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.
Leslie sent the first page of The Giving. 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.
The huge bear sprang at her neck, jaws gaping, fury in his eyes. Growling, Sirona rolled to the side, Noden’s sharp fangs grazing her neck. Fortunately, while in her wolf form, the thick fur on her neck prevented the bear’s teeth from piercing her skin. She rose quickly, assessed the danger her son posed. Though Nodens was three times her size, he was still relatively young, and clumsy. Sirona’s senses sharpened, as her wolf instincts took over. Noden’s rage radiated from his body, but it was chaotic, uncontrolled. She could use this to her advantage. She howled, nipped at his thigh. Noden’s rage tinged with fear. Good. Fear makes a poor companion to rational thought. He may be the God of the Hunt, but she was the Supreme Goddess, the one who bore not only him, but all the other gods and godesses, and who guided him in all things wild. She was still his mother, no matter how much he overshadowed her in the mortal plane.
Her violet eyes studied him, ready for the next attack. The air hung thick and heavy with heat and humidity. She saw Nodens through a cloud of red dust stirred by their fight. He rolled his head back and forth, let out a roar of frustration. Standing upright, he pawed the air, fell once more to all fours, and leapt again, his powerful jaws closing in on her. His fetid breath filled the air.
Sirona wrenched herself out of the trance with a gasp. Trembling, she, turned her attention away from the disastrous future she saw in the divination pool and refocused her (snip)
Good writing and voice, and a scene with strong conflict. But is it a scene? Turned out that it wasn’t. Instead, some sort of vision from the divination pool. In a way, this is like opening with a dream, often a no-no. I was so into the fight that I almost missed the transition to another place and time and the character being in a trance.
While the fight does indeed open with good tension, the sudden break away didn’t work for me. You kept the divination pool secret, and I understand why, but I think it’s a cheat for the reader.
For me, it would actually be stronger to set the scene a little and let us know what’s going on. Here’s an example, lifting some from your later narrative:
Granite cliffs surrounded Sirona like a cocoon. Rising hundreds of feet in the air, their lavender and gray rock faces provided a sense of safety and calm, allowing her to focus all her attention on the divining pool, a basin filled with dark waters. The ripples in the water stilled. Her trance deepened and she saw . . .The bear sprang at her neck, jaws gaping, fury in his eyes. Etc.
For me, the divining pool is very interesting, and it quickly gets to the vision with all the action that creates tension. Ground your reader, help them into your world, and then let the magic happen.
Some editorial notes:
The huge bear sprang at her neck, jaws gaping, fury in his eyes. Growling, Sirona rolled to the side, Noden’s sharp fangs grazing her neck. Fortunately, wWhile in her wolf form, the thick fur on her neck prevented the bear’s teeth from piercing her skin. She rose quickly, assessed the danger her son posed. Though Nodens was three times her size, he was still relatively young, and clumsy. </p>
<p>Sirona’s senses sharpened, as her wolf instincts took over. Noden’s rage radiated from him his body, but it was chaotic, uncontrolled. She could use this to her advantage. She howled, nipped at his thigh. Noden’s rage tinged with fear. Good. Fear makes a poor companion to rational thought. He may be the God of the Hunt, but she was the Supreme Goddess, the one who bore not only him, but all the other gods and godessesgoddesses, and who guided him in all things wild. She was still his mother, no matter how much he overshadowed her in the mortal plane.
Her violet eyes She studied him, ready for the next attack. The air hung thick and heavy with heat and humidity. She saw Nodens through a cloud of red dust stirred by their fight. He rolled his head back and forth, let out a roar of frustration. Standing upright, he pawed the air, fell once more to all fours, and leapt again, his powerful jaws closing in on her. His fetid breath filled the air.
Sirona wrenched herself out of the trance with a gasp. Trembling, she, turned her attention away from the disastrous future she saw in the divination pool and refocused her (snip) You don't need to tell us the bear is huge, the reader will fill in with the image. Fangs are automatically sharp. Instead of "rose quickly," a weak adverbial description, show us, eg. She sprang to her feet . . . Using "her violet eyes" is a break in point of view. She would never think of her eye color in this situation, this is the author stepping to describe something. Use an organic way to bring it in, maybe via the reflection in the pool. Big blocks of text are off-putting, look for paragraph breaks to give the words some air.
Your thoughts?
TweetSubmitting 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 Leslie.
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:
attention on the present. Granite cliffs surrounded her like a cocoon. Rising hundreds of feet in the air, their lavender and gray rock faces provided Sirona with a sense of safety and calm, allowing her to focus all her attention on the all the numerous possible futures that awaited those on the spiritual and mortal planes.
It is but one of many possibilities. Nodens is still my son. He would never harm me. Not intentionally. The little lie gnawed at her, writhing inside her mind like a worm. Gathering her white cloak about her in the morning chill, Sirona reached out her palm over the divining pool once again and cleared her mind.
