Hey, if you’re isolating like I am, get that trunk novel out and get to writing . . . and/or submitting the first chapter to the Flogometer to get free insights into how it’s working.
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.
A reminder of what you’re after here. This blog is about crafting compelling openings. Not interesting, compelling. Why does it have to meet that hurdle? First, if your work is going to an agent, you’re competing with hundreds of submissions. You have to cut through that clutter and competition with powerful storytelling and strong writing. If it’s a reader browsing in a bookstore or online, the same goes—there are scores of published books competing with yours. Yeah, you need compelling.
Mike sends the first chapter of Waiting for Eternity. The rest of the narrative is after the break.
Eleanore at Eight Years of Age
Eleanore put the last cookie on the tray and checked that it was lined just right. She moved it a tiny fraction to the left so the circle of cookies looked perfect. She looked up at Chef-Mother, hoping for approval. Chef-Mother nodded. Eleanore breathed a sigh of relief.
She hopped off the chair with an ear-to-ear smile on her face. She'd been arranging the after luncheon snacks for almost a year and this was the first time she'd met Chef-Mother's approval.
"Hold out your hands," Chef-Mother said.
Eleanore turned back, confused.
"Both hand," Chef-Mother said. "One on each side."
Eleanore swallowed. She's going to let me carry? She spread her hands as wide as she could. Chef-Mother chuckled as she picked up the tray and lowered it into Eleanore's hands.
Eleanore gripped both side handles as hard as she could. The tray was heavy. She looked up at Chef-Mother. Chef-Mother nodded to the dining room door.
Eleanore felt butterflies take flight in her stomach and her mouth went dry
I enjoyed the voice and the writing. There’s a mini-tension here—will the child fail in her task? But carrying a tray doesn’t seem all that dangerous. There are no real stakes here. While the character is sympathetic, there’s no real reason to turn the page, IMO.
I read on, as is my practice, and, after a look at this chapter, I’d asked Mike to send his second chapter. As it turns out, all of the first chapter is setup to lead to the information at the very end, that Eleanore’s mother was thrown out of the manor in the dead of winter, and no one knows why.
This doesn’t really matter to what’s happening to the girl, and that information could have easily been included in the second chapter when trouble does finally hit at age sixteen. She is thrown out, falsely accused of having sex with the Lord of the manor. Now that’s a problem with stakes, and I urge Mike to toss chapter one, get some jeopardy on the first page of chapter two, and start there.
One more thing. This seems to take place in a time when there were carriages rather than cars, but this page doesn’t let us know the time period. You can use things such as the carriage that appears later to include that in the setting, and should. For example, the girl works in the kitchen. Simply having her add wood or coal to the stove fire would let the reader have an immediate idea of the time period.
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 © 2019 Ray Rhamey, excerpt © 2020 by Mike.
My books. You can read sample chapters and learn more about the books here.
Writing Craft Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling
Mystery (coming of age) The Summer Boy
Science Fiction Gundown Free ebooks.
Continued:
She glanced down as she walked slowly forward. The tray was in the way. She couldn't see her feet. What if I trip? She slid her foot forward.
"The floor is clear, child," Chef-Mother said. "Don't keep his Lordship waiting."
Eleanore bit her lip and began walking again. It seemed safe.
At the door, she stopped and looked back. Chef-Mother spun her finger in a circle. Eleanore nodded and put her back to the door and took a deep breath. I can do this. She pushed her back into the door. It swung open and she followed and turned, walking backward into the dining room.
Once through the door, she let out her breath. I made it without dropping the tray!
Robert, who served meals, stood towering over her with the coffee and tea service balanced on the tips of the fingers of his left hand.
"Where should I put these?" she asked as quietly as she could. Robert gave a tiny shake of his head.
"Follow me," Robert replied, also keeping his voice very low. He moved with a smooth, steady gait to the left of Grandame Sommerfeld, stopped, and glanced back.
Eleanore hadn't moved.
He raised one eyebrow.
Eleanore gave a tiny shake of her head.
He gave her the stern look.
"I don't know how," Eleanore mouthed silently.
Robert frowned. Eleanore's cheeks grew hot. He knows I do so know how. Chef-Mother's been training me almost a year. She sucked in a bushel of air, pushed it back out, and moved to stand exactly three feet behind Robert.
I was supposed to just bring in the tray. I wasn't supposed to serve. What if I do it wrong? What if I drop the tray? What if I break a cookie? What if--
Robert held his tray low. The Grand Lady glanced at him briefly, and he set a tea cup in a saucer, dropped in a cube of sugar using the silver sugar tongs, and filled the cup from the tea pot. He hadn't spilled a drop and still didn't when he lifted a saucer and tea cup and set them gently on the table before her.
Robert didn't move, didn't straighten--he waited. Grandame picked up the cup, tasted, and gave him a slight nod. Then Robert straightening, stepped back, and moved to the left of Lady Plummer-Smythe who was seated in the next chair.
Eleanore's mind was a blank. She'd forgotten everything. She couldn't breathe. Her heart pounded like thunder.
"May I see the cakes, child?" Grandame asked. Her voice was not friendly. Eleanore's trance crumbled.
She stumbled toward the table, pushing the tray forward. Robert cleared his throat. I'm on Grandame's right, not the left. She began to take a step back.
