Flog a Pro: would you turn this bestselling author’s first page?
By Ray Rhamey | July 15, 2015 |
Trained by reading hundreds of submissions, editors and agents often make their read/not-read decision on the first page. In a customarily formatted book manuscript with chapters starting about 1/3 of the way down the page (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type), there are 16 or 17 lines on the first page.
The challenge: does this narrative compel you to turn the page?
Please judge by storytelling quality, not by genre—some reject an opening page immediately because of genre, but that’s not a good enough reason when the point is to analyze for storytelling strength.
A First-page Checklist—Protagonist
- It begins engaging the reader with the protagonist
- Something is happening. On a first page, this does NOT include a character musing about whatever.
- What happens is dramatized in an immediate scene with action and description plus, if it works, dialogue.
- What happens moves the story forward.
- What happens has consequences for the protagonist.
- The protagonist desires something.
- The protagonist does something.
- 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.
- What happens raises a story question—what happens next? or why did that happen?
Caveat: a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and create page turns without doing all of the above. A recent submission worked wonderfully well and didn’t deal with five of the things in the checklist. And I would seriously applying the checklist to the first page we encounter the antagonist.
This novel was number three on the New York Times trade paperback fiction bestseller list for July 12, 2015. How strong is the opening page—would this have hooked an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer? Do you think it’s compelling? Reminder: “compelling” is much different than “interesting”—it means that you are irresistibly urged to turn the page by what you’ve read. Following are what would be the first 17 manuscript lines of Chapter 1.
The boy’s name was Santiago. Dusk was falling as the boy arrived with his herd at an abandoned church. The roof had fallen in long ago, and an enormous sycamore had grown on the spot where the sacristy had once stood.
He decided to spend the night there. He saw to it that all the sheep entered through the ruined gate, and then laid some planks across it to prevent the flock from wandering away during the night. There were no wolves in the region, but once an animal had strayed during the night, and the boy had had to spend the entire next day searching for it.
He swept the floor with his jacket and lay down, using the book he had just finished reading as a pillow. He told himself that he would have to start reading thicker books: they lasted longer, and made more comfortable pillows.
It was still dark when he awoke, and, looking up, he could see the stars through the half-destroyed roof.
I wanted to sleep a little longer, he thought. He had had the same dream that night as a week ago, and once again he had awakened before it ended.
He arose and, taking up his crook, began to awaken the sheep that still slept. He had noticed that, as soon as he awoke, most of his animals also began to stir. It was as if some mysterious energy bound his life to that of the sheep, with whom he had spent the past two years, (snip)
My vote and notes after the fold.
Did you recognize Paulo Coelho and his classic, The Alchemist? It has been reissued after 25 years. Was this opening page compelling if you picked it up to sample it in a bookstore?
Caveat: I fudged just a little—there is a brief prologue, but I didn’t use it because I wanted reactions to the story itself and because it gave away the title of the novel in the first line.
My vote: no
As Donald Maass pointed out in his most recent WU post, an opening needs to achieve two things in the reader’s mind: engagement with a character and intrigue. I’m probably seen as desiring all intrigue, but that’s not so; I’ve come to understand that Donald’s insistence on engagement is just as required for the long haul of a novel, and the sooner that starts, the better. It can make the difference in turning the page despite the level of intrigue.
This opening definitely engaged me with the boy, but it didn’t rise to the level of intriguing for me. I suspect that a number of WU readers will somehow embody this narrative with enough intrigue for them to turn the page, but for me there was none of what writer Steven James calls for in his book on writing—you don’t have a story until something goes wrong.
Or, in this case, at least a hint of something about to go wrong. It’s not there for me.
Your thoughts?
Help beginning novelists with constructive criticism, join me on Wednesdays and Fridays for floggings at my site, Flogging the Quill.
