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.
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.
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.”
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.
Cathy sends the first chapter for Old Roads. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Theirs was a small world.
Not that the people of Tarn were aware of that. Few travelled outside their village and fewer still left Tarn, most of those only venturing into a neighbouring county. Why travel farther? The local merchants brought back anything you could possibly need from the twice yearly Wenn fair.
~*~
Outside, Brook rattled around the yard, while the birds sang sundown songs to the sky.
Inside the workshop, the only sounds were the rasp of the whetstone on my knife and an occasional crack from cooling charcoal. Dust motes drifted in the sunbeams that made it through the window. I tested the blade on my thumb. It hardly dragged against the skin, but a fine red line appeared.
Activity in the yard stilled. Except for the birds.
‘Jaywing?’
My parents only used my full name when I was out of favour.
Setting the knife aside, I slipped a silver ring onto each finger – I still had ten in those days. As I chose earrings from the silver I’d already cleaned, the inner door from the house opened and a greying head appeared.
This is nicely written and has a distinct voice that promises an enjoyable read. But what of tension? For me, there were no compelling story questions raised. The protagonist is fine and doesn’t anticipate any trouble on the horizon, nor is she dealing with a problem now. I read through the rest, and problems and story questions didn’t appear. I know most writing craft books advise including some of the world in a “normal” state before making things happen – but that can happen in a paragraph or two. In a sense, this is “throat-clearing.” I’d love to see the narrative where things go wrong for the protagonist. Start there. Your thoughts?
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Ronald sends the first chapter for A Dire Onus. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
“The Unnamed Rune does not exist and never will. You are alone, Child of Stain. Not even The Runic Circle can help you.”
The memory of those cryptic words tormented Rucker like a maddening itch that was always there, but just beyond his reach. Even worse, the demon’s maniacal laughter echoed in his mind; a distant whispered laugh that plagued him day and night. Laughter only he could hear.
Rucker forced his thoughts elsewhere, but his effort seemed to make things worse by focusing his mind on a more immediate problem: Brogan was missing; possibly a prisoner, but more likely dead. Either way, one simple fact remained — his teacher was gone, leaving a gaping void in Rucker’s heart.
What Rucker wanted now more than anything else, was to go back home to Bieldburg; back to Lilya. They’d get married just as they always planned, and he’d stay with her forever. That’s what he longed for. However, it would have to wait.
First, he had to fulfill his promise to Brogan. He’d take Briar Wolfanger’s Hammer to the Dwarves on Blackpool Island and complete Brogan’s mission. Then he’d go home.
But right now, death stood in his way.
The writing and voice are good, so there’s no issue there. But what happens on this page? Check out the checklist. There is a character, but he’s busy musing, not doing. If there’s something wrong, we don’t see it. Does he desire something? To fulfil a promise, but we don’t know that that promise nor how difficult it is to keep.
Is the character taking action? Nope. We don’t know what the setting is. There’s info-dumping but no story question raised.
This paragraph started the next page:
Rucker came to a standstill halfway across the long bridge and watched the three sellswords coming at him with drawn weapons in hand.
That could be a good opener . . . but the narrative then wanders into more musing and backstory. For me, the action begun in the paragraph above should be continued. Dribble out information as things happen and, with warriors attacking you, don’t pause to muse about stuff. Your thoughts?
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.
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.
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.
Note: today’s chapter is nonfiction, a family saga. I thought it would be an interesting change of read for us all. See what you think.
Diana sends the first chapter for The Wellspring, Fannie’s Story. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
The story is global. Invasion, conquest, and religious tyranny. It is of exodus, world war, disease, economic innovation and depression. It is the continuum of human events blending gradually into its unending, repetitive story.
The singular story is of Fannie Bruder. It is personal, yet universal. A woman’s story. A love story. Love for her husband, for her children, for life.
The contemporary world into which my great-grandmother was born was shaped by eight hundred years of conflict and contradiction between the Hungarian State and the Jews.
*****
Semi-nomadic Pagan communities of Magyars lived in yurts on the Eurasian Steppe. Feared warriors, superb horsemen, archers, and sabre-wielders, the men served as mercenary fighters in Germanic, French, and Italian conflicts. Having seen what lay beyond, the idea of nationhood took root.
In the last decade of the ninth century, more than a hundred communities allied, electing seven leaders and a titular head, Prince Árpád. When three Turkic tribes fused into the coalition, they were ten. Ten arrows, On-Gurs. The Hungarians.
