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 sent the first pages of Crossroads, a new adult love 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.
Amber Jean Monroe was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She stood tall for a girl, maybe five-foot-ten, had golden hair, thick and voluminous, that cascaded to the small of her back, and a splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore blue jeans and a light-pink, half-sleeve, button-down blouse that she filled out rather nicely. When she smiled, it seemed as though she was about to share a whispered secret. In all of my twenty-five years, I had never seen another woman more spectacular.
Unfortunately, as I would find out, she was completely untouchable.
I was standing at the counter of Luke’s Pharmacy when she approached and I let her go in front of me. I came in for some aspirin intending to continue through to the next town, but after spotting her, I made the ad-hoc decision to hang around for a while.
“Thanks, Gabe,” she said, taking her change from the guy behind the counter.
She looked at me briefly, flashed a smile, then walked out the door and went to the left.
“Damn,” I muttered.
“Can I help you?” Gabe asked with a hint of impatience.
“Uh, yeah,” I responded, still trying to keep an eye on the girl before she slipped out of view. “I noticed the sign in the window said you were looking for a driver.”
“You new in town?”
For one thing, I’d delete the first sentence and start this paragraph with Amber Jean Monroe stood tall for a girl, etc. For another, I’d look for a way to create a story question here. Later in the narrative, in relation to winning the untouchable Amber, the protagonist says “I don’t take no for an answer.” If this challenge were on the first page, it might be enough to create tension.
But there’s no jeopardy with that, no problem with stakes attached that he has to deal with. There is an almost-missed hint of that later when, asked if he uses drugs, the narrative says:
I did know someone who preferred drugs, though, and he was looking for me.
That would be almost enough. To lift it to story-question levels, some kind of stakes need to be involved.
Here’s a thought for John: The narrative moves from this first page to him applying for a delivery job at the drug store. That’s when he’s asked about drugs. Start with the interview in progress after briefly setting the scene. You could have Amber enter and the person interviewing him, seeing John’s interest in her, could let him know she was the preacher’s daughter and untouchable. This could provoke the not taking a no for an answer. Then the interviewer asks the question about drugs and John makes his statement, and his thoughts could include the danger that would come with the drug person finding him. I’m sure this could be fit on the first page, and then other setup stuff could follow. It would be worth a try.
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 © 2023 Ray Rhamey, excerpt © 2023 by John Maffia.
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:
I nodded.
“Isaac!” Gabe shouted, never taking his eyes off me.
A few seconds later, an older man, wearing a white lab coat, came out from the back of the store and walked to Gabe’s side. “Yes?”
“This guy here wants the delivery job,” Gabe said.
Isaac Goldberg looked to be in his late sixties, or early seventies, with a full head of white hair. He was shorter than both Gabe and I, he had a large bumpy nose, and a five o’clock shadow.
He wrinkled his brow as he looked me over. “You just move into town?” He had a hint of a southern accent.
“Just passing through,” I replied.
“What brings you to West Virginia?”
“I thought I would take a break,” I answered. “Stay a couple of weeks. I travel a lot, and try to find odd jobs when I can.”
I waited while Isaac thrummed his fingers on the counter. “You clean?”
“Clean?” I asked.
“You do drugs?”
“No, sir,” I responded standing straighter. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink either. And I’m honest, dependable, and a hard worker.”
Most of that was true. I don’t drink or do drugs. In my line of work, you have to remain clear-headed at all times. Get drunk, and people can take advantage of you. Drugs were even worse. They cost too much, and I liked money more. I did know someone who preferred drugs, though, and he was looking for me.
“You got a car?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, sir. I take good care of it, too. And I have a GPS, so getting around won’t be a problem. I’ll eventually get familiar with the streets anyway, I imagine.”
Isaac rubbed his whiskers for a bit, then nodded. “The job pays eight-fifty an hour and an extra three dollars for five runs. If you do at least ten runs a day, you get an extra fin.”
“That’s five dollars,” Gabe said to me as if I didn’t know.
“Yes,” I said. “No problem. What about gas?”