A face appeared before her in the smooth water. A young girl with a wild cloud of brown curls that floated about her face. Wide dark eyes full of loss, resentment, and something else she could not understand bore into hers. The girl moved with the grace of the gods, her skin a golden brown. An Elyrie, a sea-cat, stood by her side. There was something familiar about this girl, though Sirona couldn’t place it. A white reindeer calf replaced the vision of the girl. It scampered about the Isle of the Blest; jumping off the lavender and blue-spotted rocks along the shore and jumping up to butt the white orbs of the souls waiting to be reborn back into the mortal plane. Sirona scowled. No animal ever visited the Isle of the Blest apart from Arawn’s companions, the Elyries. What was a reindeer calf doing there?
The vision of the white calf faded. Sirona shrank in horror at what she saw next. She wanted to draw back. No, stay, she thought. You must see all possibilities. Our future depends on it. She forced herself to stay bonded to the divining pool. Tears coursed down her cheeks at what she beheld. Bodies stacked upon bodies, the Alturian people’s souls trapped within, all bound to a state of statis, lingering between life and death. Bodies turning to stone. People falling sick with a mysterious disease that the Women of The Way could not cure, and Sirona’s own worshipper’s subjugated by harsh and violent men. Men who turned away from her, instead worshipping at the feet of Nodens. The image of the bear in her first divining reappeared to her. A flash of light in the pool. And then she saw it Her son, Arawn, God of the Dead, Arawn choosing a path. A path that led to disaster, all for the love of a mortal woman. And their child, a child that should never be. A child that might save them all.
###
The Beginning
Before first breath,
All that was and will be touches
Life and death embrace
the edge of possibility
For mother and child
Suspended in that moment
The past opens and the future looms near
-
- Song of the Wise Woman, part 1 of The Giving
Arawn and the white wolf sat beside the fire. The young man stared morosely into the flickering light, listlessly tossing small pinecones into the flames. They flared, setting off tiny sparks into the blackness beyond. Above the sky rose in an arching dome, filled with starlight and a full moon. Arawn’s dusky skin blended into the night, glinting gold flecks where the light from the celestial sky and firelight touched his body.
He sighed heavily and spoke to the wolf. “It’s good to see you again. I never had the chance to thank you. If you hadn’t come when you had, I think Noden would have eaten me. I owe my life to you as much as to Kiera. I’ve never experienced these emotions. Normally gods are above such things, as my mother would say. He smiled wryly, his tears shining in the flickering firelight. He cleared his throat. “You are my only friend. Right now, I am not a god, and not a human. I am in between life and death, hovering between the immortal and physical planes, no longer knowing my place, or who I truly am. I am lost. I cannot see a path forward.”
The wolf leaned against him, her amber eyes gazing into his face.
“I suppose you would understand better if I started at the beginning. Perhaps if you hear everything, things will become clearer for both of us.”
The wolf huffed and nosed Arawn’s arm. Stroking the thick white fur, Arawn’s eyes lost focus as he drifted into memory, and began his tale.
###
“The Ancient Ones called me Arawn, Sun of Night. It is the name I prefer above all others. The New Ones, the ones who have forgotten the Old Ways, do not understand my nature. In their ignorance lie the seeds of fear. Is this not so with all things?
I felt such a seed come to life the day I came for Amun. She lay naked on the rush-bed, her distended belly tight with contractions, panting and moaning in the hot still air. Pain-sweat bathed her heaving body. I saw her life flicker like an ember turning to ash.
Three women whom I knew well attended her. Dylis, the midwife, her dark brown hair streaked with gray, whose green eyes held wisdom and sorrow beyond her years: years of easing the way into life for many and for easing the way out of life for too many more. Her body was still young and strong despite her hardships or perhaps because of them. And Bronach, who shared her mother’s green eyes, but not her sorrow, whose own eyes had not seen defeat, and so still reflected hope. Bronach’s auburn hair was pulled back into a plait, which hung down her back to her waist. Like Dylis, she was slim and strong. Watching over all of them was Nessa, a head taller than the other two women, a frown creasing her brow. Impatience flickered in her eyes. I remembered seeing Nessa during one of the Alturian’s hunts; she was a striking woman, as strong as the men. She was their tracker and had saved many a tribal member from the perils they often faced in the forests and on the sea-shore.
Dylis moved frantically; jumping here and there, wiping Amun’s brow, kneading her womb, all the time muttering, …”too much blood, there’s too much blood”
“It’s too late,” Nessa said. “You’re going to lose her.”
Nessa’s words washed over Dylis, dismissed like a gnat tickling her ear.
“Push, Amun, push!” Dylis shouted.
Amun suddenly cried out and screamed. Then, she clenched her jaws, her body rigid. A stream of fluid and blood gushed between her legs, followed by a babe. Amun panted, gasping for breath, her face ashen. Her breath shallowed, grew uneven, as she drifted into unconsciousness.