Thousands of men, women, children, cattle, sheep, pigs, and twenty thousand horses crossed the Carpathian Mountains. In their westward sweep, the Hungarians seized more than a (snip)
The writing is nicely clear, and the sweep of the story grand in scale. The author sounds very knowledgeable, and this page--to me--promises interesting material ahead. I'd read on. The next chapter, which I have included in case you're curious, brings the story to the personal level, the life of the author. It dives into a culture new to me, which is all the more interesting. Your thoughts?
Apologies for the shortage of blog posts, I’ve been buried with design work. Will try to amend my ways.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Richard sends the first chapter for Woof’s Chronicle. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
A portal roughly the size of a front door materialized in thin air in the middle of a forest. Blazing light streamed through, illuminating the moonless night.
From the other side of the opening, where the mid-day sun shone on an alien terrain of vibrant purple and orange hues, stepped two critters resembling a fully-grown German shepherd and an Irish setter puppy.
The forest, in a remote part of Canyon Park in Southern California, became pitch black again as the portal vanished.
The German shepherd surveyed his surroundings, then accessed a silver device housed in his poca, a gold link collar around his neck. The poca, advanced technology from his dimension, contained an infinite amount of space.
He spoke to the device in a guttural language, which to an Earth human would have sounded like a growl.
“Come on, Ash-a-lee” he said to the pup in the same language.
Ash-a-lee, smelling animals, vegetation, terrain and poo all new to her, couldn’t stop sniffing and exploring.
“I don’t have time for puppy shenanigans,” he muttered, annoyed at being ignored.
He picked up the pup with his mouth, put her into the poca, and trotted for several miles, (snip)
Well, there’s a first page that doesn’t check off the “something wrong” checklist item but still succeeds for this reader. The writing is just fine, promising more of that ahead—although I would tinker a little to avoid cliches such as “in thin air.” And story questions are definitely raised. For me, turning the page was worth it. While jeopardy still doesn’t appear in the first chapter, more strong story questions come up, especially after the pup transforms into a human baby and is left on a doorstep. What’s going to happen next to this magical baby/pup foundling from another dimension? Your thoughts?
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Brad sends the prologue and first chapter for The Sands of Forever Spilled. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Prologue
How did we get here?
Me, sitting in the front row with all the questions. Dad, lying there under Old Glory with all the answers. Mom, waiting for him, out in the cold near the interstate, plot 251. My brother, floating just south of us.
I hate the front row. Always have. This one's the worst.
Don't get me wrong though. I'd rather be in this heated mausoleum chapel than outside in the frigid winter slush, icy rain pellets attacking my face and muddy snow pies ruining my dress shoes. But I'd really rather not be anywhere near here. I suspect others feel the same.
The three soldiers seem unperturbed by the shitty weather. Duty calls.
Lingering shards in my wind-wrecked hair keep melting onto my scalp. The chilly droplets ruin the mood of the place when they land and steal my attention.
It's been a long morning. Dad’s been patient.
I miss him.
They're right. It waits for no one.
Awaiting its next feeding of daylight and disorder, contented by the endless cycle of consumption and defecation, creation and destruction, and blissfully ignorant of the drama it would produce, the newborn slept.
Until the cordless phone rang.
Slowly, as it woke to the shrill trill, the day-old decade uncoiled itself while leaving me submerged in a dream. One of those where the ringing seemed to be part of the dream itself, and vivid enough for you to remember and retell. But it was never remembered nor retold. That possibility ended when my wife dazedly picked up the phone on the antique nightstand next to her and snapped at the caller, waking me in the dense darkness as well.
“Hello? Who is this? Who?!”
She was much more defensive of her sleep than I was, and a random call in the middle of the night was not going to receive her usual silky-smooth, telephone-voice response. God save whoever was on the other end of the call if it went much longer.
She fired back tersely, “He’s sleeping. Can I take a message? Hold on.”
I loved her for trying to protect me. And I could tell by her short but groggy replies she was tired and not fully awake either, and probably hadn’t fully encoded who was calling and ruining her sleep. I had yet to open my eyes and wanted to get back to that dream.
The prologue feels like musing to me. I understand that we’re at the narrator’s father’s funeral, but there’s really nothing much happening. It turns out, not that you’ll see it on the first page, that chapter 1 is about the father being stricken, and it takes place before the prologue. I’m not sure what story purpose this prologue serves, other than to give a feel for an attitude toward the father's death.
