Submissions Needed—Only One 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.
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 engaging the reader with the character
- Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
- The character desires something.
- The character 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.
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.
Also, if you think about it, the same checklist should apply to the page where you introduce an antagonist.
Anne sends the first chapter of Uncalculated Risks. The rest of the chapter follows the break.
FBI Special Agent TC Atkins’ head ached from the relentless rhythmic pounding of the Seventies club dance music. He stood just inside the double doors of the Roosevelt Ballroom in the Capitol Hotel in Washington, D.C. He’d waited until the function was almost over when no one paid attention to who entered the ballroom. He came tonight out of curiosity.
So this was a high society charity gala. What the wealthy did on Saturday nights. The rich invited their peers to a party where they dined, danced, and then opened their checkbooks to benefit some good cause
The gala was being held by the Declan and Elizabeth Logan Foundation. He wanted to get a look at Elizabeth Logan—size her up without her knowing—before he formally met with her on Monday. The FBI White Collar Division had opened an investigation on the Logan Foundation. It was alleged that funds were being stolen and Elizabeth Logan was the foundation administrator.
He scanned the room and saw middle-aged fashionably dressed people, old enough to have made lots of money, and still young enough to want to dance to that Seventies disco crap. He marveled at everyone’s perfect tans even though it was only the beginning of June.
The music stopped. TC heard a faint tapping noise which became more audible as the room quieted. Here come the obligatory speeches. He walked into the room and joined the one (snip)
Clean writing here, and we’re in an immediate scene, all good. But we spend a fair amount of time with setting and not much on story. I think it needn’t take as much to set up a gala event in a ballroom. We can fill most of that in, I think. What I’d like to see is a strong story question but, for this reader, there isn’t one. This scene is used to introduce the woman and her husband, primarily.
The chapter goes on to a meeting between Elizabeth and TC after more setup. I suggest taking a look at starting the chapter much later and getting to the heart of the issue as soon as possible, preferably on the first page. Get the agent into her conference room while in her POV, get his accusation on the first page, and use internal monologue to set up the problem—she’s guilty and needs to figure a way out. That seems like where the story actually begins.
Your thoughts?
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 © 2016 Ray Rhamey, prologue and chapter © 2016 by 2016 by Anne
Continued:
. . . hundred guests now gathering around a staircase that led up to a balcony-level lounge. A woman dressed in a glittery blue cocktail dress stood on a step high enough to position her above the crowd. She traded her water glass and knife with the DJ for his microphone.
TC stared at Elizabeth Logan. She was stunning. Perfectly dressed—obviously—but beyond that, a personal magnetism radiated from her petite body. He was instantly drawn to her. In his head, there was no one in the room except him and Elizabeth Logan. He edged toward the stairs, captivated by her voice. It was pitched low with the hint of a southern upbringing. She drew out some words and softened her vowels. Sexy.
“Hello everyone.” The speakers screeched feedback which silenced the rest of the people. “Sorry.” She held the microphone further from her mouth and continued, “I have great news. Tonight we’ve set a new record. The Declan and Elizabeth Logan Foundation has received one point six million dollars and we haven’t yet included the funds raised from the silent auction. My husband and I can’t thank you enough for your generosity. The children’s wing at Memorial Hosp….”
TC forced himself out of his reverie as she spoke her final words.
“…So, give yourselves a great round of applause.”
Hands clapped and cheers surrounded him. He joined in. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her. He watched as she made her way down the stairs to mingle with her guests. He moved closer. Someone asked her where Declan was.
She giggled, “Oh, he’s probably at the bar talking about investments. He can go on and on you know.”
TC even liked the way she laughed. After getting a look at her, he didn’t see how she could be involved in anything illegal. Hoping that was the case, he fantasized how together they’d uncover the culprit stealing from her foundation.
He reluctantly turned away and headed for the bar. Might as well check out the husband too. He ordered a tonic and lime. Declan Logan stood a few feet away, his back to TC. It’s true, the red-headed Irishman really wears his hair in a braid. And it went halfway down his back. Gross.
He’d heard Logan interviewed a few years ago on CNBC where he said that he’d never cut his hair unless his hedge fund showed a loss. He read in a magazine that Logan’s clients loved him so much that some even copied his hairstyle. Again, gross.
Declan Logan was built like a barrel. TC guessed he was about five foot ten at the most. He had broad shoulders and no neck. His large head was covered with a slicked back mass of coarse red hair that twisted into the foot and a half long braid. The cut of his tux attempted to hide the thickness of his torso. It might be time for alterations because when Declan moved, his love handles bulged under the black cloth. TC eavesdropped on Logan’s conversation with a man sporting a Tom Selleck mustache.