"It's all right, my dear," the great Lady said as she touched Eleanore's arm with her fingertips. Her fingers were cold as ice. "I've not seen you serving before. Is this your first time in the dining room?"
Eleanore nodded once. Grandame twisted her mouth until one corner forced itself upward a fraction as she selected one lemon-vanilla cookie.
"In the future, you will always serve on the left, won't you."
"Yes, Grandame," Eleanore said. She bobbed her head, but Grandame had already turned back to her tea. Eleanore backed away carefully and moved to stand to Lady Plummer-Smythe's left. Lady Plummer-Smythe's eyes sparkled with amusement as she took a lemon-vanilla cookie from the tray. Her smile reminded Eleanore of Henry when he stole her bread at dinner. Eleanore backed away and walked carefully around the Lady Phillis, Lord Sommerfeld's daughter.
Lady Plummer-Smythe is Gentry. She could never so anything bad, not like Henry. He's a servant like I am.
Eleanore followed Robert around the table, careful to not make the slightest noise and always standing to the left of each of the Gentry.
#
It seemed to take one hundred years to finish serving luncheon, and her arms and hands ached. Finally they finished and she carried the heavy tray to the ready-table beside the door which led into the kitchen.
Robert set his tray on the ready-table, but Eleanore wasn't sure what to do next: her tray was still half full.
"Put your tray on the table," he whispered. She set her tray very, very carefully to the left of his, while he moved his remaining cups and saucers to the right side of his tray.
To her relief none of the remaining cookies and cakes moved at all. She looked up, hoping for Robert's approval, but he was busy putting his empty tea and coffee pots to her tray and moving her pastries to his.
"Should I go now?" she asked, still whispering.
"After you finish moving the pastries," he said. She busied herself while he went into the kitchen. He returned with fresh coffee and tea just as she finished.
"Now you may go," he said as he turned to watch the diners. Eleanore slid her tray, now filled with dirty dishes, from the ready-table and carried it to the kitchen door where she took one last look at the dining room as she put her back to the door and backed through.
Once safely inside the kitchen, she began shaking uncontrollably. Chef-Mother rushed to her, took the tray, and led her to a chair.
"Well?" Chef-Mother asked.
Tears flowed in a torrent down Eleanore's cheeks.
"I made a terrible mistake," she sobbed. "I served Grandame Sommerfeld from the right instead of the left. Lord Sommerfeld saw. He frowned at me. He's going to sack me, send me away like he did momma, isn't he."
"Just the once?" Chef-Mother asked. Her face became stern. "You did not repeat the error, did you?"
"No, only the once."
"Did Grandame Sommerfeld say anything?"
"She said she'd not seen me in the dining room before and that it was all right and to always serve on the left and she put her hand on my arm," she said. "I'm sorry Chef-Mother. I'm ever so sorry."
"It's probably all right," Chef-Mother said and huffed. "If Grandame said you were excused, it's likely that our Lord will say nothing." She huffed again. "We'll know soon enough. Our Lord's not one to delay if he decides a servant needs sacking." Eleanore began sobbing again, and she pulled Eleanore into her ample bosom. "Hush child, I think all will be well, but don't ever do that again."
"I won't, Chef-Mother, I won't. I really, really won't."
Chef-Mother held Eleanore out at the length of her arms and put on her most serious, no-nonsense look. Eleanore gulped and put on her look that said I'm-paying-attention-because-I-know-this-is-very-important.
"Child, I will not coddle you," she said. "Everyone makes mistakes from time to time, even Robert. Whether or not you'll be sacked depends very much on two things. First of all it depends on how you conducted yourself afterward."
"I did everything as I'd been taught. I made no noise. I didn't bump into anything. I served each Gentry from the left and held the tray six inches from their left arm and one inch above the table top." She chewed her lip a moment. "I was careful not to touch anyone and I stayed close to Robert, but not too close."
Chef-Mother smiled and nodded approvingly.
"Then you've done everything in your power," she said. She plucked Eleanore off the chair and set her on the floor. "You've done your best in this terrible situation. What happens next depends on the second thing--which is what the Gentry decide. It's in your favor that Grandame Sommerfeld did not scold you.
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes, child," she said, "but one can never about the Gentry. Sometimes they will put up with the most outrageous conduct and other times...well I've seen servants sacked for no reason at all. Life is not fair. We of the serving class must always take care." She smiled and ruffled Eleanore's hair. "But, don't worry, child. No matter what happens, we servants have our ways. Even if you're sacked, we take care of our own."
"Really?"
"Yes," Chef-Mother said, "but don't worry now. You've done all you can and now we have to wait to see what the Lord Sommerfeld decides." She huffed a laugh. "You'll will probably be serving at Sommerfeld Manor long after I'm gone from this earth. Now there are dishes to dry and more to wash, so get yourself busy."
She gave Eleanore another brief hug. Eleanore dragged a stool to the dish drainer, took a towel from the drawer, and began drying and putting plates on the shelves.
"Is that what my Birthing-Mother did?" she asked. "Was she sacked for serving on the right?"
"No, child," Chef-Mother said. "She was sacked for the second reason."
"What was that reason?"
"The Gentry never told us why she was let go. They just put her out. It was in the dead of winter, and they just put her out the door."