Okay, here's how this works, my lovelies!!!!
Some of you have been here before.
Others are new. And we have THREE DAYS to complete our tasks... so if you're not ready now, we'll be here tomorrow... and Friday.... Just pretend we're your neighborhood critique group and go for the gold.
Here's the scoop. On this blog you have the collective wisdom of a whole bunch of authors/bloggers and sometimes industry professionals stop in and offer their advice and/or opinions.
You never know who's lurking in the shadows of virtuality.
Having said that, part of successful writing is the ability to take criticism and use it to your best advantage. Ruthy here, and I got a really nice note from someone who won (and I use that term loosely, you poor, sweet things!) a critique from me last year and got it.... and shelved it.
I AM SURE I BROKE HER HEART. #SPIRITCRUSHED
And yet she wrote to me last week and said she'd spent the winter working/learning/writing and she got it now. She re-read the critique and understood what I said and sees how it will help and then the poor, sweet, delusional thing THANKED ME. :)
When soccer players begin, they are not Pele. When tennis players begin, they are not Serena. When football players begin, they are not Tom Brady.
Growth is a very important factor in writing, so why do new writers/authors pour their hearts out in a first work and assume they are the new sliced bread? Because they've poured their emotions and feelings and probably therapeutic murder into the work.
That's all well and good, and could save you therapy cash in the long run, but it's not the goal: The goal is to sharpen your prose and your poise. The former is more important than the latter, darlings, but the latter doesn't hurt.
So today feel free to post a paragraph or two and we'll offer opinions. The opinions of women who've published collectively hundreds of books, won numerous awards, been nominated for or finaled in dozens more, and who actually get paid to do this. Which means people are buying our stuff.
Like real, live people in stores! Who'd a thunk it???
We've got the red pens ready. Ink filled. Go for it.
And there's a box of chocolate bribe for one fortunate, brave soul.... Because chocolate heals a whole lot of wounds!
This is Ruthy for Seekerville... and we want to see you be the best you can be. Because you are absolutely, positively worth it.
Oh my. That will teach me to procrastinate - I was supposed to be writing, when up popped the notification for this post. Of course, I can't miss this opportunity. I was so greatly encouraged when I tried last time. Right, I'm feeling brave, here goes.
ReplyDeleteThe opening for my third book, set in Melbourne, Australia
Chapter 1: Dismay – lose courage
Abigail stepped into the playground clutching the crumpled map. Principal Melrose walked her across the paved area towards the landscaped open space she was to patrol. The young woman adjusted her broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses, feeling self-consciously overweight beside this tall thin man. He responded to her obvious discomfort by asking for her phone and adding his contact details.
“Now you have my number,” the silver-haired man said, “there’s no reason for you to be anxious about your lunchtime duty. I can assure you that most of these boys won’t even notice your injuries. Your hat and sunglasses hide most of the damage. The rumours will spread that you survived an explosion, and that will make it easier for you to be accepted. It’s every junior boy’s ambition to blow something up.”
Abigail turned away to gaze over the playground, so that she could hide her response. He didn’t seem to notice that his words were making her feel even worse.
“You’re an experienced teacher,” he concluded, “and the boys here are well-behaved and self-disciplined.”
She glanced at him and caught the look that suggested he was thinking ‘not like your last school’. What would he say if he knew the truth?
Oh my stars what happened at that last school????? YIKES.
DeleteChrissy, my brave soul, look at you being here first. I'm so proud of you.
Okay, this is a great idea for the opening, but what I'd like to see is more emotion/grit/suspense from her. I would suggest breaking things up a bit, using more short, cryptic sentences to speed up the pace and show her true emotions. I want to really FEEL Abigail's sense of dismay.
A playground shouldn't feel threatening.
Wrong.
Abigail clutched the crumpled map to keep her hand from shaking.
Didn't work. Now the paper and her hand shook. That only made the shaking more noticeable.
"You've got my number." The tall, thin principal strode beside her as he pointed out her area of patrol. "No reason to be anxious over lunchtime duty. Most of the boys are so self-absorbed they notice quite little, actually."
"They'll know what happened." The news of her near demise had peppered headlines and even though the hat and sunglasses covered much, they didn't cover enough. Nothing could.
"You're an experienced teacher," he told her. "And the boys here are well-behaved and self-disciplined."
Not like your last school.
He didn't say it, but he intimated it.
She stared at the playground and wondered what the rules-following man would say if he knew the truth?
Chrissy, that's the idea behind my suggestion... to use more white space, and to delve into Abigail more by writing less. Let her emotions guide the scene, the words, the pacing.
DeleteAnd thank you for jumping on this!
Thanks Ruth.
DeleteMore white space I can manage.
I have done that later on, but this scene didn't get the same treatment.
I especially like what you suggested with the hat and sunglasses. Some of the physical description details for Abigail were added because my two alpha-readers were taken by surprise in a later scene to find how damaged her face really is.
There was NO explosion at the old school - that is a really bad cover story someone else invented. She isn't even science trained, so her anxiety is justified. She's a bit worried the boys will either find out she's a fake, or they will really blow up the lab under her guidance. She's an artist, and before her 'accident' she was teaching in an isolated country school where she could supervise the whole playground from the shady veranda.
But I think I can work it in - instead of "They'll know what happened" she can say "What did you tell them happened?" This is a snobbish school and he thinks the boys are saints - a couple of paragraphs later, she finds out that he is wrong... and her experience with scruffy kids who get physical in the playground is going to come in handy.
I will post my revision tomorrow. )i(
Chrissy, you're welcome. And details can be added sparingly to play the reader along the path. I think the most critical thing is to add them from the pain or joy of your character, your protagonist. Let us feel everything she's feeling...
DeleteRight to the tips of our toes.
