First Page Friday #31: Science Fiction

May 2, 201410 Comments

About First Page Friday

First Page Friday is a blog series where I provide a free edit and critique of the first 500 words of an unpublished novel. Read the excerpt without my notes first and leave your vote in the poll. Afterward, feel free to leave a comment for the author. Feedback is always helpful!

Science Fiction – L. Matthew Foster

Once, the rising stars symbolized hope and adventure. Today in Perth, Earth’s defense city, children clenched their eyes while resting in their beds and feared any glance at the stars before sunrise. From the corner-office conference room, I stared at the star-illuminated waves, crashing against the shoreline. “Ministry of Defense Forces, the Honorable Gilbert Zahn,” a young lieutenant announced. I spun to attention in the leather chair. The leaders, gathered at this strange hour, rose to attention. As customary, the civilians remained seated, but everyone wanted Zahn’s attention. I inched to the chair’s edge and anticipated his entrance. Recalling my first day on the station, indoctrination briefed this tradition as a sign of respect to the civilian’s authority. They were full of shit.

Zahn’s espresso leather loafers squeaked on the concrete floor. He motioned his hand downward for the group to relax. The beaded armrest caught his jacket and disclosed his suit’s silk lining with floral patterns. The sheen from his bespoke sleeves faded when the windows tinted from the tranquil views to white-noise static. The latest pop-diva’s music hummed in the room. These arcane security measures sparked memories of my mentor’s favorite coffee lecture, Security by Obscurity. Tom had ridiculed these procedures. “Do our security teams think music will stop an advanced enemy from listening?”

My aura sank deeper into the government issued chair and I rubbed the razor scar below my chin line. Tom remained in critical condition after the pressurization accident back on the station. A week ago after grav-ball, I had hit the showers and Tom stayed to stretch. I was in full lather when the alarms burst over the station’s intercom. Half dressed, I slipped into the passageway and found the commotion. The medical techs rushed Tom to the infirmary with a mobile lung respirator hung over his oxygen-deprived body. Now sitting in his chair with a banner streaming his name: Dr. Tom Waldon. I regretted my joke. “Old man, the stretches will kill you before the gravity does.”

“Good evening,” Zahn said.

The leaders robotically mumbled back the pleasantry. He headed the oblong table and peered over to Director Lawrence, the head of the Office of Future Warfare (FU-WAR for short). With a cheap grin, Director Lawrence snapped from her chair.

Director Lawrence gripped the podium and peered down at the group, standing two meters tall. “Today marks the forty-third anniversary of the attack on Hong Kong. On that day, we lost seven million lives and society learned a new enemy lives in our backyard. The enemy has waited and grown their foothold in our solar system.”

Her lace macramé ankle boots clicked as she paced along the front wall. “Recognizing this historic inflection point, Earth’s strategy to defend against the unknown alien insurgence shifted from protracted land wars with each other to a unified whole-of-world. We were once a society of many, and today we build solidarity.” She focused on each leader one-at-a-time.

Reader Participation – What Do You Think?

Before reading my take on this novel opening, please take a moment to record your thoughts in the poll below.

Your thoughtful critiques and suggestions for the writer are also welcome in the comments section. Explaining your vote gives the author even more insight into where they’re hitting the mark and where they can improve.

My Feedback

Critique Key

Original Text is in italics. (Author is already using italics, so my comments are going to be underlined this week)

Red is text I recommend removing.

Green is text I recommend adding.

Blue is my comments.

Orange is highlighting.

Science Fiction – L. Matthew Foster

Once, the rising stars symbolized hope and adventure. Today in Perth, Earth’s defense city, children clenched their eyes while resting in their beds and feared any glance at the stars before sunrise. < Wouldn’t the stars be gone after sunrise? The wording implies that they can look at the stars after sunrise. From the corner-office conference room, I stared at the star-illuminated waves, crashing against the shoreline. “Ministry of Defense Forces, the Honorable Gilbert Zahn,” a young lieutenant announced. I spun to attention in the leather chair. The leaders, gathered at this strange hour, rose to attention. < Watch out for using the same phrase so close together. As customary, the civilians remained seated, < I assumed that there were no civilians present based on the previous line. but everyone wanted Zahn’s attention. < Who is everyone? I got the impression this was a small meeting room. How many civilians are present? I inched to the chair’s edge and anticipated his entrance. Recalling my first day on the station, indoctrination briefed this tradition as a sign of respect to the civilian’s authority. They were full of shit.

Zahn’s espresso leather loafers squeaked on the concrete floor. He motioned his hand downward for the group to relax. The beaded armrest < I really can’t imagine what this room is like. I assume only his chair has a beaded armrest? What’s the style of the room as a whole? caught his jacket and disclosed his suit’s silk lining with floral patterns. The sheen from his bespoke sleeves faded when the windows tinted from the tranquil views to white-noise static. < I had to read this line twice to understand what you meant, but that could just be me. The latest pop-diva’s music hummed in the room. These arcane security measures sparked memories of my mentor’s favorite coffee lecture, Security by Obscurity. Tom had ridiculed these procedures. “Do our security teams think music will stop an advanced enemy from listening?”

My aura sank deeper into the government issued chair and I rubbed the razor scar below my chin line. Tom remained in critical condition after the pressurization accident back on the station. A week ago after grav-ball, I had hit the showers and Tom stayed to stretch. I was in full lather when the alarms burst over the station’s intercom. Half dressed, I slipped into the passageway and found the commotion. The medical techs rushed Tom to the infirmary with a mobile lung respirator hung over his oxygen-deprived body. < Personally, I feel like I don’t know enough about the narrator to be ready for back story. Now sitting in his chair with a banner streaming his name: Dr. Tom Waldon. I regretted my joke. “Old man, the stretches will kill you before the gravity does.” < It’s not clear to me when he made this joke – before, after, or during Tom being transported to the infirmary?

“Good evening,” Zahn said.

The leaders robotically mumbled back the pleasantry. He headed the oblong table and peered over to Director Lawrence, the head of the Office of Future Warfare (FU-WAR for short). With a cheap grin, Director Lawrence snapped from her chair.

Director Lawrence < Her name is repeated too many times too close together.gripped the podium and peered down at the group, standing two meters tall. “Today marks the forty-third anniversary of the attack on Hong Kong. On that day, we lost seven million lives and society learned a new enemy lives in our backyard. The enemy has waited and grown their foothold in our solar system.” < I feel like you’re gearing up for an info dump, which I’m not ready for. There’s not been enough to hook me into the story.

My Overall Thoughts

The writing itself has no major problems, but it feels to me like the narrator is an afterthought rather than a key player in this scene. I’m sure there are unique things about the universe you’re writing about that could be used to hook the reader into the story, but this isn’t doing that for me.

Key Places to Improve:

I’m not sure where this scene is going, but I’m not convinced it’s the best way to introduce your narrator. He seems to be doing nothing more than sitting and observing (not ideal activities for a main character). It’s not clear to me why he’s there or why the reader should care that he’s there. He has a snarky/sarcastic voice that is very common across all genres these days, but I’m not sure what makes him unique or why readers should care about him.

There aren’t enough details for the reader to be able to imagine the scene. I think they’re in some kind of conference room based on the leather chairs, but I don’t really know. There were too many question marks in my mind as I read through this for it to suck me in.

Spend some time figuring out the best “hook” for your story. The first page should promise what’s to come. The hook/promise could be a great narrative style, a fascinating conflict, a unique universe, etc. Figure out your “hook” and put it front and center so that your first page really stands out.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 2

The writing never really drew my attention in a negative way, but it didn’t draw it in a positive way either. The content didn’t excite me, mostly because there seemed to be no connection between the narrator and what was happening in the room.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Submit to First Page Friday – (currently OPEN to submissions)

***Please read this entire section before submitting***

Due to the amount of time it takes to respond to each email and due to the volume of submissions received (I booked 4 months in about 2 weeks), I am changing the submission and selection process for First Page Friday for my own sanity as well as to increase the quality of the series.

Submissions will no longer be accepted on a first come, first serve basis, and I will no longer be scheduling posts in advance. I will review submissions once a week and choose a first page that I feel provides the best learning opportunity for readers. This means that as much as I would love to respond to every submission, you probably won’t hear from me if I don’t select your first page. It also means that I may select your first page months after you submit it (you are responsible for updating or pulling your submission as needed).

To Submit, send the following information to ellenbrock@keytopservices.com or if you have trouble with that email address (as has been the case for some of you lately), send it to editorbrock@gmail.com:

The name you want used on your post (real name, pseudonym, or anonymous)
The first 500 words (Don’t stop in the middle of a sentence, but don’t add sentences above and beyond 500 words)
Any links you want included with the post (website, Amazon, GoodReads, Twitter, etc.)

Title your submission email: SUBMISSION: First Page Friday – [Genre of your book]

If you don’t tell me your genre, I cannot choose you for First Page Friday so please include it!

If you need to update or revoke your submission, title your email: UPDATE: First Page Friday – [Genre of your book]

If you are also interested in my editing or mentoring services, please send a separate email from your First Page Friday submission so that I can address it promptly. I will only open as many submission as it takes for me to select a first page, so I probably won’t get to your email for several weeks.

I will not remove First Page Friday critiques after they are posted, so please do not submit if you are not okay with your work being publicly critiqued on my blog.

I ask that you please comment, vote, and share First Page Friday posts from other authors. It’s courteous to both give and receive help. Thank you!

***A few people have emailed asking if they can have a private first page critique. I am more than happy to do that, but due to being completely booked (I’m working 10-11 hour days!), I have to charge $25 for private, offline first page critiques. Thanks for understanding!***

About the Editor

Ellen Brock is a freelance novel editor who works with self-publishing and traditionally publishing authors as well as e-publishers and small presses. She owns the editing company Keytop Services and the writing and editing blog The Writeditor. When not editing, she enjoys reading, writing, and geocaching. Check out her freelance novel editing services and mentoring.

