On a related note, I enjoyed “What I Learned from Watching ‘Insurgent’ with My Mom” by Maddie Crum for an inter-generational look at YA apocalyptic stories and their broader appeal. I haven’t seen Insurgent yet, but hope to get there this week. It’ll be very interesting to see what they do with the third novel, considering what happens to Tris, the protagonist, in the end.
Submissions Needed--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?
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.
Rachel sends the first chapter for an untitled novel. The rest of the chapter after the break.
Some people thrive under pressure. I’m not one of them.
‘What do you mean, you can’t do it? You’re not stupid.’
Mum pushes me out of the way and stands in front of the door.
‘Let me do it.’
She glances at the list of numbers on the panel. A perfectly manicured nail (French manicured, anything else is tarty) flies across the buttons. Five seconds later, the intercom buzzes.
Mum fixes me with a must-try-harder frown.
‘Honestly, Martha.’
‘Neurology department. How can I help?’ says a voice.
‘You can start by opening the door,’ replies Mum.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘Professor Hopkins to see Doctor Randall at 1.30pm.’
Mum checks her watch. It’s now 1.25pm. Mum is the type of person who gets somewhere ten minutes early and waits on the doorstep for nine minutes and 59 seconds before she rings the bell. A buzzer sounds as the metal door springs open. Mum ushers me in with a don’t-dare-dawdle stare.
Lovely writing and voice in this chapter, and at the end the protagonist, Martha, is faced with a terrifying prospect. But will a reader get there? There’s low-level tension between mother and daughter here but, for me, no story questions are raised. What’s going to happen next? They’re going into a building for an appointment. An appointment for what? We have no idea. It turns out that Mum has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's. If there were some sort of hint, perhaps a page turn would be warranted—Here we are, ready to learn if Mum is losing her mind in a most terrible way. That would raise a strong enough story question to get me to the real story question raised at the end of the chapter.
The chapter continues with well-done characterization. I enjoyed Martha—but, for me, the process of getting to the appointment and the description of the waiting room and its occupants, while interesting, do nothing to propel the story forward. Even though Rachel uses the chapter to set up and define the characters, I urge her to get much closer to the inciting events, which are the diagnosis for Mum and the fact that Martha has a fifty-fifty chance of, as she refers to it at chapter end, the time bomb in her brain going off some day. That was a compelling sentence for me, and if the first page could get there I’d be on board. You can characterize Mum and Dad as they deal with this rather than before the big story questions are raised. I’d like to read this novel, I think, but I’m not sure a lot of readers would get to the chapter’s end. See what you think after the rest of the chapter.
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?
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.
Michelle sends the first chapter for Desperate Tolerance. The rest of the chapter after the break.
Minnie scanned the room hoping for someone new. The same old married couples and the same desperate singles she’d known for years gathered in groups, chatting and drinking. It was as if she’d walked in on a funeral wake mourning death rather than a party to celebrate Karen’s birthday. She grabbed a glass of wine off the kitchen counter and found a quiet spot out the back. Releasing a long sigh of frustrated boredom, Minnie wished she were anywhere else but there.
“Let’s get out of here.” A stranger held his hand out to her. “You look as bored as I am. You wanna go to a real party?”
Tall, dark and shockingly handsome, Minnie felt the tug of the stranger’s mysterious magnetism. She didn’t stand a chance against the sparkle in his crystal blue eyes promising excitement and fun. Putting her wine glass on the table, she held out her hand to him. Entwining her fingers with his, he led her along the side of the house and through the front gate.
On the street, he opened the passenger door of a black BMW and Minnie got in. Now watching him walk round the front of the car to the driver’s side, she wondered if she was taking too big a risk. Sliding into the driver’s seat, the stranger looked at her and smiled, his boyish innocence calming her. There was still a chance for Minnie to get out of the car and go back to the safety of the party, but she felt glued to the seat and fixated on the stranger.
This opening passes the writing hurdle pretty well, but I had issues. One was with visualization of what’s happening. She goes “out back” but we don’t see what that entails. She puts her glass on a table that we don’t know is there. The action is compressed “telling,” and I don’t get much a feel for this character other than that she is incredibly reckless. In today’s world, what young woman would just go off with a “stranger” without knowing a name and no conversation to get to know him? For me, what happens here just wasn’t credible.
There is a story question, but for me it boiled down to what kind of trouble can this level of foolhardiness get her into, and I didn’t really care enough to want to know. At the least, I feel that this character needs to be fleshed out and properly motivated, and I didn’t think boredom rose to that level. Give us more of her and why she takes this chance. It seems to me that the stakes of blithely going off with a stranger brings risks of rape, assault, and kidnapping, to name a few that she, it appears, ignores or isn’t aware of. Those are some serious stakes that would make an interesting story if she were conscious of them and motivated to take them, but that’s not in this page.
Giving her one last chance to change her mind, he rested his hand on her knee and asked, “Ready to go?”
Minnie nodded. She didn’t ask where they were going. They didn’t talk during the short drive through the suburban streets and onto the expressway into the city. All that mattered was that they’d escaped the dull party and were now on an adventure together. In the city centre, he turned into the basement carpark of the Metro Towers luxury apartment complex and silently escorted Minnie to the penthouse on the 30th floor. City nightlights shone spectacularly through the floor to ceiling windows.
He took her hand in his and she followed him into the bedroom. She knew she was supposed to say no on the first night, but the force propelling her to him was irresistible. She wasn’t even drunk this time. Minnie was fully aware of what she was doing and what was about to happen. Undressing her and himself, the stranger placed her delicately on the soft quilted king-sized bed. Taking powerful control of her, she could feel the knotted tension in her overburdened mind and body untangle and dissolve. He rolled off, reached for the remote on the bedside table and clicked off the light. Laying on his side, he nudged her to nestle into him. Minnie fell asleep safely wrapped in the arms of her stranger. She didn’t even know his name.
