Showing posts with label A Bad Day For Sorry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Bad Day For Sorry. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Let's Play -- The First Five Lines

By Pat Remick

When you open a new book, what makes you continue reading it?

Where do you make your decision that the book is worth the investment of your time -- first line, first five lines, first page, first chapter? Are you the type of reader who will keep going until you reach the end, no matter what? Or do you stop reading when you become bored, confused, disgusted, etc.?

As you know, the answers to these questions are important to book publishers, literary agents, bookstores and, of course, we authors because we want people to keep reading -- and buying -- our books.

I recently entered a blog contest judged by author Sophie Littlefield on the basis of a manuscript's first five lines. As I was typing in mine, I realized I needed a bit more punch in those first sentences -- something I hadn't been able to see as clearly while I was working on the entire manuscript, but important if my potential agent/publisher/reader makes decisions based as quickly as five lines.

Sophie ("Bad Day for Sorry" and "Bad Day for Pretty") Littlefield received a number of entries for the contest (grand prize -- her agent will read the winner's first 30 pages) and it was fascinating to see how much you could learn about a book -- and what piques your interest -- from just the first five sentences.

Want to see what I mean? Look at the first five sentences of the works below by the Sisters in Crime New England members joining me to discuss "Beach Read" recommendations at a July 29 event at RiverRun Bookstore in Portsmouth, NH --and see if you can match them with these mystery titles:

"Drive Time" (Hank Phillippi Ryan)

"Red Delicious Death" (Sheila Connolly)

"Under the Eye of Kali" (Susan Oleksiw)

"Who Wrote the Book of Death?" (Steve Liskow)

"Murder Most Municipal" (Pat Remick)

Now here are the first five sentences of each author's work:

A."They're all dead."

"What?" Meg Corey dragged her gaze from the orderly row of apple trees that marched over the hill. Almost all were past bloom now, and some of them had what even a novice farmer like Meg could identify as apples. Small, maybe, but it was a start. She turned her attention to Carl Frederickson, her beekeeper.
B. I can't wait to tell our secret. And I'll get to do it if we're not all killed first.

We're 10 minutes away from Channel 3 when suddenly the Boston skyline disappears. Murky slush spatters across our windshield, kicked up from the tires of the rattletrap big rig that just swerved in front of us on the now slick highway. Eighteen wheels of obstacle, stubbornly obeying the Massachusetts turnpike speed limit.
C. KC Dunham pointed toward the large erasable white board announcing the Question of the Day in precise black lettering: “Who invented peanut butter? Winner gets a free muffin.”

“The Incas, although most people think it was George Washington Carver,” she said without hesitation. “You can keep the muffin."

The woman holding a steaming pot of coffee behind the cracked Formica counter laughed. “I was beginning to think I'd never find anyone in this town who appreciates the long and glorious history of my favorite food, after chocolate that is, though they're damn fine together too."
D. No way in Hell her real name is Taliesyn Holroyd.

Everything else about her strikes Greg Nines as unreal, too, from her energy level—which could eclipse a heavy metal band even if she were unplugged—to her clothes, Sex And The City meets Pirates of The Caribbean.

"I need to do this,” Taliesyn—“call me ‘Tally’”—says. Her stiletto boots make her Nines’s six-one. He’s offered her a chair twice, but she keeps pacing, her strut turning her calf-length leather skirt into a major event. 
E. Guests from various foreign countries began filling up the Hotel Delite dining room, taking every seat at the main table--this was a small hotel,only eight rooms, with the owner's, Meena Nayar's, suite on the top floor, and that of her niece, Anita Ray, above a separate garage.
Tired after being woken in the middle of the night by festival drumming from a nearby temple, Anita sat at a small table along the wall and only half-listened to the guests placing their orders and asking the usual questions. "What is this?" "What does it taste like?"
To see the answers, click here: Did the first five sentences give you enough information to make the correct choices? Is it important that they reflect the title? Does some word related to death need to be in the first five lines? And most of all, does an exercise like this make you want to go back and review the first five sentences of your latest work?