Help First Page Friday Succeed! Please use the buttons below to share this post. The more views, the more submissions, the more First Page Fridays!

First Page Friday #30: Literary Fiction

April 25, 2014April 29, 201418 Comments

Announcements

The Future of First Page Friday

For those who are consistent readers, you know that I’ve very seriously considered ending First Page Friday due to a lack of participation, commenting, sharing, etc. Well, over the last few weeks the support for First Page Friday has been amazing and more than exceeded my expectations! So I have decided to keep First Page Friday, but with a few modifications to the submission and selection process to make things easier on me. You can read more about the changes in the “Submit to First Page Friday” section below.

Thanks so much to everyone who made it possible for me to continue the series. By sharing and commenting on the posts, you more than quadrupled First page Friday’s view count! Yay! *High Five*

Novel Boot Camp!

*UPDATE: 40 people have signed up so far so I am greenlighting Novel Boot Camp for July! I’ve also added the first workshop to the schedule and prizes!

I just want to take a moment to let everyone know that I am working on an online class/workshop/blog series called Novel Boot Camp! It’s still in development and I’m looking for feedback, advice, and to get an idea of who plans to participate. So please check it out, vote, leave a comment, and let me know your thoughts!

Guest Posts

Things have been busy, busy, busy for me these last few months! I’m editing about 10 hours per day and will continue to do so for at least the next 5 weeks. As a result, I’ve had less time to devote to my blog.

So I’ve decided to start accepting guest posts from writers, authors, publishers, cover artists, agents, or anyone else who has something interesting and useful to say about the industry. You can learn all about the submission process here.

Since I’m an editor and will be handling the more technical posts on my own, I’m most interested in the writer’s experience – tips, tricks, publishing stories, word processors and other tools, brainstorming, coping with rejection, how you got your agent, marketing, using social media, etc. Any current or past clients (or First Page Friday participants) who want to write about working with me are welcome too!

First Page Friday

About First Page Friday

Literary Fiction – Helen Evans

He knew straight away, although afterwards he would lie to himself about it. He had a habit of needlessly complicating simple things.

The evening had begun like every other of the holiday. This was the fifth night in a row they’d gone to the same bar. It had not escaped Dan’s notice that, even this far from home, they’d remained creatures of habit, drinking the same drinks, telling the same stories, doing the same things. Routine was their deity, wherever they went, they bowed down before her.

As soon as they’d walked in, the heat of the place began to feel oppressive. Dan glanced behind him at the open door which led temptingly back out onto the beach. It was late, and beyond the bar’s own shallow pool of light lay total blackness, the island’s geography lost in the night, the sound of the ocean drowned out by music and people. He turned to Oli, ‘Your turn, isn’t it?’

‘Nope, it’s yours.’

He looked at Bugsie, ‘Is it?’

Bugsie inclined his head; he never used words where a curt nod would suffice.

Not for the first time since leaving the hotel, Dan checked that his wallet was still in the back pocket of his shorts. Reassured, he then looked slowly about the room, taking in the crowd of customers in all their sun-burnt glory. As usual, the predominant demographic was middle-class students, carefully dressed-down to look like surfers. In amongst their ubiquitous blur of red and tan, one girl immediately stood out, her skin pale and smooth like eggshell. Either her holiday had just begun, or she’d been very careful to avoid the sun. She had long, auburn hair, and fine, black eyebrows. A strapless top showed off her freckled shoulders, and with it she wore a floor length, green sarong that faded to blue at the hem. The women around her, in low-slung, denim shorts and mini-skirts, their tops runched up to show-case their pierced navels, were dressed up for the here and now, whereas this girl seemed to be heading somewhere else entirely.

He flinched as an elbow stabbed in between his ribs, ‘Jesus, Oli. What was that for?’

Oli shook his head, ‘Can we at least get the drinks in before you fall in love yet again with the least available girl in the room?’

To Dan’s left, Bugsie laughed rather too hard. He glanced from one to the other of them,’What are you talking about?’

Oli and Bugsie exchanged pitying looks. Bugsie then, glanced down at his empty right hand and started with surprise, as though shocked to find it didn’t contain a beer bottle, before pointedly looking back at Dan.

He gave up, ‘OK! My round it is then.’

Dan had never just gone up to a woman in a bar, and this night was no exception, but something of the holiday mood must have caught hold of him, because he chose to buy the drinks right next to where the girl was standing.

Reader Participation – What Do You Think?

Before reading my take on this novel opening, please take a moment to record your thoughts in the poll below.

My Feedback

Critique Key

Original Text is in italics. (Author is already using italics, so my comments are going to be underlined this week)

Red is text I recommend removing.

Green is text I recommend adding.

Blue are my comments.

Literary Fiction – Helen Evans

He knew straight away, although afterwards he would lie to himself about it. He had a habit of needlessly complicating simple things. < I like this opening. It sets up a solid and clear POV and voice while also giving the reader the promise that something is going to happen. We don’t know what, but we know this isn’t going to be an opening that takes us nowhere.

As soon as they’d walked in, the heat of the place began to feel oppressive. < It’s not a huge deal, but I’m not a fan of things “beginning” to happen. It seems to unnecessarily water statements down. Dan glanced behind him at the open door which led temptingly back out onto the beach. It was late, and beyond the bar’s own shallow pool of light lay total blackness, the island’s geography lost in the night, the sound of the ocean drowned out by music and people. He turned to Oli, ‘Your turn, isn’t it?’

‘Nope, it’s yours.’

He looked at Bugsie, ‘Is it?’

Bugsie inclined his head; he never used words where a curt nod would suffice.

Not for the first time since leaving the hotel, Dan checked that his wallet was still in the back pocket of his shorts. Reassured, he then looked slowly about the room, taking in the crowd of customers in all their sun-burnt glory. As usual, the predominant demographic was middle-class students, carefully dressed-down to look like surfers. In amongst their ubiquitous blur of red and tan, one girl immediately < You’ve used a few adverbs here, but I’m not one of those 100% anti-adverb editors. Still, I recommend shedding them when you can and this one seems disposable. stood out, her skin pale and smooth like eggshell. Either her holiday had just begun, or she’d been very careful to avoid the sun. She had long, auburn hair, and fine, black eyebrows. A strapless top showed off her freckled shoulders, and with it she wore a floor length, green sarong that faded to blue at the hem. The women around her, in low-slung, denim shorts and mini-skirts, their tops runched up to show-case their pierced navels, were dressed up for the here and now, whereas this girl seemed to be heading somewhere else entirely.

He flinched as an elbow stabbed in between his ribs, ‘Jesus, Oli. What was that for?’

Oli shook his head, ‘Can we at least get the drinks in before you fall in love yet again with the least available girl in the room?’

To Dan’s left, Bugsie laughed rather too hard. He glanced from one to the other of them,’What are you talking about?’

Oli and Bugsie exchanged pitying looks. Bugsie then, glanced down at his empty right hand and started with surprise, as though shocked to find it didn’t contain a beer bottle, < Maybe it’s just me, but the first time I read this, I didn’t realize he was doing this to get Dan to buy the beers. I thought it was intended to express some kind of emotional state. You may want to add something like “mock surprise” for clarity. before pointedly looking back at Dan. < There’s a lot of looking and glancing in this section. You may want to cut out one “glance” and one “look” for the sake of diverse descriptions and to not over-control the eye movement of characters, which is something that can (over time) become both tedious and meaningless to readers.

He gave up, ‘OK! My round it is then.’ < I’m assuming this is Dan speaking, but it’s a tad ambiguous.

My Overall Thoughts

I’m really excited because this makes for two really, really great First Page Friday’s in a row! Your style is very solid. On the first read through, there was really nothing that jumped out at me and made me stop reading. It’s smooth enough that I’d keep reading if I picked this up in a book store or library.

Key Places to Improve:

I don’t know if it’s something that becomes an issue (since I’ve only read the first 500 words), but it’s always good to be mindful of how often you control character’s eye movements. In the section I marked above, each glance/look is conveying an emotion, but when possible (especially when eye movements start to get dense as in the section above), it’s a good idea to use another description that conveys the same thing. Over time, glances/looks/stares/etc start to lose meaning to the reader when used frequently. So if you think this may apply to you, “search and replace” on your word processor can help you weed some of them out of your manuscript.

The opening line promises something interesting will happen. I would expect that to happen nearly immediately following these first 500 words. If that’s not the case, you may want to follow through on the promise sooner (at least with another hint) so that readers can get the gist of what the book will be about in the 1-5 minutes they might spend looking it over before choosing to buy it or put it back on the shelf.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 4.5

This opening is very solid. The only reason I don’t give it a 5 is because it’s not the type of opening that’s going to make someone automatically request pages, which is really what I base my grading scale on (how likely I think it is a writer will get partial or full requests). This is a very specific type and taste of writing, that I personally really like. If you maintain this quality of writing throughout and pair it with a great plot, I think you should be good to go!

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Submit to First Page Friday – (currently OPEN to submissions)

***Please read this entire section before submitting***

Due to the amount of time it takes to respond to each email and due to the volume of submissions received (I booked 4 months in about 2 weeks), I am changing the submission and selection process for First Page Friday (beginning next week) for my own sanity as well as to increase the quality of the series.

To Submit, send the following information to ellenbrock@keytopservices.com or to editorbrock@gmail.com:

The name you want used on your post (real name, pseudonym, or anonymous)
The first 500 words (Don’t stop in the middle of a sentence, but don’t add sentences above and beyond 500 words)
Any links you want included with the post (website, Amazon, GoodReads, Twitter, etc.)