In the morning, she woke to his smiling face looking down at her. When she sat up, he bent over and kissed her on the forehead.
“I have to go,” he said.
Minnie wondered where he was going impeccably dressed in an expensive looking suit so early on a Sunday morning, but she knew it was better not to ask.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you home,” he said, and left the room.
Needing to pee and freshen up, she found the bathroom. In the mirror, she saw that her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips blooded red, her eyes clear. She looked alive. Reborn. Prepared to face him, she found the stranger sitting on the couch in the lounge room, hunched over a laptop on the coffee table.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where do you live?”
“Not far from Karen’s place,” she said.
“Karen who?”
Minnie’s brow frowned in confusion. “It was Karen’s party we were at last night. Don’t you know her?”
“Oh that Karen! Yes, of course I know her. Come on. Let’s go. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
This time, Minnie felt awkward on the silent drive out of the city and to her home. She knew she should say something to the man she had sex with so recently, but she couldn’t find the right words. He asked directions and when he stopped outside her house, Minnie waited for him to ask her phone number – to ask if he could see her again. Silence.
“As I said, I’m in a hurry.” He reached over and clicked opened the door. “I’ll call you when I’m not so busy.”
“But you don’t have my number,” she said.
“I have your number. Don’t worry, Minnie. I’ll call you.”
“How do you know my name? I never told you.”
“There’s no time to explain now. I have to go.”
She got out of the car and watched him drive away until he reached the end of her street and turned the corner.
I’ve been doing workshops at writers conferences for 10 years now, and I love doing them, primarily for the joy of helping writers further their craft. I now teach 5 different workshops, and the places have ranged from Massachusetts to Mexico, with most of them in the Pacific Northwest area.
A favor. If you know of a writers conference that might be interested, would you introduce me to it? You could just let me know the name of the conference and where it is and I’ll follow up by asking them how to submit proposals. Better yet would be a personal introduction if you know someone in the organization.
These are the workshops I offer. There’s are links for PDFs of each proposal, and this link will take you to the page on my website where they can all be found.
1. In Crafting a Killer First Page(PDF), writers learn about:
the storytelling issues that will stop a professional reader from turning the page
how to analyze and recognize storytelling and craft problems
how to apply their learning and new analysis skills to their own writing with fresh eyes
2. 3 Keys to Killer Storytelling(PDF) focuses on the “how-to” of:
Hooking readers on the first page
Creating and building story tension
Creating characters that engage readers
3. The Killer Covers for Less than $50(PDF) is packed with information about and examples of (if you have some design talent) creating impactful book covers for very low cost. I cover:
Creative goals for your book cover
Where to go for free and low-cost creative resources, including free sophisticated graphics software
Insights on how to modify and combine images
Insights on how to utilize layers to build a cover
Insights on how to make sure titles and author names are clear and legible in thumbnail sizes
4. Crafting Killer Description & Dialogue Scenes(PDF) concentrates on two of the most powerful craft areas for strong storytelling when I cover:
how to add dimension and characterization to description of scenes and characters
how to utilize beats in dialogue to add depth, move story, characterize
how to better create the experience of the story in a reader’s mind
5. And here’s a new one, Tips & Techniques for Successful Self-editing(PDF):
how to identify and correct weak language
how to spot and strengthen weak technique
how to create and maintain a crisp narrative flow and pace
Please spread the word about these. I’d very much appreciate it.
What about online workshops? I’m also interested in creating online workshops, so please contact me directly if you have an interest in taking part in one of these online for a small fee. If enough writers are interested in a particular one, I’ll work out how to do it online for the best personal instruction and coaching. I'm thinking of including a free Kindle copy of the new book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling, with a workshop. Let me know.
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.
Tony sends the first chapter for Lights Out. The rest of the chapter after the break.
It was more than the conviction in Dr. Payson's voice that made Danny squirm against the red vinyl upholstery. More than just the way Payson kept his eyes leveled at Danny as he spoke—completely oblivious to the carnival of light and sound bursting from the dozens of flat screens that were plastered across the walls of The Fours Bar & Grill. And it was more than the casual description that Payson gave, between sips of his dirty martini, of the satanic ritual he planned to perform for Danny's benefit.
More than any of that, it was the goddamned look on Payson's wrinkled face. Danny couldn't decide if the guy was bat-shit crazy or just plain dangerous, but either way one thing was clear; Richard Payson truly believed every word he said. And that, more than anything else, was what made Danny uneasy.
Danny sloshed around the last of his bottle of Sam Adams, turned it up, and took a swig to steady his nerves. His fingers tingled so badly that he could barely hold the bottle. He chose his next words carefully. “You’re saying you can bring me back from the dead?”
“Most of what will happen depends greatly on you." Payson drained his glass. “But I don’t believe it will come to that.”
“And if it does?"
“There are precautions we can take." Payson propped his elbows on the table and (snip)
Tony has a voice I like and good, clean writing. The scene is well set, something is happening, and there are good, strong story questions, especially the line about being brought back from the dead. Spoiler alert: that’s not literally what this is about--I think. Caveat: "back from the dead" doesn't seem to be what might happen from what's in this chapter, but I don't know what happens later. I take the "dead" he refers to as about bringing back his career as a pitcher from being moribund because he can't pitch anymore. If so, the reference to coming back from the dead is a bit of bait-and-switch, and I don’t think misleading the reader is a good idea. Tony, let us know if I got this wrong. A few notes:
It was more than the conviction in Dr. Payson's voice that made Danny squirm against the red vinyl upholstery. More than just the way Payson kept his eyes leveled at Danny as he spoke—completely oblivious to the carnival of light and sound bursting from the dozens of flat screens that were plastered across the walls of The Fours Bar & Grill. And it was more than the casual description that Payson gave, between sips of his dirty martini, of the satanic ritual he planned to perform for Danny's benefit. A strong opening paragraph with the mention of the satanic ritual.
