Submissions Welcome. 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.
Deborah sends the prologue of Vision. The rest follows the break.
Jackhammer heavy rain was pounding the concrete moat surrounding our normally safe Brooklyn brownstone when Lara shook me out of a deep sleep.
”Jack, did you hear that? Is Shelby sleepwalking again?” As I stumbled out of bed and hurried down the hall in her wake, I tried to remember if I’d locked the gate we’d put at the top of the stairs when we first found Shelby sleepwalking.
We tiptoed into our daughter’s room and saw her in her bed, her long lashes dusting the cheeks of her cherubic face.
“Must’ve been the storm,” I said through a yawn.
I took my wife’s hand and started back to our room when a floorboard creaked downstairs. Panic tore through me as I realized an intruder was in the house.
We scrambled back into Shelby’s room to hide. As I scooped my daughter up her eyes opened wide with fear. I covered her mouth and Lara held a finger to her lips. When Shelby nodded understanding I pulled my hand back and placed her on the floor behind her canopy bed where we were huddled.
“Stay here, I’m getting my gun,” I whispered. My Glock 17 sidearm was locked in the biometric safe in the master bedroom-like always when I was off the clock.
“Jack, don’t,” Lara said grabbing my sleeve. “What if they hear you? Let them take what (snip)
This must be my lucky week—here’s another prologue that worked for me. Good action, strong story question, likable characters, all work. However, there are things that could make it stronger. In particular, it would have been much stronger if a paragraph or two from the next page could have been included—and it could have. I’ll show you an alternate created with judicious editing below, after my notes.
Jackhammer heavy rain was pounding the concrete moat surrounding our normally safe Brooklyn brownstone when Lara shook me out of a deep sleep. “Jackhammer” does a fine job of describing heavy, intense, loud rain, no need for “heavy.”
”Jack, did you hear that? Is Shelby sleepwalking again?” As I stumbled out of bed and hurried down the hall in her wake, I tried to remember if I’d locked the gate we’d put at the top of the stairs when we first found Shelby sleepwalking.
We tiptoed into our daughter’s room and saw her in her bed, her long lashes dusting the cheeks of her cherubic face. “Saw her” is a filter that distances the reader. Give the direct experience. Eg. We tiptoed into our daughter’s room. She slept in her bed, her long lashes etc.
“Must’ve been the storm,” I said through a yawn.
I took my wife’s hand and started back to our room when a floorboard creaked downstairs. Panic tore through me as I realized an intruder was in the house. Credibility issue here. I don’t believe you could hear a creak through “jackhammer” rain. In addition, why have the heavy rain at all? As it turns out, the rain doesn’t impact the story in any way, so it’s a waste of words, IMO. And it’s not credible. Also, I don’t know that panic tearing through him is needed, especially when it turns out that he’s a cop. Just having the reader learn that there’s an intruder will give them the fright emotion needed.
We scrambled back into Shelby’s room to hide. As I scooped my daughter up her eyes opened wide with fear. I covered her mouth and Lara held a finger to her lips. When Shelby nodded, understanding I pulled my hand back and placed her on the floor behind her canopy bed where we were huddled. Why would they go there with the intention of hiding in that particular room. It turns out there are better options. Have them go back to get the child, yes, but hide there? Why? The attic, it turns out, is very close. The highlighted "her" could be read as Shelby's lips, not the mother's--a clarity issue that should be fixed. And there’s a staging problem. You need to show them going behind the bed, not tell us after the fact. For example. When Shelby nodded understanding, we huddled behind her canopy bed and I placed her on the floor.
“Stay here, I’m getting my gun,” I whispered. My Glock 17 sidearm was locked in the biometric safe in the master bedroom-like always when I was off the clock. A bit of an info dump not needed here. Getting the gun is important, the rest is not.
“Jack, don’t,” Lara said grabbing my sleeve. “What if they hear you? Let them take what (snip) I’m against participle (“ing”) construction when simple past tense is stronger, eg. Lara whispered, “Jack, don’t.” She grabbed my sleeve. “What if they hear you . . .etc.
Here’s a reconstructed first page that includes the paragraphs from the next page that I’d like to see here. A poll follows:
Lara shook me out of a deep sleep. ”Jack, did you hear that? Is Shelby sleepwalking again?” As I stumbled out of bed and hurried down the hall in her wake, I tried to remember if I’d locked the gate we’d put at the top of the stairs when we first found Shelby sleepwalking.
We tiptoed into our daughter’s room. She slept in her bed, her long lashes dusting the cheeks of her cherubic face.
I took my wife’s hand and started back to our room when a floorboard creaked downstairs. An intruder was in the house.
We scrambled back into Shelby’s room. As I scooped my daughter up, her eyes opened wide with fear. I covered her mouth and Lara signaled silence with a finger to her lips. When Shelby nodded, I placed her on the floor behind her canopy bed.