“A girl!” Dylis exclaimed. She handed the child to Bronach.
Nessa snatched the child from her arms. “It’s too late,” she said, “Amun is gone, and without her the babe will die too.” She turned to leave the birthing cave.
“No!” Bronach said. “Don’t do this, Nessa!”
Dylis brought herself to her full height. Her voice was like granite, hard and unyielding. “If you take the child now, Nessa, I will tell her father what you have done. The forfeit of two lives will be upon your head. Give me the babe. Now.”
Nessa stopped walking away, but she did not turn back. Dylis nodded to Bronach, who ran and grabbed the babe from Nessa’s arms. She placed the newborn just below her mother’s breasts, holding her there. The blood kept flowing. I could see Amun’s pain. I sensed she was ready to let go. I approached the bed.
“So cold, “Amun murmured “I’m so cold, Dylis.”
Bronach and Dylis looked at each other, their eyes grim, their faces slick with heat and exertion. Dylis turned toward me and made the sign of life, facing her palm outward and moving her hand in a spiral motion.
“Arawn,” She cried, her voice shaking with anger, “Arawn, this is not her time. Go!” I stopped in amazement. How was it that Dylis saw me? I had no form. Then, I realized, she did not see me. She felt me.
Amun’s breath grew shallow and uneven.
Dylis began kneading Amun’s womb in earnest. “Bronach!” She cried, “Put the child to the breast! Now!” Bronach moved the babe to Amun’s breast. Grabbing the fur she had on hand for the birth, she bunched it up, then propped the babe in place against her mother’s side.
“Amun, “I said, “Come to me child. Let me release you into peace.” Amun shuddered. Her body became limp, sinking into the bed. “Yes,” I said, “Let it go, let all of it go: all the pain, all the suffering. Life is a burden you no longer need to carry. Come to me.” I saw Amun’s light drift above her body. I reached out to embrace her, to offer her my gift – but something stopped me. There was another, another light, pulsing and pink and angry. What was this? This other was strong, stronger than any of the others. Amun drifted from me. But then that other light shielded Amun, preventing me from reaching her. I tried again. “Amun, come to me.” Once more, Amun’s light drifted above her physical body. I reached out again.
“NO!” I did not understand this “NO!” Feeling a trickle of apprehension, I moved back, away from the bed. Amun gasped deep choking breaths, again and again.
Dylis and Bronach looked at each other and smiled, their hands still massaging Amun’s womb. “The bleeding has stopped,” Dylis announced.
“The babe,” Bronach answered. They turned toward the child suckling furiously on Amun’s breast.
I drifted above the infant and looked into her eyes. She glared up at me defiantly, her hand possessively cradling her mother’s breast. I started. This was the other? This small child? The light around her pulsed with an abundance of life – it surrounded both her and Amun. I could not draw near. This one did not sense me. In my formless state she saw me! For the first time, I did not understand. And, for the first time, I felt fear.
###
“Do you not understand why I had to know more about this child? I could not let her go. The light, that life that emanated from her. It was not something I could ignore or diminish. She was unlike any mortal I had ever seen. And in some way, I knew I had to protect her from Nessa. Nessa was willing to give both her and Amun over to me. That was not like the Alturian mortals I had known. Nessa was a powerful tracker, and I could see that the tribe respected her. But there was also a darkness in Nessa, a hunger for more and more of what it was that Amun, Dylis and Bronach had. I think it was the respect of ther people, the respect of the power of the women in The Way. Nessa wanted that respect, and the power that comes with it.
Yes, yes, I know the gods are not supposed to interfere with the affairs of mortals. My mother, Sirona has told me this many times. She had warned me about the dangers of attachment. Sometimes I wish I had heeded her. This pain I feel now reminds me of that. But Kiera was not like other mortals. She was different. She could see me! And she was not afraid of me!
So I sent Meris to watch her.”
The wolf heaved a great sigh and settled at the young man’s feet. Arawn echoed the sigh. He hung his head down, resting his arms upon his knees.
“You think that was a mistake, do you not?” He laughed, sharp and bitter. “No, you are wrong. That was not a mistake, that was my first one. The first one in a string of many.”
The fire flickered in the growing dawn. Awarn scooped a handful of dirt, tossing it onto the fire.
“I am being summoned,” he said to the wolf. “Someone is in need.”
He stood; his brown skin glowing golden in the morning light and flung up his arms. A rustle of feathers, a wind, and in place of the young man was a great black bird, taking flight and disappearing into the trees.
The wolf had risen with Arawn and had watched him fly away. Then it glanced back at the diminishing flames, and scratched dirt over the remaining embers.
“Careless child,” it softly. “The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.”
Then it turned to go back into the forest. The morning sun cast its glow through the trees, and a shaft of light caught the amber eyes. For a moment they flickered violet, and the wolf’s white fur darkened to grey. Within seconds the glen was empty as if no one had ever been there.