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.
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 the A 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)
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 Shanda
Continued
. . . new disturbance.
Just past C dock she saw him, a tow-headed boy of four or five sitting back against an equipment locker with his bare legs crossed and a chocolate ice cream cone dripping down his shirt. It was way too cold for shorts and a t-shirt. She always went barefoot, but even she had her North Face jacket zipped all the way up. Was someone hunting this child? She was more curious than worried as she approached him, automatically reinforcing her mental shield to deal with what was likely a less than adequately shielded mind. Children were not born with shields or filters. It was why she usually avoided them. They developed mental defenses as they acquired the other trappings of adulthood.
The young boy met her gaze. His mind wasn't less than adequately shielded, it was completely unshielded. He was broadcasting a barrage of emotions that triggered tantalizing smells, compelling even muted by her morning caffeine hit. His was a child's potpourri with the mischief of burnt marshmallow and easy warmth of caramel leavened by the sophisticated serenity of lavender and the anticipation of sweet mint. A sundae-like treat for an adult palate that invited her in.
As she dropped down to sit next to him, her own shield softened in response, even as she tried to respect his privacy--Kat's Rules for Empaths #1 was Never enter a mind uninvited. But he was making it damn hard.
"Hey, you're new around here." She smiled and tried pushing a friendliness nudge out through her shield.
He maintained eye contact but did not smile back and was apparently too busy staying ahead of the drips to speak.
"Are your folks visiting one of the boats?"
He raised a hand and pointed over her right shoulder into the sun. She twisted to see where he was pointing before standing and turning to face that direction. That was a new disturbance. A man emerged from below deck on Theria and stood silhouetted in the cockpit. Behind her, the boy's enthusiastic wave shivered through the dock.
Rules be damned. No one belonged on her father's boat. She reached out empathically and felt the man's presence an instant before a a murderous smell choked her. Blood and decay exposed the intent of a hunter with long-held grievances. It was out of place in this place and beyond potent. Her reflexes kicked in, slamming her shield shut and breaking her tenuous connection with the boy's father. She whirled around to face the boy.
He was gone.
She swiveled full circle, his scent still strong in her brain. And there he was, standing in front of her after all. As she watched, the ice cream cone disappeared, his hands flew apart, and his eyes rolled up into his head. She grabbed him by his elbows.
Her hands fused to his flesh as a blaze of heat flashed up her arms and converged at the base of her skull, exposing her to the source of his fear--a mind in the throes of a jealous rage.
It had felt like a lightning strike...if lightning had a purpose. An inhuman whimper, the sound of a dog beaten by its master, came from the boy. A spark flared within her, answering his pain and confusion with a determination to protect him.
She pulled him to her and tried to expand her mental shield, trying to cover them both if such a thing were possible. The thing turned, and now she was the one whimpering. The jealousy was a living thing, snaking its way through her brain. It seemed to recognize her, or rather realize that it didn't recognize her, and it hesitated--uncertain if the target of its despair remained in its grasp. She felt it rooting around and closed down every connection she had to the outside world. This thing could not be allowed to travel farther.
She cast about for a way to fight it, and a fleeting image of Chudo inspired her.
She imagined the dog sinking its teeth into an enormous snake, yanking it out and slamming it to the dock so she could stomp on it and break its back. In response the snake clamped its jaws around her head and did not let go...taking a chunk of brain and bone with it as it was ripped free of her body. Pain blossomed into an explosion inside her head. Expecting to feel blood and brain, she flattened her palms against the base of her skull as a stab of pain cramped her midsection. She curled into a ball and crumpled onto the dock.