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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Caveat: a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and create page turns without doing all of the above. A recent submission worked wonderfully well and didn't deal with five of the things in the checklist.
Stacie sends the first chapter of Royals Revolution. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
The dungeon door closed behind Lorelai. The room reeked of human filth and unclean bodies. That was a relief. Pain smelled like blood and fire.
Lorelai straightened her gown and pushed her hair over her shoulders. It was distracting to see a flash of red hair every time she turned her head, but she had to have some of it down because she was suppose to be a merchant’s daughter.
First the machines. They didn’t look like they’d been used in a while—a few days or even a few weeks. Hope flared. The blood on the floor was dried nearly to the same color of the stone. The hammers and spikes were quiet. It was too clean to have been used recently. Then again, of the queen’s torturers Kaiank was cleaner and the greater of the two to be feared.
Lorelai pivoted to face the prisoners. Their fingers were round and healthy and their limbs normal length. Kaiank favored the leg screw. She briefly glanced down. Their legs hung normally. Lorelai breathed out in slight victory.
Three prisoners were chained to the walls. Two shackled close to the entrance and one farther back of the room. The two closest kept their eyes averted. Their clothing, though they likely use to fit, hung loose. Each wore smudged shirts and faded trousers.
With all the machines in the room, the third prisoner’s dark hair was all that was visible at the other end of the room. Lorelai glanced away, so he wouldn’t know he was the reason she (snip)
Though the writing could be a little tighter, it’s good, and so is the voice. And the situation, which sparks questions of why is she there. There are small glitches in the rest of the chapter, but it’s a good opening chapter, IMO. Gets a page-turn from me. Notes:
The dungeon door closed behind Lorelai. The room reeked of human filth and unclean bodies. That was a relief. Pain smelled like blood and fire.
Lorelai straightened her gown and pushed her hair over her shoulders. It was distracting to see a flash of red hair every time she turned her head, but she had to have some of it down because she was suppose supposed to be a merchant’s daughter.
First, the machines. They didn’t look like they’d been used in a while—a few days or even a few weeks. Hope flared. The blood on the floor was dried nearly to the same color of the stone.The hammers and spikes were quiet. It was too clean to have been used recently. Then again, of the queen’s torturers Kaiank was cleaner and the greater of the two to be feared. I deleted the line about hammers and spikes being quiet because I didn’t have any idea of what it meant and the topic was cleanliness, which was also the subject of the following sentence. How can hammers and spikes not be quiet?
Lorelai pivoted to facefaced the three prisoners chained to the walls. Their fingers were round and healthy and their limbs normal length. Kaiank favored the leg screw. She briefly glanced down. Their legs hung normally. Lorelai breathed out in slight victory. the first edit is for a bit of overwriting—no need to mention pivoting. the second is because a glance is already a brief thing, excess use of adverb. Moved the image of the prisoners here so the reader can "see" right away where they are.
Three prisoners were chained to the walls. Two of them were shackled close to the entrance and one farther back of the room. The two closest kept their eyes averted. Their clothing, though they likely use toonce fit, hung loose. Each wore smudged shirts and faded trousers. I’m sure you meant “used to,” but I think “once” is a better choice.
With all the machines in the room, theThe third prisoner’s dark hair was all that was visible at the other end of the room. Lorelai glanced away, so he wouldn’t know he was the reason she (snip) I don’t see how machines in the room would affect the visibility of his hair, or do you mean they blocked it? If so, say so. But it’s still overwriting. Just get to him, and soon. The end of the sentence that was cut off for length would have meant a stronger first page.
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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Caveat: a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and create page turns without doing all of the above. A recent submission worked wonderfully well and didn't deal with five of the things in the checklist.
Roo sends the first chapter of No More Heros. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
At 3pm the clock on the town hall of Ostere struck four times. No one seemed to notice. The folk present in the town square at the time were battering down against the first chill wind blown directly from the frozen North. Snow had been predicted and people were dreaming of a white Christmas. Bugger their white Christmas. Me and my tatty coat stood no chance of surviving December if snow was dumped on our town.
It was the same icy breath that swept Marvin into the square. Two years, at a guess, since he married the love of my life. I was huddled on my seat, giving the clock on the town hall a dismissive, contemptuous glare when he approached my seat, dragging a long black carry all behind him. I remember looking at the bag and cursing, knowing the luggage was a bag of trouble and I didn’t need it being dumped in my life.