“Yeah, I guess you could say I’m a bottom feeder,” Logan said. “I like my women beautiful but dumb.”
“Your first wife wasn’t as good looking as Elizabeth.”
“It wasn’t for lack of tryin’. I paid for every kind of surgical enhancement known to man.”
“And then she ran away with your business partner.”
Declan didn’t answer. He drained his glass and turned toward the bar. TC stepped out of his way.
Declan’s square face was puffy and sweat beads clung to his forehead. He dabbed his face with several bar napkins then tossed the crumpled wad behind the bar. He told the bartender, “Keep ‘em comin’, Brucie. I’m the one payin’ you.” He stumbled a bit as he swiped his fresh drink from the bar. Not a drop spilled.
He’s half in the bag. TC stood in front of Declan so he couldn’t walk away.
“Congratulations, Mr. Logan, you raised a lot of money tonight,” TC said. “Who’s going to receive the funds?”
Declan shrugged, “I dunno. The wife runs the thing. I only gave my name to her foundation so I could get potential hedge fund clients all in one room.” He waved his beefy arm in an arc, “Lookit all this—like shooting fish in a barrel, eh?” He leaned his head back and tried to lock eyes with TC. “So, what’s your name?”
“Thomas Clay.”
“Well, Thomas Clay, be my next fish. You got money to invest? I know a great place to put it.”
He ignored Declan’s feeble sales pitch. If you act like this at every fundraiser, I doubt you’ll land any new clients. “You should hire your wife,” he said. “She seems to be good at shaking money out of people’s pockets. And she’s not bad to look at either.”
Declan stepped closer and whispered loudly, “She’s just a social climber. I rescued her from a life of servitude. I met her at one of these kind of shindigs. She was passing out the champagne. I needed some arm candy at the time and she was fun in bed, so I married her.”
Declan’s boozy breath gagged TC. Time to wrap things up. He clapped Declan on the shoulder. “Hey, I think my date is back from the ladies room. Nice talking to you.” He strolled through a group of people, set his untouched drink on a nearby table and left the ballroom.
***
The Logan Foundation office was located in a renovated Washington D.C. row house. It was a two story brick with bays, the fourth house in a row of ten on the street. It was only eighteen feet wide including the narrow hallway. Three rooms opened to the left of the hall. The front room, with the bay window overlooking the street, was Elizabeth Logan’s office. Next to that was a conference room. The old kitchen at the rear was divided into the powder room, a space for the water heater, and the kitchenette with a small refrigerator, counter, and sink. A steep curved staircase off the kitchen led to the unfinished second floor.
Monday morning, Elizabeth Logan looked in the powder room mirror to check her hair and makeup. She applied more lip gloss. She could never have too much lip gloss. Her eyes looked fine. So did her hair. Four years ago, her salon colorist persuaded her to add highlights and low lights to her blonde hair. It had been a definite improvement. Declan always said he liked his women to have ‘trashy blonde’ hair. After she’d changed it, she convinced him that women in their thirties shouldn’t look like twenty-five year old sluts. Declan’s answer had been, “Then I guess it’s about time I traded you in.” Afterwards he’d laughed and hugged her and told her she looked great. She’d never felt secure after that.
It was cold in the small conference room. It made her nipples hard. She rubbed both arms to make the goosebumps go away and re-adjusted her short-sleeved mohair sweater across her chest. There was only one thermostat to regulate the building. The options were, too hot or too cold depending on what room you were in. But it was still better than radiator heat and window air conditioners.
She’d barely sat down in the conference room when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her vintage Lady Rolex. Ten o’clock precisely. She should have known. Government people, always on time, always following the rules. What would this one be like? Probably a bespectacled gray-haired worker-bee. She couldn’t imagine what insignificant bureaucratic drivel he—or she—was sent to bother her about.
She looked through the door peephole and her jaw dropped. Male. Mid-thirties, several inches over six feet tall, slim build, covered by a perfectly fitted navy blue suit. He had longish dark brown hair and a few days beard growth that was the fashion these days. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes because he was looking down as he pulled a wallet from his inside coat pocket. His eyelashes were annoyingly thick and long. Such a waste on a man. She opened the door halfway. Large soulful brown eyes gazed down at her from a serious face.
“Elizabeth Logan?”
“Government person?”
He opened his identification wallet that showed his picture and a gold badge. “FBI Special Agent Thomas Clay Atkins, White Collar Division.”