More than any of that, it was the goddamned look on Payson's wrinkled face. Danny couldn't decide if the guy was bat-shit crazy or just plain dangerous, but either way one thing was clear; Richard Payson truly believed every word he said. And that, more than anything else, was what made Danny uneasy. Later I got the idea that it is what he says that gives Danny trouble, not in his belief in what he says. Isn’t Danny’s trouble that he’s afraid of what it means if what the Dr. says is true? So is this statement accurate?
Danny sloshed around the last of his bottle of Sam Adams, turned it up, and took a swig to steady his nerves. His fingers tingled so badly that he could barely hold the bottle. He chose his next words carefully. “You’re saying you can bring me back from the dead?” I think there’s a missed opportunity to help the reader understand more about Danny—how about a little more on the fingers? For example: The fingers of his pitching hand tingled so badly that he could barely hold the bottle—or a baseball. On the “back from the dead” line—rather than promise something that the narrative doesn’t deliver, maybe there is something equally intriguing. For example, bring in the mention of the demon here, maybe the idea of a demon as his savior?
“Most of what will happen depends greatly on you." Payson drained his glass. “But I don’t believe it will come to that.” This refers to being brought back from the dead, but I didn’t see anything in the first chapter that suggests he will become dead. If that happens in a later chapter, then disregard this concern.
“And if it does?"
“There are precautions we can take." Payson propped his elbows on the table and (snip)
. . . steepled his fingers. "But understand, what I propose will require your full commitment. If you give yourself over fully then we can control it, harness its power. But once the demon has been summoned if you fight against it, it will fight back and you will lose.”
The outside door swung open, allowing a flood of afternoon sunlight to momentarily pour in off of Canal Street. With it the barely tolerable humidity, that was the fingerprint of a July Bermuda High in Boston, followed close behind. Danny's head snapped around at the movement and froze. A trio of beer-bellied guys wearing Red Sox jerseys spilled in from the street. The cigarette smoke that wafted in with them made Danny's nose twitch. Danny doubted that they could see him, but wasn't taking the chance. He turned towards the wall and pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt to hide his face, anyway. He had to get out of there before someone recognized him. “Okay.” Danny nodded his head and slid to the edge of the booth. “I'm pulling the ripcord, this is not what I came for.” He dug in his pocket, peeled off a twenty, and tossed it on the table. “Thanks for the drink.”
“What did you come here for?”
"Not this," Danny scoffed. "This is insane."
A flicker of anger flashed across Payson's otherwise emotionless eyes, then passed just as quickly. He sat stone-faced. "You don't believe me?”
Danny motioned toward the vodka. "I think you've had one too many."
"Fine." He reached into the inner pocket of his sports jacket, fished out a pen, and scribbled on a cocktail napkin. "Here."
"What's this?"
"A contact of mine at a laboratory in the Bay Area."
"For what?"
"He specializes in a more traditional method of performance enhancement."
Danny Hamil waved him off. It wasn’t the first time in his career that someone had offered him a performance enhancer, and his answer was always the same. "No drugs."
"It won't be nearly as effective and I can't guarantee the results," he said. “In fact, it probably won't help you at all. Not in your condition."
Danny’s tone sharpened. "My condition?"
Payson ignored the question. “Besides, at the rate players have been caught testing positive for performance enhancing drugs, you'll probably be suspended before you even see any meager benefits from using.”
"I told you, no drugs.”
“You aren’t leaving me many options.”
“So, that’s it? That’s all you got?” Danny flexed his pitching hand. It was ice cold and clammy—not good. "The Haitian said you could help me."
“That is precisely what I am trying to do.”
“No, you’re wasting my time.”
“You came to me.”
“For a real solution.”
“I’m offering you a real solution.”
“You call this real? Satanic rituals? Demonic possession? That’s real to you?”
“And why do you think the Haitian sent you to see me?"
The jumbo flat screen mounted directly behind him boomed with the sound of two ESPN talking heads jabbering about the top ten current Boston athletes; a list Danny didn’t belong on anymore. Danny searched Payson’s face for a glimpse of the truth behind the lie, but there was nothing in his eyes that betrayed his words. Not a damn thing. "I thought you were a doctor."
“And I thought that someone in your position wouldn’t slap away a helping hand.”
“Someone in my position?” Danny crossed his arms and leaned back, rigid against the booth. “You think I want this? You think I want any of this? You don’t know me,” he said. “You don't know anything about me.”
“Oh, I know a great deal about you,” Payson said. “I know you're on the last year of your contract. I know your fastball velocity has dropped and your ERA has risen every year for the last five years. I know that you’re one bad game away from being released. I know there’s a limited market for a pitcher your age." The old man leaned forward and eyed Danny's right hand. His ring finger was a bluish white. “And I know you wouldn't be here if you weren't completely out of options.”
“What do you want from me?”
“To take your situation a little more seriously, for starters.”
“You don't think I'm taking this seriously?”
“I think you're letting fear cloud your judgment.”
Danny settled back into their padded corner booth and let Paysons' words sink in. The booth was less comfortable then he remembered, but apart from that, the place looked much like it did the last time he'd been there—although it must have been at least ten years. The red-tin vintage Ted Williams Moxie Beer sign still hung proudly on the wall by the entrance. Flat screens covered the walls at every imaginable angle. Two of them bookended the Fenway panoramic that loomed over the bar. Everywhere else, photos covered nearly every inch of the taupe-painted walls. And hidden in the corner, nestled between a Wade Boggs poster and an autographed Clemens jersey, hung a familiar, faded photo of a young red Sox rookie sensation that fizzled out too soon.
One of the obnoxious Sox fans left the table and walked past Danny towards the men's room. Danny pulled the drawstring of his hood tighter and buried his head in a menu.