[coffee]
Ray Rhamey is the author of five novels and one writing craft book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. He’s also an editor of book-length fiction and designs book covers and interiors for Indie authors and small presses. His website, crrreative.com, offers an a la carte menu of creative services for writers and publishers. Learn more about Ray’s books at rayrhamey.com.
This was an odd one, because I enjoyed the opening, but my feeling at the end of the page was, “that’s nice,” not “I want to see what happens next.” I loved the paragraph about the book; that was a nice bit of detail. The being of one mind with the sheep was interesting, too, but given the distant POV used (not my favorite), not enough to turn the page.
Lol, I’m one of the “WU readers [who] will somehow embody this narrative with enough intrigue for them to turn the page…” – in this case I sense intrigue in the boy’s inner immersion in his outside world. The distant 3rd person pov works so far for me, but not sure for how long if it stayed at this level.
Interesting, as I read this book 20 years ago and liked it. But no, I was not compelled. My first thought: why couldn’t there have been the threat of wolves?
I don’t judge books by their covers, nor do I look for obvious opening tropes to “grab” me. I look for a voice, and I can usually tell fairly quickly whether that voice can be trusted and entertaining. I’m disheartened that so much emphasis is being put on whether a novel is “a page turner,” made so blatantly mercenary by Amazon’s recent shift to a pay scale that rewards authors by how many pages a Kindle reader reads in the initial sitting. It’s no wonder there is so much schlock on the market these days, evidently trying to compete with TV. No wonder so many writers unblessed by Establishment Publishing are going the indie route.
Voice is everything for me, and that’s what I look for when I read the first page. I like to be intrigued. I like to be pulled forward. But mostly I want a voice that I will enjoy listening to for an entire novel.
First Ray’s article: as a student of writing, what I learned in this article was fantastic. It solidified concepts that are new to me that I have read about (for example from Don’s article that was mentioned). Thank you.
Regarding the first page – it was nice. “Nice” is not what I would aim for. Damned by faint praise, I think. The problem may not be the page but rather that the world decides on a book based on one page. It is a shame that we are so hurried and rushed in our lives and thinking that readers wouldn’t give it two or three pages. However, that’s not the way the world works and so… It was a “nice” first page.
Thanks again for the fantastic lesson.
I am disappointed that you tumb-downed this book on your self-made criteria. I read this book 25 years ago and found it magical and compelling. Why don’t you just say it is not your kind of reading.
No intrigue for me! The constant, short sentences are boring. To be honest, it reads like a children’s story.
I voted yes because it has a soft appealing opening and I was curious about the dream. The image of a boy shepherd carried a certain innocence that was immediately engaging for me. I would read on for sure even though it doesn’t fulfill Ray’s 12-point checklist. To be honest, I find few openings of published novels, even by talented and famous writers, that do fulfill the 12-point checklist.
I just finished reading Kate Mosse’s The Winter Ghosts (Berkley Pub, agent Inkwell Literary) which opens with a heavy description of the character and the town. No action, no immediate threats, no consequences–only a desire and some fleeting backstory lines and set up passages. Beautifully written with images and a subtle mysteriousness. Character and intrigue, but it certainly fails the 12-point list.
Forgive me but I’d like to ask a question. How are we to evaluate this 12-point list? In our storytelling efforts, are we aiming our opening/writing to agents and editors’ preferences using this checklist, or are we writing honestly from ourselves and our characters for the readers as Kate Mosse does? I feel like there’s a conflict. Ray, or others here, do you have any thoughts on this?
Hi, Paula. The checklist is a guide to the elements that I consider most necessary for a successful opening page–and further narrative, for that matter. If a first page does those things and creates a compelling page, that’s great. Since content is an issue not addressed by the checklist, I’m sure it’s possible to check off every item and still have a flat page.
On the other hand, as the checklist mentions, it is very possible to have a compelling first page without ticking off every item. This is particularly true of first-person narratives.
My view is that meeting those criteria will surely not hurt the narrative and they may help. It’s also a fair analytical tool for assessing why a first page doesn’t compel further reading.