She spent another few moments verifying his credentials, hoping it would make him a little nervous. She always liked to have the upper hand in encounters with people. Not that she was a ball-buster. She just wanted to be taken seriously from the get-go. She’d spent her childhood as a non-entity who wore her siblings’ hand-me-down clothes, and played with their broken, cast-off toys. She vowed she wouldn’t go unnoticed as an adult. Finally she stepped back and opened the door all the way. “Come in, We’re meeting in the conference room.”
***
Her pale pink fluffy sweater distracted TC right away. He felt the urge to touch the fluffiness with his index finger. Elizabeth Logan’s high-heeled sandals tapped rapidly on the floor as she led him to the second doorway. Her behind looked wonderful filling tight white slacks. No panty line. Not a good way to start, he warned himself.
Elizabeth sat at the place where a yellow legal pad of paper and pen lay. TC sat adjacent. They studied each other for a long moment. He didn’t know what she was thinking during that time, but he spent it acting like a school boy. Her eyes—hazel with flecks of gold. Nose—long, thin, with a cute bump at the bridge. Lips—wetly pink from some kind of lipstick. And he detected a slight lavender scent. Probably her shampoo. His heart skipped a few beats.
Elizabeth cleared her throat with emphasis. Obviously, she was waiting for him to begin. He opened a blue file folder and removed some paperwork. He set it on top of the closed folder. “Gerald Flanagan contacted us last March regarding an inconsistency between the amount he and his wife donated last year versus the amount stated in the Logan Foundation’s annual contribution letter. He said he asked you to send him a corrected letter so he could finish his income taxes.”
Elizabeth thought a minute and nodded, “Yes, I remember talking to Mr. Flanagan and couldn’t find the amount he said he donated in our records. The amount stated in our letter was the amount found on our books. I told him I was sorry but I had to report what we received.”
“I have a copy of Mr. Flanagan’s cancelled check and a copy of the Foundation’s letter here. And I also have a question for you.”
TC handed Elizabeth the copy of the front and back of Mr. Flanagan’s check. “Do you recognize the endorsement on this check? It isn’t the Foundation’s name or bank account number.”
She looked at the paper and handed it back to him.
“If you could explain that endorsement, maybe we can clear this whole thing up today without going through an audit,” TC said.
She wrote Gerald Flanagan’s name on her pad and underlined it three times. “I told Mr. Flanagan that sometimes when we receive a lot of checks at one time, they might go through a holding company account, then be transferred to the Foundation’s bank account. That’s why the endorsement is different on his check. As for the amount discrepancy, I think I suggested there could have been a typing error on the bank’s part when deposits were made and transferred. That’s something I’m not privy to.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “At the time, Declan and I were getting ready to go out of town for a month. I told Mr. Flanagan I’d given him all the information I had and if he couldn’t get things resolved, I would look into it further when we got back.”
“Where did you go?” TC asked.
“We went to our house in Telluride with a group of friends. It’s an annual thing.”
“I’m jealous. I’ve never skied in Colorado. I hear it’s fantastic.” TC gushed.
Elizabeth gave him an irritated look like she had no desire to talk about her personal life. He had no idea why he’d even asked. It just popped out.
He smiled crookedly, “Sorry, not on subject. Please continue.”
“Well, I forgot about it and never heard from Flanagan again. I thought he’d resolved it on his end with his bank.”
TC shook his head, “More likely the problem is with your bank. It’s your responsibility to contact them. To give you time to clear this up, Mr. Flanagan filed for an extension on his tax return until October and then called us. If there’s anything discovered by our audit, you can also expect the IRS to audit you.”
There. He’d told Mrs. Logan everything. He leaned an elbow on the table and pressed his fist against his cheek. He gazed at her, waiting for her response. Her face was pinched with tension, or anger…or something. At this moment he hated his job that he loved so much. It felt wrong to accuse this seemingly nice lady of misappropriating funds. But he knew looks could be deceiving. Incidents like this happened all the time. It only took one person to blow the whistle. When the FBI auditors started digging, they’d probably find more inaccurate contribution letters. He studied the range of emotions that crossed her face. Okay lady, let’s see what you’ve got.
***
Elizabeth’s head was spinning. An audit? By the FBI? She hadn’t expected that. What had she gotten herself into? Although Agent Atkins was the bearer of bad news, the whole time he talked, she was strangely soothed by his voice. If he ever whispered sweet words into her ear, she could see herself falling into his arms. It appeared Agent Ring around the White Collar had it all figured out. Her method of skimming money from the donors hadn’t been clever enough.
She took a deep breath and laid one hand on top of the other on her lap, in an attempt to appear calm. She remembered her husband’s advice on running a successful business. “No matter how bad things get, you can always rearrange the facts so you look good. Never admit mistakes or reveal how you run your business. People may try to bring you down, but if you say as little as possible, the odds are in your favor they’ll never be able to prove it.” She hadn’t really understood him until now.