Payson raised his empty glass and waved at the waitress for another round. "It must be difficult being such a hated man in such a passionate sports town,” he said. "You just might be the most hated man in Boston."
Danny sneered. "I hadn't noticed."
“You’re quite unpopular on sports radio, these days, as well. Fans calling in to WEEI want your head on a platter. It’s been going on for weeks, months even. They say you’re everything that’s wrong with the Red Sox, right now. Or have you not noticed that, either?" Richard Payson seemed to relish his own words. "Everyone on sports radio says you’re washed up, and there’s one overnight host in particular seems to be hell-bent on running you out of town. How does that make you feel?"
"Like I should watch more T.V."
"It doesn’t bother you at all?"
“That’s a good answer, let’s stick with that.”
A pretty brunette waitress in a slinky black top brought the next round of drinks and a basket of buffalo wings. The tang of spicy chicken filled the air. “On the house, boys.” She dropped the check and smiled at Danny. She touched his hand and winked. “We take care of our own here, especially one as cute as you.”
Danny probably would’ve flirted back if his attention hadn’t been drawn to one of the TV’s across the room by the bar. A breaking news report about the Red Sox manager, Art Coley, being under investigation by major league baseball for allegedly betting on games interrupted the top-ten show. Danny strained to hear the report. It couldn’t be true, had to be a mistake. Coley had his problems, but that was years ago, and Danny had helped him through it. Sure, he was known for blowing a few bucks on the ponies, back then. But betting on baseball? That wasn’t like him. And why wouldn’t Coley come to him if he needed help? He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time. He needed to find out what the hell was going on. He forced a smile, muttered an absent thank you to the waitress, and turned to Payson. “It’s late,” he said. “Gotta get to the ballpark.”
Payson raked his fingers through his scraggly beard and held Danny’s gaze. “I can help you if you let me.”
“I don’t think so. The kind of help you’re offering,” Danny said. “I don't need."
"Then why are you here?"
It had been more than three months since Danny had first felt his pitching hand go numb. Three months since the Haitian had given Danny the talisman. Three months since the voodoo blessing that was supposed to save his career. Three months, and still nothing had changed. Instead, things were only getting worse. He never really believed in what the Haitian had said, but times were desperate, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. He scooped up the fresh bottle and raised it to take a much needed drink, but stopped. In the cold mirror of the brown glass he saw his reflection, and he couldn’t put the bottle down fast enough. Danny stepped away from the table. "Have my reasons."
Payton nodded. “I’m surprised you’re not more open to the possibility of the paranormal.”
“Been in this game long time,” Danny snapped. “Seen a lot of strange shit.”
“And still you don't believe?
“If I can’t see it, I don’t believe it.”
“Some things need to be believed to be seen,” Payson said. “Besides, I thought ballplayers were superstitious.”
"Not all of us.”
"Superstition is just as much a part of the game as hitting and fielding, is it not?"
"Just like it’s a part of witchcraft, voodoo, cults—"
“You mean that in all your years in uniform, you’ve never once appealed to a higher power for help during a cold streak, or relied on a good luck charm to get you through a slump?”
"What do you want me to say?"
“How about the truth?”
“Look,” Danny said. “Superstitions are one thing, but what you're talking about… that’s something else."
“You can't deny that those superstitions make players better.”
”Some guys will believe anything.”
“But not you?”
“That's what the game does to us. We're all screwed up,” Danny said. “But I ain't screwed up enough to believe this.”
“That’s your problem, you don’t believe,” Payson said. “And that’s why you'll fail.”
"Fine.” Danny leaned over the table, pounded his fist on the table, and jabbed a finger at Payson. "You know what I believe? Superstitions are a waste of time. Yeah, some guys rely on it. But that’s what the game does to you. It’s cruel and it’s hard and it screws with you. Makes you desperate. Makes you try anything to avoid offending the baseball gods. But it's not about hocus-pocus, it’s about preparation. And it’s not about lucky charms. It’s about routine, concentration, staying on the field, and finding a way to cope with the shit-load of pressure we face on a day by day, inning by inning, pitch by pitch basis.”
Danny's face reddened and he fell back into his seat. His outburst was drawing attention from the folks at nearby tables, but he didn't notice. “You know why players cling so desperately to our superstitions? Confidence. Because we have so fucking little of it, and what little we do have can vanish in a second. So yeah, we do our rituals and stick to our routines to feel like we’re in control,” he said. “But we’re not.”
"Let’s talk about the powers you’ll gain when—"
"And you're going to sit there with a straight face and tell me that you can solve all my problems and all I have to do is pull an Ozzy, bite the head off a bat, dial up Satan on the oujia board, sell my soul to the devil and poof? I get magical powers that will make me an all-star pitcher again?! And all I have to do is believe? I don't think you realize how truly full of shit you are."
Danny leaned back and glared at Payson. "Seven hundred fifty five major leaguers and they all got their own superstitions and routines. They all believe.”
Danny clenched his jaw. “When I played with Todd Helton, he'd shave off his beard whenever he took an o-fer. Wade Boggs ate chicken before every single game. Turk Wendell pitched without socks and chewed licorice between innings. Guy I played with in Detroit pulled out the Mr. Bubble and cleaned his shoes between innings if there was a speck of dirt on them. I’ve seen guys wear two-month-old socks, shit at the same time every day, wear the same dirty underwear for weeks, avoid stepping on foul lines… Hell, I’ve even seen guys piss on their hands before the game for luck—because they believe."
Danny slipped his hand into his hoodie pocket, cradled the talisman that the Haitian had given him. He stared into the distance, took a deep breath, and exhaled. The edge left his voice. “I used to believe. I worked hard. Played the game right way. Trusted in my ability. Even had my superstitions.”
Danny pulled out the talisman and set it on the table. “Kept this in my back pocket when I pitched.” He traced his finger over the charred bones strung together by mottled twine. The crudely carved orange skull wore a look of perpetual surprise. The hollow bones rattled in his hand. “I still do."
