Flogometer 1045 for Vicky—are you compelled to turn the page?
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. Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling.
Donald Maass,, literary agent and author of many books on writing, says, “Independent editor Ray Rhamey’s first-page checklist is an excellent yardstick for measuring what makes openings interesting.”
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.
Vicky sends the prologue and first chapter of Discharge of Destiny. Here are the first 17 lines for each, plus polls. The rest of the narrative follows the break so you can turn the page.
Prologue
I’ve come back again, to the water where I can see things. In the water there’s earth and sun reflected, but absorbed and made cooler. I think that air flows but not with the same connection. It doesn’t touch the same. Feather-light breeze against the skin, what use is that? But sinking down under the wet is slow and methodical. When you push inside the depths the water pushes back. The water calls and it beckons and when the Mere stand still the liquid surrounds like one is standing inside a diamond.
I try to tell Anthym that every time he comes to the edge of the river. He sees me under the water, and even when I splash like a diver around his feet. One time he picked me up and put me in his pocket but I didn’t like the coldness of air. I tried to tell him that this world he lives in is empty of flow. It was like the time his neighbor Bulge took his clothes when he was bathing. Anthym had to come out of the water and run home naked.
Being out of the water, I said to him, it felt just like that, but Anthym just laughed at me. Anthym is that kind of boy. He sees the face under the water and almost talks to me, but he just thinks he must be crazy as well as worthless.
Sometimes it isn’t easy being in his mind.
Chapter 1
There he was. Sitting by the tumbling river, alone and quiet. The kid's shoulders were scrawny and his shirt was thin, but Kye didn't feel a lot of sympathy. It'd been too much of a pain to search for him, and the investigation had taken 14 years. They'd practically had to root out every single child of that age in the whole country of Ouorka and demand to see their pedigree.
He began to pick his way towards the boy, boulder by boulder, but to his annoyance his movement made the boy’s head swivel around in surprise.
The kid was certainly fast as he rose to his feet and moved away. He was comfortable on the uneven rocks and barefoot.
“Wait!” Kye yelled; his voice loud to dominate over the open-air rushing of the river. “I just want to speak to you, boy. You’re not in trouble or anything!”
The boy didn’t even give him a glance as he climbed up and then disappeared over the nearby rocky crest of land and tree roots that blended with the boulders at the water edge. “Halt!” Kye bellowed. In seconds he leapt clear as well, off the unstable boulders, frustrated and with one wet boot. He scrambled up the bank as the boy had done, reached the crest and scoured the horizon on either side. “Blast!” he hissed. The boy had disappeared, or at least, he was hiding nearby so Kye couldn’t see him. Kye glared towards the rugged landscape near the river; the area most likely to have hiding spots. “You think you’ve evaded me!” he (snip)
For me, while the prologue was lyrical and brief, I didn’t connect with a narrator I can’t “see”—he/it seems to be nonhuman, but is it a fish? A what? There are many hints at things in the prologue, but hints are not, for me compelling. If I were this writer, I’d start with the first chapter.
The first chapter, though, puts us in an immediate scene, and does so with good writing and a sound voice. The character, Kye, is sympathetic in the sense that he’s spent 14 years (BTW, in a manuscript numbers under 100 should be spelled out, eg. fourteen) searching and has found his quarry. We can feel empathy for him. But then his quarry seems to escape, and Kye has a problem. Story questions are raised: who is the boy and why is he sought? Will Kye catch him? What will he do with him? For me, there was enough to read on. In fact, at the end of the chapter, I found myself wishing for more. Your thoughts?
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 © 2018 by Vicky.
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:
. . . accused. “But I’ll find you again! I mean you no harm but when I catch you I’ll…”
He took a deep breath and controlled his temper. He’d learned, being an uncle with young nephews and nieces that an adult should never make a threat towards discipline that they didn’t intend to keep. “When I catch you, I’ll hold on like a Clingett Bush,” he muttered and then sighed.
