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.
Victoria sends the first page of Mourn Their Courage. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Inside the Peach Orchard Inn, Lord Liu Jie expected to be murdered. He appreciated that he had a choice in how it might happen.
As to why it might happen, he reread the imperial notice posted behind the bar:
"The Son of Heaven requires the aid of all men as sons might come to their father. Yellow Turban rebels assault the people and threaten the capital. All districts report." A crimson imperial chop blazed in a corner.
He and his family had traveled for months and thousands of li to avoid this exact situation. He'd hoped to advise Emperor Xian, his nephew. Xian listened to corrupt officials. Everyone knew it. If Jie could convince the emperor to abandon his tax plan, people need not starve. Too late. They'd stopped at this inn and found the notice.
In a single moment, his mission had changed from one of protecting the people, to attacking them.
I've got over twenty men from home, plus Tong Zhang. Zhang is worth ten fighters, but still, it's not enough. If Jie did not recruit extra men to answer his emperor's call, he doomed himself, Zhang and men he'd known for years.
And if I recruit?
He looked over the inn's packed lower level. There were at least two hundred men to (snip)
Nicely written with a good voice, the narrative in this opening page invites the reader in. More than that, the strong hook in the opening paragraph not only ushers the reader in, it gives a push to want more. I wish the rhetorical question, And if I recruit?, had gone on to include some sort of stakes or consequences if he does. But, still, with that opening hook I’d risk a page turn.
I think this is a good start for a story that takes place in an interesting time.
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 © 2019 Ray Rhamey, excerpt © 2020 by Victoria.
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:
. . . persuade. They needed the right incentive.
He sweated, considering his options. If they find out I daydream conversations with my dead children, they'll kill me. Everyone but Mei would assume I'm fighting to raise an army of the dead against the Emperor.
But I need those conversations. Jie took a deep breath. Abandoning the illusion of my children is not and never will be the issue.
I can go to war with or without extra men. Either way, I risk death, but if I recruit, some of us will live and all of us will eat. Besides, why should they discover my secret?
Jie rose, caught Zhang's eye and mounted the first set of stairs before turning to face the room. One by one, the men stared at the landing where Jie stood in his blue cotton robes and scholar’s cap.
The cap announced his education. It meant they could trust him to make their bellies full. Their lives safer. Their futures assured. It told them nothing about the deaths he'd already caused or his need for redemption. It said less than nothing about how little he wanted to lead an army into war against his own kinsmen, his brothers.
Zhang pushed through the crowd to stand beside him. As always, he attracted attention in armor that emphasized his girth. His forehead-spanning eyebrow, bristling mustache and beard completed an intimidating picture. In short, Zhang is everything a general should be. I am the money. Zhang drained his tankard and slammed the metal cup against the stair's supporting pillar. The sharp crack broke through the restless chatter.
Jie took a deep breath. "I am Lord Liu Jie of Homeng province." He glanced at the Imperial notice.
"The ransacked grain warehouse held your hope. Most of you have rationed your rice stores and can hold off starvation for another month." A few men shook their heads at this and the room quieted further. "But you and your children will eat dirt to fill your stomachs by this winter if things do not change."
The men before him nodded, anguish written on their lean faces.
"I will beg our emperor to release the Imperial grain reserves, but to do that, I must win past these rebels. Please, help me fight for change now. Become my brothers, my family," Jie paused to swallow the word, 'children'. The room was so quiet, he thought his recruits held their breath. "Nothing under heaven can withstand an army of brothers. General Tong Zhang will see you are fed and I will pay those who serve."
Eager shouts burst out as they crowded the stairs. Most men joined militias for consistent meals. Pay was a luxury they could return to their families.
Jie raised his hand and silence fell. "Make your mark on General Tong’s sign-up sheet. We'll take recruits for the next three days." Jie stepped off the landing as men rushed to give their names to Zhang. The noise level doubled.