I’m a no, too, not engaged at all with the boy — except in the sense that something awful was going to happen. (I hate it when dreams are mentioned but nothing more than a mention so that was a problem for me, too) However, this is incredibly helpful. I’ve been toiling over my own first page and feeling fearful because it does go counter to a couple of things on your checklist… every analysis of yours I read helps me a little bit more. Thank you.
Hey, Julia, you should consider submitting your first page/chapter to Flogging the Quill for opinions by me and my readers. http://www.floggingthequill.com
My vote is “no.” Not to say that I only read books with a great first page – I don’t. But in the sense of what an agent might be considering when reading a manuscript, this didn’t do it for me. (Of course, I’m a little biased – I didn’t really care for this book).
I agree that I’m more into voice and character than anything else – what makes a person tick. But intrigue right up front would be a great extra bonus!
Thanks for this list and post.
I voted no. I think it reads like a children’s book, but even children’s books need something to keep the child reading. The dream, if it were mentioned in the first paragraph, and if the boy expressed fear and concern about what the dream means as well as a fear of sleeping, this would have added enough drama to get me to turn the page.
I voted yes.
I’m a big fan of voice and I really enjoyed the slow, dreamlike quality of this opening. I’d be willing to turn a few more pages to see what happens. But, that said, if nothing much happens over the next, say, five or six pages, I would probably put the book down and change my vote.
I totally agree on this one. I voted no. No problem, no name, no real action beyond moving sheep and sleeping. I did like the setting, but there was just no hook for me.
Though I voted no (I wasn’t compelled), I would have kept reading. The uncomplicated voice, graceful prose, and setting all promise a good read.
I voted no. Weirdly enough, I just read this for the first time in a book club where I was forced to finish it. We all thought the book was dull and cliche-ridden, and I don’t understand why it’s considered such a classic.
I voted “no.”
Full disclosure: I tried to read The Alchemist a year or two back, and could not get into it. I guess my mystic years are well behind me.
The opening was lyrical, but the book sort of meandered from then on. I did find it effective as a sleeping aid before bed. (Apologies to all those who have loved it, and made it a bestseller. It just goes to prove the old adage, “different horses for different courses.”)
It’s a “no” on the compelling criteria, but yes, I would have turned the page. I figured it for a Coelho-like parable, and the pull of those stories, IMHO, is about the sense of peace and wisdom and timelessness contained within the voice and, ultimately, the message that the world makes sense and contains order.
What would be fascinating, Ray, is to compare the beginnings of several books within this genre. I’d love to see how many items on your checklist could be satisfied while still meeting expectations of this genre.
I didn’t make it into the second paragraph because the voice was so irritating to me. Jab, jab, jab with the short sentences. See Spot run. Aw, come on, author!
Just hate that childish type of writing, such as this: “The train went on up the track out of sight, around one of the hills of burnt timber. Nick sat down on the bundle of canvas and bedding the baggage man had pitched out of the door of the baggage car. There was no town, nothing but the rails and the burned-over country. The thirteen saloons that had lined the one street of Seney had not left a trace. The foundations of the Mansion House hotel stuck up above the ground. The stone was chipped and split by the fire. It was all that was left of the town of Seney. Even the surface had been burned off the ground…” — E. Hemingway
Touche. I loved the Coelho opening and the Hemingway piece. The sense of peacefulness about to be disturbed always makes me want to keep reading.
As a writing teacher, I would have made a similar checklist to yours, Ray. However, I love exceptions, and literary writing often is. This opening gets an enthusiastic YES from me. If I were an agent, by the first paragraph alone, I would request a partial. Here is what P1 did for me:
* The prose is lyrical, spartan and beautiful.
* The specificity about the sycamore and the history of the spot where it grows brings me fully into the setting and the sense of a long time, perhaps a very long time, of history of this spot.