The first chapter: The writing is good, but what about the narrative? The first paragraph devotes itself to a sleeping baby. Why? I ask because the baby is not seen nor heard from in the chapter, and does not affect story.
Elegant language and thought deliver waking up to a phone call. The page doesn’t tell us what the call is about, just shows us two sleepy adults (and, somewhere, a waking baby). The only possible story question is what is the call about. But, since there’s nothing much happening here other than waking up, there’s nothing to inject tension into the possibilities of what the call is about.
It’s not until the middle of page two that we learn more about the call. The time before that is spent on backstory and how two sleepy people are dealing with the call. For this reader, no real tension is present. This page has writing and thoughts, but it lacks story. Your thoughts?
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Cassie sends the prologue and first chapter for Chasing Darkness. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Prologue
Torches flickered and the thump of boots echoed down the hallway as the Commander of the Watch Guard passed, followed by his soldiers. Castle guards and servants flattened themselves against the wall, their expressions a mixture of fear and grief. Hours before, the people of Pandaren celebrated their victory in the war against the Vastanes. Cheers of celebration shifted into wails of sorrow; the palace and city of Orilyon crumbled into chaos.
“How did he get in?” Drexus said, striding down the corridor toward the war room.
“We’re still working on that, Commander.”
Drexus stopped, slowly turning toward the guard, who winced up at him.
“Work faster.”
The guard swallowed, nodding.
Drexus continued down the corridor, clenching his jaw, trying to reign in his anger. Two soldiers saluted as he pushed open the heavy, wooden doors into a room buzzing with activity. Drexus recognized the council members arguing near the fireplace while his generals surrounded a large oval table studying a map of Pandaren. They stood to attention, saluting as Drexus approached. Kenneth Brenet, head advisor to the king, sat in a corner holding his head.
One of the council members hurried over. “Is it true? Is King Valeri dead?” “It’s true,” Drexus said, ignoring the questions yelled at him, putting a hand on Kenneth’s (snip)
First chapter
For the second time in Azrael’s life, he wished for death. But instead of receiving it, he became it. Azrael didn’t fear dying. He even welcomed it at times, which he thought fitting since his name meant Angel of Death. But this time, he had no one to blame but himself. Lust for revenge and power fueled Azrael as agony ripped through him.
Pain like he’d never known rushed through his body, the serum transforming him from a lethal assassin to something worse. Something everyone would fear. He bit down on a leather strap as another wave of pain crashed through him, his muscles contracting beneath the restraints. Azrael inhaled, focusing on his anger, clinging to the image of the Spectral and his magical black fire.
Pain is inescapable; suffering is a choice.
Azrael repeated his mantra, closing his eyes, and breathed through the torment, ignoring the tubes embedded in him. He’d chosen this path, knew the risks. With the Amplifier serum flowing through his veins, he’d have the strength and speed to battle any Spectral he faced.
If the transfusion didn’t kill him.
Large hands pressed down on Azrael’s shoulders as his back arched; the taste of leather and blood permeated his mouth.
“Hold on, Azrael,” Drexus Zoldac said, staring down at him. His dark eyes, etched with (snip)
On the prologue: the editor in me was a little put off by grammatical issues in the first paragraph, which was missing some key words:
Hours before, the people of Pandaren had celebrated their victory in the war against the Vastanes. Cheers of celebration had shifted into wails of sorrow; the palace and city of Orilyon had crumbled into chaos.
For me, this summary was too densely packed with information—do I need to know “Pandaren, Vastanes, Orilyon" at this point? Then there’s a lot of talk about something that has happened but we don’t know what. Then it’s revealed that the king is dead . . . but for whom is that a problem (other than the king)? That he’s dead creates, belatedly, a story question, but for me a weak one. I think a better start for this story came on the second page:
“Attention, please,” Kenneth said, silencing the room. “As many of you suspect, the king was murdered in his study this evening.”
Now that raises story questions and creates tension.
On the first chapter: the story elements are a lot stronger here. There’s a character in jeopardy as he undergoes something painful and deadly. Yet there are things that caught my eye that didn’t seem to fit—the thing he’s doing will transform him from assassin to “something worse.” “Worse” is a value judgement. Seems to me that something such as “even more deadly” would tell us what we need to know without the added judgement. That kind of thing signals a need for editing. But, still, story questions are stronger here. Your thoughts?