I told Lara, “Stay here, I’m getting my gun,”
Lara whispered, “Jack, don’t.” She grabbed my sleeve. “What if they hear you? Let them take what they want and leave.”
Shelby said, “Daddy please stay here. Don’t you remember what happened when I was your mommy and you were my little boy?”
“When do you mean?” Her timing sucked, but when my gifted daughter remembered something from a past life I needed to hear it before she forgot.
Your thoughts? See where this story goes after the fold.
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 Deborah
Continued:
. . . they want and leave.”
Why the hell didn’t I grab my gun before I ran in here? Someone who’d break into an occupied house in the middle of the night would have no problem killing. I should’ve gone for it as soon as I realized someone was in the house.
“Daddy please stay here. Don’t you remember what happened when I was your mommy and you were my little boy?” my daughter asked.
“Shelby, not now,” Lara hissed, too scared to hide her irritation. She released my shirt and leaned back against the bed, dropping her face into her hands. A blink of lightning followed by a deafening clap of thunder made us flinch. Lara shivered in her gauzy nightgown.
“When do you mean?” Her timing sucked, but when my gifted daughter remembered something from a past life I needed to hear it before she forgot.
“It was in that big hurricane. A lady crashed into a tree along the river and her car was flooding fast. You were so brave, but while you were helping a big branch fell on your head and you got swept down the river. When we found you, you weren’t moving. Your face was all blue and your head was bleeding. They hadn’t invented CPR yet Daddy. You died.”
“This is totally different Shelby. The person downstairs is gonna hurt us if I don’t do something.”
“It’s not different. You’re a courageous soul Daddy, but you always die young. Please don’t go, I want you to live a long life this time,” A chill snaked its way up my spine.
“Shelby, what’re you talking about? Daddy fights bad guys every day and he’s never gotten hurt,” Lara said massaging her temples. As usual, she chose to ignore that Shelby wasn’t talking about who I was now, but who I was in former life.
“Okay, that’s enough. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Go through the closet into the attic. Close the door and don’t make a sound. I’m getting the gun,” I said.
“No Jack, you come too.” Lara said clutching my bicep.
“You know I can’t do that. Whoever’s downstairs expects someone to be here—both cars are out front. He’ll keep looking until he finds us. Plus, if this is work-related he’ll expect to see me. You two get to safety. Don’t make a sound and don’t open the door no matter what you hear. I’ll get the gun and we’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”
The first step on the staircase squeaked. Lara’s terror-filled eyes met mine and I pointed to the closet. As I squeezed them together in a quick hug that I hoped wasn’t a final goodbye, I could feel Shelby’s small body trembling.
As they made it through the closet and closed the attic door I heard the first step give again. So, there were at least two. Dammit. There was no way I’d make it to my gun.
I scanned the room looking for another weapon. There wasn’t much to choose from. Shelby wasn’t exactly an athlete, no baseball bats or lacrosse sticks here. The best I could find was a baton. I grabbed Shelby’s bedazzled phone from her desk and texted my partner Sam to send help. With no other option, I snatched up the parade baton, streamers and all seconds before the intruder came into the room with his gun drawn.
I came from behind the door and smashed him on the side of his fleshy shaved head. He howled, grabbing his temples with his meaty hands and dropping his pistol onto the shaggy fuchsia carpet. I lunged for it. Baldy grunted, and dove for it too with all the grace of an elephant tipping over.
We collided, rolling across the floor, and crashed against the dresser. Toys and awards rained down. He avoided the downpour, landing a punch to my chin that made my vision blur and I fell backwards unfortunately just missing a pillow and landing on top of a Rubix’s Cube. As I rolled off the sharp toy digging into my back a glint of metal under the bed caught my eye. It was the gun. I reached for it but Baldy grabbed my ankles and pulled me back just as my fingertips grazed the cool metal.
I picked up a trophy from the debris on the floor as I slid away from the gun and hit him hard on his ear. Blood trickled down his flabby jawline. He punched me in the gut and bounced across the bed and onto the floor where he snagged the gun. I sprang up and came at him low, my head impacting his gut.
We struggled for control and fell, rolling around until I found myself straddled on top of his hulking form, the commandeered gun in my hands. I took aim at my adversary who was bucking like a bronco, and fired, hitting him right between the eyes.
The loud crack behind me a second later sounded too close for thunder. I was confused, until I coughed and saw blood spurting from my mouth. As I tumbled forward and rolled off my victim onto my back, I looked up at the second assailant, his unmasked face familiar. His blond hair was greasy and his jeans were filthy. He smiled and kicked me. As I groaned in pain, staring into his eyes, crazed with passion, I knew I wasn’t going to see tomorrow.
“I know I’ll find you again someday,” I thought of my family, and as my assassin pulled the trigger again, it went dark.