She felt a frown beginning so she raised her eyebrows and forced a tiny smile. She could wring Gerald Flanagan’s neck. The little twerp. Rich people didn’t prepare their own taxes. Her scheme had worked fine for four years, ever since Declan mentioned it might be time for a new wife. If they divorced, the damned pre-nuptial agreement gave her nothing but her personal possessions. So, bit by bit, she’d accumulated a nest egg, planning for the inevitable. The Foundation would never miss it and it would be her salvation.
Declan had traveled a lot during the last two years. He claimed business was tough, that he had to cast a wider net for new clients. She believed he was working on wife number three. A private detective might prove that Declan rarely went out of town. She didn’t want to waste any of her money verifying what she already knew.
Elizabeth slipped a quick look at Agent Adkins. Her fund-raising events were finished until October. Declan wouldn’t be home much. She faced a boring summer. This FBI guy might be fun to play with. Kind of like the barn rats she used to taunt before her brother came along minutes later and blew their heads off with his shotgun. She could definitely give him a run for his money.
She chewed on the inside of her lip as she considered what to say. Agent Atkins was smart. He hadn’t fallen for her ‘It must be the bank’s fault’ explanation. That line had stalled Gerald Flanagan for a while. She’d give the auditors a mountain of paperwork and confuse the heck out of them with complex explanations of accounting procedures. When they found nothing, she’d play the good guy and offer to resolve the misunderstanding with Mr. Flanagan by returning the difference. It was only fifteen thousand dollars. The foundation could well afford it.
TC broke into Elizabeth’s thoughts, “Look, I’m not trying to destroy your Foundation. You should be proud of your philanthropy. I researched your organization. You’ve come a long way in less than ten years. And all that during the recession as well.”
Elizabeth face brightened. “Yes, we’ve done a lot of good work and don’t plan to stop. I can’t imagine what might have happened with Mr. Flanagan, however I assure you I will get to the bottom of this.”
TC grabbed his pen, “Great. What’s your business manager’s name? I’d like to nail down the audit schedule.”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, flicked her hair behind one shoulder, and stuck out her chest hoping that her nipples still showed. Game on. May the best man win. She peeked up at him coquettishly. “Well, I guess that would be me.”
TC looked confused. “No business manager? But this is such a large organization…”
“I believe in keeping administration costs low. It’s not rocket science to deposit checks. If I get a lot in at one time, my accounting firm, who prepares our statements and taxes, takes care of them.”
“Is that where the holding company, LF Heritage, comes in?” TC asked.
Elizabeth pretended to appear bewildered. “You would have to ask my accountant. I’m not sure what all they do.” She clicked open her pen and held it over her blank pad of paper. “You just tell me what you need, and when, and I’ll arrange to provide it.”
***
TC was glad when the meeting was over. Mrs. Logan had taken lots of notes and they agreed upon a schedule and the records needed. Two auditors would work in the Foundation office conference room beginning next Monday at one o’clock. He told her the entire process should take about two weeks, if there were no problems.
He laid his business card on top of her pad. “My stomach is rolling. How about I take you to lunch?” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. The invitation came out so naturally. He never asked anyone he investigated to a meal. Not even to go have a drink. It wasn’t an agency rule—or maybe it was—he couldn’t think straight right now. He thought it was his own rule because he never wanted anything to influence his investigations. Not that he’d ever worked with such an attractive Person of Interest before. He had no idea why he wanted to get to know Elizabeth Logan better. On top of that, she was married and he wasn’t on the market either.
“Lunch?” Elizabeth looked at her watch. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. Sorry, I don’t eat lunch, only a good breakfast and dinner.” She ran her tongue slowly back and forth on the inside of her upper lip, still considering his request. “Anyway, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. It might jeopardize your audit and besides, my husband might object to me being seen out with such an attractive man.”
***
Elizabeth slid TC’s business card under the top page of her pad. A little flirting couldn’t hurt. She’d get farther along being sweet and it looked like Secret Agent Man might be open to it. Maybe she could trade a forty-nine year old cheater for a thirty-something hunk. She wouldn’t let anything happen, of course. Just have a bit of fun. This could be an interesting summer. It might help her forget that her marriage was on the skids and her security fund was about to go up in smoke. God forbid there be any talk about going to jail.
She extended her hand to shake TC’s and seal the deal. “Let the games begin,” she challenged with a smile. His hand engulfed hers. It was warm and firm. Her whole body shivered at his touch. Yes, if she played her cards right, this could definitely be an interesting summer.