Title your submission email: SUBMISSION: First Page Friday – [Genre of your book]

If you need to update or revoke your submission, title your email: UPDATE: First Page Friday – [Genre of your book]

I will not remove First Page Friday critiques after they are posted, so please do not submit if you are not okay with your work being publicly critiqued on my blog.

I ask that you please comment, vote, and share First Page Friday posts from other authors. It’s courteous to both give and receive help. Thank you!

About the Editor

Help First Page Friday Succeed! Please use the buttons below to share this post. The more views, the more submissions, the more First Page Fridays!

First Page Friday #29: Historical Fiction

April 18, 2014April 19, 201415 Comments

Thanks for checking out First Page Friday! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments!

If you like First Page Friday, please share it wherever you can! It takes a lot of time to put together the post each week and while I want FPF to succeed, with lower views than my other blog posts, I’m struggling to find the time to continue the series. Thanks to all my wonderful supporters! I truly appreciate it!

Novel Boot Camp!

About First Page Friday

Historical Fiction – Anonymous

As a child I used to press my ear to my pillow, listening to the steady swoosh of my heartbeat, praying it would continue through the night. I was afraid the magic that kept it beating would vanish, and death would find me. What a foolish thought that had been – to fear death.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here; maybe six months, maybe a year. I don’t keep track like the others: time has no place for me in this frozen land. If not for my hate, which is stronger than my misery, or for the promise I gave my sister Olga – who has never broken a promise to me – I’d gladly let the cold carry me away. Perhaps that day will come, when even the fires of hate cannot see me through this darkness. But not today. Today I will not feed my soul to the beast: let Stalin find his dinner elsewhere. Before the gulag I was a girl afraid of death, and now I’m a woman who teases herself with the notion of finding it.

My father would be proud that I have finally become brave. With nothing left to lose, bravery comes easily.

I wonder if being torn from such wealth and comfort means that I have lost more than most who were already starving, cold, and alone. I try not to think of my family, and the life I had, but it’s difficult to keep my mind within these walls. Sometimes I hear my mother call for me as I work. Her voice is warm and soothing against my chapped skin, carrying with it the scent of sweet bread and lamb stew, making my mouth water and my heart hunger. Time and again, I close my eyes and pray her voice will finally wake me from this nightmare. Always opening them to the other women cramped in this workhouse, with my limbs tangled painfully in the barb of hope. I no longer hope, as it will only bleed you slowly.

It’s easy to spot the new ones in camp. Their skin has a greenish tint with the whites of their eyes yellowing from months spent cramped in transport cattle cars, unbearably thick with the stench of urine. Seeing their gaunt faces and hollowed eyes, I am reminded of my own harrowing journey. A short eternity spent living off small chunks of frozen bread, which the guards would toss at us through the barred windows. We would scramble like packed pigeons, hoping to catch the bread before it hit the soiled floor. Even then, most of us would still eat the foul pieces, so desperate were we to ease the pain in our bellies – only to trade one sort of pain for another.

When the cries faded and the lined faces turned soft, we knew death had come. He was all around us; calm, and patiently waiting. And so tempted was I to say his name.

Reader Participation – What Do You Think?

Before reading my take on this novel opening, please take a moment to record your thoughts in the poll below.

My Feedback

Critique Key

Original Text is in italics. (Author is already using italics, so my comments are going to be underlined this week)

Red is text I recommend removing.

Green is text I recommend adding.

Blue are my comments.

Historical Fiction – Anonymous

As a child I used to press my ear to my pillow, listening to the steady swoosh of my heartbeat, praying it would continue through the night. <I almost love this opening line but the two “ing” verbs weaken what could be a really punchy opening. This is mostly just a quibble because I feel like you have the chops to write an opening line that’s truly stunning. I was afraid the magic that kept it beating would vanish, and death would find me. What a foolish thought that had been – to fear death.

My father would be proud that I have finally become brave. With nothing left to lose, bravery comes easily.< Again, a minor quibble. I don’t like the repeated “y” sound of “bravery” and “easily.” But this is a matter of opinion.

I wonder if being torn from such wealth and comfort means that I have lost more than most, who < The comma here is necessary as there’s a significant difference in meaning without it. were already starving, cold, and alone. I try not to think of my family, and the life I had, but it’s difficult to keep my mind within these walls. Sometimes I hear my mother call for me as I work. Her voice is warm and soothing against my chapped skin, carrying with it the scent of sweet bread and lamb stew, making my mouth water and my heart hunger. Time and again, I close my eyes and pray her voice will finally wake me from this nightmare. Always opening them to the other women cramped in this workhouse, with my limbs tangled painfully in the barb of hope. I no longer hope, as it will only bleed you slowly.

It’s easy to spot the new ones in camp. < It’s not clear if she’s looking at them now or if this is simply a thought. Giving her physical presence and/or making it clear that she’s simply thinking would help with clarity. Their skin has a greenish tint with the whites of their eyes yellowing from months spent cramped in transport cattle cars, unbearably thick with the stench of urine. Seeing their gaunt faces and hollowed eyes, I am reminded of my own harrowing journey. A short eternity spent living off small chunks of frozen bread, which the guards would toss at us through the barred windows. We would scramble like packed pigeons, hoping to catch the bread before it hit the soiled floor. Even then, most of us would still eat the foul pieces, so desperate were we to ease the pain in our bellies – only to trade one sort of pain for another.

When the cries faded and the lined faces turned soft, we knew death had come. He was all around us; calm, and patiently waiting. And so tempted was I to say his name.

My Overall Thoughts

Wow! A strong style, lovely rhythm to the words, great characterization, and depth in nearly every line makes this an opening worth paying attention to.

Key Places to Improve:

I really think you’ve hit the nail on the head with this. Aside from a couple of nit picky line edits, I can’t see much that could be improved upon other than clearing up that last paragraph – is she actually looking at the new comers or just thinking about them?

The personification of death may bring up immediate comparisons with The Book Thief, especially given the similar subject matter. However, since your writing is strong, I don’t think this comparison will be something that drags you down unless too many aspects are similar later on. I don’t see that being the case, but still feel it’s worth mentioning.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 4.5

I almost gave this a 5, but I really wanted a first line that punched me in the gut because I know you have the writing chops to pull it off. Adding that to the vagueness of the last paragraph just barely bumps this down a half point. The bottom line: if this is finished, so long as your structure is good, I can’t imagine you struggling much to get agents to bite. So go query! If it’s not done, finish it!

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Connect with the Author

http://donald-robinson.blogspot.com/

Submit to First Page Friday – (currently CLOSED to submissions)

The future of First Page Friday is uncertain. These posts don’t get as many views or shares as my other blog posts, and they get just a fraction of the views of my videos, so I’m considering applying the time I normally spend on First Page Friday towards something with a wider appeal. I’m still undecided. It will depend on whether views increase over the next few weeks.

You can help First Page Friday succeed by sharing the posts across the web. Thanks for your support!

About the Editor

Help First Page Friday Succeed! Please use the buttons below to share this post. The more views, the more submissions, the more First Page Fridays!

First Page Friday #28: YA Fantasy

April 11, 2014April 11, 201417 Comments

Thanks for checking out First Page Friday! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments!

Novel Boot Camp!

About First Page Friday

YA Fantasy – Donald A. Robinson

Rivers of fire raced down his cheeks. The fiery tears stung his face as they scorched deep ravines across his icy, bloodstained face. His breath grew rapid and shallow as he tried desperately to staunch the bleeding only he saw. Her body lay frozen beneath his hands. Auburn hair lay listlessly to one side; dull, lifeless, and matted with blood. Rosy red cheeks grew pale as her hazel eyes faded to gray. Dozens of black figures rushed towards them. He knew they would be upon him soon, but the only thing on his mind was making her awaken. The air echoed with the sounds of battle as steel clashed upon steel and arcane blasts exploded upon the scarred landscape. Screams of pain and anguish crescendoed as the violence escalated. His desperation muffled the sound of it all as he struggled to save her. Through the chaos, a soft whisper caught his attention.

“She’s… not breathing.”

Tears flowed endlessly from his eyes He turned to face the crawling figure. He tried to speak, but his voice was void of all sound. He looked back down at the cold, pale body of what was once his love. Then, he turned his palms face-up to see the congealed blood on his hands. He screamed out with what voice he could muster, and pounded her chest; a last ditched effort to make her breath.

“She’s gone! Let her go…”

Gasping, he shot straight up to a seated position.

A dream. That dream. More like a nightmare. Or was it some kind of warning?

All he knew was he had the same dream every night for the last week. His shirt clung to his body; the sweat cool against his back. Eric leaned forward, and placed a hand to his forehead and the other to the bed. Something was wrong. His hand coiled back as he touched dew-covered grass. The breeze picked up. Eric’s entire body shivered from the icy caress. Squinting up to the fading star-studded sky, he recognized none of the constellations- a fact he attributed to his poor eyesight.

Where am I? And, where are my glasses?

Eric tried to stay calm despite the cold, strange night he had woken up to find. Pulling his arms into his shirt, Eric set off towards the hint of a sunrise. His eyes seldom left the ground as he trudged through the cold, wet grass.

Dreary, morning sunlight filtered through the clouds ahead of him. He was not sure where he going, but he knew he was traveling east. He walked for what he believed was no more than an hour. Acrid wisps of smoke caught his attention. He searched for the source. Billows of smoke to his left clued him in as to where the stench originated. He hoped this would be his best chance to find someone, and maybe get warm.