Hi Crissy:
DeleteI really love your story idea! I think the theme has great potential. The 'wounded woman' makes for a highly sympathetic heroine. My favorite Lessman heroine is 'Emma' in her "A Heart Revealed" book. I strongly recommend this book as Julie masterfully makes Emma's scars become less noticeable while Emma becomes more beautiful in the eyes of the hero in the process of falling in love with her. Amazing!
I also would suggest that you could ramp up the emotional impact at the very start of the story in much the same way as Missy does in her "Her Valentine Reunion." Missy has the poor heroine kill Cupid as she gives up any hope of finding love and turns her hope chest into a hopeless chest. Oh so good!
Of course, this could depend on the age of the heroine. But assume the heroine is between 32 and 37, and as she is out in the playground she sees a handsome jogger run by and thinks how at one time she would have had a chance to attract a handsome man like that but now, since the disfigurement, she wonders what kind of man would have the stomach to look at her every morning for the rest of his life? She laments that her damage has cost her any chance of having children and of living the kind of family life that she's always dreamed about.
*****
After reading this, as a reader, I'd be emotionally hooked on rooting for the heroine. Of course, in the end she gets the hunk jogger, (hero and heroine meet on first page) -- a hero by the end of the book sees her as the most beautiful woman in the world. (The hero might even be a plastic surgeon who is no longer practicing such surgery after a heart wrenching botched operation!) Redemption anyone? :)
Wow. I think the possibilities of your story theme seem endless. Can't wait to read your next installment.
Vince
I like the set up up, the scarred, scared heroine.
DeleteMakes me wonder all sorts of things and want to read on.
Although if it was me I might start with something blowing up, she's burned after all. A prologue with the heroine on fire? There's a hook!!!
Thanks for your suggestions, Vince. Unfortunately for Abigail, around the corner is an angry teenager, but he does have a kind uncle who is about to have his life derailed when her enemies arrive. A few months earlier she escaped their torture, and now she is sure she is done with men forever. She just has to live long enough to testify...
DeleteMary, thanks for your encouragement. I am a member of a fiction/trauma group and when I asked the basics for her 'accident' the first respondents were horrified. I need the readers to understand how evil her enemies are without making them close the book. I know that her kind of torture is common in some cultures, but in my nice safe Western world the idea that a man would deliberately scar a woman is difficult to consider.
Hi Chrissy: I really like what you are doing. Please be sure to let us know when that story comes out. Vince
DeleteThanks Vince. This is Book 3 (which is about to go off to my beta readers when I have looked at Ruthie's suggestions and made some edits), so I am not sure how long it will be before it comes out. Book 1 (cover design and layout stage) and Book 2 (scheduled for copy editing in June) still don't have a release date, so I am writing book 4 while I am waiting. I'll let you know closer to the release date )i(
DeleteHi Chrissy:
DeleteYou have my admiration. Four books in the making at one time. Publishers will love you. You'll be ready when a publisher wants more books. All the pros keep advising new writers to keep writing more books while they are waiting for the call. I believe Mary said she had written twenty books before she got the call! You're doing the professional thing and I'm sure success will be coming your way.
Thanks, Vince, for your encouraging words. I am heading down the self-publishing road at the moment. I am learning so much about myself and about my relationship with God as I wait for Him to open the right doors. I hope that I can invest my writing with the right balance of entertainment and encouragement. )i(
DeleteFrom my current WIP, Writing Soulmates...
ReplyDelete“I made some homemade brownies while getting through a writer’s block—“
“Homemade brownies? Ohhhhh,” he said, grunting. “I love brownies.”
I giggled at his exaggerated reaction to it. “Making them did help with the block I had.”
“I’m glad to hear it worked for you. You are such a gifted writer. But where are my brownies? You’re making me hungry. I want them.”
“Well, you yourself are a gifted songwriter. Perhaps eating brownies will make you even more that way?”
“I think if I ate a whole batch of them in one sitting, my songs would be all one long sentence.” We shared a laugh and tried to say a few things while doing so. Brian said, “You’re teasing me talking about food. I think the least I can do is ask you out.”
There was a brief dramatic pause in our conversation. I don’t know why I was surprised he asked me this. “Yeah, of course. What did you have in mind?”
“Your pick,” he said without any hesitation.
“Well, I was thinking maybe Barley’s in the Old City. I haven’t been there in a while. And I have been craving their pizza.”
“Are you sure you want to eat pizza with me?” he asked, being funny and witty.
“What do you mean? What’s so wrong with eating pizza with you—or anything for that matter?” I asked, in an effort to tease him.
“If you didn’t notice last week when we had dinner at McAllister’s, I ate a lot and could have eaten more.”
“That doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I’m impressed with your bottomless appetite.”
“I hope it won’t embarrass you if I waddle out the door.”
I laughed at his humor of his imperfections, his weaknesses. “Well, maybe you’ve been out with people who can’t hold you responsible.”
“Is that why I’ve gotten so fat?”
I laughed even harder. “You’re not fat.”
“Well, if I’m bigger than Justin, that means I’m some old man trying to be eternally twenty years old when I’m up on stage.”
“That’s not what I saw the other night.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. How about Thursday night?”
“It’s a date,” he said and hung up.
Faye, this needs help. Now before you run screaming and throw darts at a really bad picture of me hanging on your wall, hear me out.
DeleteA long, drawn out conversation with no substance doesn't grab the reader. And if you have to tell people that this is funny and you're making jokes (they're making jokes), then the humor is falling flat.
And they're both creative types.... So where's the conflict? Aren't they going to be too understanding of each other's neuroses? The weird rejections, the 24 hour pouting/whining rule...
Here's what I'd like to see here: The reason for the conversation.
Everything you write should be for a reason. For a goal. To move the story forward.
So what's the goal here? The date?
Then what conflict will they have if they start the story dating?
That's what I would examine with this.... and it's not that the writing is bad, it's not. But there's a lack of real story depth and that's what I'd advise you to target.
