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.
Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.
What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.
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.
Download a free PDF copy here.
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.
Comments, please?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
- your title
- your complete 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ. Note: I’m adding a copyright notice for the writer at the end of the post. I’ll use just the first name unless I’m told I can use the full name.
- Also, please tell me if it’s okay to post the rest of the chapter so people can turn the page.
- And, optionally, include your permission to use it as an example in a book on writing craft if that's okay.
- If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait for your turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of the first-page checklist before submitting to the Flogometer.
Flogging the Quill © 2015 Ray Rhamey, story © 2015 Kelsey
Continued
. . . 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.
“We have to go, now.”