WIP Diagnostic: Is This Working? A Closer Look at a Historical Fiction First Page

Critique by Maria D'Marco

WIP Diagnostics is a weekly column that studies a snippet of a work in progress for specific issues. Readers are encouraged to send in work with questions, and we diagnose it on the site. It’s part critique, part example, and designed to help the submitter as well as anyone else having a similar problem.

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This week’s question:

Does this opening scene work?

Market/Genre: Historical Fiction

On to the diagnosis…
 
Original Text:

NEW YORK CITY, SUMMER 1904

His only son newly dead, Will Sherman had grieved from Wyoming to New York, unaware that his destiny this trip was to return with a wild boy locked up in a place called The Tombs.

That early August afternoon found Sherman shouldering his way out of a steamy subway tunnel on Twenty-Third Street where he stopped on the hot sidewalk to gaze at the rash of trolleys, trucks and horse cabs trundling up Broadway. He mopped his face with a black bandanna, pinched the crown of his flat-brimmed Stetson, clapped it to his head and squared it. He ambled off toward his sister’s apartment along tree-lined Irving Place Boulevard, ignorant of what was lying in wait

Accustomed to making even short journeys on horseback, Will began sweating heavily about twenty minutes into his walk. The heavy, damp air made breathing a chore. His head throbbed and the hand-tooled saddle boots he bought on the recent stopover in Cheyenne had raised blisters like white grapes on his heels and ankles. He hobbled over to an iron bench in a secluded, shady corner of Gramercy Park and eased himself down. He slung off his stiff boots, letting air get at his stinging, swollen feet and sighed heavily.

He couldn’t recall a time when his head had hurt so. It started on him in the oppressive heat of that damn subway and only got worse with the endless clatter of hansom cabs and the chug of motorcars flitting about. He was beginning to wonder if this trip was—

“Gimmie yer money. Quick.”

Will, bent over, resting his chin in his hands, heard the voice at the moment he saw the tips of the shabby brogans. The sole of one shoe flopped loose, the other’s laces were untied. He sat back and looked up into the face of a boy whose rumpled, outsized clothes at first made him look smaller than he was. A fresh-faced kid, muscular. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. His hair, the texture of new rope, was dark russet. It frizzed out wildly from beneath the visor of the tattered wool cap overhanging his forehead and half hid the eyes. The outlandish look of the unruly hair and cap touched Will. He started to smile. Then he saw the glint of the knife blade in the kid’s right hand.

My Thoughts in Blue:

NEW YORK CITY, SUMMER 1904

His only son newly dead, Will Sherman had grieved from Wyoming to New York, unaware that his destiny this trip [is this trip special?] was to return with a wild boy locked up in a place called The Tombs. [this is fun]

That early August afternoon found [this feels like material is missing] Sherman shouldering his way out of a steamy subway tunnel on Twenty-Third Street where he stopped on the hot sidewalk to gaze at the rash of trolleys, trucks and horse cabs trundling up Broadway. He mopped his face with a black bandanna, pinched the crown of his flat-brimmed Stetson, clapped it to his head and squared it. He ambled off toward his sister’s apartment along tree-lined Irving Place Boulevard, ignorant of what was lying in wait. [he’s been unaware and is now ignorant – surprise has been shot and mounted on the wall]

Accustomed to making even short journeys on horseback, Will began sweating heavily about twenty minutes into his walk. The heavy, damp air made breathing a chore. His head throbbed and the hand-tooled saddle boots he bought on the recent stopover in Cheyenne had raised blisters like white grapes [this makes me think he’s already seen them, but boots aren’t off yet] on his heels and ankles. He hobbled over to an iron bench in a secluded, shady corner of Gramercy Park and eased himself down. He slung [this makes me think of throwing, perhaps wrenched or eased?] off his stiff boots, letting air get at his stinging, swollen feet and sighed heavily.

He couldn’t recall a time when his head had hurt so. It started on him in the oppressive heat of that damn subway and only got worse with the endless clatter of hansom cabs and the chug of motorcars flitting about. He was beginning to wonder if this trip was— [well done]

“Gimmie yer money. Quick.”

Will, bent over, resting his chin in his hands, [sounds like Will bent over, then rested his chin in his hands…] heard the voice at the moment he saw the tips of the shabby brogans. The sole of one shoe flopped loose, the other’s laces were untied. He sat back and looked up into the face of a boy whose rumpled, outsized clothes at first [don’t think this qualifier adds anything] made him look smaller than he was. A fresh-faced kid, muscular. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. His hair, the texture of new rope, [love this phrase but it’s tough to imagine] was dark russet. It frizzed out wildly from beneath the visor of [this is too much] the tattered wool cap overhanging over his forehead and half hiding the his eyes.

¶The outlandish look of the unruly hair and cap touched Will. He started to smile. Then he saw the glint of the knife blade in the kid’s right hand.

The Question:

1. Does the opening scene work?

I will say: yes, overall. (readers chime in please) However, it also puts me in mind of a stew that needs a bit more stirring and cooking. It’s fresh and appealing, but everything isn’t quite blending yet.