* Santiago is a Hispanic name, the boy’s life as a shepherd is simple, unchanged, which tells me that in this story it is about to change, and his life will become vastly different, even before I read about the dreams.
* There is foreshadowing of religious symbolism–abandoned church, the sacristy no longer there, a shepherd?
I voted No. I was somewhat engaged by the line about thicker books making better pillows, but that wasn’t enough. And the intrigue factor, especially with no threat of wolves, was flat.
This is a perfect example to illustrate how the publishing industry is painting itself into a corner by insisting on a formula for success. The Alchemist a beloved book read by millions that does not fit the formula for opening drama. When the powers that be conclude that the “way to be” is to kowtow to the perceived demand for immediate engagement, they discourage writers to take risks and encourage readers to seek extremes of action. IMO the formula they have devised is boring and stultifying. As writers, let’s give them the most elegant writing we can and offer fascinating subject matter and abandon this explosion mentality that has overtaken our entertainment industry. Writers must lead the way to higher levels and not allow the marketplace to direct us down to its lowest common denominator.
Hear! Hear! **stomping feet and pumping arm**
A book-reading Shepard? That was disconcerting. Until the pillow-book was mentioned I expected to be in another century. The repetitive dream was the only thing to foreshadow ‘action’, and I’m not a big fan of dreams. The 3rd person voice didn’t connect me to Santiago yet, but I may have read another page or two to find out if I was interested in his plight.
I voted no.
If only there had been something concrete offered up, the dream would have had drawn me in.
The sudden wake-up also stops just short. Almost gets my attention but there is no ominous feeling surrounding it. Rather than something immediate, it just feels like an extension of the forgotten dream.
The most endearing part was using the book as a pillow and deciding for a thicker one, as they last longer and makes a better pillow.
My vote was yes, for all the reasons Elizabeth Lyons noted. (I’m a former secondary English teacher.)
I’m a fan of literary which didn’t hurt either. I love subtlety and there was just enough symbolism to pull a tense undercurrent.
I finally read it, and I voted yes. My earlier comments were directed at the notion that arbitrary qualifiers for “compelling” were too pat, reflecting too much the trend of pandering to readers more accustomed to explicit narrative than the suggestive nuances that lure the reader’s imagination to join in the mystery and fun.
I’m looking at Judith Robl’s comment just above, and I agree with her assessment. I, too, love the subtlety and the fleeting glimpses of a mystery I know, given the artful confidence of the narrator’s voice, will unfold masterfully as I read on.
Would I have found myself “irresistibly” compelled to turn to the next page were I an agent or acquisition editor ignorant of the author’s name and reputation? That would depend, I suppose, on the demands of my employer and his or her respect for my judgment and marketing savvy. Were I an independent agent with no familiarity with the author, I certainly would read on, altho I might first go pee or refresh my coffee before settling in for an extended read (I resent being bullied by the expectations or others, unless I’m on a no-bullshit deadline).
Ultimately what I look for in writing are craft and art. Craft can carry the load alone if all or most of the proven marketable tropes are in place and the manuscript is clean and in the correct font (just joking that last, altho I see such warnings in many agents’ and editors’ submission guidelines). Art? Well, that’s another kettle of fish. I might be able to detect art in the very first sentence.
Never read the book, but it reminded me of Hemingway straight away (particularly the Old Man and the Sea). At first I thought “no” but once it mentioned the dream I was keen to read just a little more…
I had that sense, too, Ryan. The name “Santiago” didn’t hurt, either.
I was mildly interested but an opening with no action leads me to believe the writing will be superb. The very first line had me wondering why his name “was” Santiago, and not “is”. Did his name change later on? (Forgive me, I have not read the book so I don’t know). That aside, the real turn off for me was the line where the sheep had gone astray and “the boy had had to spend the entire next day searching for it.” I really don’t like awkward tenses and I feel that there were many ways to say the same thing without using “had had”. Disappointed, I didn’t see that it would be a book I would want to continue reading.