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Suzy sends the first chapter for an untitled middle-grade fantasy. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Embers glowed red in the firepit, feeding on the letter Blaise wrote to his dad. Black crept across the white paper, turning his handwritten words to chalky gray ash that lifted on a gust of wind and floated to heaven.
At twelve, Blaise had spent half his life without his dad. His little sister, Ami, just a baby when the plane crashed almost six years ago to the day, had no memory of him. It’s easier for her.
Six years. No more backyard campouts. No one standing across the driveway catching baseballs. Nobody to teach him how to fish, shave, swim, tie a tie. How to grow up.
With a long stick, his mom, Clara, poked a charred log in the firepit, sending more ashes into the air. Her other hand clutched a photo of his dad, the edges wrinkled and worn from too many nights like tonight.
Blaise glanced sideways at the photo. She always said he was a carbon copy of his dad, Jessie. Same gray-blue eyes, “like moonlight on dark water.” Same curly brown hair. Same raised, red birthmark on his right shoulder.
In the picture, like every picture of his dad, he wore the necklace. Never took it off. Ever. Blaise’s best memories included that necklace: silver, rod-shaped pendant dangling from a silver chain, a ball on top of the rod held a ruby red gem. Details he’d never forget. But as time passed, the features of his dad’s face began to fade.
The writing and voice are good here, but for me the narrative lacked tension. There’s no real “what’s next?” story question raised—it’s primarily introduction and setup. And there’s no hint of a fantasy element.
I did read on to see if there was a stronger opening. A caution for Suzy: you introduced at least five characters in just a page or two. The names piled up until I didn’t know who was what. Introducing a crowd can be a liability. Most of the rest of the chapter is backstory and setup with not much tension. Then, towards the end, we learn that the protagonist’s dad, who he has thought was dead for six years, actually just disappeared. And his grandfather did the same twenty years before.
Now we’re talking fantasy and story questions. As charming as the fireside scene is, that’s not where the story starts. Work to get the father’s disappearance on the first page as much as possible. Weave in other exposition as the story develops. Your thoughts?
It isn’t easy, getting back to work after such a long layoff. But I just finished watching the inauguration of our next president. For me, it was inspiring and uplifting, and I was swept away by the poetry of a young black woman, Amanda Gorman. So, to her and to all writers, here’s to moving forward, word by word. Here’s to a productive 2021 for us all, and my thanks to you for being here at Flogging the Quill.
And now back to the work.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
Vaughn sends first chapter for Dragon Corps: Here Is Love. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
Thursday Jun 11 1914 Standing in line
British Army Recruitment Center, London
June 11,1914
I stood in line flapping my arms against my chest. The sun was shining weakly, its warmth disappearing in the light but frigid breeze. It was June 11th already, but no one seemed to have informed the weather that that meant it was supposed to be warm by now.
It was an unseasonably cold day and I wasn’t dressed for it, and I had been in line for two hours now. All I had on was a pair of knee length black trousers that were mostly holes, and a shirt that had once been white… no one would wish to try to describe its color now… and had once been intact. But a week ago I had caught it on a doorway and it had ripped halfway across my left chest, so the breeze was finding easy entry. I hadn’t owned shoes for several months but my feet were used to pretty much anything, but the lack of a coat, which I had sold my coat at the beginning of what I had thought was spring, was costing me dearly in warmth. Perhaps a bad decision, selling my coat, but at the time I had needed to eat more than I had needed a coat.
Just then I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye and I looked up to see a small yellow dragon coming in low overhead…
“Quate a look, that,” I heard, and turned to a small boy standing just behind me. “Dahy dragon, that.”
“Probably on its way to the dragon field near parliament with some message from the colonies,” I responded.
I was about ready to say no to this opening until a yellow dragon was introduced. Being a fan of fantasy and alternative history, that was enough to move me to read on—and that was despite the long, long, long description of the character’s state of being. The fact that he’s raggedy could be done much more quickly—it doesn’t matter to the story what color his shirt was or is now, or why he had sold his coat. You can depict his needs more succinctly than that.
The rest of the chapter is below for you if you wish. You’ll find a lot of setup, but it’s woven in with action and some conflict, and so, for me, a need for a strong story question could wait. I advise Vaughn get a good copy editor to go through the manuscript before submitting it, there are a number of errors in that department. And a pass by a developmental editor (such as me) wouldn’t hurt to tighten up the narrative and see that the pace is kept strong. Nonetheless, an interesting character and world are introduced. Your thoughts?
He gave me a funny look, “What you doing here?” He asked. “You not a street boy.”