"Will they feed us tonight?" One nearby farmer asked. His cheeks stood in too-high relief. This man did not care about protecting his imperial father. He cared about his hunger. They all did.
If food's what drives them. . . Jie signaled the innkeeper and requested meals for himself and the men. The innkeeper froze for a moment in shock, bowed and backed away.
One farmer downed his drink and dropped the cup on a table with a sneer. "Can't promise we won't be an army of dead brothers, can he?"
Jie swayed from the blood draining to his feet. He wanted to admit, No. I can't promise you that, but his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to explain, I'm not a necromancer, but knew better than to give himself away. If they suspect, this is where I die. The room grew quiet and cold as if the man's words called the dead. Jie could still say nothing in his defense. Will I join my boys now?
"I can promise that any man who is too much of a coward to fight for his country and his brothers has no business joining us." Zhang sauntered to the farmer's side.
The farmer flushed a dark shade. "Never said I wouldn't fight," he muttered.
"Good," Zhang passed the man the sign up sheet. The farmer's friends teased him and the room returned to its monotonous drone.
Jie shivered. Zhang didn't know Jie's secret, so the warrior didn't know he'd stalled a riot. Jie breathed a silent prayer of thanks to his partner.
The innkeeper brought him warmed rice wine and a plate of onion dumplings. They drowned in a savory sauce designed to conceal the lack of meat. Guilty at eating the extravagant meal in a time of scarcity, Jie barely tasted the food.
Then the musky smell of wild boar from a distant forest stopped all thought. His trembling hands slopped wine over the cup’s smooth edge as the room around him faded. It turned into his bedchamber at home. The door opened and his children – his dead children – walked into his and Mei's room.
I'm not at home and this can't happen. Not now. He drank more, hoping…. Not here. Not in front of the men. Jie shut his eyes, fighting to stop himself. It did not work.
"Papa!" Dai said. "I brought rice congee. Bolin's got your tea."
It hurt. Oh it hurt, but Jie opened his eyes. He was home and the boys brought him the last meal they'd shared. As always. It was as if they were unable to break entirely free of their life. Or he was unable to release them.
Pudgy Dai still wore his black cap with the embroidered tiger eyes. He knelt, placing congee in front of Jie. Bolin, forever tall for a twelve-year old boy, brought the tea kettle without spilling. Steam rose from the bowls. It reminded him of kuei.
Jie sighed, happy because there were no kuei. Familial spirits and hungry ghosts did not exist except in his mind. He'd spent the last decade trying to convince himself ofthat. And now, twelve years of loss had disappeared. His sons were not dead. It was a terrible dream.
Their death was not a dream, he berated himself. They died. It was my fault. I left them alone and daydreaming they're alive, that we can still talk, dishonors them.
Bolin's laughter and Dai's giggle filled an empty well in Jie's soul. He needed his boys.
Daylight tried to break through the shuttered window. Dai propped open the shutters and light glowed golden on his face. Birdsong rang outside. Jie wanted to spend the day with his children. A trip to town, perhaps.
"I’m sorry, Papa," Bolin said. He poured the tea and gave it to his father.
"Sorry for what, son?" He wanted to treat them to sweets and a night of theater.
"I’m sorry we’re dead."
Jie's heart lurched into his ribs and stuck there, unmoving. He squeezed the cup and it shattered.
A little bit longer. It doesn’t matter if they’re demons, ghosts or hallucinations. I don’t care how it hurts. Let me stay!
The bright morning darkened. The birds fell silent.
"We wish we could be with you," Dai said.
"Take them with you, Papa. They're part of the family, too."
In the logic of the daydream, Jie knew Bolin meant the imperial family, but Who is a part, Son?
Bolin’s lips twisted in his sad half smile. He put his hand inside Jie's numb fingers for a moment.
Wait! Jie begged. Stay! Stay here with me!
"He'll guide you, too, but don’t spit on him," Dai said, as if that was the most ordinary thing in the world. "Don't forget, Papa." Dai added, like he used to if Jie promised him a toy.