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YA Fantasy – Donald A. Robinson

Rivers of fire raced down his cheeks. The fiery < “Fire” and “fiery” feels repetitive to me. tears stung his face as they scorched deep ravines across his icy, bloodstained face. < I’m not sure if you’re being literal or figurative here. His breath grew rapid and shallow as he tried desperately to staunch the bleeding only he saw. Her body lay frozen beneath his hands. Auburn hair lay listlessly to one side; dull, lifeless, and matted with blood. Rosy red cheeks grew pale as her hazel eyes faded to gray. < There are a ton of colors in this sentence. It feels like overkill. Dozens of black figures rushed towards them. He knew they would be upon him soon, but the only thing on his mind was making her awaken. < “Making her awaken” reads as very awkward and unnatural. The air echoed with the sounds of battle as steel clashed upon steel and arcane blasts exploded upon the scarred landscape. Screams of pain and anguish crescendoed as the violence escalated. His desperation muffled the sound of it all as he struggled to save her. < Show his struggle. Make the reader feel it. Give details. Through the chaos, a soft whisper caught his attention.

“She’s… not breathing.”

Tears flowed endlessly from his eyes < Crying early in a book doesn’t have an emotional effect on the reader. We don’t know who this character is or why we should care. He turned to face the crawling figure. He tried to speak, but his voice was void of all sound. < His voice being void of sound seems like an odd description to me. His voice is the sound, so without it, he has no voice, not a voice with no sound. He looked back down at the cold, pale body of what was once his love. Then, he turned his palms face-up to see the congealed blood on his hands. He screamed out with what voice he could muster, and pounded her chest; a last ditched effort to make her breath. < This level of drama as an opening scene is near impossible to pull off. It’s just too easy to come across as melodramatic.

“She’s gone! Let her go…”

Gasping, he shot straight up to a seated position.

A dream. That dream. More like a nightmare. Or was it some kind of warning? < This was really jarring. I didn’t realize when he shot straight up he was waking up. You mentioned you watched my videos, so I’m sure you’re aware that opening with a dream is a major no-no.

All he knew was he had the same dream every night for the last week. His shirt clung to his body; the sweat cool against his back. Eric leaned forward, and placed a hand to his forehead and the other to the bed. Something was wrong. His hand coiled back as he touched dew-covered grass. < Did he sit up with his eyes clothes? How did he not already notice that he was outside? The breeze picked up. Eric’s entire body shivered from the icy caress. Squinting up to the fading star-studded sky, he recognized none of the constellations- a fact he attributed to his poor eyesight.

Where am I? And, where are my glasses?

Eric tried to stay calm despite the cold, strange night he had woken up to find. < Show that he’s trying to stay calm. Don’t just tell the reader. Pulling his arms into his shirt, Eric set off towards the hint of a sunrise. His eyes seldom left the ground as he trudged through the cold, wet grass. < You’ve used “cold” twice here and “icy” twice in one page. Be careful about repetition.

My Overall Thoughts

You’re opening with two cliches: the death of a loved one and waking up from a dream. Both of these are big enough issues in themselves to warrant a trip back to the drawing board.

Key Places to Improve:

Nothing about this seems YA to me. Is the protagonist a teenager? If so, make that clear.

The narrative distance feels too far away. I can’t really tell based on this short sample, but I think you’re writing in omniscient. That’s not inherently bad, but it’s pretty rare in YA – mostly because it eliminates the teenage voice that makes YA work and because it’s generally fallen out of vogue with young readers. If you go with it, make sure you’re not keeping the narration so far from your character that he’s not easy to relate to. If you don’t intend to write in omniscient, you may want to check out Developing a Solid Third Person POV.

Don’t try to sound “writerly” or to word things in an unusual way. Clarity is what’s most important. Particularly in YA, descriptions should be pretty straightforward and casual.

Showing more helps the reader connect with the story as well as the character. Check out my post on Showing vs. Telling for more info.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 1

Opening with a dream is a fatal flaw. Other than that, this doesn’t have a YA feel to it, which will cause agents/editors/readers to put it down pretty quick.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Connect with the Author

http://donald-robinson.blogspot.com/

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First Page Friday #27: YA Paranormal Romance

April 4, 201424 Comments

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I’ve been a bit quieter than usual lately, which some of you may have noticed if you subscribe on YouTube and to the blog. I am currently booked solid (10-11 hour days!) for at least the next 6-8 weeks, so I don’t have as much time to keep the blog and YouTube going as I did before. That said, I have lots of posts and videos planned, so don’t go away!

About First Page Friday

YA Paranormal Romance – Denise Drespling

The idea of ghosts did not scare Claire O’Neill. She’d seen them before, and it was no big deal. With mild amusement, she observed her younger sister, Tara, and her friends as they scooted into a circle on
the basement floor and attempted to contact a spirit. Bright pink candles filled the air with sickening strawberry and illuminated their glittering purple nail polish. Only thirteen-year-old girls at a slumber party would consider it entertaining to conduct a séance between makeovers and chick flicks.

“Oh, great spirits,” Tara said in a voice deep and spooky, “speak to us. Give us a sign that you’re here.”

The lights did not flicker. They heard no strange noises. Not so much as a well-timed clap of thunder convinced the girls a spirit had joined them. Claire rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her homework.

“It’s not working,” Jessica whined.

Emily shrugged. “Maybe all the ghosts are busy.”

“Hey, Claire.” Tara pulled away from the small circle and approached her sister, who sat on the couch at the back of the basement. “How do you do a séance?”

Claire glanced up. “Pretty sure you need a Ouija board.”

Between ninth grade math problems, bits of the girls’ conversation floated to Claire. How would they get a Ouija board? Draw one? Print one from the internet? Dig the old one out of the attic?

“There’s a free app!” Liz tapped the screen of her iPad several times and set the device in the center of the circle.

The girls crowded together. Elbows and knees tangled over cries of discomfort.

“Ow!”

“Watch it!”

“You poked me!”

The circle tightened until they each touched the iPad with two fingers. Claire stifled a snicker. They looked like a wiggling lump of bouncing hair and neon clothing.

“It’s moving!” Emily said.

“What’s it saying?” Tara asked.

“I… M… H… R… I’m here!” Liz said. “It’s spelling out, ‘I’m here!'”
Right. Claire knew how these things worked. Someone always moved it, then claimed they hadn’t.

“Where are you?” Jessica asked the spirit.

Tara smacked her arm. “It just told us. It’s _here._ Duh.”

“What should we ask it?” Jessica said.

Claire muttered a response to herself. “Ask it to bring you a boyfriend.”

Tara again used her spooky voice. “Oh, spirit of the basement, tell us your name.”

“No, never mind,” Claire mumbled again, “Bring _me _a boyfriend. You’re all complete morons.”

“B… R… N…” Emily said.

“Well, that’s stupid,” Tara said. “B-R-N doesn’t spell anything. We must have a dumb ghost.”

Claire heard an exasperated sigh beside her. She looked toward the sound, but saw nothing unusual. The room remained dim, lit by candlelight and a lamp. A pile of pillows, blankets, and backpacks sat
in a heap against the wall. The flat TV on its wooden stand was an empty, black window. Her notebook lay on her lap, the half-finished math homework staring up at her from the page. Her pencil waited
patiently in her tight grip.

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YA Paranormal Romance – Denise Drespling

The idea of ghosts did not scare Claire O’Neill. < This has the possibility of becoming a strong opening. She’d seen them before, and it was no big deal. < This sentence sort of fizzles what could have built to an exciting opening. It’s too vague and flippant to be intriguing. I don’t know the story enough to make a good suggestion, but try for something with a lot of hook. Something “meaty” that makes readers HAVE to keep reading. With mild amusement, she observed her younger sister, Tara, and her friends as they scooted into a circle on the basement floor and attempted to contact a spirit. < This sentence could rely more on showing. Bright pink candles filled the air with sickening strawberry and illuminated their glittering purple nail polish. < Orange words are adjectives. Too many are crammed into this sentence. Only thirteen-year-old girls at a slumber party would consider it entertaining to conduct a séance between makeovers and chick flicks.

“Oh, great spirits,” Tara said in a voice deep and spooky, “speak to us. Give us a sign that you’re here.”

The lights did not flicker. They heard no strange noises. Not so much as a well-timed clap of thunder convinced the girls a spirit had joined them. < I don’t know what POV we’re in here. It reads more like omniscient than like Claire’s perspective. Claire rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her homework.

“It’s not working,” Jessica whined.

Emily shrugged. “Maybe all the ghosts are busy.”

“Hey, Claire.” Tara pulled away from the small circle and approached her sister, who sat on the couch at the back of the basement. < This definitely does not feel like it’s coming from Claire’s POV. “How do you do a séance?”

Claire glanced up. “Pretty sure you need a Ouija board.”

Between ninth grade math problems, < If she’s in ninth grade, that would make her sister only one year younger than her. I expected the age difference to be much more significant. bits of the girls’ conversation floated to Claire. How would they get a Ouija board? Draw one? Print one from the internet? Dig the old one out of the attic?

“There’s a free app!” Liz tapped the screen of her iPad several times and set the device in the center of the circle.

The girls crowded together. Elbows and knees tangled over cries of discomfort. < This sentence doesn’t read right. Almost like you’re saying “Elbows and knees tangled because of cries of discomfort.”

“Ow!”

“Watch it!”

“You poked me!” < Why/how would someone get poked when they’re sitting in a circle?

The circle tightened until they each touched the iPad with two fingers. Claire stifled a snicker. They looked like a wiggling lump of bouncing hair and neon clothing.

“It’s moving!” Emily said.

“What’s it saying?” Tara asked.

“I… M… H… R… I’m here!” Liz said. “It’s spelling out, ‘I’m here!'”
Right. Claire knew how these things worked. Someone always moved it, then claimed they hadn’t.

“Where are you?” Jessica asked the spirit.

Tara smacked her arm. “It just told us. It’s _here._ Duh.”

“What should we ask it?” Jessica said.

Claire muttered a response to herself. “Ask it to bring you a boyfriend.” < Claire is getting lost in this scene. At first I thought this was one of the girls around the Ouija board.

