Meet the winners of "America's Writers Got Talent"
Manuscript First-Page Contest
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Enjoy reading the top three entries in my fall, 2014, first-page contest. My comments are intended to help these writers strengthen their first pages. FIRST PLACE: William's first-page~ "My name is Buddy Price, and I died twice yesterday." The nurse didn't react; instead, she focused on switching my IV bag. I like to hit them with a good first line. Gotta hook 'em or you're toast. She tossed the old one into a nearby trash can. "Mmm hmmm." I couldn't wait until Stacey showed. At least, she'd pay attention. "The first time I died, I was gone for over two minutes." The nurse hung my new IV, wiped her hands on her uniform and peered down at me over her granny glasses. "You need to take it easy, Mr. Price. You're lucky to be alive." "No, it had nothing to do with luck." "If that's what you say." Her clogs made an annoying squeak with each step toward the door. "I'll check back in a little while." "Not the least bit curious?" Apparently, she wasn't. She left me to ponder my continued existence in the antiseptic-white hospital room, devoid of all sensory stimulation except for a bedside table. My evaluation comments: William’s quirky humor instantly sets the scene involving Buddy and a nurse. His opening line captures interest right off the bat. Who is Buddy? How old is he? What happened? Why doesn’t the nurse seem interested? Has she heard this before, over and over again? Her attitude is almost as intriguing as Buddy’s opening comment. I’d turn the page to find out what’s going on. HOWEVER, William didn't end with a "hook." This represents a missed opportunity~ William's prize was a telephone consultation with me. I asked why Buddy had died and then returned to life? Turns out that God had a plan for Buddy. This nugget was tucked back on page 13 of his manuscript. It's a captivating story "hook" if ever there was one and needed to be included in William's query AND his first page. My revision: "My name is Buddy Price and I died yesterday." The nurse didn't react; instead, she focused on switching my IV bag. She tossed the drained one into the trash can. "Mmm hmmm." "I was gone for over two minutes." The nurse hung a new IV, wiped her hands on her uniform, and peered down at me over granny glasses. "You need to take it easy, Mr. Price. You're lucky to be alive." "It had nothing to do with luck." She rolled her eyes. Her clogs made an annoying squeak with each step toward the door. "God sent me back . . . gave me a job." The nurse stopped in her tracks. "And what would that be?" "I'm supposed to save the world." This "hook" will keep anyone reading. ,. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . First Runner Up from Robert~ Beirut Lebanon Airport Marine Barracks October 23, 1983 7:03 AM Since the bombing of the American Embassy on April 18, 1982, Lieutenant Rick Dalton, USMC, attempted, at least every two weeks to visit his friends from Intelligence School. Before sunrise, he would share in a few cups of coffee, hop into his sweats and do a three mile run around the perimeter of the Marine Barracks, a four story, concrete structure, housing over three hundred servicemen. Rick felt that his early morning run, as the city Mullahs called the faithful to worship, would be safer than making himself an easy target during the daylight hours, especially on the west side of the barracks. The area was surrounded by an eight foot high chain link fence topped with rolls of concertina wire. The fence faced a busy highway and the Mediterranean, making it a ripe area for a local fanatic desiring to kill off an American serviceman. At 06:10 hours, he quickly grabbed, by mistake, his ball cap with his lieutenant rank on the front and exited the Marine Barracks for his run. As he entered the crisp morning air, his thoughts took him to Hala, his Lebanese girlfriend, who, as usual, would be waiting and ready to fix him a great breakfast. Eleven minutes into his run, and on the west side of the barracks, he glanced to his left and, to his surprise, saw a yellow truck heading straight for the front entrance to the Marine Barracks. My evaluation comments: Robert can mature his style and write more powerfully by placing more focus on basic writing mechanics.
When you rely on non-specific and/or weak adjectives and adverbs, this waves red flags and identifies you as a "writing rookie." Avoid that dreaded label and use descriptive nouns and powerful verbs: hallmarks of a skillful writer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Second runner-up from Judy~ One hundred one, one hundred two... Exhausted, terrified, ten year-old Emily stumbled down the overgrown path from her father's ramshackle cabin hidden in a dense forest. She tripped, but managed to grab a trailing vine. One, two, three...each step took her farther from the man she hated. Could she get far enough so when he awoke from his drunken stupor and freed himself from the handcuffs she'd used to secure him to the bedpost, she'd be safe? It didn't matter whether he yelled at her or not when he came through the cabin door. As soon as he started drinking...She'd pray he'd pass out. If he didn't, no matter how quiet she tried to be, he'd come after her. Today had been no different. He drained the bottle and threw it across the room. She flinched as it shattered against the stove. One, two, three. Maybe if I count high enough, he'll leave me alone. Five, six...If I don't look at him, maybe he won't see me. My revised version straightens up the tense, makes it easier for the reader to follow, and sets off the power of her "counting" by using italics to emphasize the importance of these words. One hundred one . . . one hundred two... Exhausted, terrified, ten year-old Emily stumbled down the overgrown path that lead from her father's ramshackle cabin hidden into the dense forest. She tripped, but managed to grab a trailing vine. One hundred three . . . one hundred four . . . Each step took her farther from the man she hated. Could she get far enough away to be safe after he woke up? One hundred five . . . one hundred six . . . Every night, he'd yell at her when he came through the cabin door. Then he'd start drinking, as usual. She always prayed he'd pass out. If he didn't, no matter how quiet she tried to be, he'd come after her, as usual. Today had been no different. He drained the bottle and threw it across the room. She'd flinched as it shattered against the stove. When he passed out, she'd handcuffed him to the bedpost. One hundred seven . . . one hundred eight . . . If I count high enough, maybe he won't come after me when he breaks himself loose, but if he does . . . One hundred nine . . . one hundred ten . . . If I don't look at him, maybe he won't see me. One hundred eleven . . . one hundred twelve. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . This is an excellent example of a rare first page that contains writing mechanic and tense errors that will not prevent the reader from turning the first page. Why? Because it's packed with raw and bitter emotion. However, the question arises, will they keep reading? Probably not if the issues continue because they make the story difficult to follow. Writing mechanics notation~ The use of ellipses works well in this story to keep the tension moving forward. However, they need to be written correctly . . . as space dot space dot space dot space and then the next word. CONGRATULATIONS to William, Robert, and Judy. |
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