The wind flapped at his grubby trousers. It swept down Smelly Alley sharing the aroma of fish gone past its sell by date. Stall covers flapped, napkins skipped up into the air as a whirlwind of grit invited me to dance. Marvin wore a suit jacket, thinner than my useless summer coat. His hands looked raw and there were issues with mucous leaking from his nose.
I grabbed my bottle of vodka from my bag and took a quick slug.
Walk on by.
Some nice phrasing and a voice I liked were inviting, but there was no story question raised on this page. Well, I guess you could say there were a couple—what’s in the bag and why is it trouble for him—but for this reader they didn’t approach compelling. If we had been told the nature of the trouble he anticipated, that might have worked. As it is, there’s no serious hint of jeopardy or a problem for the narrator, at least none with any serious consequences. And he doesn’t seem overly concerned about the trouble the bag brings. Gets an almost from me. Oh, and the plural of "hero" is "heroes." Notes:
At 3pm the clock on the town hall of Ostere struck four times. No one seemed to notice. The folk present in the town square at the time were battering down against the first chill wind blown directly from the frozen North. Snow had been predicted and people were dreaming of a white Christmas. Bugger their white Christmas. Me and my tatty coat stood no chance of surviving December if snow was dumped on our town.
It was the same icy breath that swept Marvin into the square. Two years, at a guess, since he married the love of my life. I was huddled on my seat, giving the clock on the town hall a dismissive, contemptuous glare when he approached my seat, dragging a long black carry all behind him. I remember looking at the bag and cursing, knowing the luggage was a bag of trouble and I didn’t need it being dumped in my life. How does he know it’s trouble? What kind of trouble? This is a chance to add some tension with a specific threat to the character. Also echo/repetition of “my seat.”
The wind flapped at his grubby trousers. It swept down Smelly Alley sharing the aroma of fish gone past its sell by date. Stall covers flapped, napkins skipped up into the air as a whirlwind of grit invited me to dance. Marvin wore a suit jacket, thinner than my useless summer coat. His hands looked raw and there were issues with mucous leaking from his nose. Couple of things: the echo of “flapped” from the first sentence, look for another word. And, while nicely written, the description of the wind’s effect on Smelly Alley could be cut in half or deleted—it takes up space that could be used to create a story question.
I grabbed my bottle of vodka from my bag and took a quick slug.
As a fiction writer, I'm always searching for craft-related books, always trying to glean something useful for my next story. I would say Ray Rhamey's book stands head and shoulders above many such books I've read.
Among many topics presented here, the author discusses POV shifts, elements of story, description techniques, and, of course, language. The beauty of it is that the reader is not expected to grasp such concepts based on definitions alone, as we have a multitude of examples resulting in ease of flow and many aha moments.
For anyone who wants to improve and make his/her writing compelling, there is no better guide than Rhamey's Mastering the Craft.
This is not a dry, pedantic `how to' book on writing. It is an entertainingly easy to follow guide on not only what to do, but just as importantly, what not to do.
Signed paperbacks are available on my website (discounted price, free shipping), both Kindle and the paperback are available on Amazon.com.
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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Caveat: a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and create page turns without doing all of the above. A recent submission worked wonderfully well and didn't deal with five of the things in the checklist.
Marty sends the first chapter of Second Life . The rest of the chapter is after the break.
Either her hometown was a cliché or her life was. Erica Mathews feared it was both. She was within months of becoming a partner in her law firm, a position she had nearly killed herself working to obtain. She embodied those stories about associates whose only life was billable hours. She networked at every opportunity. She was on course to be voted the newest partner. Then the phone call came that morning. Now she was headed for Plainton, the town she wanted to escape.
Erica was so focused on the motion she was drafting when her father's doctor called that she barely took in what he was trying to tell her. Her father, the anchor in her life, had suffered a heart attack at his office that morning and did not survive. Stunned by the news, Erica tried to hold her emotions in check as she spent the next hour rescheduling her appointments and assigning work to junior associates. Focusing on everything that needed to be done before she left town was the only way she made it through the morning. She parceled cases out to associates, along with explanations as to immediate matters that needed to be dealt with and client idiosyncrasies. She then went to her apartment, threw some clothes in a bag, and headed for Plainton, the small town where her father lived and she grew up.