When you're done throwing darts at my picture, darling.
I assume this is NOT the hero. The word choices are … oh … dismissive I guess.
DeleteDo you mean for that? Old man, fat, weaknesses, imperfections.
Also, I only got that they were on the phone when they hung up. Why talk brownies if he can't have one?
I like her baking to relieve writer's block and I like the easy friendship, but I assume this is NOT the hero. Is that right?
Thanks for this fantastic offer!
ReplyDeleteOpening of my WIP - Mysteries of Lady Theo
Hadfield Hall 1816
Facing the drafty drawing room window Theo, fantasized about being outdoors, fishing, riding or training. In fact, she wished to be anywhere but here trapped in the drawing room listening to her aunt’s pleas. “Theo, I really do wish you would accompany me to town.”
Lady Henrietta Arcot continued nervously, “I haven’t been subject to the Ton in years. To be honest, I never cared to be among them, but we need to find a wife for Landon. Perhaps, you can introduce him to one of the dear friends you are always corresponding with?”
Theo was saved from having to respond. Her cousin, Landon Arcot, the newly minted Earl of Hadfield strode into the room.
“Hello mother,” Landon bent to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.
Landon came and stood next to her. Before he could utter a greeting to Theo, Aunt Henrietta said, “Landon, I was mentioning to Theo we must venture to town and find you a wife.”
Turning to address his mother, Landon said, “I agree. We should make a trip to London. Christopher has reassured me all is in order for our stay.”
How he bore the brunt of his new responsibilities with ease, amazed Theo. Landon had not only inherited the title but also the neglected estate, and the burden of caring for Theo. The only item he had not received was the family volume.
Rachel, I love, love, love historicals.... and you're off to a good start that just needs more G-R-A-B....
DeleteI think we're starting in the wrong POV.... Landon's the one facing major changes and I want to change the really nice guy you have here into someone deeper...
Landon's too agreeable. Way too agreeable. Like he's okay with his mother and Christopher and anyone making his way for him.
We need to grump him up a little. Show his concern, his worry about the estate and the costs and the lack of finances if that's the case. To have him handle everything with ease makes him seem too good to be true. Let's make him SUFFER!!!
I'd suggest starting in his point of view.
HERE'S MY IDEA TO SPAWN YOURS.... And feel free to throw darts at my picture, dear one. I'm tough. I can absolutely take it.
A title he didn't want.
A crumbling estate.
Accounts payable that trumped accounts receivable the past two years and, oh yes...
A ward thrust upon them as fate would have it.
Landon Arcot stared up at the aging edifice with clenched hands.
And then he unclenched them.
Duty.
Honor.
Nobility.
No one ever said a birthright offered a guarantee. It offered titular words. No more or less was required, but nobility and duty and honor--
There's a difference there. A notable difference.
He didn't want this. Any of it. Not the fuss or the bother or the trouble and oh, yes...
His mother had mentioned throwing a wife into the bargain.
His gut went tight. So did his hands. Again.
And then he sucked in a long, drawn breath, whooshed it out and faced the manor door.
Not by choice but by inheritance he faced all this and with God as his witness, somehow...
Someway...
He'd make it right.
Ruth - oh dear, have I got my work cut out of me!! Theo is the MC and she has inherited the family volume that links their family to the Crown. This book concentrates on how Theo is to keep what Landon should have rightfully inherited a secret. Landon is a secondary character which means I need to put Theo more in the forefront quicker ... maybe a prologue??
DeleteNo darts only hugs for this opportunity!! It is so wonderful of you to give up free time to help newbie's like me :)
Well, that does change things up, Rachel.... if he's not the hero, who is? And if Theo is the main character, then we need the immediacy of the situation to be hers... Something way deeper than waiting to be directed and wishing she could be outside. So if she's keeping a secret, you could tease the reader from the beginning... think about what draws you into a story. Then copy it! :)
DeleteSo start with her real emotions if she doesn't want to keep the secret...or if she does! Thrust us into her emotions, make us love her or hate her. There is nothing more like the KOD of a story (KISS OF DEATH!!!) than an ambiguous opening.
Make the reader care. Somehow. Someway. Draw them into her inner sanctum of emotion.
My reaction here is...yes the title is Lady Theo but reading this I first thought Lady Theo...that was like a last name. Lady Windsor. Lady Silversleeves. Lady Theo.
DeleteSo when you started with Theo I sort of figured that to be a man.
My first impression...a man staring out the window. She/he is even thinking of manly things.'being outdoors, fishing, riding or training...'
Nothing wrong with a lady wanting vigorous pursuits, but join the manly name Theo to the manly thoughts and I had to jerk myself back to a new vision when I realized Theo was a woman.
And easy fix. And you should use her whole name (probably) at the beginning anyway.
Facing the drafty drawing room window Lady Theodosia Manfort fanticized about...
That fixes everything.
OMG!! Thanks for your feedback.. Your suggestions definitely sparked the idea of starting the book more like below:
DeleteHadfield Hall 1816
Facing the drafty drawing-room window Lady Theodora Neale, repeatedly blinked in an attempt to banish the heart aching memories of her father, but the image of her sitting on his bed refused to dissipate as events from a year ago replayed in her mind.
Sunken eyes closed, her father gently squeezed her hand, “Theo, I have much to apologize for, but there are traditions our family has honored for decades that you must be informed of.”
She could still feel the pain in her chest at the sound of his struggled breaths. Her reflection in the window revealed the same intense frown she bore as her father placed a book that he had retrieved from under his pillow in her hand.
Rubbing her wrists, she recalled how her father had grasped her, with speed and strength, she did not know he possessed as she moved to set the volume on the side table.
In a voice barely above a whisper, he instructed, “You must not share the contents with anyone not linked to the Crown. Only trust those who bare the same mark as you. You must guard it with your life. Our family has been responsible for this mission for generations, and you must follow the instructions carefully.”