Payson raised an eyebrow at it but kept any thoughts he had to himself.
“Thought it helped me concentrate; took my mind off the game. Made me feel like I wasn’t alone out there, for a while—like it wasn’t all on my shoulders." He tossed the talisman on the table. Then the surgeries robbed the life from my fastball, age stole what little ability I had left...” Danny picked at the label of his brown bottle. “Didn’t help that I burned a lot bridges."
"Who needs bridges when you can walk on water?” His silvery baritone was almost comforting.
“C’mon,” Danny said. “There are no magic trinkets or secret rituals that can fix things. I’ve made that mistake before. None of those superstitions made a difference. None of it was real," he said. "Truth is, the hits aren’t in the gum. The strikeouts aren’t in the chicken. None of it changes anything, or guarantees you’ll get that hit in the ninth, or strike out the cleanup guy with the bases loaded. None of it helps." Danny shook his head. "Not really. Doesn’t help you, doesn’t help the ball club, and it sure as hell doesn’t help the people who count on you the most. No, my problem isn’t that I don't believe. Problem is that I did—for way too long, and now look where it got me.”
Payson cleared his throat and nodded. Then he smiled, stood, and buttoned his sports jacket. "I understand. You’re not ready,” he said. “You don’t believe. It’s alright,” Payson placed a reassuring hand on Danny shoulder. “There are others who will.” He handed Danny a business card. “If you change your mind, that’s where you'll find me."
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.
Shanda sends the first chapter for Cappuccino Dreams. The rest of the chapter after the break.
Life was good. Early on a cold, clear February morning Kat Beck padded down the concrete ramp from the marina gate onto the main dock, enjoying the smooth wood on her callused soles. Theria, her father's sailboat, was just out of dry dock, and Kat expected a potential buyer to come look at her later today.
She reached the dog-leg right onto the finger docks before the whiff of an odor she'd almost forgotten, from a time in her life she wanted to forget, stopped her mid-stride. The emotions of a hunter closing in on its prey buffeted her and she gagged on the synesthetic scent of raw meat. A surge of adrenaline later, the sound of a child's laughter and the slapping of bare feet on wood held her motionless. Something wasn't right. There were no children among the live-aboards. As she squinted into the sun in the direction of the noises, the bloody scented emotion dissipated without a trace.
She closed her eyes and opened her senses to the odors of the marina: briny decay from a fish head left lying on the dock, the sweet brown licorice of tar wrapped around aluminum and wood, sulfur released from sea gull droppings drying in the sun. Naked Pete, one of her favorite people in the marina, stood on the foredeck of his sailboat, MyGuru, in the midst of his sun salutations, broadcasting the sweet lavender smell of serenity. Nothing out of the ordinary, now.
She continued down the dock toward Theria, her father's boat,more slowly, alert for any (snip)
Good, strong writing and voice, and the scene is nicely set. But, for this reader, there were clarity and comprehension issues, and (for me) a strong-enough story question wasn’t raised. I think you’re doing a good job of working to deliver the character’s experience, but for me there wasn’t adequate information to understand it—you’ll see what I mean in the notes. There was an opportunity to create tension with the intrusion of the hunter emotions, but that isn’t capitalized on and quickly fades. I think there’s a lot of promise here, but I think the way things work for her need to be “unpacked” a little at this introductory stage. Notes:
Life was good. Early on a cold, clear February morning, Kat Beck padded down the concrete ramp from the marina gate onto the main dock, enjoying the smooth wood on her callused soles. Theria, her father's sailboat, was just out of dry dock, and Kat expected a potential buyer to come look at her later today.
She reached the dog-leg right onto the finger docks before theA whiff of an odor she'd almost forgotten, a scent from a time in her life she wanted to forget, stopped her mid-stride. The emotions of a hunter closing in on its prey buffeted her and she gagged on the synesthetic scent of raw meat. A surge of adrenaline later, the sound of a child's laughter and the slapping of bare feet on wood held her motionless. Something wasn't right. There were no children among the live-aboards. As she squinted into the sun in the direction of the noises, the bloody scented emotion dissipated without a trace.The opening phrase is a bit of overwriting and isn’t needed, just slows the narrative. More important is a clarity issue that I stumbled over in the remaining narrative, perhaps because it’s not adequately explained/shown here, where Kat experiences emotions as odors. The use of “synesthetic scent” just wasn’t adequate for me, and it’s not really delivering the experience of the character. More than that, I think we need to know here that she’s an empath. And there needs to be a hint of danger—you mention a surge of adrenalin, but why? If it comes as a defense against attack (wouldn’t she also react physically, maybe crouch, close her fists?), which signals danger, that would help.
She closed her eyes and opened her senses to the odors of the marina: briny decay from a fish head left lying on the dock, the sweet brown licorice of tar wrapped around aluminum and wood, sulfur released from sea gull droppings drying in the sun. Naked Pete, one of her favorite people in the marina, stood on the foredeck of his sailboat, MyGuru, in the midst of his sun salutations, broadcasting the sweet lavender smell of serenity. Nothing out of the ordinary, now. Once again I’m confused. We take the word “senses” to mean those that we ordinarily have, and we can’t ordinarily smell emotions. If you had her open her empath or empathetic sense, or opened herself to the synesthetic odors of emotions, that would make sense, but here the scents of physical things such as decay and tar are mixed with the synesthetic “scent’ of serenity. I found this really confusing. I think you should keep them separate, or at lease identify them. In the later chapter, this mixing of what is mental and physical also confused me when she fights the pain in her mind and then the narrative has a chuck of brain and bone ripped from her body . . . but is it? I ended up not knowing what was happening to her.