The rush of activity in preparing to leave preempted any thoughts about her father and what she needed to do when she arrived in Plainton. Once she safely escaped the city traffic, (snip)
The writing is straightforward and clean for the most part, though there is a clarity issue: she’s heading for Plainton, so clearly she isn’t there, but it’s the town she wants to escape, and it turns out she lives in another city. Can’t be both. But what really happens here? She received some sad news, but, as far as the narrative shows, that doesn’t hint at trouble ahead for her. And believing her life could be a cliché isn’t a real problem. So, no tension, no page turn. I think you’re starting your story too early, Marty. The rest of the chapter is mostly backstory and setup, and we end it without knowing what the story is about or what kind of problem Erica has to deal with or be hurt in some way. Look for the inciting incident that causes a problem for her.
however, she could not avoid thinking about him. He had practiced law in Plainton for 40 years. The law was his first love particularly after his wife, Erica's mother, died from cancer. Erica was not surprised he died at his desk, but she had not expected it to happen so soon.
Plainton was a small town of almost 40,000 people set in rolling plains surrounded by farmland and cattle ranches. The town worked hard to maintain the status quo, avoiding change. Outsiders had difficulty fitting in. During her teen years Erica could not wait to leave. After she finished law school she accepted a position with a growing plaintiff's law firm in Kansas City, a couple of hours from Plainton, even though her father wanted her to practice with him. Erica was not interested in living in Plainton, and even if she were, she was not sure she could work with her father. Their relationship was always touch and go when she was a teenager even though she knew her father cared deeply for her. The tension between them had eased in recent years, time making them both more tolerant. Erica feared, however, that proximity might exacerbate their differences. For one thing, she was more aggressive in her practice of law, loving litigation, while her father believed conciliation was the best approach.
Erica was 32 years old and ready to move into partnership at her firm. She had worked to develop the skills necessary for litigating large product liability cases, her favorite area of practice. Products liability cases allowed her to hold companies responsible for the safety and quality of their products. Occasionally she was able to create new law in the field raising the standards for products.
Erica was always strong-willed and competitive. After Erica's mother died her father was at a loss as to how to raise a young girl. Erica's father did not fall easily into the role of nurturer. With no mother to help Erica develop social skills or pave the way with other parents, Erica rarely mingled with other children. As a teenager she had no interest in those activities that seemed to dominate teenage girls - clothes, boys, dating and marriage. Erica loved books and sports. Erica was tall, lean, and athletic and enjoyed playing games. She loved debating legal issues and the latest political affair with her father when he made it home in time to have dinner with her. He expected her to be tough and defend her views. He taught her to think through her position and prepare for counterattacks. The years of debate with him prepared her for law school where she often bested her fellow students in arguing case law.
Erica drove to her father's house after arriving in Plainton. The sight of the two-story white Victorian rekindled the shock she felt at the news of her father's death. She pulled into the driveway but did not get out of the car. She could not imagine never again seeing her father mowing the yard or coming out the front door. She could feel the emptiness of the house from where she sat. A few scraggly tulips edged the front porch, only making the yard look more ragged. Her father was never a gardener, unlike her mother who loved designing flowerbeds and planting new flowers each year. The few flowers scattered about the yard, remnants of those years, only reinforced Erica’s feelings of loss.
Erica chided herself for her sentimentality. She grabbed the few belongings she had managed to pack and headed up the front steps. When she opened the front door the sight of her father's old sweater on the sofa, the newspapers and law journals strewn about, along with the lingering smell of his pipe tobacco battered her. She sat down on the sofa unable to prevent the tears from flowing. It took her several minutes to get her emotions under control before she went in search of a phone book to find the phone number for the funeral home which conducted her mother's funeral.
After arranging for the funeral home to pick up the body once the autopsy was finished, she called her father's office. She was unsurprised that Mrs. Shelby, her father's secretary of many years, answered. Mrs. Shelby would be stoical in the face of a tornado bearing down on her. Her life was taking care of the office and Erica’s father or so it seemed to Erica. Erica always tread carefully around her, knowing that she could never gain her full approval.