The landscape here was expansive. Once away from the tumultuous area near the river, the valley evened out into smooth gray hills and bushy tree line. If the boy moved he’d either see him, by the flicker of movement between the trees, hear him, if the lad was in the water, or smell him if the boy was as dirty as he’d appeared. Kye smiled grimly and got settled. After all, he’d been at this search for 14 years. He was willing to wait a little longer.
Four hours later Kye kept a tight hold of the boy’s collar as he marched him back towards the large city of Moonlight.
“But Mister,” the boy was protesting. “I didn’t do it!”
The rant was becoming familiar. The lad had been spouting those same few words, at regular intervals, ever since Kye had found him and dragged him out from between two tree roots. Kye hadn’t replied. He’d only asked one question. “Who’s your mother, Boy?” and when the lad had shaken his head he’d given him a rattle. “Who!” he’d repeated in a louder voice.
“Mia…” the kid had stuttered. “M-Miamon J-Jump!”
The relief Kye felt at that admission had suffused him. He was still pleased now, even though his grip on the scruff of the boy’s collar was beginning to ache to his knuckles. It had to be him, he told himself. The boy’s father pretended he didn’t exist yet there was no other possibility in hundreds of miles. Kye knew that because he’d checked. His mind played over the investigation he’d been a part of for all these years— since he himself had still been a boy at eighteen, when he’d joined the Blue Hills Guard. He’d finished his training and had awaited his first appointment. He held in a laugh now as he thought back to the day. How honored he’d been when the leaders had called him forward, he and three others. He’d been recognized because he’d proven that he knew the ins and outs of the rugged landscape around Moonlight like no other.
He and his team, under the leadership of his mentor Dysian. They’d planned on executing their orders right away. ‘Find the child,’ they’d been told, and it had seemed an easy task. Discovering the one infant created from almost impossible odds; a ninth son of the ninth son of the ninth son. After all, how many offspring like him could there be?
“Mister,” the boy spoke up again as he trotted along. “I’m telling you, I didn’t do it!”
At last Kye chuckled. “Didn’t do what, Lad?” he asked.
“Uh… I didn’t steal it.”
“So, you didn’t take anything, hmm?”
“But Mater Pye gave me those buns after I moved the boxes out of her warehouse.”
Mater Pye owned the largest bakery in Moonlight and she was known for having a generosity as large as her apron strings.
“Ah. But I didn’t track you down to the very water’s edge and sit freezing on a slimy tree stump for hours because of a few buns stolen from Mater Pye’s window.”
“Then what do you want, Mister?”
“You finally ask?”
“Just… can I go home now?”
Kye tried not to laugh. He wouldn’t call the house Miamon Jump had raised her unsupervised children in much of a ‘home’.
“You want to know what I want from you, Lad?” he answered. “I want to know why you’ve hidden from us all these years. Why did you ignore the city’s summons? Don’t you know how urgent we’ve become?”
“Huh?” the boy asked. “What ‘summons’? What are you talking about, Mister?”
Kye couldn’t help but tighten his grip and give a shake at the boy’s collar. “The nine bells of Galigali,” he stressed. “They ring every night!”
“What have those bells to do with me?”
Kye stopped the procession and wrenched the boy around so they were face to face. “Who’s your mother?” he demanded again.
“Miamon Jump, I told you!”
“But you’re not a Jump, are you, Boy?”
“No,” the boy said with a scowl. “Jump died before I was born.”
“So your mother lost her husband, after she’d had several children with him.”
The boy just shrugged.
“And then she had you, correct? Who’s your father then?”
Another shrug; and another scowl.
“She never told you?”
“She’s never told anyone,” the boy growled. “According to my brothers, I just arrived in the dung heap.”
Kye looked away for a second. The boy’s face was raw with ingrained humiliation. Kye studied his features, deeper than before. Smooth-tanned skin under the grime, and free from spots. A long, thin nose and a healthy-sized chin; the lad’s face was even and his eye’s wide-spaced and clear. They were a stormy blue-gray in color. There was intelligence in that gaze, and a determination to survive. But it wasn’t up to a soldier from the Blue Hills Guard to tell the lad where he’d come from.