Tara again used her spooky voice. “Oh, spirit of the basement, tell us your name.”

“No, never mind,” Claire mumbled again, “Bring _me _a boyfriend. You’re all complete morons.” < I had to read this three times to understand who she was saying “No, never mind” to.

“B… R… N…” Emily said.

“Well, that’s stupid,” Tara said. “B-R-N doesn’t spell anything. We must have a dumb ghost.”

Claire heard an exasperated sigh beside her. She looked toward the sound, but saw nothing unusual. < I would shorten this whole paragraph to something like: “She turned, but there was nothing but the cracked cement wall.” Most of the details included in the paragraph feel irrelevant, sort of like a “laundry list” of details. The room remained dim, < “Remained” seems like a strange word choice here. Did she think it wouldn’t remain dim? lit by candlelight and a lamp. A pile of pillows, blankets, and backpacks sat in a heap against the wall. The flat TV on its wooden stand was an empty, black window. Her notebook lay on her lap, the half-finished math homework staring up at her from the page. Her pencil waited patiently in her tight grip.

My Overall Thoughts

I think you’re losing track of who this story is about. There’s more focus on the little girls than on Claire. The reader should feel like they’re sitting right next to Claire, not looking at Claire from the circle of girls. If you think of your narration as a camera – the camera is in the wrong place, which is also making the POV read a bit off.

Key Places to Improve:

Claire’s sister and her friends read more like ten or eleven to me than thirteen, especially in the dialogue.

This opening has a sort of “name soup” going on – way too many names for a first page. It was hard to keep track of who was who, especially when we didn’t sit with Claire long enough to attach to her.

Claire needs more personality. She’s currently reading a bit like a stock “big sister” character rather than a strong lead. One of the primary goals of the first page should be to attach the reader to the main character, which comes from emotional closeness (the character wants something the reader can sympathize with) or by being proactive (the character is trying to accomplish something tangible the reader can root for her to achieve).

The POV needs to be more clearly established. If this is third limited, stay tighter on Claire and give the narration more of her voice.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 2

There’s just no hook here for me. Ouija board scenes have been done lots of times and this one isn’t introducing a new or unique element. The opportunity to create a strong hook about Claire seeing ghosts in the first paragraph fell a bit flat. And Claire herself does not play a prominent enough role in the opening. Had the opening paragraph been eliminated, I would’ve felt that this was a story about the little girls rather than Claire.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Connect with the Author

Links:

http://www.denisedrespling.com/
https://www.facebook.com/DeniseDrespling
https://twitter.com/DeniseDrespling
plus.google.com/+DeniseDresplingAuthor

https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/6209436-denise-drespling

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First Page Friday #26: Cozy Mystery

March 28, 201413 Comments

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Cozy Mystery First 500 – HL Carpenter

It wasn’t the food.

Exactly one week after Jo Fernley’s death, Emma Twiggs pushed aside the artistically-plated roast beef and mashed potatoes the chef at Happy Haven Retirement Community prepared every Sunday evening. No, the food had nothing to do with her sense that something was off kilter.

It wasn’t the chatter in the dining room, either, nor the sidelong glances of other Happy Haven residents. Happy Haven was a hotbed—literally—of gossip and rumors. Emma hated being the topic du jour, but that was nothing new.

It certainly wasn’t her dinner companion, Arnie Bracken. Arnie was always charming, kind, and intelligent. She looked at him and shook her head. No, her foreboding had nothing to do with Arnie, despite the fact that her best friend, Olli, had begun avoiding him. Olli had even refused to join them for dinner this evening.

Arnie said, “I know what you’re thinking, Em.”

“Do you?” Emma picked up a glass of lemon-spritzed water and waited for him to explain why they were dining alone.

“Sure.” Arnie glanced at the closest tables, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “You’re wondering how someone as fit as Jo accidentally drowned in the swimming pool.”

Emma froze, her gaze locked with his. Her fingers tightened on the glass. The chatter in the room faded into muted background noise. She had deliberately not been thinking about Jo—slim and athletic Jo, with whom she’d shared the part-time volunteer job of water aerobics instructor at the pool where Jo had been found, her swimsuit-clad body resting on the concrete bottom like a deflated life raft.

No, she was not going to think about Jo.

Arnie said, “I’ll tell you how it happened, Em. There was no accident about it. Jo was murdered, and Cahan did it.”

“I don’t—murdered? By Todd?”

“Murdered,” Arnie repeated. “By Cahan. And we need to prove it.”

“Arnie.” Emma set the glass on the table and uncurled her fingers from it. “You know the paramedics called Jo’s death an accidental drowning. Harmony’s police department and the district medical examiner agreed.”

“Yeah, I know all the euphemisms they used.”

Emma did, too. The headline in Harmony Notes, the local daily, had read TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT HAPPY HAVEN. Unfortunate was the word murmured most frequently at the funeral service where Arnie had stood in place of the family Jo lacked, followed closely by regrettable.

Arnie said, “They’re wrong, Em.”

A trickle of condensation wept down the side of the glass and puddled into a teardrop on the table. All the words used to describe Jo’s death were wrong. Wrong and inadequate. Words were inadequate now, too. If Jo had been murdered, she deserved more than a quiet closing of the book of her life. She deserved a balancing of that book.

And there was one person who ought to square the tally: Emma Twiggs, the semi-retired septuagenarian accountant who’d done nothing to prevent her death.

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Cozy Mystery First 500 – HL Carpenter

It wasn’t the food.

Exactly one week after Jo Fernley’s death, Emma Twiggs pushed aside the artistically-plated roast beef and mashed potatoes the chef at Happy Haven Retirement Community prepared every Sunday evening. < I feel that this sentence is doing too many things at once because so much information is packed into it. No, the food had nothing to do with her sense that something was off kilter.

It wasn’t the chatter in the dining room, either, nor the sidelong glances of other Happy Haven residents. Happy Haven was a hotbed—literally—of gossip and rumors. < I’m not sure what the “literally” is referring to. Emma hated being the topic du jour, but that was nothing new.

It certainly wasn’t her dinner companion, Arnie Bracken. Arnie was always charming, kind, and intelligent. She looked at him and shook her head. < I think her shaking her head in response to her own thoughts would look strange to Arnie. No, her foreboding had nothing to do with Arnie, despite the fact that her best friend, Olli, had begun avoiding him. Olli had even refused to join them for dinner this evening.

Arnie said, “I know what you’re thinking, Em.”

“Do you?” Emma picked up a glass of lemon-spritzed water and waited for him to explain why they were dining alone. < I think this is clear enough and not needed.

“Sure.” Arnie glanced at the closest tables, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “You’re wondering how someone as fit as Jo accidentally drowned in the swimming pool.”

No, she was not going to think about Jo.

Arnie said, “I’ll tell you how it happened, Em. There was no accident about it. Jo was murdered, and Cahan did it.”

“I don’t—murdered? By Todd?”

“Murdered,” Arnie repeated. “By Cahan. And we need to prove it.”

“Yeah, I know all the euphemisms they used.”

Arnie said, “They’re wrong, Em.”

And there was one person who ought to square the tally: Emma Twiggs, the semi-retired septuagenarian accountant who’d done nothing to prevent her death. < It seems to me that Emma swings a bit too quickly from not believing it was murder to not only believing it, but wanting to bring the killer to justice. I think that transition should take longer.

My Overall Thoughts

I have no real complaints about the content, but I think there are some line editing issues that need to be addressed as well as some areas where clarity could be improved.

Key Places to Improve:

Did Emma feel something was off because of the murder? It wasn’t clear how her off-kilter feeling related (or didn’t relate) to her conversation with Arnie.

Opening with all the things that weren’t making Emma feel off-kilter gave this a slightly odd, almost middle grade omniscient narrator feel to me. I think your intention is third limited, so you may want to alter the opening. I think it’s coming across a bit sillier than you intend.

I’d like to get a little bit more about who Emma is. What kind of person is she? What is her typical life like? Is she usually nosy and the type to get involved or is she usually quiet? I’d like a better sense of Arnie’s personality as well. You may want to give the opening a bit more space to give the readers a sense of who they are.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 3

There weren’t any major problems with this opening, but definitely some places that could be improved. I like the idea of a mystery in a retirement community.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Connect with the Authors

HL Carpenter is a mother-daughter writing team. You can learn more about them on their website.

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First Page Friday #25: Science Fiction

March 21, 201416 Comments

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Science Fiction First 500 – Yori Papilaya

Please note that Yori is not a native English speaker.

Alex was shivered a bit, his teeth chatted. The morgue was even colder than the rest of the facility. Morgues are supposed to be like this, since heat decays corpses and people hated that, which was weird; If nothing was more natural than death and decays, why even fight it? His feet were warm, though; ready to run as fast as he can, whenever the oportunity might arise; no matter how exhausted he was that day.

All of their breaths turned into whitish mist. Except for the many breathless bodies laid covered on the metallic tables. They were his comrades this morning, but then they’re nothing, and Alex envied them.

All three of them was stared by the higher ups: Major Garrot, the headmaster of the the Owl Military Training Facility; The three Senior Officers represented Alex’, Rogan’s and Raye’s Unit; The doctors and various new faces which were probably investigators. All of them were at ease, except for Major Garrot who was sitting in the center. They looked very concerned and prepared to blame everything but themselves. Especially in front of those investigators. Respectable Major was still a human being, and being human he avoids responsibility; One way or another.

“Will any of you be so kind as to disclose what happened this morning?” Major Garrot cracked open the silence. Alex’ skin crawled with sensation.

“Sir. We were given an incorrect status of the mission, Sir.”

Quistani snorted in disdain. She was Rogan’s Unit senior officer, Baraka Unit. Other senior officers were keeping their faces straight, no matter how devastated they were.