"Erica, where are you? I am so sorry about your father. It was awful. I went to take him the mail and he was lying there motionless on his desk. I never heard anything. He never called for help. I don't know what happened. It was always so hard to hear anything going on in that office. I called the ambulance but he was gone before they got here."
"How are you doing, Mrs. Shelby?" Erica asked. Mrs. Shelby intimidated her, but then Mrs. Shelby intimidated most of her father's clients. When Erica was young, Erica felt she was besting the troll guarding the bridge to her father's office every time she came for a visit. Mrs. Shelby did not always agree with Erica’s parenting, a fact that both her father and Erica knew. Mrs. Shelby believed that young ladies should act like young ladies and not be allowed to wander the town, playing ball with the guys, or raising her voice if she disagreed with an adult.
"I did not know what to do after they took John away. I couldn't leave the office," Mrs. Shelby continued. "I have been trying all afternoon to cancel his appointments and let his clients know what happened and notify the court in the cases where hearings are scheduled. I am not sure what to tell the clients, particularly those he was working with on some project."
"I am sure you handled it just fine," Erica responded. "I plan to be at the office in the morning. If you could come in for a few hours, maybe, we could sort through some things, that is if you are feeling up to it. I know this must be a real shock for you. I don't know my way around dad's office and will need your help."
"I planned to come in anyway. There is so much to deal with, and I know it isn't easy for you either."
"Okay, I should be there by nine tomorrow morning. I need to go by the funeral home and make arrangements, but I will come to the office first," Erica said.
After hanging up Erica sat numbly staring out the window. Her father had few remaining relatives, leaving her to handle everything. She dreaded the funeral and all the trappings that came with it. Her father was well known, having represented at least half the people in town in some kind of matter over the years, at least it seemed that way to her. There would be a large crowd at the funeral, both old clients and fellow lawyers. Once people realized Erica was in town she would be bombarded with sympathy calls and casseroles. It would take all of her will power to be civil to some of the more patronizing citizenry.
The chiming of the front doorbell startled her. She dreaded answering it, but finally forced herself to respond when the caller continued ringing the bell. To her surprise Jason Sterling was standing on the front porch. She and Jason grew up together and had remained friends through the years even though they often had different views of life. Jason worked in his father's bank in Plainton, basking in the camaraderie of small town life. Jason, who knew almost everyone in town by now, was affable and low-key, the opposite of Erica. When they got together these days Erica pointed out that he had become a full-fledged member of the old boys' club. She also pointed out that it was unlikely that club would admit any professional woman.
"Hey Speed. I saw your car in the driveway so I figured you must be here. I heard about your father this afternoon. I am sorry." Jason started calling her "Speed" in high school because she did her best to pass him in whatever they were doing. She was always more competitive than he was. While he enjoyed athletics, he had no special abilities and always played backup to the star players. Although he was now approaching middle age, he worked out to stay fit and was as trim as in his younger days. His auburn curly hair was always in need of grooming, but he worked hard to look business-like.
"Jason, you did not need to stop. I just got here a few minutes ago and I am still overwhelmed by it all. I can't deal with anyone right now."
"Well, I am not just anyone. Besides I want to help. I know you don't have any family in town. I always admired your father. Sometimes I got along with him better than my own father."
Erica sighed and allowed Jason into the house. He followed her into the living room where she slumped on the sofa
"Have you eaten anything today? I can get some take out," Jason offered.
"Still haven't learned to cook? I'm not hungry right now, although a bottle of wine sounds good."
"How about if I run out for pizza and wine? You can't drink without eating."
"Okay, if you want to do that. I certainly don't want to go out to eat tonight and I don't know if there is any food in the house. Why don’t you call ahead and pick up some wine on the way? I need to pick up around here and see if there is anything that needs dealt with immediately."
Submissions Wanted. None in the queue for next week. 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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Heidi sends the prologue and first chapter of Absence of Memory. The rest of the chapter follows the break.
Prologue
I never wanted to be a social worker. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint ethereal watercolors, drink French wine, and smoke little cigars. I wanted to live near the ocean, make love to mysterious bearded men, grow lavender and roses, and never, never set foot in Othello again.
At least I got out of town, thanks to Jason. We left the moment we married. I was 18. We made it all the way to Calgary. He was going to be a hotshot hockey player and I was going to be his number one fan. We were going to tour the world, and then build a big house and have a bunch of kids. And a dog. Jason wanted the dog. I wanted the big house. Too bad I killed him.
