Submissions sought.Get fresh eyes on your opening page. Submission directions below.
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.
A First-page Checklist
- It begins to engage the reader with the character
- Something is wrong/goes wrong or challenges the character
- The character desires something.
- The character takes action. Can be internal or external action: thoughts, deeds, emotions. This does NOT include musing about whatever.
- 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.
- The one thing it must do: raise a story question.
Caveat: a first page can succeed without including all of these possibilities. They are simply tools you can use. In particular, a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and a create page turn without doing all of the above. On the other hand, testing pages with the checklist no matter where they are in a story can help identify where a narrative lags and why it does.
Chris sends the first chapter of Straight River. The rest of the chapter follows the break. Note: there's an alternative opening following my discussion.
For the third time that morning, Matt Lanier walked to his answering machine and replayed the lone message. The caller's voice sounded terse and unemotional, a gravelly baritone, simultaneously familiar and strange. "Somethin' I need to tell you. Gimme a call." For the third time that morning, his insides tightened from a mixture of anger and dread. He walked to the living room window of his downtown Minneapolis condo and looked out across several city blocks at the Mississippi River, barely visible through the gray March clouds and mist.
Two days had passed since he'd first listened to the message. His initial reaction was a powerful urge to delete it as a show of contempt. His second reaction was to wait a few days and see if a follow-up call would come. It had not.
He returned to his phone and dialed the number. His call was answered after three rings with a clipped "Hullo." Not a question. Not a greeting. Merely the initiation of a conversation.
Matt hesitated while he repressed a mild feeling of panic. "Hi, Dad."
A long pause suggested Ray Lanier had either changed his mind about wanting to talk or hadn't expected his son to return his call.
"Yeah, hi. We need to talk. About the farm."
"Dad, I don't—"
"I know you don't want nothing to do with the farm, but something's goin' on around (snip)
Good, clear writing and voice in this opening page. The protagonist is already in turmoil because of history (that we don’t know) with his father. There’s tension in the character, but the narrative needs to create tension in the reader, too.
There are story questions here: what does his dad want, how will Matt deal with whatever it is. But, with what we have here, how compelling is that? For me, “almost.”
However, on the next page was a line from the father that would have gotten the page turned.
"It's important," Ray said. "I need your help."
I suggest Chris find a way to whittle down the opening page and get that line on the first page. With apologies to Chris for butchering his text, here’s one possible way to do that. I felt that there needed to be a raising of the stakes here. See if this generates a little more tension in you—a poll follows.
For the third time that morning, Matt Lanier replayed the message. His dad’s voice sounded tense, tight. "Somethin' I need to tell you. Gimme a call."
He looked out his living room window and across downtown Minneapolis at the Mississippi River, barely visible through the gray March clouds and mist.
Two days had passed since he'd first listened to the message. His initial reaction was a powerful urge to delete it as a show of contempt. His second was to wait and see if a follow-up call would come. It had not. He dialed.
His call was answered with a clipped "Hullo."
Matt repressed a mild feeling of panic. "Hi, Dad."
A pause made Matt wonder if his father hadn't expected his son to return his call. "Yeah, hi. We need to talk. About the farm."
"Dad, you know I don't—"
"Want nothing to do with it, yeah, but something's goin' on you should know about."
That seemed harmless enough. "So tell me."
"Don't want to talk on the phone."
"Why—"
"It's important," Ray said. "I need your help."
One more little note: it seems to me that in today’s world a young man would be listening to voicemail messages on a cell phone, not a landline with an answering machine. Something to think about.
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 © 2017 Ray Rhamey, chapter © 2017 by Chris.
My books. You can read sample chapters and learn more about the books here.
Writing Craft Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling
Fantasy (satire) The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles
Mystery (coming of age) The Summer Boy
Science Fiction Hiding Magic
Science Fiction Gundown Free ebooks.
Continued:
. . . here. Smells like grade A bullshit. You should know about it."
"What exactly is going on?"