She continued down the dock toward Theria, her father's boat,more slowly, alert for any (snip)
My client, Normandie Fischer, has publishedHeavy Weather, a Carolina coast novel. I can testify that it’s a good read because I edited it, and you know how picky I am. Normandie is a skilled writer and she tells a gripping tale with very real characters that I ended up caring about. A summary from Goodreads:
Death, life, family, domestic abuse--Heavy Weather explores all these themes in a memorable and compelling narrative. When Annie Mac's life explodes like a storm at sea, she is helpless to fight back. Left for dead, her two children targeted by her abuser, her life appears to be over. The people who help her show her how to weather a storm that she cannot control.
Here’s the description from Amazon, where it’s available in print and Kindle formats:
It takes a town to save a child. That town is Beaufort, North Carolina.
Annie Mac’s estranged husband vows that nothing will stop him from getting his baby girl. Not Annie Mac and certainly not that boy of hers.
Only four blocks away, Hannah Morgan lives in comfort with her husband and dog, making pottery and waiting for her best friend to come home. When she discovers the two children cowering in the bushes and their mama left for dead, it doesn’t take her long to set her coterie of do-gooders to some extra-strength do-gooding. Add in Clay, a lonely police lieutenant yanked out of his comfort zone and into the heart of this small family, and who knows what will happen?
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.
Kelsey sends a rewrite of the first chapter for Blood Walkers. The previous version is here. The rest of the chapter after the break.
Bryn crept out of the confines of her coven’s caves in the dead of night, cloaked by a moonless sky. She wandered in and out of trees toward the dense heart of the forest at the peak of midnight, the start of the witching hours. She heard a rustle in the undergrowth. The padding of paws and scratching of claws on the ground moved toward her.
A bear as black as the night around her emerged and Bryn froze. The bear charged as Bryn darted to her right. She fiddled with the animal bones in her bag and clasped onto a bear claw. She hid behind an oak tree and drew her athane from her waist. She could hear the bear sniffing; getting closer and closer.
Bryn lurched from behind the tree and grazed the bear’s leg with her athane. It came away with the faintest glint of blood. She smeared the blood onto the claw and chanted a deter spell over and over as fast as she could. The bear lunged, scratching the back of her hand down to the tendon before its anger subsided.
The bear sniffed the air and walked away. Bryn fell to her knees. She healed the wound on her hand as much as she could but it was a hack job. Her power was drained and she didn’t know how long it would take to recharge, or if it ever would now.
The skin had barely pulled over the tendon and she could see it clearly under the raw, pink skin. She ripped off some fabric from the bottom of her cloak with her athane, how her (snip)
This rewrite begins with some nice writing and mood, but for this reader things were missing. I believe that she’s running away, but that isn’t included here. Perhaps there’s too much of a rush to get to the action with the bear. I think the time would be better spent engaging us with the character.
Let us not only know that she’s running away but why. What is her goal here, what is her desire? That's an item from the checklist above that's missing here. What are the consequences she will suffer if she doesn’t run away? They need to be pretty serious, I would think. What does she fear that is strong enough for her to leave the safety of her home? Get us involved with the character and the troubles she’s dealing with, not the bear.
For me, the struggle with the bear was over way too quickly—not enough time to build up “what will happen?” tension. On the writing side, I think you need to think about the verbs you’re using, as you’ll see in the notes. I talk about “writing for effect” in my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling, and you can read that piece in this free PDF excerpt.
Bryn crept out of the confines of her coven’s caves in the dead of night, cloaked by a moonless sky. She wandered in and out of trees toward the dense heart of the forest at the peak of midnight, the start of the witching hours. She heard a rustle in the undergrowth. The padding of paws and scratching of claws on the ground moved toward her. For me, “wandered” denotes aimless, yet she is on a mission. She could weave through the trees, looking back to see if she’s followed, etc.
A bear as black as the night around her emerged and Bryn froze. The bear charged,as Bryn darted to her right. She fiddled with the animal bones in her bag and clasped onto a bear claw. She hid behind an oak tree and drew her athane from her waist. She could hear the bear sniffing; getting closer and closer. Another verb opportunity missed, I think—fiddled is leisurely, not an urgent action, and detracts from any urgency. Maybe she clawed through the animal bones and grabbed (not “clasped,” a soft sort of gripping) the bone. “She could hear” is a filter; go directly to the experience of the character, eg. The bear sniffed, closer and closer. On the “athane,” I’m guessing it’s a wand of some sort, but it’s sharp enough to draw blood from a bear’s thick, fur-covered hide. Show it to us.
Bryn lurched from behind the tree and grazed the bear’s leg with her athane. It came away with the faintest glint of blood. She smeared the blood onto the claw and chanted a deter spell over and over as fast as she could. The bear lunged, scratching the back of her hand down to the tendon before its anger subsided. Would she lurch, or wouldn’t she lunge? Also, for me, a “scratch” doesn’t suggest much force or danger. How about “ripped” the back of hand etc.
The bear sniffed the air and walked away. Bryn fell to her knees. She healed the wound on her hand as much as she could but it was a hack job. Her power was drained and she didn’t know how long it would take to recharge, or if it ever would now. I suggest you do more with the healing. It’s covered here in a brief sentence. Show us. Is there pain? What’s the healing process? Does she focus mentally? Where, the edges of the wound or deep into the tissue? Does she say a spell or draw power from . . . where? Within?
The skin had barely pulled over the tendon and she could see it clearly under the raw, pink skin flesh. She ripped off some fabric from the bottom of her cloak with her athane, how her (snip) avoid the echo of “skin” with an alternative such as “flesh” Again, the athane seems as if it must have some aspects of a blade. Show it to us earlier so we can “see” what’s happening.
. . . mother would have chided her for mishandling such a sacred tool, and wrapped it around her hand to protect the new skin.
Bryn curled up at the edge of an ancient circle of stone ruins before dawn could peak above the trees. She knew only snatches of sleep would be caught over the next fortnight as she moved beyond the coven’s farthest grasp.
