THE FIRST SCENE

The Only One That Counts To An Editor or Agent©
by Sherry Davis

 

Summer 2005

I read an interesting article the other day on deciphering editor rejections. Actually, the rejections were one-liners. Short, pithy stamps of disapproval meant to convey a world of knowledge to its target recipient.

 

If you ask me, rejections are stingers. Like a shot in the arm for Diphtheria without the healing benefits. But if they’re meant to guide a writer in the right direction, they woefully fall short, thus the reason for an article on deciphering.

I wondered how these rejections, usually three or four words, could possibly boil down the error of a partial or complete manuscript that took the writer weeks or months (years?) to bleed onto the page. What is it? Why didn’t the words, the scenes, connect with the editor? Because the editor/agent stopped reading after the first scene that didn’t hold their attention. Hard truth, but truth, nonetheless. They have to. It’s their job to filter through the slush pile as quickly as they can. They don’t have time to keep reading until it gets good. And they don’t have time to write a detailed list of the things you could do to make the manuscript better. That’s our job as writers, to make the manuscript the best it can be before we send it out the door.

 

It’s a given that all scenes have to have a purpose. Anyone who’s attended or listened to an RWA workshop on the topic knows this. But the real answer must lie in that first scene. An editor/agent doesn’t need to read any further to know if the rest of the manuscript will hold their attention if the first scene can’t do the job.

 

The first scene usually embodies the first meet and the oh-so-important set up for what will follow. You start with action, something’s happening or about to happen to the POV character that will change the way she/he thinks/feels/acts forever. Well, that’s what the editor wants to see, anyway. Only, it’s hard to get there without doing a set up of the character’s ordinary world, so we have to put that before the action. And there has to be a sequel to explain how important all these things are to the hero/heroine before we pull the rug out from under his/her feet, so that has to go next. It only makes sense, right?

 

Wrong.

 

You start with the action. Even if it kills the hero/heroine, (metaphorically, of course, unless you’ve got a paranormal or sci-fi resurrection happening). Immediacy is the element which hooks an editor/agent/reader. Do the setup in your head, whatever it takes to satisfy the ‘editor within’ and get down to business. But don’t put it on the page. The first scene has to be a roller coaster, physically or emotionally, depending on the type of book you’re writing.

 

DON’T PLAY IT SAFE WITH THE FIRST SCENE.

 

And when I say action, I mean significant action. Not the nice-nice, everything’s so wonderful, I’m so cute. Everything’s normal = boring.  Think: LIFE CHANGING ALTERATION AHEAD. There must be a goal, stated or implied. (And just one, folks. Don’t muddy the water.) There must be a conflict, stated or implied. The motivation can come later, in the sequel.

Okay. Sounds totally messed up from what you’re thinking it needs to be, right? Check out some books on the shelves at your local bookstore. Which ones give you the urge to buy? The nice-nice or the roller coasters? Enough said. Back to the first scene.

 

You must carefully choose words that will convey to the reader the atmosphere/setting of the first scene. (Double importance on metaphors, dialogue and tags.) This is important because we’re not working with a visual media, here.  Movies have the luxury of props and sets. Writers must create the scene in the mind of the reader with as few words as possible. The only way to do that is to draw on common emotions and themes. And frankly, that’s why books will never be obsolete. They get into the character’s head so much deeper than a movie, right?

 

The sequel has to work just as hard. And this is the place to sprinkle (not layer like a lasagna) the back story. But, be careful. Be judicious. As script doctor David Freeman says: Only tell the reader what they need to know right before they need to know it.  (If some of you are scratching your head, please check out Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain or Making Your Words Work by Gary Provost.)

 

Sequels have to be short and to the point with a universal theme the editor/agent can grasp readily. The previous scene must create more conflict for the POV character which requires him/her to take an internal moment to sort things out. There must be options, preferably bad or worse. There must be a decision, thus a new goal and a new scene that flows logically and grows organically from the conflict. Every scene works to increase the conflict until the chapter ends with the story question, either stated or implied.

 

Manuscripts are rejected for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes those stingers are chosen at random because the editor/agent doesn’t know why the manuscript doesn’t work. What they do know is that the material didn’t “grab” them for whatever reason.

 

Don’t let this be you! Craft a compelling first scene that will force the editor/agent of your choice to read on. Then hone the first chapter, the first three chapters and so on until you’ve written the best, most compelling book you can.

It all boils down to this:

Compelling reading = requested manuscript = SOLD!

 

 

 

Copyright 2005 Sherry Davis -- all rights reserved, please obtain written permission before use.

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