Hopefully I'm now moving in the right direction.
Again, thanks Ruth and Mary - Seeing as I'm new to writing, I REALLY appreciate your comments/suggestions.
I'd love to repay the favor, so if you ever need a book read and reviewed please let me know, the title. I'm an avid reader of any type of romance.
First timer here! Hands sweating and heart pounding to escape my chest, I'm ready to take the plunge. This is the opening of the book.
ReplyDeleteMaddock, Illinois 1878
Mid August
Samantha picked up her pace. She had been waiting weeks for the contents contained in the letter in her hand. She stopped and found a spot on a bench in the small park a block away from the post office. Her legs bounced as her fingers fumbled to open the envelope. Please, oh please be good news. Her gaze scanned the note.
They wanted her! They really wanted her! She bounded up off the bench. A man stopped abruptly beside her.
“My apologies, sir.” She ducked her head as the heat rushed up her neck.
“That’s quite all right, miss. Have a nice day.” He tipped his hat and made a slight bow before resuming his walking.
Samantha watched him for a moment before turning and walking the other direction. She needed to tell someone her good news and she knew the perfect person. Her steps quickened at her excitement.
Hi, Kimberly!!!! YOU ARE SO BRAVE! :) Good for you!!!!
DeleteA little adrenaline rush is probably good for us, don't you think?
I love the excitement here... I want to know what's in the letter, but I would suggest starting out with that excitement.... A slight reversal.
Here.
Now.
The response she'd been waiting for. Watching for. Thinking about every single day since she sent out initial application.
The clerk reached out a hand. A hand holding a plain white envelope.
Her heart leaped.
Emotions swamped her. She was almost afraid to take the letter, but too excited not to.
Did she bid the clerk good day?
Samantha had no idea.
Her fingers itched to tear the missive open but common sense prevailed. She didn't need the entire business district to witness her reaction. Good or bad she wanted... no, needed... her moment.
She crossed to the small park. Took a seat on one of the benches. Lifted the envelope.
Oh for the sake of all that's good and worthy, open it already. What are you waiting for?
The mental scolding was right. She grabbed one corner and tore open the envelope.
Please be good news. Oh, please be good news!
And then her heart jumped into a spastic rhythm all over again because they wanted her.
Wanted her!
Oh, news like this was nothing to be faced alone! It was news to be shared. Shouted. Rejoiced over. And she knew just the perfect person to tell.
Okay, so what I did was spacing and using shorter sentence bursts to create emotion. Excitement. That lets us feel Samantha through the words and pacing.
And yes, darling, it is all right and almost encouraged to throw darts at my picture. You don't even have to blow it up.... I totally understand! :)
Kimberly it's a good opening.
DeleteMy reaction...I'll let RUTHY be the mean one!!!
Is the sentence, The wanted her. They really wanted her.
That's so Sally Fields at the Oscars that it drew me out of the story for just a bit.
hahahahahah!
DeleteMary knows I love being mean. Except that it's not REALLY mean if you're trying to help folks cross that big divide, the channel that separates Unpubbed Island from the Mainland beaches....
A little tough love is never a bad thing, darlings. ;)
Thank you Ruth and Mary! I really appreciate the advice. And I didn't think your advice was mean, Ruth. It is an angle I hadn't thought of. Thanks again ladies.
DeleteHi! Thanks so much for the opportunity �� Here is the first two paragraphs of my WIP, a LIS.
ReplyDeleteWas someone following her?
The steering wheel jerked in Hannah’s hands and despite the cold, a trickle of moisture slipped from her hairline. It was so long since she had driven in icy conditions. There wasn’t much need for winter tyres in LA. As the car straightened from a curve, she checked her rear view mirror, for the hundredth time. The white van that had followed her for miles down the highway and had made the same obscure turns into the back roads in the Mennonite community of Jansenville was gone. Could it have been a lost delivery man? The vehicle had not fit the local profile of mud covered pickups. And now she couldn’t seem to work out where she was, the heavy snowfall obscuring long forgotten land marks. What were the names on the last cross roads?
This week was turning into a nightmare. First she was broken into two days ago. Her tiny apartment was trashed, but nothing was taken. The police who looked for finger prints said it was probably kids after cash. She knew that her case would be buried in favour of the more serious crimes. Thank the Lord Christa’s camera was safe.
Her eyes drifted to the mirror again and she tried not to feel paranoid. Why would anyone want to follow her anyway? Who knew she was here? It wasn’t as if she had never met criminals in her job as a legal aid lawyer, but compared to what Christa had done, Hannah’s job was a church picnic.
I love Love Inspired Suspense, Rose!
DeleteAnd you've got a great start here. Wonderful... I'd go for a little more white space, though. Some short, crisp sentences to build suspense. Use my ideas to spawn your own OR throw darts. Just don't wreck your walls!!!
A nightmare of a week.
Hannah gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She hadn't driven in icy conditions in a long time. Some said it would come right back, like riding a bike.
They were wrong unless they meant that it would come back after she slithered and slid on one icy patch after another while the windshield wipers beat a snap-snap rhythm to shove the heavy snowflakes off to the side.
She gripped hard and chanced a glance into the rearview mirror again. No white van.
That should be a relief because there was absolutely no reason for anyone to follow her to Jansenville, the small off-the-beaten-path Mennonite community. But there wasn't any reason for someone to break into her tiny apartment, either, and yet they'd done it two days ago.
Why?
What did they want?
Too many questions and not one answer.
Her eyes drifted to the mirror again (then continue as written....)
The opening for suspense should be quick, alert and heart-grabbing or emotion-grabbing. The editor and/or agent gives you a short hanging rope and it's clutch to have your opening reach right out and grab them.