She was walking through a shadow world. Smoke rose where she stepped but the air was cool. Smoke started rising from all around her, amber eyes glowed in the distance. She heard herself scream and a bear lurched at her and its claws grazed her throat. She tried to grab at the wound but it was too slick. The blood kept pouring despite all her efforts to staunch it. The world went dark.
Bryn woke up panting in a cold sweat and rubbed her throat. She whipped her head around in all directions but didn’t see another bear. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, the pale blue light illuminating the boney trees.
“Hello?” A voice said.
Bryn’s breath caught in her throat. A few meters away stood a gangly blonde boy about her age.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He cocked his head to the side.
Bryn pulled herself up and brushed dead leaves off her robes. “I’m Bryn,” she said ignoring his second question, unwilling to delve into such delicate details with a stranger.
“I saw you defend yourself from the bear,” the boy said.
Bryn’s stomach clenched. If he was human she would have to kill him, but in her current state she wasn’t sure she could take him on. She recalled the failed spell she had performed the day before her escape. She’d skimmed her fingertips across a bowl a blood and muttered an incantation. Wherever she’d touched the blood it had turned black. When the entire surface shone like midnight, she’d dumped it over another bowl filled with flowers. The flowers withered but did not completely shrivel into themselves like the previous time. They were supposed to turn to dust.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes meeting her worried gaze. “I’m like you, in a way.”
“What’s your name?” Bryn asked.
“Carver.”
“Alright Carver, how are you like me?”
“You’re a blood maker and I’m a bone maker,” he said calmly, as though he was stating she was a girl and he way a boy.
A necromancer, Bryn thought. That’s even worse than a human. Blood and bone had only such a slight alliance to defend themselves from w’ere and human attacks, but now there had been peace for the last century the alliance seemed to be needed less and less. It was more of a formality and a nuisance than the precious necessity it had once been.
“How long have you been following me?” Bryn asked. “I was attacked by the bear hours ago.”
“I was tracking the bear,” Carver explained. “I had no idea it would lead me to a witch.”
“It’s incredible that witches can heal themselves,” he said. “One of the perks of being a witch over a necromancer I suppose.”
“It’s an incredibly useful skill,” said Bryn tersely as she tried to hide her bandaged hand in the folds of her cloak.
“Although I told myself I should check and ensure you were alright,” Carver said, stepping closer.
Bryn took a step back in response, perching on the balls of her feet.
“I also stayed because I need to ask for your help,” he said.
“My help?” Bryn said. “Why?”
“I’m trying to unite blood and bone once and for all.”
“How do you imagine to break thousands of years of tradition like that?” Bryn exclaimed. “The alliance has only been here for a century and it’s barely holding!”
“I’ve been doing my research but my people only have half of what I need,” he said, “I need a witch to help me with the rest.”
“I don’t have access to my coven’s libraries right now,” Bryn said quietly.
“I have other items on my list you can help with.”
“I agree,” said Bryn.
Bryn followed Carver through the forest to his tribe. The fading sunlight lent a golden cast to the dead leaves and half dead trees. The recently shed oak leaves curled and crunched beneath their feet. Once the sunlight had slipped away and the world grew so cold the promise of day seemed an impossible dream. Carver stopped and leaned against a tree.
“We will have to sneak in, thank goodness the moon will be nearly finished waning tonight.”
“Do you have help on the inside?” Bryn asked.
Carver nodded. He entered the walls of the palisade first to arrange for Bryn’s cover.
While waiting, Bryn’s lack of sleep crept up on her and sealed her eyes shut like wax on a letter despite the roughness of the rocky ground and the chill of the air. She found herself being shaken awake by an irritated Carver.
“I do not think falling asleep was the wisest decision,” he said.
“My eyes decided for me,” Bryn said sleepily. Tendrils of light slipped through wispy grey clouds.
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.
Isaiah sends the prologue and first chapter for A Shadow Among Light.
Prologue
Spots of light danced across Justin’s vision as he lay on the hard ground in the darkness, momentarily stunned. A lightarrow had crashed down just beside him, sending off a massive shockwave that set off a pile of explosives nearby. Distantly, he heard Mara, his partner, shouting.
“Justin! Justin, come on! We have to keep moving!” A triplet of Maras leaned over Justin, helping him to his feet.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Justin exclaimed, brushing off his tight tunic and trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. “We’d better find some cover and come up with a strategy to stop this whole thing before it’s too late.”
“If we can,” Mara muttered doubtfully, her blonde hair rippling as she shook her head slightly. “The enemy has never been big on being stopped.”
“True, true,” Justin replied. “But this whole fiasco will have to end sometime.”
“If only they had a leader…” Mara muttered.
“But they don’t,” Justin retorted. They had been over that before. “If they did, we would have won by now.”
“But they have to have a head of some sort! They can’t be following the orders of no one!”
Chapter One
Kavin spun and drew a lightbow, feeling the familiar vibration as the bow sent a charge into the arrow. The wiry fibers of the bowstring slid smoothly off of his gloved fingers as he released. Streaming wisps of white light, the arrow flew, screaming through the air. It smashed into a robotic sentry, and the bot vanished in a flash of burning plasma. Dropping to the ground and sliding, Kavin barreled into another sentry, stabbing it with a knife that pulsed with white light and destroyed the sentry as it fell. Springing up, he spun and cast a small grenade into an approaching Manta. The creature was vaporized in an instant.
“Getting better,” a deep, refined voice said.
Kavin held back ten thousand burning retorts that leaped to the tip of his tongue, turning with a blank face to look at his supervisor.
“Hait,” he said, slapping his fist to his chest in a salute. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you hear me say that I’m impressed, or that you’ve done well, or that you are the best you can be,” snorted Hait. He began to walk toward Kavin, his black uniform standing in stark contrast against the glistening white floor of the training room. The man had an obsession with darkness; he wore black, his eyes were black, his short hair and goatee were black. Even his weapons – when he was bold enough to even fight – were black.
