Many of the folks who utilize BookBub are self-published, and because we hear over and over the need for self-published authors to have their work edited, It seemed to me that it could be educational to take a hard look at their first pages. If you don’t know about BookBub, it’s a pretty nifty way to try to build interest in your work. The website is here.
I’m mostly sampling books that are offered for free—BookBub says that readers are 10x more likely to click on a book that’s offered for free than a discounted book. Following is the first page and a poll. Then my comments follow, along with the book cover, the author’s name, and a link so you can take a look for yourself if you wish. At Amazon you can click on the Read More feature to get more of the chapter if you’re interested. There’s a second poll concerning the need for an editor.
But wait, there’s more.
And then I’ll give you an alternative opening page edited from narrative later in the chapter to see if it serves better as a page-turner. A poll follows to share what you think. Enjoy.
Should this author have hired an editor? Here’s the first chapter a novel by Russell Blake.
An arid wind blew a beige dust devil down the desolate road that ran from Ramallah to Jenin. Ribbons of orange and crimson streaked the edge of the predawn sky as another long night drew to an end. The young Israeli Defense Force soldiers manning the checkpoint fidgeted near a baffle of sandbags, the final minutes of the graveyard shift fast approaching on a rural thoroughfare that saw little nocturnal traffic.
Maya rubbed a fatigued hand across her face and exchanged a glance with Sarah, her friend and confidante on the lonely duty, and the only other woman on the all-night vigil. Four soldiers, relaxing with their rifles hanging from shoulder slings, stood by the two-story tower that had been erected the prior month to afford a better view of approaching vehicles. A scraggly rooster marched along the sandy shoulder, a solitary visitor on the deserted strip of pavement, its crimson-crowned head bobbing in determination as it strutted to a destination unknown.
“Only ten more minutes,” Maya said, stifling a yawn.
“Not that you’re counting every second or anything, right?” Sarah smiled, her cherubic features and bobbed whiskey-colored hair peeking from under her helmet a stark contrast to Maya, all angles and emerald eyes and black hair.
“Am I that transparent?”
“Why don’t you hit it a little early, and I’ll cover for you? If anyone asks, I’ll say you had (snip)
Did this writer need an editor? My notes and a poll follow.
Pretty good writing and good description to set the scene (though I wouldn’t have “a fatigued hand” in there). This opening does a good job with setup, but what else is there to draw the reader forward? In a sense, this opening relies on reader experience that creates an expectation of trouble ahead if all seems well. But is that strong enough? I suspect it might be for some readers, but it wasn’t for me.
I still want a story question of some kind, not a vague and only possible prospect of trouble ahead. So I’ll offer an alternative. Please answer the editing poll and then see what you think.
Alternative opening:
Dim headlights approached the checkpoint from the north. The lamps flickered as an ancient red and white ambulance bounced along the rutted asphalt. The Israeli soldiers stiffened as the vehicle coasted to a stop, and Eli joined Sarah at the wooden barricade. The driver rolled the dusty window down and handed his identification papers to Eli.
Eli studied the license and registration in his flashlight’s beam, holding up the identity card and comparing the driver’s leathery countenance to that of the man in the photograph. The driver winced as the beam played across his face, and Eli lowered his flashlight.
“Where are you going?” Eli asked.
“The hospital. We have an injured boy in the back who’s in bad shape.”
“What happened?”
“He fell off a ladder. We think his back might be broken.”
Sarah stared at the passenger. Their eyes locked through the grimy glass, and after a long moment his gaze darted to a blanket on his lap. A butterfly of disquiet fluttered in her stomach, and she gripped her weapon. “I want to search the vehicle,” she said, steel in her voice.
The driver shook his head. “With all due respect, this is a critical case. Minutes count.”
A bead of sweat traced its way from the man’s hairline down his face in spite of the predawn cool. Sarah stepped back and swung the ugly snout of her rifle at the ambulance.
You can read more here.
Your thoughts?
Ray
© 2016 Ray Rhamey