in the great hall. Bryn wouldn’t have to hide the failure weighing down on her shoulders with smile since she never had one anyways.
She perched on a stool at the end of a table in the hall and ate her meal in silence. Suggest switching things around to transition the reader immediately: In the hall, she perched on a stool at the end of a table and ate her meal in silence. Is she alone? Might add that.
After lunch Bryn made her way to her mother’s chambers for their afternoon tea. When she arrived her mother was already waiting by a pot and two steaming cups on delicate saucers. The thin cups were spider-webbed with cracks.
Bryn sat across from her mother. She would never be as graceful. Fair skin, dark red hair, such a contrast to Bryn. She imitated the crossed ankles with her own thick ones and folded her hands in her lap, waiting to reach for tea once her mother had.
First at workshop I did for the Idaho Writers League conference a month or so ago and then for the Writer Unboxed Writer’s conference, I created a “first-page checklist.” This has grown out of seeing and working with more than 825 submissions to FtQ and the manuscripts I edit. I offer it below for your consideration and use. If you want to download a PDF version, click here. The checklist also appears in my new writing book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling, one of the content additions to the old Flogging a Quill book that is now out of print.
Let me focus for a moment on the first thing a first page should be doing:
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist.
This notion grew out of a workshop by literary agent and fiction analyst Donald Maass. He reported that, in his agenting business, editors will often reject a novel saying, “It ran out of steam.” The reasons most manuscripts fall short are that not enough is happening in the middle and that the editor is not truly engaged with the protagonist, there has been no strong connection made. Maass suggests, and I agree, that you’re in a stronger position if you begin making that connection on the first page. I went in and revised the first page of my WIP after learning this. I like it better.
A couple of caveats go with this checklist: first, they are not rules, they are guidelines. No writer should feel that their first-page narrative checks off every box—although it can, and if it does it has a better chance of being compelling.
Secondly, I’ve seen where a strong first-person narrative can ignore many of these items and still compel. Part of what the outliers do is have a strong voice, the one ingredient besides story questions that can compel a page turn. Another part is that a first-person narration can raise strong story questions even without action, a scene, etc.
Before I post the list, let me offer once again a FREE ebook copy (Kindle, epub/Nook, PDF) of my new Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling in return for reviews. Just email me and I can send you a copy.
The paperback is now for sale on my website--it's signed, free shipping, and discounted $16.99$15. It's also at Amazon, but not signed. The Kindle edition is available here. And here's a free PDF sample.
And now here’s a first-page checklist, though it wouldn’t hurt to hold all of your pages up to these criteria. The checklist can be a good tool for spotting shortcomings where a narrative sags. PDF here.
A First-page Checklist
It begins connecting the reader with the protagonist
Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
What happens moves the story forward.
What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
The protagonist desires something.
The protagonist does something.
There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
It happens in the NOW of the story.
Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?