"Don’t leave me alone," Jie pleaded.
"You’re never alone, Papa." Bolin kissed him and was gone. Dai grinned and waved goodbye.
Jie jerked, breathing hard as his heart jumped back into place. In comparison to his daydream, the inn's lamplit room seemed darkened with shadows. He downed the last of his wine without throwing up.
Shuddered.
Once, long ago, he’d hoped he was special and assumed he was a Shih Kung, a Master of the Dead, because his dead spoke to him. To his shame, he'd even believed for a time that a hungry ghost had killed his children. It was all a lie.
He spoke to his dead because he missed them, but he refused to believe Hungry Ghosts existed. A coward's unwillingness to face the truth tainted his memories of that night: he'd let his boys die.
His breath slowed at last.
The dead cannot win wars and no scholar ever called upon them or accepted their guidance.
Neither will I. That’s not who I am. Not anymore.
But listening to daydreams is not obeying the dead or following their suggestions.
The inn door slammed open and Jie's remaining child, seven-year-old Shan, rushed inside. There was a longer-jawed echo of Dai in Shan’s face that made Jie’s heart ache.
"Papa!" Shan cried. "Come outside, quick!"
Jie glanced at Zhang who chatted with the recruits, oblivious. Jie raised an eyebrow at his son. "It's dark. There’s nothing to see."
"There’s a dead boy in the garden!"
As breathless as if Shan struck him, Jie closed his eyes and forced his ribs out. Then in. Felt his limbs, his blood, his life. A dead boy.... "Show me." They hurried out the door and beyond the light spilling from the inn's latticed windows.
Mother Moon's bony face lit their path and sour wine rose from slippery peaches beneath Jie's feet. Dry leaves on branches sounded like a shallow stream. Like the river that brings the dead to hell.
"Quick, Papa! Over here!"
Each cold breath was a visible, white dash before they reached the garden. At last, Jie slid to his knees.
Moonlight lit the hollow cheeks of an emaciated teenage boy a little smaller than Bolin. Jie put his ear to the boy's chest and listened. Air squeaked from the boy's lips.
"He's alive. Run and beg the innkeeper for hot water. I'll follow you." Shan sprinted away.
If only saving this boy could make his children live again, but Jie's life was a ladder of wishes.
The boy's thin hemp tunic and straw sandals showed no blood. Jie probed the body for wounds and found none. He hefted the boy into his arms and ran.
Outside the inn, a blast of cold air made the boy moan. The door burst open as if a typhoon wind struck it and Jie ran through.
The innkeeper came from the kitchen, wringing his hands. "My Lord, perhaps he would fare better at the holy shrine?"
"He's not ill," Jie said. "I can feel his ribs. He needs good food, not incense." The innkeeper bowed out of the way as Shan opened the door to their room.
"What!" His wife, Mei yelped as he ran in. She was not yet in her nightclothes. She had removed her jacket, leaving the white cotton yi undershirt and her silk traveler’s trousers. "Shut the – " The instant Mei saw what he carried, her hands flew to her lips and tears threatened.
"He's alive," Jie said. "We need to warm and feed him and let him sleep." He hesitated. "If you prefer, I can pay for the local priests to care for him."
"Nonsense." She pulled off the boy's tunic.
Relieved, Jie helped her remove more of the damp clothing. Mei would be all right, but if this was hard for him, it was worse for her. She had dressed their sons for burial twelve years before.
The last undershirt remained and they both gasped. Blood stains from whiplashes were a brutal calligraphy across the fabric.
The boy lurched upright, terror-filled his wide eyes. "Don’t hit me! I didn’t do it!" He flung himself away.
"We’re not going to hurt you," Mei said in her gentlest tone, her eyes brimming again.
"I have never whipped anyone in my life. I am not about to start with a child." Jie's voice shook with revulsion.
"Don't remove the undershirt," Mei murmured. "It could open those wounds."
The boy quieted, swaying. Jie folded a steamed towel and placed it on the boy’s forehead.