The opening sentence reads as a set-up to me, more in the manner of a logline or back cover blurb, yet it did invite me in. However, I also wondered if there was a ‘destiny’ attached to every trip Will had made – or would make – or if it was just this particular trip. Way too much room to speculate over the structure of the sentence and to divest focus. Assumption is that the death of the son and Will grieving the entire trip is the big deal, but instead, focus is shunted over to the trip itself.

The next paragraph opens without the benefit of a preceding or current paragraph transition taking readers from the train (assumed) into the city (also assumed as New York), so it’s a bit jarring.

(Here’s more with Moving Forward: Writing Smooth Transitions)  

Then, the use of the character’s last name made me do a stop-n-check, as I had tucked away Will, but not Sherman. Being a father who had just lost his son, my first feelings for this character were softer, more sympathetic. Instinctively, I expected his first name to be used in the narrative because I had established emotional ties to him.

The use of the last name of a character, sans any previous descriptions or info, might frame the character in a more distant way, possibly even aging them. The use of the first name in this case might frame the character in a more intimate way, possibly making them more youthful and/or emotional. I mention this only because the presentation of a character can surf on each reader’s personal impressions, which can then color how they interpret the scene and, ultimately, the story you’re trying to pull them into.

This paragraph quickly establishes New York city as the location (23rd and Broadway) and the description of the various modes of travel shows the burgeoning and fluctuating state of transportation in that era. The environment is well defined as bustling, hot and humid. I might suggest breaking up that longer sentence about emerging from the subway just to keep things cleaner. I love the kerchief and hat lines but would suggest starting with: Mopping his face with a black bandanna, he pinched…, which would allow the several steps necessary for ‘righting’ his Stetson to emphasize that there is purpose to every step. Every hat wearer has their own hat ritual. I appreciated this touch.

The last sentence made me sigh – due to the ending. Yes, okay. He’s unaware and now ignorant because --- dun dun duhhhhhhhhhhh --- something is going to happen! By the time it happens, I won’t care. This probably sounds harsh, but readers aren’t new to storytelling, and they love to be surprised. It’s okay not to warn them – repeatedly. *grin*

(Here’s more with Message for M. Reader: Are You Telegraphing Your Plot?)

The other issue with warnings is that the author is setting up reader expectations, demanding they be on the alert, which means they better fork over something stunning to meet those expectations.

The next paragraph establishes that things are heavy. Kidding. We now have narration using Will, which feels better, but also prompts the need for consistency.

We follow Will, who is used to riding a horse for even short distances, which made me wonder how far it is to his sister’s apartment. He’s miserable within 20 minutes of walking since he hasn’t broken in his new boots, obtained in Cheyenne. This created a conundrum for me, as if he took the train from WY to NY, Cheyenne would be an odd stop off. Omaha would be more likely, as it was a big rail hub, and the end of the westbound leg of the Transcontinental Railway. (was also a large retail location, probably full of boot sellers) Sound like a silly observation? Nope. Historical fiction buffs love historical details that are practical or logical.

I love the white grapes description but needed it as a description of what was observed, not assumed. I also wondered if he was wearing socks… This micro-bit might be more effective if he sat, got the boots off, then observed the blisters. He could also then lament his headache and lower his head into his hands. At which point, the rope-haired robber arrives.

This scene works, you have all you need in this paragraph to set up the encounter, it just needs to be shuffled a bit to build to the position you need Will to be in, prior to the encounter. Once you establish that Will is bent over, chin (head?) in hands, the next paragraph perfectly sets up the dialogue interruption.

I’ll say that by this point, I will not pause to consider turning the page. I’m already involved and wanting to read on – and the robbery attempt hasn’t even happened yet…

From the paragraph prior to the line of dialogue to the end of this snippet, I gallop-read. The flavor created reading comfort. The actions made sense and the final sentence (which I suggest be standalone on the next line) is perfect. I can feel and sense this initial confrontation and the potential encounter to come – in the next few seconds.

So, like I said earlier, this is like a stew – all the ingredients are there, the flavors are beginning to blend and enhance the whole. You just need to work in some transitions, a few shifts of information, and the consistency of uses.

Keep in mind as well that this opening hasn’t fully established Will Sherman (age, etc.) yet, so add that to your adjustments. This doesn’t have to be the police line-up recounting, just small things (again) that influence how readers imagine this character. Gnarled hands. Streak of white in a mustache. Lean, tall, wiry, loose gaited, big feet, long stride, fitted leather vest, duster, etc, etc.

(Here’s more with Have You Met Ted? Introducing Characters)

And always: have fun with reworking this – you’ve got a great start and as a historical fiction fan, I’d love to see where this story goes!

Thanks to our brave volunteer for submitting this for me to play with. I hope they–and others–find it helpful. I don’t do a full critique on these, (just as it pertains to the questions) and I encourage you to comment and make suggestions of your own. Just remember that these pieces are works in progress (many by new writers), not polished drafts, so be nice and offer constructive feedback.

About the Critiquer

Maria D’Marco is an editor with 20+ years experience. She specializes in developmental editing, and loves the process of wading through the raw, passionate words of a first draft. Currently based in Kansas City, she flirts with the idea of going mobile, pursuing her own writing and love of photography, while maintaining her fulfilling work with authors.

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