I re-write openings several times... it's kind of my way of getting to know characters and situations and feel out how I want the story to go. There's no shame in doing that because we want to make the best possible first impression...
I really like this!!! My only critique might be spelling tyre in what I think of as an English or otherwise not American way. Is that deliberate?
DeleteThank you so much Ruth and Mary! Ruth your advice is amazing and I will rewrite this opening. I had been struggling with tone, so this is sigh a great help xxx.
DeleteMary as to the “tyre”, I am an Australian writing an LIS set in PA in the winter! Lol! I’m really stretching my boundaries and this WIP will be going to an American editor when I’m finished to pick up any other anomalies. Thanks again <3
Thank you for this opportunity! The opening for my Historical:
ReplyDeleteUncle Sam mocked me. He pointed, stared into my soul, and said, “I want you,” but he lied. No one wanted Clive Hardy fighting their battles for them, not if they had any sense.
I limped past the poster stuck on a dingy brick building and jerked open the door of Edie’s Drugstore. Cold air blasted me. “Chattanooga Choo Choo” played on the jukebox where a hodgepodge of servicemen my age hovered, mostly Army, a few Navy, and one airman. Rival heroes allied by their love of Glenn Miller. I didn’t even have that in common.
I was immediately transported into Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life" with this opening. It's spot on and makes me want to read more.
DeleteI have absolutely nothing to add. Or change.
It will be interesting to see if others want a little tweak here or there, but it worked very well for me!
Samantha my only reaction was...the first thing I thought was Uncle Sam as in the American symbol. Then I read the third sentence and thought 'oh...she really has an Uncle named Sam. Then I read ANOTHER sentence and went back to the American symbol. That's some back and forth for three sentences.
DeleteMaybe that drew me in, I'm not sure. But would it wreck the opening to say, The post of Uncle Sam mocked me.
Thank you ladies for the feedback. So appreciate the time and help! :0)
DeleteI'm not going to throw darts at you, LOL. This is actually well into the story. I'll make sure to cut out the parts that have "funny" or something like that in the narrative.
ReplyDeletePhew! :)
DeleteI'm breathing easier!!!!
The Runaway Bride Epidemic
ReplyDelete"Good afternoon Tulsa! We've got breaking news!"
"Again!"
"This is Charlie Collins at the Big Topper, KTOP radio, in Tulsa."
"Well, it's happened again! This must be a world record. We have another runaway bride in Tulsa underway right now. Let's go to Rock Petersen up in our Big Topper Chopper with a live bride sighting report. Come in, Rock."
"Charlie, I'm flying over the I-40 expressway near the Yale exit and just below we have our third Runaway Bride so far in June."
"What's she doing now, Rock?"
"I'd say she's doing somewhere between six and eight miles an hour. She's a runner all right. Last week's brides were nowhere near as fast."
"Can you give us a description?"
"I'd say she's about five foot six, in what looks like a Vera Wang, Princess dress with a "A" line form fitted bodice, a modified Mermaid skirt, (not the best for running) exquisite beading from the waist up, and lots of filigree lace. It's simply stunning… even at this height. It's got to be in the eight to ten thousand dollar price range."
"Rock, you sure know a lot about wedding dresses for an ex-combat pilot."
"It's my wife, she makes me watch, "Say Yes to the Dress," about five times a day."
"Is she tying up traffic, do we need a repot?"
"Not exactly. We've had two rubber-neckers a moment ago who've gotten themselves into fender benders, trying to get a better view of bride."
"Well it is her day but that's a very unsafe way to run away from the wedding."
"Charlie, from up here, I-40 looks like fastest way to get out of town."
"Yea, if you're in a car. Hold on, Mary in Weather wants to know about her train?"
"I'd say the train is about eight feet long but it's hard to tell because she's got it slung over her right shoulder and seems to be holding on for dear life."
"Charlie, I can see some satellite trucks from the national networks moving into the parking lot outside the Excelsior hotel. There's CNN, NBC, and CBS."
"Tulsa is making big news. We've had more runaway brides in June than Harlequin has published all year."
"What's CNN saying?"
"I have CNN on my smart phone and they're reporting that Trump's behind it all. He's gone from deranging Democrats to befuddling brides."
"What are the other networks saying?"
"They're all saying exactly the same thing except for FOX, they're reporting that it must be some publicity stunt for a local bridal business."
"I see the BBC America truck on the expressway approaching the bride herself. The BBC is reporting that Tulsa's runaway bride outbreak is being caused by American Megan Markle."
"Megan Markle! HRH Princess Henry of Wales! That's just nuts."
"It's just a British thing. You know 'mad dogs and Englishman' and all that. They drive on the wrong side of the road and speak with so many different accents that if they are not speaking BBC English the whole lot of them are almost impossible to understand."
"Hold on Ben, I just got a call on the red phone. Maybe we can get some answers now."
"Who is it? I'm sure Tulsa wants to know."
"It's your wife, she says you’re wrong. It's you who makes her watch "Say Yes to the Dress"…that you watch it to see Bridezilla meltdowns just like you watch NASCAR to see all those car wrecks."
"Don't pay attention to my wife. She thinks she's Bertha Mason, a character in Jane Eyre.Tell her to go back up to her attic and keep off the radio."
*****
Is it a PR stunt? Is it something in the water? Will a special prosecutor be appointed?
To be continued kind of, maybe.
ROF, LOL, that's a great parody!!!! Oh my stars, I'm dying up here and that's never a good thing. Who's going to write the next Wishing Bridge story if I croak, Vince????
DeleteOH MYLANTA!!!!
Okay, a few things.
First, Einstein, the Vera Wang (good deal knowing an actual bridal designer) can't have an "A-Line" and a mermaid because they both refer to skirts... A-line is nipped at the waist and then goes out delicately on both sides, like the letter "A"... and you know what a mermaid skirt is because you already told us that you love them. :)
And did you change the name of the guy watching "Say Yes to the Dress."????? I think he's Rock above and then Ben below... but I kind of change names a few times in a whole book and then do a lot of Find-and-Replace. :)
THIS IS SO FUNNY!!!!