A knock sounded on the door and Jie stood and opened it after Mei put her jacket on.
Tong Zhang bowed low. "Please forgive the intrusion. You never returned and I wanted to make sure you were well."
"Of course," Jie said. "I apologize. Please, come in." The wood panels of the small room groaned as if Zhang's mere presence pushed against the walls.
"My son found a boy outside, dying from cold and hunger." Jie picked up his scholar's box. It contained everything he needed to write their supply list: a charcoal stick, silk writing sheets, brush and an ink stone for grinding ink. "My wife and I are caring for him. Mei?"
"I’ll be fine," she said.
Zhang glanced at the bed where Mei daubed the boy's face with a wet towel. "An inauspicious omen."
Jie gritted his teeth and bit back his first reply. "That depends on how he fares."
As if on cue, the boy opened his eyes and shrank under his blanket as Zhang towered above him. "Are you the Demon King?" The Orchard Boy's voice rattled and wheezed.
Zhang laughed. The boy looked around, his eyes wide. "Where am I? Who are you?"
Mei replaced the steaming cloth on his forehead and eased him down.
"What is your name, child?" Jie said. "Can you hear me?"
"I'm Hong Aiyu. Thirteen. Not child." The boy's voice slurred from exhaustion. His eyes fluttered and stayed closed. "You want 'prentice? I'll bring you luck."
"Luck?" Zhang's laughter vibrated the rafters. "Sure! Bad luck!"
"He'll live, Zhang." Jie grinned. Auspicious indeed. "His name suggests, the gods have given us their blessing."
Jie never took his eyes off Aiyu. "I have no craft to train you in, boy."
Aiyu opened his eyes and stared at Jie from darkened pits. "Slave, then?"
The boy’s gaunt desperation shook Jie. Take them with you, Papa.
This has nothing to do with my daydream. It's just one boy. That said, I can’t leave him to die. He’ll be safe and fed with Mei and Shan. When he’s of age, he can decide where to go and what to do.
"We will talk later, War Dragon, but I will take you into my family's service." A servant girl from downstairs entered with a large bowl of onion broth and cooked rice. It steamed an enticing aroma. "Eat and rest, now."
***
Hong Aiyu groaned. Will stomachs crawl away in search of food? I wish. It growled again. She sat up. The smell of steamed onion bread made her mouth water. A traveling trunk stood pushed into a corner, but the room was otherwise tidy and empty. Late morning sunlight slanted through the window. She lay in a curtained bed – an unfamiliar luxury. Iya! Please don't let me be in a flower house! She groped her chest padding and was reassured. Her secret – well, that secret at least – was not discovered. And they had accepted her as a slave. They would feed her, then. She pulled on one of her tunic layers, eager to conceal herself.
We’re not going to hurt you.
I have never whipped anyone in my life. I am not about to start with a child.
Master doesn’t whip people, so what discipline does he use? How long before this master chased her away?
Footsteps creaked up the stairs and stopped outside the door. "When I took his service, I meant him to stay with my wife," her master said.
"Boys serving women?" Zhang spluttered. "Jie, he may look young, but he's almost past apprentice age. He'll expect to come with you. It won't matter to him where you go."
"If he's wounded or killed in battle it will matter a great deal," her master said.
"Everybody dies, Jie," Zhang said. "Let the boy do it with honor!"
"I will not let another child die under my protection." Aiyu's master sounded like he spoke through clenched teeth.
Silence filled the hallway. Warmth and light fled the room and Aiyu shivered with the sudden chill.
Battle. Killing. Can I do that? Aiyu put a hand on her churning stomach, aware it had been full for the first time in ages the night before. If I stay, I'll be safe. But they think I'm a boy and if I stay where a boy wouldn't stay, they'll suspect. They'll find out and they won't want me.
Then another thought occurred to her. They had stripped off her tunic, but her undershirt and padding was intact. Maybe her master hadn't seen her padding, but women noticed details like that. What if Mistress suspected? What if she knew? Another memory from the night before rose. Mistress said, Don't remove the undershirt.