“Sir. The order was only to guard the transportation of the newly found artifact outside of the village. We were told that initial army were already stationed there, so we would only act as a backup. Code 1.”

“Only to bring basic firearm?”

“Sir. Yes, the anlacer, sir.” The anlacer was a small laser blaster with retractable blade to close melee combat.

Rogan breathed noisily on his side as he always did when he tries to breathe with his nose. So manly. Raye, on the other side of him, was silent; as if she didn’t even bother to breathe. Did she hold her breath? If we hold our breath ever so vigorously, will death come painlessly? That’s impossible; the brain won’t let it happen.

“And then, what happened?”

“Sir. Permission to suggest, Sir. But it seems Senior Officer Quistani have much to say regarding the field mission, Sir. She was the one who assigned Baraka, Meru, and Charon Unit’s third tier cadets.” Rogan and Raye made little sounds like they were about to protests but ultimately hold their poise. Quistany looked as red as a person can possibly be.

“As a matter of fact, I did, Cadet. And I don’t appreciate your … accusing suggestion. Your side of the story is apparently rather different from what the senior officers provide.”

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Science Fiction First 500 – Yori Papilaya

For the sake of focusing on the content, I am not going to mark grammatical errors. For non-native English speakers, I recommend getting a developmental edit before correcting the grammar because there’s no point in perfecting the English of sentences, paragraphs, or even pages that will be cut out during developmental edits.

Alex was shivered a bit, his teeth chatted. The morgue was even colder than the rest of the facility. Morgues are supposed to be like this, since heat decays corpses and people hated that, < The first part of this sentence is stating something readers already know. which was weird; If nothing was more natural than death and decays, why even fight it? < Because decay is gross, unsanitary, smells bad, etc. and because loved ones want to have an open casket to see the deceased at the funeral. Be careful about opening novels with a question with an obvious answer. It damages the reader’s opinion of the author’s credibility before it’s been established. His feet were warm, though; ready to run as fast as he can, whenever the oportunity might arise; no matter how exhausted he was that day.

All of their breaths turned into whitish mist. < Who are all the people in this sentence? As far as I know as a reader at this point, there is only Alex. Except for the many breathless bodies laid covered on the metallic tables. They were his comrades this morning, but then they’re nothing, and Alex envied them.

All three of them < All three of who? was stared by the higher ups: Major Garrot, the headmaster of the the Owl Military Training Facility; The three Senior Officers represented Alex’, Rogan’s and Raye’s Unit; The doctors and various new faces which were probably investigators. All of them were at ease, except for Major Garrot who was sitting in the center. They looked very concerned and prepared to blame everything but themselves. Especially in front of those investigators. Respectable Major was still a human being, and being human he avoids responsibility; One way or another.

“Will any of you be so kind as to disclose what happened this morning?” Major Garrot cracked open the silence. Alex’ skin crawled with sensation.< “With sensation” isn’t adding anything here.

“Sir. We were given an incorrect status of the mission, Sir.”

Quistani snorted in disdain. She was Rogan’s Unit senior officer, Baraka Unit. Other senior officers were keeping their faces straight, no matter how devastated they were.

“You may want to elaborate, Cadet. Your all 57 comrades are deceased. They’re laying in front of you right now. I am sure that you are all very shaken; but bear with me,” Garrot voice was always soothing. < I didn’t get the impression he was being soothing. I read it as him being harsh and cold.

“Only to bring basic firearm?”

“Sir. Yes, the anlacer, sir.” The anlacer was a small laser blaster with retractable blade to close melee combat.

Rogan breathed noisily on his side as he always did when he tries to breathe with his nose. So manly. < What makes breathing through your nose manly? Raye, on the other side of him, was silent; as if she didn’t even bother to breathe. Did she hold her breath? If we hold our breath ever so vigorously, will death come painlessly? That’s impossible; the brain won’t let it happen. < I’m not sure if these questions are coming from an omniscient narrator or if this is third limited and they are Alex’s questions. A stronger POV needs to be established early on.

“And then, what happened?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, Cadet. And I don’t appreciate your … accusing suggestion. Your side of the story is apparently rather different from what the senior officers provide.” < I don’t understand what this dialogue has to do with the previous line of dialogue. If you read the lines back to back (without narration) you will notice how odd his response seems.

My Overall Thoughts

Aside from the many grammatical errors, the biggest problem I had with this opening is that it was vague without being intriguing. Something happened that led to the cadets getting killed, but the reader doesn’t know what happened, what Alex’s involvement was, or why it’s important (on an individual, group, or national scale).

Key Places to Improve:

A morgue could be a cool place to open a novel, and death provides the opportunity to give us a deeper look into Alex’s mind right at the start of the novel (Is he guilty? Depressed? Scared?), but the questions asked in the narration seem irrelevant and superficial and the descriptions aren’t being used to add depth to the scene. This feels like a wasted opportunity to create an immediate connection between Alex and the reader.

It’s important to establish the POV right from the beginning of the novel. The reader needs to know whether the questions and opinions in the narration are Alex’s or those of an omniscient narrator. I could write a whole post about establishing POV, but a couple quick tips: For omniscient, narrate something the character couldn’t know within the first few sentences. For third limited, narrate something in the character’s voice within the first few sentences and attribute it to them by connecting it to a physical movement (For example: “He rubbed the sweat from his head. How had things gotten so damn bad?”). There are other ways to establish the POV, but these are the easiest.

I’m not sure this is the best place to start your novel. A bunch of characters the reader knows nothing about talking about something the reader knows nothing about doesn’t give much to latch onto. It’s also not very exciting. Take some time to consider starting at a more interesting place.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 1.5

Vague openings are very tough to pull off. I didn’t find enough to be interested in or to latch onto to want to keep reading.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

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First Page Friday #24: Mystery

March 14, 2014March 14, 201412 Comments

Thanks for checking out First Page Friday! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comments!

In case you missed it, check out this week’s blog post: Top Ten Reasons Your Novel is Getting Rejected

And this week’s video: How to Write in Omniscient Point of View

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About First Page Friday

Mystery First 500 – Abby Titus

It was almost like sucking on a piece of cold oak wood. It would settle inside the mouth and run down the throat. It clenched whatever painful memory there was and made a person forget. It was cheap though, and it was the way Clayton liked it. The whiskey he sipped didn’t make him feel lonely at three in the morning.

“Coming to bed?” A sooth voice said behind Clayton. It was gentle but tried. If Clayton listened closely he could hear her fingers tap on the doorframe.

“In a little while,” Clayton mumbled. He held on the little taste of whiskey he had left in his mouth before it was time for another sip. His head tilted and he looked down at his glass. It was half empty more then it was half full. He began to swirl the liquor in the glass.

The woman sighed behind him. “Don’t be up too late.”

The door close silently behind Clayton and he went back to comfortably sitting in his chair. It was an ugly chair and loosing its comfort, but it was good for times like these. Clayton took another sip of the whiskey and set the glass on the armrest. On the other armrest laid a rectangular, clear card. It almost seemed like glass, but it was hard as metal. The screen’s light was on and it read one missed message, but Clayton had no reason to listen to it.

Clayton felt the soft fur that prickled his feet. He felt the rising action of the inhale and the slow release of breath from the old dog. It was almost comforting, but Clayton knew this feeling would not last. He would have to go to work in four hours and his dog’s affection would have to wait, as well as his. Clayton could already feel the failure of his last case easing its way into his chest, so he took another sip. This is what Clayton’s father thought he would become. A failure destined to live alone. Clayton still had his dog, Kek, but it was only time before the dog died from the polluted air.

Clayton took another sip when the card rang and viabrated against the armrest. Clayton stared at it for a second before he looked to see who it was.

“Shit,” Clayton grumbled. He had the card in his hand and set the glass back down. “Now, what do you want?” Clayton set the card by his ear.

“I think you better come down here and find out,” a man said. At three in the morning the voice sounded too chipper. It was almost annoying for Clayton’s ears.

“Get Heikler,” suggested Clayton.

“Busy with another case.”

“Caris?”

“She’s here, but wants you to come down here anyway,” said the man.

Clayton rolled his eyes and grumbled. Kek, at his feet looked up to watch the changed emotion fall on Clayton’s face. “Why does Caris want my ass down there? In fact, have her call me herself, Nolan.”

“She’s busy,” Nolan said dryly. “Besides you have to get involved in a case again. Don’t want you to loose it.”

Clayton frowned at the cop’s words as he tipped the glass of whiskey. “Have her get someone else,” Clayton spoke. He knew detective Caris wasn’t busy. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Well, this case might peak your interest. Just come down to Port 39,” Nolan sighed. On that he hung up the phone before Clayton could get another word in.

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Mystery First 500 – Abby Titus

It was almost like sucking on a piece of cold oak wood. It would settle inside the mouth and run down the throat. < Writing “the mouth” and “the throat” rather than relating it to the character reads as awkward to me. It clenched whatever painful memory there was and made a person forget. It was cheap though, and it was the way Clayton liked it. The whiskey he sipped didn’t make him feel lonely at three in the morning.

“Coming to bed?” A soothing voice said behind Clayton. It was gentle but tried. If Clayton listened closely he could hear her fingers tap on the doorframe.

“In a little while,” Clayton mumbled. He held onto the little taste of whiskey he had left in his mouth before it was time for another sip. His head tilted and he looked down at his glass. It was half empty more then it was half full. < This line seems a bit heavy handed to me. He began to swirled the liquor in the glass. < Avoid “began” because it weakens the action.

I’ve seen novel’s opening with a detective drinking whiskey enough times to consider it a cliche opening as well as a cliche personality trait of detectives. That’s not to say you can’t do it, but it’s something to keep in mind.

The woman sighed behind him. “Don’t be up too late.”