Trump derangement....
BBC....
I can't even!!!!!
Hi Ruth: You are so right with your comments above. I was in a hurry this morning and didn't really edit it very well. I mixed up the A-line with the Sweetheart neckline which is my favorite. I think nothing looks better than the mermaid dress for brides with the figure to wear it. I got Ben and Rock mixed up but did not go back to check it. I think I'll go back and do a second draft on that story instead of doing a sequel tomorrow. I need there to be smells, wind, and a lot of noise when reporting from that chopper. I know just what this is like because I've taken photos from outside the helicopter belted to the door as I stood on the landing rail. I have to use some of that first hand knowledge. I'll work on a second draft tomorrow. Thanks for your comments and be sure to get your "Wishing Bridge" series finished. The ancient Greeks had a saying, "one will outwear many cloaks in a lifetime but that last cloak with outwear us."
DeleteVince, hey! And yes, the Good Lord willing and the Creek don't rise, the third Wishing Bridge will hit the halls of Amazon this fall... And it's such a wonderful story to work on. Jazz is a great character and there's so much stuff to wrap up with my buddy Max and Jill and we've got Ethan and Thea and little Shannon... and what about Jeb and Maggie? I LOVE THEM!!!!
DeleteI am so seriously thrilled and honored by how people have loved this series.
I want it done before I don't need that cloak, my friend! :)
Thank ya'll so much for offering this. It's my first time, so please, feel free to judge me harshly :) Here is the opener for my WIP 'Promises'. It's a thriller. (not the Michael Jackson kind) I picked a not-so-disturbing part.
ReplyDeleteCrumpling beside the toilet, she clung to the cool porcelain as she lost the three saltine crackers she choked down an hour earlier.
A tender hand gathered held back her hair while another stroked her back. It tickled and comforted her at the same time.
When the episode passed, she leaned back against the tub and wiped her mouth with a square of toilet paper. Groaning, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and tried to ignore the bitter taste.
How could I have forgotten toothpaste while I was at the drugstore?
Trevor grabbed the pregnancy test off the bathroom counter and eased down onto the tile beside her. His brows knit together as he studied the test, and she bit back a smile.
"What do the two lines mean, Darlin'?"
"They mean...you were right."
As the meaning of her words sunk in, an excited smile danced on his lips. "Really? We're gonna have a baby?"
"We're gonna have a baby!" She giggled as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't think of a clever way to tell you," she whispered against his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" He looked at her through sparkling eyes.
"I've seen scads of cutesy videos with all these unforgettable ways women told their husbands the news. I hadn't planned for you to find out after holding my hair back while I yarked into the toilet. I really wanted it to be special for you."
"I don't think it could be any more special than this." He hugged her again. "Have you been sick all day?"
"Yes." She sighed. "That's why I couldn't make this announcement a spectacular event destined to be a viral YouTube sensation. I've been doing the Technicolor yawn all day."
"Technicolor yawn?"
"It's slang for puke," Blair covered a smile. "You probably won't believe it, but Google searches of synonyms for toilet and vomit really settled my stomach...more than the soda crackers and 7-up did."
"How long is this part supposed to last? Surely you won't be throwing up for months will you?"
"I hope not! Today has been the worst. I'm getting so tired of running to the Oval Office to bring things up for a vote...it's wearing me out. And I forgot my FitBit at the office, so none of my trips to the loo have counted for a thing!"
Trevor threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Blair, only you could make something so awful sound like a stand-up comedy routine."
First, your hero guy/baby daddy is right. The humor here is strong. And I got it, lol!
DeleteOkay, thanks for not giving me the TORTURE scene if there is one, because then I just want to go out and kill the antagonist with my bare hands and that's not a healthy reaction, so you spared me that. Me and my potential nightmares thank you!!!
Here's my advice... I'd keep this like it is but I'd minimize some of the cuteness. "An excited smile danced on his lips."
That's a little purple for my tastes, and I'd think of another way to say this...
In the second sentence we need to lose the word gathered or held....
His brows knit together as he studied.... (we don't need together because "knit" tells us what the brows are doing."
He looked at her through sparkling eyes.... that's back to the purple prose thing and slightly overdone... What's a better way of how he'd be looking right now? Loving? Compassionate? Amazement? Joy? Think of how that dad first looks when he realizes what's happened.... and doesn't understand the rigor of late nights, no sleep, burps, messy diapers, more messy diapers, accidents, fevers, sass, temper tantrums.... (Laughing here, I'm a mother of six!)
"scads of cutesy videos..." Again, a little goes a long way with descriptors or unusually placed words.
The rest was solid and funny. I like this heroine. She's snarky enough to get my seal of approval! :)
I love when y'all do this -- I learn so much from reading the comments. Kinda tweaks my brain cells for a bit and I start to 'get it.' Thanks to everyone for sharing!
ReplyDeleteKav, I can't wait to see your name on the spine of a book one of these days!
DeleteThank you so much for such an amazing opportunity. This is the opening for my current WIP.
ReplyDeleteWhat have I gotten myself into? As he jogged up the three steps to the front porch, Joe Moretta reminded himself he could do anything for six months, and he’d do anything for his mother.
The child’s screams intruded on his thoughts before his foot hit the top step. At least she was still breathing. He pounded on the front door, unsure how anyone would hear him over the incessant screaming. “Fire department.”
Backup wouldn’t be far behind, but there was no way he was waiting. He hammered his fist against the door. “Fire department.”
No answer.
He turned the knob, offering a small prayer of thanks it was unlocked, and pushed the door open, following the child’s screams through the small foyer and turning right into the living room. He stopped short, quickly assessing the situation, and bit the inside of his cheek.