Too obsessed with black, Kavin thought.
You know me, the first determinant of a page turn is the raising of a compelling story question, followed immediately by a well-written narrative that moves forward. The prologue works at creating a tense situation and raising story questions with some dramatic action, but fell short on a couple of counts for me. The scene isn’t clear, and that may be because it isn’t in the writer’s mind. There is an explosion that sends the protagonist to the ground and sets off nearby explosives—yet, it turns out, they’re in a room and go into a hallway. “Ground” generally means dirt outdoors. There’s some overwriting that doesn’t bode well, too. At the end of the page, rather than moving on with the action, the characters get into a discussion of the “As you know, Bob . . .” kind. This in the middle of life-threatening action. It slows the narrative and detours the path of the story.
The chapter starts with interesting action and world features, but then quickly devolves into a non-threatening training situation where, one assumes, the character won’t be harmed. So there is no jeopardy and no compelling story question raised. There are signs of a good story here, but the narrative needs to focus more on a couple of things—setting the scenes in a quick, accurate way and action or dialogue that makes us wonder what will happen next. Some notes on the text:
Prologue
Spots of light danced across Justin’s vision as he lay on the hard ground in the darkness, momentarily stunned. A lightarrow had crashed down just beside him, sending off a massive shockwave that set off a pile of explosives nearby. Distantly, he heard Mara, his partner, shouting. Good opening paragraph, though where this is isn’t clear. It reads as if outside, but later in the chapter they’re inside.
“Justin! Justin, come on! We have to keep moving!” A triplet of Maras leaned over Justin, helping him to his feet.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Justin brushedexclaimed, brushing off his tight tunic and triedtrying to ignore the ringing in his ears. “We’d better find some cover and come up with a strategy to stop this whole thing before it’s too late.”
“If we can,” Mara muttered doubtfully, her blonde hair rippling as she shook her head slightly. “The enemy has never been big on being stopped.” No need for weak adverb to describe the dialogue, what she says expresses doubt just fine, the reader doesn’t need this. The rest about her blonde hair rippling and head-shaking that’s “slightly” is a bit overwritten and not a smooth effort to include description. What makes it overwriting is that none of it affects the story, it just takes up space.
“True, true,” Justin replied. “But this whole fiasco will have to end sometime.”
“If only they had a leader…” Mara muttered. Here she is muttering again. Avoid the close echo of a word used before.
“But they don’t,” Justin retorted. They had been over that before. “If they did, we would have won by now.” Dialogue tag issues are showing up. Instead of “said,” so far we have exclaimed, muttered, replied, muttered again, and retorted. With the exception of the first muttered, they can all be “said” or written out. This is also where the narrative diverges from what’s happening into exposition trying to set things up. Didn’t work for me.
“But they have to have a head of some sort! They can’t be following the orders of no one!”
Chapter One
Kavin spun and drew a lightbow, feeling the familiar vibration as the bow sent a charge into the arrow. The wiry fibers of the bowstring slid smoothly off of his gloved fingers as he released. Streaming wisps of white light, the arrow flew, screaming through the air. It smashed into a robotic sentry, and the bot vanished in a flash of burning plasma. Dropping to the ground and sliding, Kavin barreled into another sentry, stabbing it with a knife that pulsed with white light and destroyed the sentry as it fell. Springing up, he spun and cast a smallgrenade into an approaching Manta. The creature was vaporized in an instant. This is just fine as an action opening nice writing. However, we don’t know where we are. Perhaps that should follow.
“Getting better,” a deep, refined voice said.
Kavin held back ten thousand burning retorts that leaped to the tip of his tongue, turning with a blank face to look at his supervisor. Here’s where the steam starts to leak out of this opening page. Similar to opening with a dream sequence, we’ve been subjected to a little bait-and-switch: there’s really no danger at all. As we soon learn, it’s training.
“Hait,” he said, slapping his fist to his chest in a salute. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you hear me say that I’m impressed, or that you’ve done well, or that you are the best you can be,” snorted Hait. He began to walk toward Kavin, his black uniform standing in stark contrast against the glistening white floor of the training room. The man had an obsession with darkness; he wore black, his eyes were black, his short hair and goatee were black. Even his weapons – when he was bold enough to even fight – were black.
Too obsessed with black, Kavin thought. This opinion of his supervisor’s appearance falls far short of contributing to a strong story question. The tension falls right out of the narrative for me here.
By “writing women” I don’t mean women who write but creating a narrative about, as Kate Elliot says in her article titled Writing Women Characters as Human Beings,“believable female characters while avoiding clichés, especially in fantasy novels where the expectations and settings may be seen to be different from our modern world.”
She has written a lengthy and informative essay with three pieces of advice—following are just the titles of each; the exploration and explanation of them is well worth your time. The cover shown is for her first YA fantasy, coming out this August.
1. Have enough women in the story that they can talk to each other.
She makes the point that women and girls talk to each other A LOT. As a person of the male persuasion, I had never really tuned into this, and for me it’s a very helpful insight.
2. Filling in tertiary characters with women, even if they have little dialogue or no major impact on plot, changes the background dynamic in unexpected ways.
This makes sense to me—male characters with mostly males in the background would, it seems to me, behave differently if there were mostly—or at least many—women in the background of the story. The very world they inhabit would be different, one from the other, and that should impact the characters and what they do.
3. Set women characters into the plot as energetic participants in the plot, whether as primary or secondary or tertiary characters and whether in public or private roles within the setting. Have your female characters exist for themselves, not merely as passive adjuncts whose sole function is to serve as a mirror or a motivator or a victim in relationship to the male.
This is, perhaps, a corollary to her more general piece of advice:
Assume every character you write is a full human being just as you take yourself to be, with no more or less mystery than you feel for your own self.
Lastly, I want to add my thanks to Tony DiMeo for telling me about this article.