Chapter 1
The first thing on my agenda that Monday morning was a trip to Baxter Street to see Kelly Kincaid. Kelly was well-practiced at avoiding troublesome people in her life, like bill collectors and social workers. All I wanted was for her to lay off the drugs and parent her kid. It seemed simple enough, but she was an elusive little minx, that one.
Before I could I could go anywhere, I had to get past Maggie Battle. This was not a new experience. I’d been tiptoeing past Maggie since childhood. This morning she was in her yard, grey hair bound up in yellow curlers, in a pink flannel nightgown that covered her arms but not her knees, plucking frozen tea towels from her clothesline. I waved to her.
“Hiya,” she chirped. A clothespin bounced between her teeth. “Goin’ ta work?”
It was too early in the day to lie. “Yes,” I said. “Did you forget your laundry last night?”
She spit the clothespin into her basket. “Yep. Must be getting old.” She was old –close to 80. She had a timeless quality about her, a halo of grey hair, when not in curlers, and ice blue eyes that that could pierce armor, and a look that could knock the wind out of an overly enthusiastic kid. She’d been a teacher, as had her mother and grandmother before her. She couldn’t help it. It was genetic. She’d lived next to my parents for 35 years, monitoring my family’s comings and goings with eerie meticulousness.
“You might as well leave it out,” I said, as I picked up a broken rake that had fallen (snip)
Very good writing and voice in both pieces. For me, the story question in the prologue (and its brevity) definitely got me to turn the page. But the chapter opening . . . not so much. No tension there for me. The chapter is equally well written, and I think I know what the story is about, but there was no personal jeopardy for the main character.
The question on this submission is whether or not the tension created with the prologue was enough to carry on to the chapter opening and reading on. For me, it was, but without the prologue I would not have turned the page.
I urge Heidi to start the story closer to the inciting incident, the thing that happens to the protagonist that makes her take action—I don’t think that moment is in the first chapter, though there is good, involving stuff there. I hope you’ll read the chapter and give some
Submissions Wanted. None in the queue. 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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Marvin sends the first chapter of The Wrong Guest at the Banquet. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
Visits from a federal prosecutor can go different ways. When Reggie Haskell saw a prosecutor named Lloyd Manthius standing in the snow on the stoop glaring at the front door cameras of Lupaster Investigations LLC, he hesitated. Lupaster himself had authorized Reggie, to use his own judgment at the front door, but Manthius was known to be volatile. Lupaster was practicing in the music room, or Reggie would have checked with him first. Pink blotches on Manthius’ lean cheeks were sending messages.
“Reggie, unlock this door. If I come back with marshals, Lupaster won’t like it.” The blotches were turning red. Reggie dismissed the marshals as prosecutorial chatter. Common sense said wait out the drama and keep the door shut, but drama and a fee was a tempting combination.
Reggie shrugged and opened the door. The United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois stepped in. His navy blue wool flat cap and a matching trench coat were sprinkled with snow. The cap and coat were heavy enough for January in Chicago, proving that it was January for federal prosecutors as well as the rest of us.
Reggie took the hat and coat and hung them in the entry closet. From the heft and balance, Reggie guessed Manthius had stowed a weapon in his right side pocket. Leaving a garment bearing a weapon in the hands of a flunkey is bad form. While Manthius’ peered into (snip)
Clear writing is good, and there is a little conflict at the opening to create some tension, but that was quickly resolved. What didn’t seem to be there for me was much of a strong story question. Yes, there’s the question of why the prosecutor is there, but that doesn’t seem as if it will impact Reggie all that much in this stage. I felt the overwriting was not a good sign—I wouldn’t want to read a lot more of that. As you’ll see if you read the rest of the chapter, there’s a fine story question raised at the end . . . but would you have gotten there? Notes:
Visits from a federal prosecutor can go different ways. When Reggie Haskell saw a federal prosecutor named Lloyd Manthius standing in the snow on the stoop glaring at the front door cameras of Lupaster Investigations LLC, he hesitated. Lupaster himself had authorized Reggie, to use his own judgment at the front door, but Manthius was known to be volatile,.Lupaster was practicing in the music room, or Reggie would have checked with him first.Pand pink blotches on Manthius’ lean cheeks were sending messages. The first sentence is a form of telling and doesn’t seem necessary to me. There are a lot of names here, which can be confusing, so try to limit them. I cut detail that slows the action. Cut to the chase.