The screams fell off to soft sobs as the little girl’s gaze fell on him.
A tiny woman jumped up from where she’d crouched on the stairs beside the child, a wild mass of blonde curls framing her delicate features, beautiful deep blue eyes narrowed in anger. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
“Uh…” He’d forgotten this wasn’t the city, and the firemen here didn’t wear uniforms. Instead, volunteers were called in, dropping everything and rushing to the firehouse whenever there was an emergency. He’d been home with his mother only a few blocks away when her call had come in. Since he was closer to her house than the firehouse, he’d gone straight there. In a town this size, where everyone knew everyone else, what must she think of the stranger who’d burst into her living room, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt? “I’m sorry. I’m new in town.”
Her gaze intensified.
Why was he suddenly so tongue-tied? “I mean, I’m with the fire department.”
Her stance relaxed, but only a little. “I’ve never seen you before.” She hovered over the child, who was clearly distressed.
“Like I said, I’m new.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “If it’s okay, could we talk while I see if I can free your little girl?”
A child of about two or three stared at him, her big blue eyes red and puffy from crying, the long lashes darkened by her tears. The plea in those eyes shot straight to his heart.
He moved toward her slowly. She’d stuck her head between two of the railings about halfway up the stairway and gotten caught. A common enough childhood dilemma. She didn’t appear to be hurt, just upset.
Okay, this is like a bona fide best teaching example, Denise... I'm going to use this for a quick lesson: Denise captured the opening for a romance. And here's why. In the space of these sentences we have a total Hallmark movie scenario. Hero comes home to help his mother. He's a fireman. He's from the big city. He wears a uniform there, jeans & a shirt here. He responds to danger quickly. Empathetic to child. Calming presence. Common sense. (he wants to talk while freeing the child.)
DeleteAll of that in this one-page opening and that's what so many editors are looking for. The reader is dropped into the action, words are minimized but say so much. Great job, Denise... and thanks for doing this!
Okay a couple of little things...
Opening line: I would either delete it or make this one third person. That way when you italicize to go internal later, it's got more punch.
Change "the" to "a" for "A child's screams"... He would know what the 911 call was. The reader doesn't. Then go to internal thought of a fireman:
Still breathing.
When he hammers on the door, have him yell the words "Fire department" or use an exclamation point which we do very rarely... but in this case it could be life or death.
No way he could wait for back-up.
If you put that line in to replace the "backup was coming but ..." you've said it quickly and decisively and the reader gets what's in his head and his take-charge attitude.
Another idea:
He turned the lock. When the door fell open, he thanked God for the innocence of small-town living and hurried through the small foyer. When he turned the corner, he stopped short.
So did the screaming kid. Her wails tapered to soft sobs when she spotted him.
Denise, I'd lose the word "tiny" for the woman unless she's a dwarf. Tiny sounds weird in this context, and then the description sounds more like a child on top of it with the mess of golden curls... and delicate features. She might not look too delicate right now, would she? So I'd switch up that description to make her look more "Mama Bear"-like....
Instead of "he'd gone straight there" use "he'd come straight here". Otherwise it sounds like he went to the firehouse instead of here, to her home. And I love that you showed the difference, this happens just like this in my small town.
Ooops, hit publish too quick...
DeleteI think the rest of it works great and he's got the absolute perfect amount of strength to grace ratio for this story to succeed... And I'm so glad you were brave enough to do this!!!
Thank you so much for the kind words and the awesome feedback. I will definitely address each of the suggestions you offered. Already I can see where your suggestions will make the writing stronger and tighter, and I will also apply your critique to the rest of my manuscript. Thank you, again. I appreciate you taking the time to do this. I'm learning so much from all of the feedback you are offering.
DeleteThis is the very beginning of my work in progress - Escaping Revenge. I hope I'm submitting an appropriate word count. Thanks to those that read and comment!
ReplyDeleteChapter 1
“You’re still going to do this, even after our talk last night?” Sandra pulled down a mug from the kitchen cabinet and glanced over at me. I nodded.
“Sandra, I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation. You knew this about me from the beginning. Hell, we were both going to school at the same time. Again,” I pinched at my forehead, “I don’t understand how this is a problem. I do know I’m done arguing about it though. I just can’t anymore.” Sandra pushed against the counter like a pregnant woman mid contraction, even though she wasn’t pregnant.
“Things can change, Sam, and I shouldn’t,” she quickly pushed herself up straight, turned and faced me, “I won’t apologize for being concerned about the wellbeing of our family.” Her eyes grappled with mine, but I was tired of where the fighting always led. Shouting matches. Racing hearts. The bitter aftertaste that lingered in the house. I had accepted that I would keep doing my job whether Sandra liked it or not. I wasn’t going to let her concerns take over my emotions any longer. I just simply had to avoid fighting, somehow.
I slid my bag off the counter, held up my hands, and left the house with her standing there alone in a room full of tension.
I chased after mirages while driving south on highway six. Some lingered a little longer than others, and for brief moments I actually thought I would catch a few. To break my trance, I stared at an open field to my left while trying not to let my gaze cross over the bright sun reflecting in my side mirrors. The slightest bit of slouching put the sun’s blinding force in my path, so I sat nearly erect and fixated on a thin dirt road cutting across a field ahead of me. As I watched it tee into the highway, I came upon a tractor driving on the shoulder of the road. Its large knobby tires growled ferociously against the rumble strips as I passed. I watched the tractor kick up a cloud of dust as it ducked down the dirt road. I slouched to get a better view in my side mirror, but the bright sun scowled back at me.
I normally took the expressway to get from my town of Clara to the town of Beecher. It was a hell of a lot faster for one. But, if you needed to get to the outskirts of Pinellas County, Florida, highway six was much easier. You just needed to be ready for a desolate drive through the country and the glaring sun at just the right time of morning. But, for some reason, I enjoyed it. It was peaceful. It was soothing. It was country. At times, I even found myself romanticizing about taking it all the way to the Keyes—where I’d be living in a trailer and surviving on rum and key lime pie had I been single and alone.