"I want to show you some research I did. Don't want to talk on the phone."
What was so damn important in his father's mundane life that he couldn't talk about it over the phone? Matt unclenched the fist he'd formed when he first heard his father's voice after so many years. He racked his brain for a good reason not to go back to the farm.
"But Dad, can't you just—"
"It's important," Ray said. "I need your help."
Matt inhaled long and slow, hoping it would ease the tension in his voice. He rhythmically tapped his fingers on his thigh. "I'm really busy. I have a full schedule of orchestra performances through May, and I'm recording a CD with my jazz trio that has to be finished in a month. Plus, I'm giving lessons to ten students."
"Yeah, I get it. Everyone hides behind too busy nowadays." Ray's voice sounded even more bitter than normal. He expelled a long sigh. "I'm just asking for one hour." His voice softened to a gentle tone Matt hadn't remembered hearing since he was about ten. Since before his mother died.
Matt sat on his sofa and sunk back into the cushions. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, gripped a fistful, then released it. "When?"
"The sooner, the better."
He mentally checked his schedule—an all-Beethoven concert tonight, tomorrow night, and a Sunday matinee, plus morning rehearsals. "How about Monday afternoon? I only have a few lessons to reschedule." He could have run down to the farm later today and returned before the evening performance but didn't want to because he needed several days to mentally prepare to see his father in person.
"Come anytime," Ray said. "I'm not busy until planting starts."
"I'll be there at two o'clock."
"Thanks, boy. I appreciate it."
Those were the kindest words his father had spoken to him in more than twenty years.
The Minnesota Orchestra was well into the third movement of the finale that evening—Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, one of the great showstoppers in the orchestral repertoire. Matt sat in his usual position in the double bass section, focused on his performance. He was playing the Allegretto fugue passage, which is challenging for even the most talented, bassist when he had a sudden flashback to the last time he remembered his father showing any hint of pride toward his son. The memory caused an unexpected welling up of tears that blurred the mass of rapid-fire black notes into a bizarrely striated Rorschach inkblot.
Matt regained his composure and finished the piece with a burst of energy he'd absorbed from the ensemble, which played with a high level of intensity considering it was only Friday. The orchestra usually generated its best musical karma on Saturday night performances. The musicians graciously endured a longer-than-normal standing ovation before they exited the stage, eager to either repair to one of the local watering holes for a nightcap or make haste for home.
As he made his way backstage, Matt thought again about Ray. Beethoven's Fifth was the only classical work his father had ever admitted liking. He thought it made sense and had good speed. Matt had assumed those terms meant the piece had memorable melodies that were easy to hum, and Ray could tap his toes to the beat most of the time.
The only time Ray had heard Matt perform Beethoven's Fifth was at the final concert of Matt's senior year of college. Ray had made the long trip—long in his mind—from the family farm in Straight River to Northrop Auditorium on the University of Minnesota's Minneapolis campus. Only an hour's drive north up Interstate 35, the massive university was the equivalent of a foreign country to his father.
Ray had neither congratulated Matt after the performance nor offered a perfunctory Atta boy or Nice job. Matt had been surprised that Ray showed up at all. His disapproval of Matt's career choice combined with the fact that his eldest son would not eventually join him as a partner in the family farm had been the finalizing rift that caused their estrangement. But the chasm that had been growing between them for years was caused by more than Matt's desire to be a musician.
He stored his instrument and music folio and headed for the stage door and home. Maybe the upcoming meeting with his father could be the start of some sort of détente between them. Time hadn't fully healed Matt's psychological wounds, but it had dulled the sharp memories of the physical pain and mental anguish he'd endured as a teenager. As he walked the ten blocks home through downtown Minneapolis, dodging crusted snow piles, patches of ice, and puddles of March slush, he warmed to the possibility of establishing at least a cordial relationship with his father. Nothing too intense, just being able to call each other occasionally to chat about their lives. By the time he reached the elevator to his condo, he was looking forward to seeing his father for the first time in years.