“Reggie, unlock this door. If I come back with marshals, Lupaster won’t like it.” The blotches were turning red. Reggie dismissed the marshals threat as prosecutorial chatter. Common sense said wait out the drama and keep the door shut, but drama and a fee was a tempting combination.Where does the idea of a fee come in? It hasn’t been mentioned. The prosecutor could be there for other reasons.
Reggie shrugged and opened the door. The United States Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois stepped in. His navy blue wool flat cap and a matching trench coat were sprinkled with snow. The cap and coat were heavy enough for January in Chicago, proving that it was January for federal prosecutors as well as the rest of us.The first page is the time to hook a reader with story, not commentary. These micro details of clothing are overwriting and do not bear on the story and what happens next. We already know there’s snow outside, so we can figure it’s winter. You can fold in the Chicago element later if needed, we already know we’re in Illinois.
Reggie took the hat and coat and hung the hat and coatthem in the entry closet. From the heft and balance, Reggie guessed Manthius had stowed a weapon in his right side pocket. Leaving a garment bearing a weapon in the hands of a flunkey is bad form. While Manthius’ peered into (snip)
Pinker, a linguist, brings science to how we construct our verbiage and deflates what he calls “bogus rules” with “a brief but highly liberating list of glorious rule-breaking activities.” Sprinkled with good examples, I was gratified to see that I already observe these new guidelines both as a writer and an editor. Fun to check out.
Here are some of the subheads:
Do split infinitives.
Do use the passive voice (at the right times).
Do begin sentences with conjunctions.
Do end a sentence with a preposition.
And yes, Virginia, you can even use the singular "they/their/them."
Submissions Wanted. None in the queue for next week. 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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Dai sends the first chapter of Wait a Minute!. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
In May of 2002 the central hallway of Gettrick High, lined with battered dark-green metal lockers, echoed to generally pointless conversation as students wasted the few minutes until first bell. Before one of the lockers stood Francesca Trask and her closest confidant, Ashley Sewick, engaged in the most popular subject of recent days, the upcoming Promenade.
The girls were something of a contrast. Frankie resembled her mother, though taller and slightly slimmer—dark-haired, blue-eyed, medium complected. Ashley, a cheerleader, was shorter, pinker and quite trim, with a long blond mane contrasting to dark eyes and brows.
She said, "So who's the lucky guy?"
Frankie laughed. "Caleb, at this point."
"C'mon!"
"The only candidate."
Ashley dropped her voice. "Such a dork!"
"We beggars can't be choosers—and he's nice."
"Yeah? Well I know what the problem is." She darted a look thirty feet down the hall, where on the opposite side a small group of young men gathered, isolated in the midst of the crowd.
"You gotta do something 'bout that, gal."
Frankie acquired a frown. She knew the problem more intimately than Ashley.
Good writing and a confident voice, but for this reader this was pretty much a tension-free first page. What happens is that two high-school girls talk about boys. For me, the narrative raises no story questions of the what-happens-next kind. There’s no hint of a problem for either girl, no jeopardy is in sight, nothing has happened to make them need or want something, to cause them to risk something to deal with what’s happening to them. The chapter is nicely written, but I think the story starts after this chapter ends. That part I’d like to see. Notes.
In May of 2002 the central hallway of Gettrick High, lined with battered dark-green metal lockers, echoed to generally pointless conversation as students wasted the few minutes until first bell. Before one of the lockers stood Francesca Trask and her closest confidant, Ashley Sewick, engaged in the most popular subject of recent days, the upcoming Promenade. This is pretty much telling. How about showing us that they are confidants? Seems to me that the dialogue later does that and this isn’t needed.
The girls were something of a contrast. Frankie resembled her mother, though taller and slightly slimmer—dark-haired, blue-eyed, medium complected. Ashley, a cheerleader, was shorter, pinker and quite trim, with a long blond mane contrasting to dark eyes and brows.You’re using a very distant POV here, almost omniscient, then you go to close third person. I suggest trying to give us this information from a close, experiential POV for Frankie. Give us Frankie’s experience, not a report of appearances. For that matter, what does it matter to the story at this point what the girls look like, at least in this amount of detail? Their appearance doesn’t seem to affect what happens.