Isaac seemed to ponder the question before speaking. “At the end of the month, if you’re still here, I’ll spot you a sawbuck for the gas.”
“That’s ten dollars,” Gabe said.
I nodded and gave Isaac a grin, then leaned in toward him keeping my voice down. “You can pay me in cash if you like. You know, this way it stays between us.”
Isaac’s eyes went thin as he looked at me. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll just need to make a copy of your driver’s license.”
I pulled my license from my wallet and handed it to Isaac.
“Peter Smith,” Isaac said reading the name. “Welcome to Crossroads. I’ll be right back.”
As Isaac walked away, I looked at Gabe and smiled.
Gabe was about an inch taller than me but rail thin. He had a mop of dark, shaggy hair that he probably hadn’t combed since he was born. I guessed him to be about seventeen or eighteen and would be considered lanky by some people’s estimation, the kind of person that can eat all they want and never gain weight. Just skin on bones.
“You best be careful,” he said.
“I can handle the job.”
“I’m not talking about the job. I mean the girl, Amber.”
“What about her?”
Gabe sat down on a stool behind the counter. “She’s not available.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” I asked.
“Nope,” he replied with a slight chuckle.
“She married?” I didn’t see a ring on her finger.
Gabe shook his head. “No, she ain’t married. Just unavailable. Every guy in the surrounding three counties has been wanting to get in her pants. She’s tighter than a rusted nut.”
“Why’s that?”
“She’s Reverend Monroe’s daughter, and my guess is that he’s not your type.”
Great, the most beautiful girl in the world is the minister’s daughter. There had to be a joke in there somewhere.
But this was turning into a challenge, and I love a good challenge. The prize is so much better. To get near this girl, though, I was going to have to go through her father first. Difficult, but not impossible. The only person that a God-fearing man would let near his daughter, however, is another God-fearing man. I had never done a church scam before. I wasn’t interested in the church anyway, my target was much bigger.
“Well, Gabe, since we’re going to be working together,” I said, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t take no for an answer.”
Gabe gave me crooked smile. “We’ll see.”
Before I had a chance to ask Gabe what he meant, Isaac returned and handed me my license. “The pharmacy’s not open on Sundays, but you can start tomorrow if you like. We open at nine on Saturdays, be here at ten, can’t start deliveries before then anyway. I close the pharmacy at six on Tuesdays—bowling night—but the store stays open until nine. You only have to work until six, though. And, just so you know, no going into the pharmacy, and no working the till, Gabe does that. You can come behind the store counter, but that’s it. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“One more thing,” Isaac said. “If just one delivery goes missing, you’ll be outta here faster than a polecat with its tail on fire. Then I call the police. Understand?”
“I understand,” I replied.
Isaac nodded, then turned, and walked to the back.
He probably wouldn’t call the police, since he was paying under the table, but I wasn’t worried, I didn’t intend to steal any of the deliveries.
“Is there a hotel nearby?” I asked Gabe.
“Why don’t you try Aunt Sarah’s? It’s a boarding house across town.” He wrote down the address for me.
“What about a bookstore? Any close by?”
Gabe thought for a moment. “There’s a bookstore over in Klondike. ‘Bout thirty minutes from here. That’s the closest one, I think.”
Gabe told me how to get to Klondike. I thanked him and said I would see him tomorrow.
I stopped at the boarding house first. It was run by a nice old lady who insisted I call her Aunt Sarah. The room was twenty a night, or, if paid in advance, one hundred dollars a week. I gave her two hundred.
The room was small but livable. It had its own bathroom, one of two rooms that did, and only one other person was staying there, a salesman who always boarded at Aunt Sarah’s when he was passing through.
Aunt Sarah asked if I was going to have dinner. I told her no. I always eat alone.
I got in my car and set the GPS to Klondike, then opened the glove box and removed the police badge I stole from a cop in Wichita about nine months ago.
I had just pulled a nice scam, left the town early, and happened to stroll into a corner tavern one night. After sitting down at the bar, I managed to strike up a conversation with Aaron Dupré who lamented about his life; how his wife was divorcing him, taking him for everything he had. She was leaving with the kids, blah, blah, blah.