The door close silently behind Clayton and he went back to comfortably sitting in his chair. < Did he ever get up from the chair? If not, he doesn’t need to go back to sitting in it. It was an ugly chair and loosing its comfort, but it was good for times like these. Clayton took another sip of the whiskey and set the glass on the armrest. On the other armrest laid a rectangular, clear card. It almost seemed like glass, but it was hard as metal. The screen’s light was on and it read one missed message, but Clayton had no reason to listen to it. < I would condense the description of this screen, and I would also mention it’s a screen upfront. For example: On the other armrest laid a small, clear screen, about the size of a business card.

Clayton felt the soft fur that prickled his feet. He felt the rising action of the inhale and the slow release of breath from the old dog. < This read as a bit strange to me because suddenly his feet are on fur, then that fur is inhaling, then we realize it’s a dog. I’d either mention the dog earlier on or have the dog arrive at this point in the scene. It was almost comforting, but Clayton knew this feeling would not last. He would have to go to work in four hours and his dog’s affection would have to wait, as well as his. < I’m not sure what you mean. “As well as his” affection for his dog? Affection for his wife? Also, four hours is a pretty long time for the comforting feeling to last. Clayton could already feel the failure of his last case easing its way into his chest, so he took another sip. This is what Clayton’s father thought he would become. A failure destined to live alone. < But he doesn’t live alone because there’s a woman with him, right? Clayton still had his dog, Kek, but it was only time before the dog died from the polluted air.

Clayton took another sip when the card rang and viabrated against the armrest. Clayton stared at it for a second before he looked to see who it was. < It seems odd he could stare at it without seeing who it was.

“Shit,” Clayton grumbled. He had the card in his hand and set the glass back down. “Now, what do you want?” Clayton set the card by his ear. < This makes me think he sets the card on his shoulder, which is a weird image. Isn’t he holding it to his ear rather than setting it there?

“I think you better come down here and find out,” a man said. At three in the morning the voice sounded too chipper. It was almost annoying for Clayton’s ears. < It’s annoying to Clayton, not his ears. His ears don’t have the ability to be annoyed.

“Get Heikler,” suggested Clayton.

“Busy with another case.”

“Caris?”

“She’s here, but wants you to come down here anyway,” said the man. < Avoid repeating the same word twice in a sentence.

Clayton rolled his eyes and grumbled. Kek, at his feet looked up to watch the changed emotion fall on Clayton’s face. < I don’t like this sentence because it implies that dog looked up so that he could see the changed emotion, which seems implausible. “Why does Caris want my ass down there? In fact, have her call me herself, Nolan.”

“She’s busy,” Nolan said dryly. “Besides you have to get involved in a case again. Don’t want you to loose it.”

Clayton frowned at the cop’s words as he tipped the glass of whiskey. “Have her get someone else,” Clayton spoke. He knew detective Caris wasn’t busy. < How does he know this? “You don’t need to worry.”

“Well, this case might peak < Should be “pique.” your interest. Just come down to Port 39,” Nolan sighed. < “Sighed” cannot be used as a dialogue tag. On that he hung up the phone before Clayton could get another word in. < I dislike the phrase “on that” or “with that” (followed by a character hanging up, leaving the room, etc.) because it’s unnecessary.

My Overall Thoughts

The writing itself is pretty smooth, but I don’t feel that this opening is terribly unique. It’s not jumping out at me. If I picked this up in a book store, I wouldn’t think much about it one way or the other.

Key Places to Improve:

Opening with a character being introspective rarely works. The reader has no investment in the character yet so they have little interest in the character’s emotional state. It also gives the opening a bit of a stagnant, just-wasting-time-to-get-to-the-good-part sort of feel.

The cliches in this opening are overpowering anything that might make it stand out as unique. Some cliches that I noticed: the whiskey drinking detective, the failed detective, the loner man with his dog, the man whose dad thought he would be a failure, the insomniac detective.

Figure out what is unique about your novel and put that uniqueness at the forefront. You have the futuristic phone in there and the pollution, which were both good (the only parts that really had me interested), but don’t bury those elements in cliches and introspection. If your character is sitting around depressed, bored, and wasting time, that’s exactly the feeling you’re going to convey to your reader. Since they don’t have anything invested in your character, those feelings aren’t very appealing.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 2.5

There’s nothing glaringly wrong with this first page. It’s just not sucking me in or standing out as original.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Submit to First Page Friday – (currently CLOSED to submissions)

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First Page Friday #23: Adventure/Paranormal

March 7, 2014March 7, 201420 Comments

Thanks for everyone’s support for First Page Friday! I’m glad to know that it’s helping some of you learn more about writing first pages!

I haven’t decided yet if I will continue the series or not. I probably won’t make that final decision for another few weeks. I will try to promote the post and bring in new readers in the meantime, but if my ordinary blog posts continue to outperform First Page Friday, I really need to focus on the posts that are helping the most people.

About First Page Friday

Adventure First 500 – Olive

My body was low to the ground. My legs crouched. My arms were outstretched before me with fingernails dug into the sodden ground with angst. I could feel the presence of my family behind me, waiting excitedly for me to give them a show, but I wasn’t so sure I could.Her eyes mirrored mine. Fixed on me. Burning. Her spine was taut, arched in apprehension of any movement on my part. I was tempted to remind myself that I was only ten years old and barely skilled in anything but fighting my brother, but the desire to please mother and father before it was too late got a hold of me.For all I knew, she had cubs somewhere waiting on her. The thought crossed my mind that I was snatching her away, leaving them to fend for themselves in this cruel world. But in this precise world, a fear of cruelty is what drove me.“Don’t wait no longer son.” my father breathed from behind me. “That girl will kill a kid like you in an instant.”

“Well Tarin, let him get his ass torn apart if he don’t wanna move.” my mother said as if to spur me on, “I’m gettin’ bored waitin’.”

I swallowed hard. Winced at my mother’s sharp words and, breaking free of my parents taunting, thrust myself onto the golden cougar, grappling both of her ears to steer her teeth away from my neck. The cougar shrieked and batted her thick paws at me, only grazing my shirt. Muscles rippled beneath thick skin and deadly-sharp teeth shone in the moonlight.

“He aint strong enough!” my brother, Aloni yelled.

“O’course he is.” mom shouted above my grunts and the cougars cries. “Stronger than your skinny ass anyways!”

“Leave him alone mum, would ya?” I panted, pulling the animal down beneath me so that I could get a good view of her neck. I straddled the beast, obviously stronger than Aloni had thought and laughed manically. I was so overtaken by fear that I wasn’t thinking straight.

At this point, mum would’ve broken its limbs, dad would’ve torn it open from neck to hind legs and Aloni would be dead and bleeding on the mountainside, but I hesitated, too scared to go for it.

“Maybe this is too soon!” cried my father, the panic in his voice making me nervous but I kept on fighting, jumping away from the cougar when she got too close and rolling her over when I thought her jaw was too close for comfort.

“We ain’t no humans, Tarin!” mom said and when I pulled up I saw her fingers around dad’s neck.

“He’s ten, Dahl!” he replied.

I saw an opportunity and I took it. The cougar was on top of me and the only things separating her jaw from my neck were my trembling hands, holding her head away. With her neck bared, I reached up and took a hunk out with my mouth, making sure to really get in there and do some damage. She fought harder. Shrieked like a damned banshee, shaking her head to get free but now she was mine and she damn well knew it.

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Red is text I recommend removing.

Green is text I recommend adding.

Blue are my comments.

Adventure First 500 – Olive

My body was low to the ground. My legs crouched. My arms were outstretched, before me with < This can be inferred. fingernails dug into the sodden ground with angst. < Show that she has angst, but don’t have her come right out and say it. It’s telling, and it also makes her seem overly self sympathetic. I could feel the presence of my family stood behind me < This is stronger because it avoids filtering (see notes below), waiting excitedly for me to give them a show, but I wasn’t so sure I could. < Show that she isn’t sure she could. Her hands could shake, she could bite her lip, breathe fast, etc.

Her eyes mirrored mine. < “Her” who? Is there a reason to be vague here? Fixed on me. Burning. Her spine was taut, arched, ready to strike in apprehension of any movement on my part < Something like this is cleaner, clearer, and simpler. . I was tempted to remind myself that I was only ten years old and barely skilled in anything but fighting my brother, < This sentence reads as unnatural. She doesn’t need to remind herself of her age. The point is conveying the information to the reader. You just need to find a way to do that more naturally. but the desire to please mother and father before it was too late got a hold of me.

For all I knew, she had cubs somewhere waiting on her. The thought crossed my mind that I was snatching her away, leaving them to fend for themselves in this cruel world. But in this precise world, < This is cluttering the sentence. a fear of cruelty is what drove me.

“Don’t wait no longer son.” < Oh, it’s a boy! I thought it was a girl. I got the gender wrong in last week’s First Page Friday too! my father breathed from behind me. “That girl will kill a kid like you in an instant.”

“Well Tarin, let him get his ass torn apart if he don’t wanna move.” < The period here should be a comma. my mother said as if to spur me on, “I’m gettin’ bored waitin’.”

I swallowed hard. Winced at my mother’s sharp words and, breaking free of my parents taunting, thrust myself onto the golden cougar, grappling both of her ears to steer her teeth away from my neck. < Too many things are going on in this sentence. Break it up into smaller ones. Give the moment room to breathe. The cougar shrieked and batted her thick paws at me, only grazing my shirt. < It’s not clear to me if you’re saying the cougar hit him with her paw (like the pads of the paw) or if she scratched him with her claws. Muscles rippled beneath thick skin and deadly-sharp teeth shone in the moonlight.

“He aint strong enough!” my brother, Aloni yelled.

“O’course he is.” mom shouted above my grunts and the cougar‘s cries. “Stronger than your skinny ass anyways!”