Continued:
“Yahs, I am,” I said, moving my dialect. “Dad died, left me alone. I do running and guiding, like.”
He grinned and nodded. “I do some running, some paper. Now just want to eat and get dressed. Gonna be drummer boy, I figure.”
“I don’t know what I will be,” I said, using my dialect again. “I just want to be warm!”
He laughed and I turned back forward.
He and I were two of several hundred boys standing in this long line. We stood, at the edge of a muddy field which, itself, stood in front of several large buildings. They looked to me like they had been warehouses in their better days. They were four of them, by my count from where I stood, and they were each at least four stories tall but without the rows of windows that would indicate actual stories. The field itself was just a mile or so outside of town, along the river. No doubt some shipping company had had their operation here in better times. Right now the warehouses had British flags flying from it, as well as various military flags many of which I didn’t recognise, flying from them.
I certainly wasn’t the only boy from the streets standing in this line, altho most of the other boys looked a little better turned out than me. They had made the announcement, all the paper boys had been yelling it out for days, a special recruitment centre for boys, down to nine and up to sixteen. Guaranteed meal today, then off with the army, where at least we would be fed and clothed; I doubted I was the only boy for whom today’s meal was about all the inducement we needed.
There were five boys in front of me. One by one we were being called over to one of the dozen or so clerks, who asked a few questions, marked a sheet, and sent the boys off to a large building where, I hoped, there was the promised food and clothing. Perhaps even a fire or two to huddle around until we were shipped off.
Since my father had died and left me alone on the streets of London I had thought of joining the army several times. However I had never before been desperate enough to actually join up. I had made just enough running errands and guiding tourists to keep myself in a small boarding house, sharing floor space with four other boys, and had always heard horror stories about the life for boys in the army. But rumours of the upcoming war had left me with little choice. Few would be the tourists with war coming, and I had a greater horror of being dragged off to the Navy. I had grown up swimming but I had also grown up around sailors and I had heard too many of their stories about ship’s boys to want to go to sea.
“Next!” I heard and looked up to see I was now first in line and the clerk on the far end was waving irritably at me. I hurried over. He was a fat man with a red face and a simply enormous moustache, which was waving in the wind. Unlike me he was decently dressed, with a large black coat over his well worn army uniform. A coat which I envied as, just as I got up to him, the breeze kicked up and went right through my clothes.
“Name?” he barked at me, his pencil poised over a line on some form.
“Christopher Plumber,” I said, and he laboriously scratched that in, not needing to ask me for its spelling.
“Age?”
“Fourteen,” I replied, hugging myself, and he paused with his pencil still in the air and looked at me, “You look too small to be fourteen,” he said. “No need to lie about your age, we’re taking you lot down to nine, and we don’t even check for that! Army needs boys, it does.”
“I didn’t lie, Sir,” I said. “I am merely very short and light for my age. I was born in year naught. I have always been small. My father was short, and light, like me. I believe my mother light was when she was young, as well.”
“Well, no skin off my back,” he said, and wrote ’14’ on the line. “Address?” Then he added, with a glance at my clothes, “Gutter of some street perhaps?”
“No, Sir. 412b Grossgovenor Lane…” I said, giving the number of my boarding house.
“As if that isn’t the same thing,” he scoffed, writing it down.
“Height?” He asked, me.
“Five foot four,” I said, blushing a bit. I had always been short.
“Weight?” He asked next.
“Eight stone six,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he said, and got out another paper and looked at it.
“Literate?” He asked his finger on the top of the paper, “Can you read and…”
“Yes, Sir.” I said, and he noted that.
“How about French?” He asked, moving his finger down the page.
“French, Sir? Yes.”
He looked up at me with a very annoyed look, “You ain’t telling me you can read and write French? A gutter like you?”
“Yes, Sir. My father…”
“I’m not interested in your father,” he said, reaching underneath his table rummaging around underneath some papers that he had in a case on the ground. “I don’t speak a word of the Frog myself, but I am supposed to… here it is, read this.”
I picked up the paper, scanned it quickly, and grinned. I recognised it. A passage from the book ‘Les Miserables’. One of my father’s favourite French novels, and one he had read me at least twice, and I had read myself once.
“Quoique ce détail ne touche en aucune manière au fond même de ce que nous avons à raconter, il n'est peut-être pas inutile, …” I started but he interrupted me,
“That’ll do. Sound just like a Frog, you do. German?” He asked, going down his list.