To learn more about the authors, visit:

www.sheilaconnolly.com/
www.steveliskow.com/
www.susanoleksiw.com/
www.hankphillippiryan.com/
www.patremick.com/

Thursday, August 06, 2009

COME ON UP TO MY PLATFORM – DARN GLAD TO HAVE YOU!

We're thrilled to have Sophie Littlefield as today's guest blogger. Welcome to Working Stiffs, Sophie!


Sophie Littlefield’s a recovering housewife from the California suburbs who wrote a whole lot of stories before creating Stella Hardesty, the middle-aged rural renegade heroine of A BAD DAY FOR SORRY, which came out on August 4th. Her young adult novel BANISHED will be released next year from Delacorte - and just between us, there may be a zombie or two in that one.

There's been a lot of talk lately about author platforms and how they're really important, especially in today's crummy publishing climate.

The first time I heard the phrase 'author platform' I had no idea what it meant -- sounded like I was supposed to have an opinion about something - and to be honest, that worried me. Ever since I really buckled down on this whole full-time author gig, I've been content to let other, more-qualified people make the big decisions. Running the country? You have my proxy, Mr. O! How to fix the danged economy? Heck if I know - but I'm cheering for you guys, Mr. Bernanke! Bachelorette? Idol? Next Top Model? Seriously, whatever America decides is cool with me!

(Oddly, most of the time lately my strongest opinions have to do with highly processed food products, as in "fried Cheetos are just a hell of a lot tastier than Puffs" and "the best Diet Coke in town is at the Shell Station on Camino Tassajara" and "anything ordered off the secret menu at In-n-Out tastes seriously better." I think it's a result of malnutrition in these final weeks leading up to my book's release date, when I've been too busy to eat proper. Note that I said "mal"-nourished, not "under"-nourished. We are going through Pop Tarts and Luna bars and Sun Chips at an alarming rate.)

Anyway I was somewhat relieved to find out that an author's platform is really just a way of describing all the folks who have a special reason to be interested in your book.

For instance, if you're a professional hockey player, and you pen a romance between a puck manufacturer and a Zamboni driver, then your platform is hockey fans and players.

If you drive a Budweiser truck on your day job and your mystery series features a beer magnate turned amateur sleuth, your platform is brewskie aficionados everywhere.

If you're an undead high school cheerleader with 800 facebook friends, and you've written - hell, in that case, you could probably write a grocery list and sell it!

This is great news for all those folks with popular hobbies or media jobs or fancy pedigreed pets - they're selling tons of knitting mysteries and newscaster mysteries and bird mysteries these days - but when I took a long hard look at my book, I got kind of worried.

My character, Stella Hardesty, doesn't really have any hobbies - at least, any legal ones. (Oh, that reminds me, a word to the wise - inmate populations aren't really the kind of platform that publishers get super-excited about.) She's middle aged and cranky and broke. She doesn't dress well, her personal grooming's a little hit-or-miss, she spends her days off catching up on laundry and bills, and she doesn't have a boyfriend.

You wouldn't want her life, I'd wager. In fact, your life - if you are anything like me - has a little too much in common with Stella's, a little more often than you might like. Boring job. Financial stress. Love life doldrums. A few extra pounds --

Wait! Oh lordy, I just had the most brilliant thought. My platform is. . .me. You. Us. All of us ordinary hardworking Janes, just trying to get through the day with a sense of humor and a handful of Oreos. Our kids drive us nuts. Our Spanx get a workout. Our minds wander to the hot waiter at the falafel joint when we're supposed to be doing our taxes.

Right? Am I right? This might be the biggest platform of all time, sisters! The come-as-you-are, get-a-beer-from-the-fridge, take-a-load-off platform. Don't know if it will sell books. But it does surely feel like good company!

Watch the trailer for A Bad Day For Sorry: