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 (PDF here)
- 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.
John sends the first chapter of an untitled science fiction story. The rest of the chapter is after the break. Remember to focus on writing craft regardless of genre. This might not be a genre for you, but you can surely judge the strengths of the opening page.
Missy, the wife of my bosom, didn't begin life as a Missy. Her parents being folks of a romantic, imaginative nature, she started out as something dubbed Minsterwood; but no one, not even her parents, ever called her by that name. No, it was always Mincie, or Minnie, and she tells me that an old, far too clever boyfriend experimented with Woody and Woods. More than anything, she says, that made her first decide to eventually cast him into the outer darkness.
I laugh at that story whenever she repeats it, and remind her that life has blessed her, ever and finally, with only one old boyfriend: Guy Landis. That is to say, me.
On a Friday evening in our stateroom aboard the former asteroid now known as the ISS Tascheter, we have resumed this familiar, playful conversation. Granted, you can often find us in a familiar, playful conversation of some kind. But because the crew has lifted the booze-ration lid for the next several hours, Missy and I have just poured the first of our Lower Manhattans -- a tipple of our own devising, with bourbon and Campari at its heart -- and the evening's playfulness has just begun. Several old pals from past revels about the ship are scheduled to arrive within the next hour or two, and we look forward to much more laughter, and much bending of elbows and ears.
(Such, anyway, is our fantasy of the moment. But when you're in our line of work -- poking our noses into places where they're not wanted -- who knows what adventures might lie ahead?)
On the positive side, the voice is clear and likeable, and the writing is as well. You can have confidence in this writer . . . to a point. The point where confidence wanes is when we finish the first page with nary a story question raised, no sense of tension, no reason to wonder what will happen next. We have a nicely done introduction to the protagonist and can anticipate that a party will be happening, but that’s about it. As readers, we may suspect that this tranquil moment, or the party, will be shattered by events to come, but they’re not here in time. The only thing I found of real interest is that they are on a "former" asteroid. But that's hardly story. In my view, this whole chapter is nothing more than setup. The real story starts later. Show us that page, John. Your thoughts?
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 © 2022 Ray Rhamey, excerpt © 2022 by John.
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:
Our Pooch, Durwood, has been relegated to the back room for the evening. Durwood's not dangerous around company -- the little things never are -- and if you switch it into Rx'd mode and forget about it, you might take hours even to notice (if you ever did) that it's been bobbing about up by the chandelier ever since. But Durwood, at least, has always been disruption-sensitive. (A stray bit in its Persona flipped in the wrong direction, maybe.) So when the doorbell rings before the first lip-print on the rim of my iceglass has refrosted, all bejeezus breaks out on the far side of the back-room door: much yapping and yipping and attacking of that obstacle between Durwood and imagined danger.
Missy lunges for The Pooch's remote, almost sloshing a bit of red booze on her silvery-slinky pants, and I venture to the door's peephole.
It's Matty, I see: Matthew Toricelli, our deck's purser, our very best pal. Of course, we've invited him to the evening's festivities. Of course, he has accepted. But Matty takes his job seriously. With his many work duties, he'd never show up here an hour early... unless, of course, he's here on the job.
When I open the door and let him in, such indeed proves to be the case.
"Guy," he says with a nod. "Missy," he adds, and layers a grin -- just the polite side of a leer -- over the nod he bestows on her. Matty can be even smoother with a woman than I can, even with this woman, and I might worry about that if he were half as good at cracking wise as I am. Or, to give credit where et cetera, if Missy were not Missy.
"Down, boy," she says, brandishing Durwood's remote in Matty's direction and tugging the lapels of her jacket together in mock modesty. "If you're on duty, don't come sniffing around this door."
Which succeeds in reminding Matty he's there for a real reason, whatever it is, and he turns back to me -- while still addressing us both: "I won't keep you. I can see you've still got a lot to do before company arrives." He laughs. "But if you can spare a few minutes..."
"For you," I say, "we can spare an entire weekend."