“My German is not as good as my French, Sir.” I said.
The clerk looked flabbergasted, “You’re not saying you can read that too?!”
“Not as well as I can read French, Sir,” I said.
The head ranker looked me over, shook his head, reached down and pulled out another paper with a dramatic flourish, handing it to me,
“Auf dem letzten Hause eines kleinen Dörfchens befand sich ein Storchnest. Die Storchmutter saß im Neste bei ihren vier Jungen,” I read, and he took the paper from me, still shaking his head.
“Why me?” he asked, not looking at his sheet. “Italian? Dutch? Belgian. I supposed you speak all of those, too?”
“They speak three languages in Beligium,” I said. “French, Flemish, and German. Flemish is the same as Dutch. As for Dutch and Italian I couldn’t really say I speak either one. Reading them would be easier, their orthographies are…”
“Never mind! That’s enough of that blather.” He looked back down at his sheet, “I suppose you know your math too?”
“What level, Sir?” I asked.
“As if I know. Here,” he said, handing me a third piece of paper. “I was told to ask this one if I got one like you.”
“If Tamden on the the Thames is three miles north of London, and Clapdon Mill is four miles East of Tamden on the Thames, how far, approximately, is Clapdon Mills from London?”
I smiled, “Five miles, Sir.”
He looked down at his sheet. “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled. Are you afraid of heights?”
“Heights, Sir? Not particularly.”
“…and, can you swim?”
“Swim, Sir? Yes. My father and I…”
He held up his hand. “As I said, I am not interested in your father.” He made a few notes and then handed me a paper. “Take this paper and run over to the building over there, to your left, first building. Give this paper to the clerk there.”
I took the paper, confused. All the other boys I had seen had been sent off to the field behind the clerks where they were being sorted and…
“I said, ‘Run!’”, the clerk barked, and I set off at a run.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Martha sends the first page of Ghost Child. As usual, the rest of the narrative is after the break.
The Oregon coast, 1855
Lettie, exhausted, thirsty, and heartsick, dragged her young son by the hand, wondering if either of them could possibly take another step.
But she knew the white “Moving Men” would beat them if they didn’t keep walking, walking, walking.
The white men took our land, now they are making us leave it.
The blows she’d endured stung and burned, but there was a much greater pain Lettie endured: memories of her home, burned to the ground. Her man, dead, shot by the white man’s gun because he would not leave the house he had built. A house with cedar logs over the great pit he’d dug, with stones he’d hauled.
We had to leave behind much wealth, she thought. So many things we need. Things I spent many days collecting, cleaning and setting aside carefully: shells, woodpecker scalps, grey pine seeds, and clamshell money. Money that would buy food for me, my man, and my boy.
She’d lost her moccasins somewhere, and now, the sharp rocks she stumbled across cut her bare feel so painfully that when she glanced back to see how far they’d come, she could see her own bloody footprints.
And next to her footprints were the smaller, bloody ones of Little Buck’s.
The voice is good here, and the writing sound. And we are thrust immediately into the troubles a sympathetic character is experiencing. A story question comes up right away: what’s going to happen next to this woman and her little boy? The writing is pretty tight, but here are some editorial thoughts:
Lettie, exhausted, thirsty, and heartsick, dragged her young son by the hand, wondering if either of them could possibly take another step. ”dragged” gave me an image of the person being dragged on the ground, being, as it were, towed by a hand. Maybe something like “pulled her little boy along”. ”young son” feels cold to me. I think “little boy” would better communicate age and gender in a more natural way
But she knew the white “Moving Men” would beat them if they didn’t keep walking, walking, walking.
The white menThey took our land, now they are making us leave it. No need to repeat white men here
The blows she’d endured stung and burned, but there was a much greater pain Lettie endured much greater pain: memories of her home, burned to the ground. Her man, dead, shot by the white man’s gun because he would not leave the house he had built. A house with cedar logs over the great pit he’d dug, with stones he’d hauled.
We had to leave behind much wealth, she thought. Soso many things we need. Things I spent many days collecting, cleaning and setting aside carefully: shells, woodpecker scalps, grey pine seeds, and clamshell money. Money that would buy food for me, my man, and my boy.
She’d lost her moccasins somewhere, and now, the sharp rocks she stumbled across cut her bare feel so painfully that when she glanced back to see how far they’d come, she could see her own bloody footprints.
And next to her footprints were the smaller, bloody ones of Little Buck’s.
I think this is a good start for a story that takes place in an interesting time.