“Keep going, Boy,” Kye grunted. He marched the lad back into Moonlight.
Entering the Guard’s Garrison, the boy froze into deeper silence. Kye still had hold of his clothing, but now he clutched the boy’s wrist. Once the huge doors closed behind them he relaxed a bit.
“Halt, Lad,” he said. “If you promise not to try and hide in here, I’ll let you walk by yourself.”
The boy kept his face angled down to the floor and his mouth shut.
“Come now. Let’s introduce ourselves to each other at least. My name is Kye.”
Nothing. Kye sighed and gave up. Soon, he told himself, he could turn this boy over to his leader. He wasn’t sure what would happen to the lad then, but at least it wasn’t his problem. His task would be finished.
He was surprised at himself as he kept hold of the boy’s wrist and they continued forward. Besides them the huge walls of the garrison were as distant side to side as the massive beamed roof was from the floor. The sound of their footsteps was absorbed into the stone-tiled floor. Kye should’ve been elated, proud of himself. He’d tracked down every clue with the others but on a whim, had excused himself after breakfast.
“I remember when I was that age,” he’d told his team. “There was a certain place near the Water Gate that I used to sit by the river. No one bothered me there.”
His leader had teased him, saying that he could’ve told him about that spot, all along. Then they wouldn’t have needed to bother with clues or investigations. ‘But go on,’ Dysian had said. ‘Check it out. We may as well leave no stone unturned.’
And now here he was, triumphant with the prize that’d eluded all others. In fact, as he traversed the long hall, he began to garner some attention.
“Look what Kye’s got,” he heard a guard call out. “Is that him?”
By the time they reached the long desk and the Guardian of the Watch, he had an entourage. Several of his teammates had been called to and had appeared. They’d fallen into place walking beside and behind him as was proper. Teams stuck together. On making official reports your band escorted you. The calling voices dimmed and now the Garrison fell silent. It was a rule and tradition that no one asked questions of returning investigators before the Guardian of the Watch or another superior.
Kye glanced down at the boy beside him as they drew close to the desk. His proud moment was dimmed. The boy himself wasn’t having as good a time. Kye could feel him shivering and he supposed it must be difficult for the lad, being surrounded by practically every guard in the Garrison. The soldiers of Moonlight, all wearing the same uniform and dripping with the aura of recent training, were knotting in a clog of bodies behind them. Everyone wanted to hear what would be said, and to see if Kye really did have the boy that was summoned every night by the nine bells of Galigali.
“Don’t be frightened, Lad,” Kye said to the boy. “You’re in no danger.”
Still no verbal response, but the thin shoulders clenched for a second.
He had no more time to reassure him before the desk was reached. They’d arrived.
The Guardian of the Watch for the day was a man named Torent. He was always there every weekday from dawn till the late-afternoon call. Outside the light was changing to the shimmering shades of early sunset through the long windows. A line of gold gleamed down through the round circular window above the huge river-rock fireplace behind the watch. It tinged the spot where they stopped, glinting gold off the boy’s hair. For a moment he didn’t look scrawny or dirty and the way his gray eyes pierced as he stared forward to peek at the desk revealed a boy more spirited than his shivering humility proclaimed. Then they moved forward and the shadows took over. He was just a thin boy in rags once more.
Kye stopped in front of the desk and took a moment to clear emotion from his voice. He’d been searching with his team for fourteen years after all.
“I am Guardian Kye, Sir,” he said, once his voice was steady. “Here to report a find in our investigation.”
Torent stood tall and then glanced to the side. The door opened from the Guard’s Chamber. The news had spread and now Kye’s team leader appeared and hurried forward. Kye sighed in relief. He wanted Dysian standing beside him for this. The room waited for the man to get into place. Once the guards were established in their spots and proprieties were observed, the room turned its collective eyes to the boy. His head remained looking down at the floor but his cheeks turned red. Torent cleared his throat.
“I am Torent,” the man said in a gruff voice, “The Guardian of the Watch for today. Report.”