“Leave him alone mum, would ya?” < So is his brother younger? It seems odd he would defend him while fighting a cougar. I would think he’d be too distracted. I panted, pulling the animal down beneath me < This is a little vague. I have a hard time believing this could be achieved so simply. so that I could get a good view of her neck. I straddled the beast, obviously stronger than Aloni had thought and laughed manically. I was so overtaken by fear that I wasn’t thinking straight.

At this point, mum would’ve broken its limbs, dad would’ve torn it open from neck to hind legs and Aloni would be dead and bleeding on the mountainside, but I hesitated, too scared to go for it.

“Maybe this is too soon!” cried my father, the panic in his voice < I’m surprised that he is panicked since his parents seemed completely callous up to this point. making me nervous but I kept on fighting, jumping away from the cougar when she got too close and rolling her over when I thought her jaw was too close for comfort. < Make this more active by using verbs ending in “ed” and by breaking it up into more movements and actions.

“We ain’t no humans, Tarin!” mom said and when I pulled up I saw her fingers around dad’s neck.

“He’s ten, Dahl!” he replied.

I saw an opportunity and I took it. The cougar was on top of me and the only things separating her jaw from my neck were my trembling hands, holding her head away. With her neck bared, I reached up and took a hunk out with my mouth, making sure to really get in there and do some damage. < Describe what this feels like. She fought harder. Shrieked like a damned banshee, shaking her head to get free but now she was mine and she damn well knew it.

My Overall Thoughts

As an opening, this is a little vague. There’s sort of an implication that if he doesn’t succeed something bad will happen, but as a reader, I don’t know what the consequence is so I don’t really have any reason to care. I also struggled with establishing an emotional connection to the character and events.

Key Places to Improve:

Work on showing your character’s emotions rather than directly stating them. You can learn more about that here: How to Show Instead of Tell in Your Writing

The voice doesn’t seem to fit a child, which makes it difficult to feel like the narration is coming from such a young boy. In first person, it’s important to use the things he notices (or doesn’t notice) as a way to say something about who he is and what his feelings are. Make sure he’s reacting: hands shaking, biting his lip, heart pounding, etc. Otherwise, you can describe how scary the cougar is all day long, but the reader won’t feel it.

Spend more time on action and be more specific about what’s happening. Try to engage all of the reader’s senses. Pull them into the scene and paint a vivid picture. Make them feel the cougar’s body heat, the weight of its paw, the smell of its fur.

Watch out for filtering. This is when you “filter” the reader’s experience of the book through the senses of the character. You can read more about that here: An Easy Way to Improve Your Novel Right Now

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 2

There’s definitely the potential for an interesting story! But it doesn’t have an element that really sucks me in, like a great hook, engaging voice, or riveting action. It feels a little flat right now, but I hope my notes above help you change that!

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

Submit to First Page Friday – (currently CLOSED to submissions)

See my comments at the top of this post for more information.

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First Page Friday #22: NA Fantasy

February 28, 201423 Comments

I just want to let everyone know that I’m uncertain whether I will be continuing with First Page Friday. I will definitely continue until I get through all the writers I’ve already scheduled (about two months worth), but I may retire First Page Friday in May. While I love doing the posts, I wanted them to be a way to reach out and help educate writers, but the view count on these posts is a small fraction of the views on my other blogs or on my videos. I’m just not sure this is the best way to reach writers.

If views, shares, comments, etc. pick up over the next couple months, I might consider continuing the series, but otherwise, I will go back to my standard, educational blog posts. Thanks for understanding!

About First Page Friday

NA Fantasy First 500 – Jodie

Of all the places in the world I would have liked to wake up, sprawled out in a puddle of water was not one of them. The rain was pouring down, splattering against my face and all I could do was lie there and wonder how in the world I’d managed to stoop so low. Two weeks ago I’d been in college, working towards my dream of becoming a veterinarian for the wildlife in Africa, and now I was soaked to the bone with a hangover from hell.

Death sucked.

If anyone had ever asked me if I was afraid of dying, I honestly could have told them, no. Death was always something that would happen after I’d graduated from college, had a successful career, found the one, and had kids. Then maybe after I’d travelled the world and witnessed the birth of my fifth grandchild, I could die peacefully in my sleep. That was how I’d always thought my life would pan out… dying in a car crash the week before my twenty-first birthday hadn’t exactly been on the agenda, but shit happens, right?

“Do I sense motion down there?” a voice called.

I opened my eyes to see Sam leaning out the window of the apartment we had been squatting in for the last couple of days. She looked fresh and well rested, as though she hadn’t just spent the entire night partying with me. I pushed myself slowly into a seated position; my head felt like it was about to roll off my shoulders and join my arse in the puddle. If I’d known a hangover in death would be just as bad as a hangover in life, then I might have reconsidered that last round of shots.

“Are you all right down there, Abbie?”

“I can’t believe you left me out here in the rain.”

“You wanted to stay out there,” Sam said, pulling the hood of her coat up over her blonde hair. “You kept going on and on about how being ‘one with the city’ was the only way you’d come to accept your own death. So I was like, all right then, see-ya.”

“Worst. Friend. Ever.”

“Hey, I’ve only known you a week. I wouldn’t start calling us friends yet,” Sam teased. “Now are you coming inside, or what?”

Going inside didn’t sound like a good idea. Sam would undoubtedly jump all over my hung-over state and decide we should go on a run to collect supplies. Battling the crowds of the marketplace was the last thing I wanted to be doing; I wasn’t lucid enough to be on constant guard.

The afterlife was interesting, to say the least. It manifested as a dark and derelict city that probably could have been tolerable if the crime wasn’t so high. There was no overruling law or governmental body and the only real dominance came from The Fallen, the largest gang in the city. They oversaw the marketplace and had a hand in most of its underground business.

Reader Participation – What Do You Think?

Before reading my take on this novel opening, please take a moment to record your thoughts in the poll below.

The Writeditor’s Feedback

Critique Key

Original Text is in italics.

Red is text I recommend removing.

Green is text I recommend adding.

Blue are my comments.

NA Fantasy First 500 – Jodie

Of all the places in the world I would have liked to wake up < I feel like this type of sentence is overused, where it’s unlikely the character has ever wondered about the subject (places they’d like to wake up), then a very obviously bad option is explained. It isn’t as evocative as simply stating that she’s lying in a puddle., sprawled out in a puddle of water was not one of them. The rain was pouring poured < Verbs ending in “ed” are stronger. down, splattering against my face and all I could do was lie there and I’m not a fan of characters wondering. It makes it clear you’re about to dump information. Try for a better transition (or no transition) than that the character was wondering/thinking/etc. > wonder how in the world I’d managed to stoop so low. Two weeks ago I’d been in college, working towards my dream of becoming a veterinarian for the wildlife in Africa, and now I was soaked to the bone with a hangover from hell.

Death sucked.

I don’t feel like you really need this paragraph. It explains a fairly typical/average opinion about death, and I feel like I’ve read it before. Is it really adding anything or are you just slowing down your opening? I feel like the latter. > If anyone had ever asked me if I was afraid of dying, I honestly could have told them, no. Death was always something that would happen after I’d graduated from college, had a successful career, found the one, and had kids. Then maybe after I’d travelled the world and witnessed the birth of my fifth grandchild, I could die peacefully in my sleep. That was how I’d always thought my life would pan out… dying in a car crash the week before my twenty-first birthday hadn’t exactly been on the agenda, < As with the opening line, I feel that sentences like this are overused and not very strong because they state something obvious. but shit happens, right? < This is a weak response. It’s not saying anything about your character or providing any new information to the reader.

“Do I sense motion down there?” a voice called.

“Are you all right down there, Abbie?”

“I can’t believe you left me out here in the rain.”

“Worst. Friend. Ever.”

“Hey, I’ve only known you a week. < This feels like “As you know Bob” dialogue, where a character states something obvious that they already know for the benefit of the reader. I wouldn’t start calling us friends yet,” Sam teased. “Now are you coming inside, or what?”

Going inside didn’t sound like a good idea. Sam would undoubtedly jump all over my hung-over state and decide we should go on a run to collect supplies. < Could you show this happening instead of saying that it will happen? Battling the crowds of the marketplace was the last thing I wanted to be doing; I wasn’t lucid enough to be on constant guard.

This is an info dump. > The afterlife was interesting, to say the least. It manifested as a dark and derelict city that probably could have been tolerable if the crime wasn’t so high. There was no overruling law or governmental body and the only real dominance came from The Fallen, the largest gang in the city. They oversaw the marketplace and had a hand in most of its underground business.

My Overall Thoughts

You don’t have any major issues with your writing, but you seem to be trying to tell the reader a lot of information and back story right off the bat. Additionally, the voice feels a bit predictable/typical for the first couple paragraphs, though it starts feeling more unique partway through. If you couldn’t explain any back story in the first chapter, would you still start the book here? Or did you choose this scene as a convenient framing for dumping back story? (I can’t know without reading more.)

Key Places to Improve:

Pull the reader into the story with something interesting occurring before you start explaining back story. You can explain those things later (hopefully by showing instead of telling) after the reader is already interested in your characters and story. You can learn more in these articles: How to Show Instead of Tell in Your Writing & How to Dump Info Without Info Dumping.

Make sure your character’s voice always reads as unique. The first couple paragraphs seem like you’re trying to write like other NA or YA writers rather than showing us your true voice.

Put your best foot forward. If the scene itself can’t draw in readers (without telling or back story), then you’re not starting in the right place.

The Writeditor’s Grade (out of 5): 2.5

I’m giving this a 2.5 because I see the potential for an interesting story, but I’m not getting pulled in right now. There’s too much information and back story and not enough to hook me with the character or plot.

A note on the grading scale: The rating of the first chapter does not indicate the rating of the novel as a whole nor does it indicate the writer’s overall ability.

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See my comments at the top of this post for more information.

About the Editor

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