Flog a Pro: Would you pay to turn the first page of this bestseller?
By Ray Rhamey | November 25, 2018 |
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.
Here’s the question:
Would you pay good money to read the rest of the chapter? With 50 chapters in a book that costs $15, each chapter would be “worth” 30 cents.
So, before you read the excerpt, take 30 cents from your pocket or purse. When you’re done, decide what to do with those three dimes or the quarter and a nickel. It’s not much, but think of paying 30 cents for the rest of the chapter every time you sample a book’s first page. In a sense, time is money for a literary agent working her way through a raft of submissions, and she is spending that resource whenever she turns a page.
Please judge by storytelling quality, not by genre or content—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.
This novel was number two on the New York Times hardcover fiction bestseller list for November 25, 2018. How strong is the opening page of the prologue—would this narrative, all on its own, hook an agent if it came in from an unpublished writer? Following are what would be the first 17 manuscript lines of the first chapter.
“I’m fine,” said the woman. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
She didn’t look fine to Yao.
It was his first day as a trainee paramedic. His third call-out. Yao wasn’t nervous, but he was in a hypervigilant state because he couldn’t bear to make even an inconsequential mistake. When he was a child, mistakes had made him wail inconsolably, and they still made his stomach cramp.
A single bead of perspiration rolled down the woman’s face, leaving a snail’s trail through her makeup. Yao wondered why women painted their faces orange, but that was not relevant.
“I’m fine. Maybe just twenty-four-hour virus,” she said, with the hint of an Eastern European accent.
“Observe everything about your patient and their environment,” Yao’s supervisor, Finn, had told him. “Think of yourself as a secret agent looking for diagnostic clues.”
Yao observed a middle-aged, overweight woman with pronounced pink shadows under distinctive sea-green eyes and wispy brown hair pulled into a sad little knot at the back of her neck. She was pale and clammy, her breathing ragged. A heavy smoker, judging by her ashtray scent. She sat in a high-backed leather chair behind a gigantic desk. It seemed like she was (snip)
You can turn the page and read more here.
This is Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty. Was this opening page compelling?
My vote: No.
This book received an average of 3.2 out of 5 stars on Amazon. Well, the prose is workmanlike. The voice is solid, but nothing special. We do have an immediate scene, and something could be wrong with the woman—or not. There don’t seem to be any problems for the protagonist, Yao, to deal with at the moment—other than a touch of first-day anxiety.
So what story questions are there to bring me to a page-turn? About the only one I see is “Is there something wrong with the woman that Yao will have to deal with?” Perhaps if I cared about the woman that might be a motivating question. But I don’t. I’m a little more interested in Yao, who at least has some human concerns, and we know a little about him from his past. But the problem isn’t his, is it? If the rest of the narrative is like this, then I understand the 3.2 rating. This reader passes. Your thoughts?
You’re invited to a flogging—your own You see the insights fresh eyes bring to the performance of bestseller first pages, so why not do the same with the opening of your WIP? Submit your prologue/first chapter to my blog, Flogging the Quill, and I’ll give you my thoughts and even a little line editing if I see a need. And the readers of FtQ are good at offering constructive notes, too. Hope to see you there.
To submit, email your first chapter or prologue (or both) as an attachment to me, and let me know if it’s okay to use your first page and to post the complete chapter.
[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.
I have read books where the opening meanders through our protagonist’s backstory and it’s worked. It doesn’t work here, maybe because it detracts from what is supposed to be the urgency of the situation. Paramedic on his first day has an inherent tension to it that is squandered.
“hypervigilant state” “wail inconsolably” That’ll do it for me, Ray. Once again, your feature serves to confirm how often a NYT bestseller is the result of successful marketing, not good writing.
I’m with you, Ray. I found nothing in the two characters or the scene to stir my human curiosity. It’s quite disorienting that THIS is the #1 bestselling book at the moment.
A technical note: paramedics don’t serve as ‘trainees.’ They are already EMT’s with a set of skills that allow them to work on scene in a limited capacity UNDER paramedic supervision. They do not take paramedic functions until their training is complete and their skill sets have passed rigorous tests. SO until that point the stress of making mistakes is really not a big deal. They are simply not in charge. Ms. Moriarty didn’t complete her research.
If perhaps Yao had arrived first at a traffic accident in his own vehicle and had to use skills he hadn’t mastered on a severely injured patient, then Ms. Moriarty might have had something.
Thanks, as always, for these little excursions.
Well, I did turn the page and found it pretty engrossing. According to the vote count and the above comments, I am in my usual spot of being in the minority.
I like that it’s set in Australia (don’t get that info from the opening paragraphs) and that it’s quite a scene in the office, with the boss insisting she’s fine, even as we all get to see that she isn’t. The writing fairly sped along, and I didn’t check my email once while I was reading.
I agree, Ray. This opening could have been so much more compelling. As it is, it’s a flatline.
As an aside, I imagine a day when technology will make pay-per-page (or chapter) possible. An author might be challenged to keep the readers engaged and readers more likely to give new authors a chance if they could cut their losses after a few dozen pages. Short stories might see a resurgence and people who would otherwise binge-watch Game of Thrones might discover the magic of the written word.
More competent than some we’ve seen here, but not gripping enough. In this writer’s favor was the flashback to Yao’s training instructions followed by his immediate use of them. As usual for me, I was put off by some odd details (the “orange” makeup along with pink shadows under sea-green eyes–quite a rainbow there; my blue-green eyes were dazzled). Also, the first few lines had me visualizing a street accident until we got to the leather chair and the desk. The woman could have easily been seated in her leather chair in the first sentence, thus orienting the reader immediately. I’m mildly curious about Yao, his childhood traumas, and his present situation, but not curious enough to keep reading. The competition from good books is too stiff.
I feel like if the scene had been set just a little and we could picture it (I didn’t know if it was inside or outside, frankly). I definitely wouldn’t have guessed Australia with the name Yao and the Eastern European accent. And the line about the make-up seemed like something the author wanted to say, not the character. And the author was right. It was irrelevant. So it should have been edited out. The comment above about the facts of Yao’s situation as an EMT being a bit off…I wouldn’t have known, but stuff like that that takes certain readers out of the story because they know better is never good. Maybe this scene would have started off stronger with a lot more dialogue between Yao and the woman and less inside Yao’s head.
I voted yes, because I wanted to know if Yao really diagnosed anything. Somehow it reminded me of Dr Klidare – an old series of books and a TV show. If Yao had Dr Kildare’s gift of nearly supernatural diagnosis, I would have read on.