Without fail, Aiyu's worst beatings were from the women who discovered her secret. Discovered it and believed Aiyu sought a concubine's status from their husbands.
I have to get away from her, but I will not be left by the road. Not again. I belong to Jie until he abandons me like everyone else.
She stuffed away the terror of hunger and heartbreak - of being unwanted. It was inevitable. I'll deal with it when it happens.
Aiyu struggled to put on her tattered straw sandals, wincing at the blisters. Her stiff fingers were clumsy, and the shoes cost her precious moments.
"I will protect my family," Jie said.
Aiyu stopped fighting her shoes and flung them aside. She'd learned long ago, boys don't cry, but she wasn't a boy. She wanted to push the world aside and wrap herself around the ache in her heart. Aiyu gritted her teeth. He’s not my family. He’s not…
"You're adopting an unknown boy?" Zhang said.
"I speak of the imperial family. The emperor is our father and you are my brother. In that sense, he is one of my children."
To have a family again, even if it was someone else's . . . . Aiyu ground out the thought. I can’t have that, but I promised to serve the man who saved me. Not his wife or child.
Aiyu stood and the dizzy rush made everything dark for a moment.
She lurched through the doorway and almost ran into Zhang, the biggest man she'd ever seen.
"Ah! The dragon walks!" the mountain said.
Aiyu swallowed her shock. No wonder I thought he was the Demon King.
But Jie . . . . Aiyu had not seen her new master clearly the night before. She had thought Jie would be bigger. He was small, and he wore travel-worn robes of embroidered cotton, not silk. A color-banded scholar's cap was the only rank indicator.
Aiyu approved. She'd never trusted men who dressed well. Jie exuded calm authority without any hint of cruelty, too. It was a good start.
She stood beside Jie. "I will go wherever my master goes. I won't fail." I hope I won't die.
Zhang swung his fist and Aiyu ducked, but the hand landed on her shoulder, steadying her.
"Well said, Little Dragon!" Zhang laughed as he left.
"Tell me, Aiyu," Jie said. "Where are your parents? How have you supported yourself?"
How many masters had she lied to already? It was easier to do, but still felt disgusting. "I'm an orphan. I sought apprenticeship on the road. After I sold my good fortune coins for food and ran out of luck, no one would take me."
"But the garden?"
Aiyu remembered it well, scrounging in the dirt for a forgotten vegetable. She couldn’t admit that, of course. Masters did not permit stealing. Aiyu had the scars to prove it. They'd removed her clothes to administer the beatings. Once they discovered her most obvious secret, they'd given her other invisible scars. And then – oh, then they had discovered everything there was to know about Hong Aiyu, the girl with a boy's name and too many secrets to count. She startled, realizing Jie waited.
"It was tempting, but I won't steal." Her cheeks warmed at the lie, but Jie nodded once.
"What would you like to eat before you go back to sleep?" Jie asked.
The tang of the onion bread lingered, but she was so close to having more than a full stomach. Someone loved and protected could never understand the devastation of life without a family. This was Aiyu’s chance to be an accepted member of a household. At least until she was cast out. Loneliness ate at the insides as much as hunger.
"Let me come with you. I’ve been on the road long enough, nowhere’s safe."
Jie closed his eyes, his face blank. Aiyu took a step back. An emotionless face had signaled horrific beatings before. But when Jie opened his eyes, pain lit them. "Least of all war."
"I’m part of the family, too," Aiyu said.
Jie jumped, staring at her as if Aiyu were a ghost.
"You said so. We're all brothers. You're all I have. Let me serve."
Jie glanced away as if he saw into the past. He smoothed his beard, once, twice, then nodded. "I will take you with me." Jie said through clenched teeth, "you will train with the men, but you will not fight. I will protect you."
Aiyu heard the words, but didn’t dare believe them. She didn't say aloud the vow making her sick at heart: serve the family, but don't trust them.