I was drinking colas. I don’t know what he was drinking, but he had about seven of them. When he decided it was time to leave, I helped him out to his car. He had the unfortunate sense (or fortunate sense, depending on how you looked at it) to pass out just as he got in the driver’s seat. I rummaged through his jacket and took a couple of bucks and his ID badge. The badge has come in handy a couple of times. Whenever the police pull me over, I just roll down the window and flash it to the approaching cop. They just wave and go back to their car. Sometimes they’re back on the road before I get a chance to put my car in drive. If a cop ever approached me wanting to examine it, and they never have, I would just explain that I found it in the parking lot of whatever bar and that was the first chance I had to return it.
I slipped the badge wallet into the console next to me and drove off. After driving for almost thirty minutes, I came to a sign that read, Klondike, 4 miles. It took me longer than Gabe had said, but I finally drove through what appeared to be the main street.
There was diagonal parking along a row of stores, and I pulled into the first available spot in front of a hardware store. I got out and scanned the area. For an early June day, the air was cool and dry. So much for global warming.
I went into the hardware store and asked if they knew where the bookstore was. The guy behind the counter pointed across the street to a used bookstore appropriately named, Used Books. I hadn’t noticed the name because the writing on the window had faded and a shadow cast by the awing covered most of the letters. I thanked him and as I crossed the street, I pulled two dollars from my wallet and stuffed them in my pocket.
A musty smell hit my nose the minute I entered the store. An old woman with silver gray hair rolled into a perfect bun, knitting behind a makeshift counter, smiled at me as she continued with her work.
The store had handmade signs indicating what books were on each table scattered around the store. Every genre seemed to be covered: Romance, Travel, Mystery, etc.
I made a beeline for the religious section. Several books on living through adversity were sitting on top of the stack; a book about what God has in store for us; and a book with the title A Brand New Day, with a man standing with his arms spread up to a huge sun in the background. I picked up several more; put them back, fumbled through stacks of audiobooks on cassette, and several small A-Verse-A-Day pocket-books.
“Can I help you find something?” the old woman asked.
“I seemed to have misplaced my Bible,” I said. “I saw your store as I was passing through and thought I would check to see if maybe you had one.” I shrugged. “I know it’s a long shot, but…”
She put her knitting down, careful not to disturb the position of the needles. “Well, I don’t know,” she said waddling over to me. She paused for a moment resting a finger on her chin. “I seem to recall seeing a Bible a while ago.”
She pulled out some books from the same table, brushing off the dust on a few before placing them back. She stood for a moment and then brightened up like she had an idea.
I followed her as she ambled over to a bookshelf in the back. She leaned over with a grunt and grabbed something off the bottom shelf. The sign on the wall above the shelf read: Damaged.
“Here,” she said. “I knew I remembered seeing one.” She handed it to me. “I’m afraid it has some missing pages. Most folks in these parts don’t usually sell their old Bibles.”
I looked it over. The words The Holy Bible stamped on the front were still visible, though faded. The binding seemed loose, and the corners of the cover were worn down to the cardboard underneath. I thought I was going to have to dish out some serious cash for a new Bible, and then alter it to look old. This was better than anything I could have hoped for.
“How much?” I asked. I pulled out the two crinkled dollars from my pocket.
“Oh, dear. I don’t know?”
I held out my palm with the rolled-up money. “This is my last two dollars. Would that be enough?”
“You know what?” she replied. “I couldn’t call myself a Christian if I sold that to you. You just go ahead and take it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “At least, take the two dollars.”
“No, it's okay. I’m just sorry that it’s so beat up.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” She shuffled back to the counter and picked up her knitting.
I thanked her again as I left. She just nodded and smiled.
I sat in my car and flipped through the Bible. I didn’t notice any missing pages though some were loose and about to fall out. Some of the pages had notations on them, and a few passages were underlined here and there. This was going to work out great.
No. It was better than great.
It was perfect.