She said, "So who's the lucky guy?"
Frankie laughed. "Caleb, at this point."
"C'mon!"
"The only candidate."
Ashley dropped her voice. "Such a dork!"
"We beggars can't be choosers—and he's nice."
"Yeah? Well I know what the problem is." She darted a look thirty feet down the hall, where on the opposite side a small group of young men gathered, isolated in the midst of the crowd. Since what “the problem” is isn’t revealed here or on the first page, this amounts to an “information” question—including something that is unknown to the reader. Which has a tendency to make it meaningless as well. How can a reader care about or be hooked by a reference to an unknown problem?
"You gotta do something 'bout that, gal." Who says this? Going by the alternation of dialogue before this, it would be Frankie’s speech, but it doesn’t seem to be. I found it confusing.
Frankie acquired a frown. She knew the problem more intimately than Ashley. The problem? We never do learn what it is. Frustrating.
Submissions Wanted. None in the queue for next week. 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). 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.
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.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
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?
Roz sends the first chapter of The Devil’s Dice from the UK. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
A fun note: Roz did several revisions before deciding to go ahead, and she wrote that she now has a new book idea about a writer who becomes obsessed to the point of madness by trying to craft a perfect first page. Love it!
I accelerated up the rutted lane, tyres skidding in the mud, and prayed to the gods of murder investigations. Please bestow on me the competence to avoid screwing up in my new job, and don't let my phobia kick off.
The gods were silent, but my boss's voice boomed from the hands-free phone. "Meg, can you hear me? ...body found in a cave-house in the woods... smells of almonds." Richard's monologue style of conversation meant he didn't notice the bad phone signal. I wished he wouldn't do this when I was driving to the crime scene – I needed all my brain-power for worrying. I was no multi-tasker.
"... philosophy book in his arms...suspicious..." The line went dead.
I snapped out of my phone-trance, flicked on the wipers and pictured the autumn drizzle destroying our evidence. The case sounded unnervingly odd. An almond-scented corpse in a cave-house, clutching a philosophy book? Our usual murders were chaotic and drunken, with absolutely no philosophy involved.
The windscreen had steamed up. I was too hot. What if I couldn't do this? I should have been there by now. Why had I pandered to the cat's demands for a second breakfast? I swerved to avoid a pot-hole and knocked my bad hand against the gear lever. Pain shot up my arm. Idiot. It would hurt all day now.
After another bone-shaking half mile, my sat nav announced I'd (snip)
Good job on connecting me with an interesting character through a very likeable voice. I like her already, and her point of view promises some fun. As it goes with mysteries, there are good story questions related to the crime sufficient to get a page turn from me, but the voice and character might well have been enough. Nicely done. Some notes:
I accelerated up the rutted lane, tyres skidding in the mud, and prayed to the gods of murder investigations. Please bestow on me the competence to avoid screwing up in my new job, and don't let my phobia kick off. good story questions raised along with a human connection with the character
The gods were silent, but my boss's voice boomed from the hands-free phone. "Meg, can you hear me? ...body found in a cave-house in the woods... smells of almonds." Richard's monologue style of conversation meant he didn't notice the bad phone signal. I wished he wouldn't do this when I was driving to the crime scene – I needed all my brain-power for worrying. I was no multi-tasker. like the line about brain power for worrying
"... philosophy book in his arms...suspicious..." The line went dead.
I snapped out of my phone-trance, flicked on the wipers and pictured the autumn drizzle destroying our evidence. The case sounded unnervingly odd. An almond-scented corpse in a cave-house, clutching a philosophy book? Our usual murders were chaotic and drunken, with absolutely no philosophy involved. you don’t need to tell us what is perfectly clear in the next sentence. Might want to include what the scent of almonds means—cyanide poison, right?
The windscreen had steamed up. I was too hot. What if I couldn't do this? I should have been there by now. Why had I pandered to the cat's demands for a second breakfast? I swerved to avoid a pot-hole and knocked my bad hand against the gear lever. Pain shot up my arm. Idiot. It would hurt all day now.
After another bone-shaking half mile, my sat nav announced I'd arrived at my destination. I'd (snip) don’t need the distance she’s driving, just get us there.