A flashing yellow light strung over the highway. I knew I was getting close. A few miles later, a light on the horizon blinked as if someone were angling a large mirror into the sun. I remembered thinking it was cast by a lake when I first saw it years ago. Driving closer, the light grew wider, but tree leaves flapped like little flags and made it hard to see through the branches. Still, the light had a calming effect. The bright reflection played like a warm song on the radio, even after I discovered it was the sun reflecting off coils of razor-wire surrounding the prison walls. Another hundred yards, I was welcomed by a sign on the side of the road. I put my blinker on and made the turn.
Florida Department of Corrections. Pinellas Correctional Institution.
The summer morning heat wrapped around me like a blanket just out of the dryer. I paced quickly to get inside and talk with a patient. I braced myself for uncomfortable stories, stories that keep me up at night. Stories that worried Sandra. Stories that hide in the shadows of the morning darkness and run from the brightness of the day.
David, welcome to the party....
ReplyDeleteFirst, whoa... great emotion going on here, made better by strong conflict that I expect is layered over job, family, mental angst or anguish and stubborn natures.
It is quite real and that's a commendable attribute.
Some little mistakes I'm going to point out, and because I'm not ripping it to shreds you don't get any virtual darts to throw at my picture, David! :)
Opening line: This is a your choice kind of thing, but I'd tighten it. I'd slightly tighten most of it just because it's that kind of opening. It should be tight.
"You're still going to do this? Even after we talked?" Sandra pulled down a coffee mug and glanced at me. (I'd like emotion here. His emotion. What's he seeing in her eyes? Anger? Angst? Frustration? Disinterest because this has been going on too long and he doesn't listen?)
Dull eyes.
There was a time when looking at me made her eyes shine. When our eyes would meet across a room and we couldn't help but smile. We'd conceived a couple of cute kids after those exchanged smiles. The smiling looks that knew what the other liked, loved and wanted. That cared. Back when we wanted the same things. (Okay, that's an example to show us what he sees when he looks at Sandra... and what I'm surmising. Something that tugs the reader's heart into them. Their marriage. If that's what this is about.)
Tightening up his response:
"How many times do we have to have this conversation? It's old news. This is me. I haven't changed. You've known this about me from the beginning." (I took out the him not knowing how it's a problem because that makes him seem selfish and kind of dense. Their lives are different. Things that are easy at single and 25 are quite different at 35 and 3 kids. He's smart. He'd know this. He just wants to do it his way and thinks that's her problem... not his.)
I'd tighten her response too.
"Things change and I won't apologize for caring about the well-being of our family.) (So does she put family first and he doesn't? This might be a good time for her to point that out.)
Then go on with "Her eyes grappled with mine...etc."
But here's a thought. As a female reader the next paragraph makes me not like him. He's refusing to change, refusing to adjust or give (that's how I'm reading it) and he leaves just wanting a way to stop the argument. So he sounds like "Bye, Felicia" and good luck with the kids and school and your job and life while I go off and see if I can do something important.
This is where you decide how you want your readers to "see" your characters. Some characters start as jerks and get redeemed through life or faith or sacrifice or just a moral/lesson learned... but right now I'm not feeling any sympathy for him. He makes "You do you" his mantra and I might kick him... if he was real. So you can sweeten him up with patients... or with staff... or the prison dog rehabilitation system... or he saves a stray animal....
Just stuff to think about and some of the other gals might see it differently.
His thoughts on the way to work go on too long. I'd minimize them. I know it's literary, but I'd still minimize them. I did like the light on the wire, as if the light will be something wonderful and it's not... it's prison wire. That was marvelous.
He doesn't get out of the vehicle.
He turns in.
Continued below....
ReplyDeleteThen the heat wraps around him (nice analogy) and he's pacing quickly. What's the prison look like? White brick? Red brick? Old? Fairly new? Updated facility?
Most of us have never been in or near a prison. Give us a view of what he's seeing. Plain. Austere. Flat-faced. Are there guards? Watch towers? Alarms at every corner?
Don't go crazy with detail, but put us in the picture. Let us see what he sees.
Although I still might kick him, David! :)
Thank you so much for taking the chance. Good writing is good writing and you are very talented. Whatever you do, don't stop... that would be a real shame.
But don't let it mess up your life, either. (spoken from a woman who writes in the middle of the night so it doesn't mess up my life... and who's written over 50 books... Stay in the game, David.)
Thank you for your kind words of critique. I will definitely keep them in mind moving forward.
DeleteFor what it's worth, Sam's family comes first to him as well, he just doesn't see his profession getting in the way of things. In reality it hasn't, yet, and so he simply sees Sandra's fears as irrational. I will try and think how I can capture his unselfish side a little better though. He's definitely not that way.
I suppose I like driving through the country and watching things, so the description of his drive was more selfish than required. Oh well :)
Hey guys, just an FYI: We all have our own styles and our own voices... so when I'm critiquing I'm definitely using my style, which may not be yours... but it might give you new thoughts or ideas on how to tweak something to be tighter, stronger, more reader-friendly and the kind of thing that makes an editor sit up and take notice.
ReplyDeleteIt doesn't mean you have to do it my way...
But it gives you a launch point and different vantage point.
I agree with Ruthy, David. There is a lot of good stuff going on here. The kind of good that has the potential to reach deep down and pull at your emotions.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to suggest something that I usually tell writers to shy away from... What if you showed us the scene with Sandra in David's thoughts as he's driving to work? Not as a flashback, but his reaction. His "I should have said this" and "how could she think that" thoughts interspersed with the images on his drive to work? It takes talent to pull that off effectively, but I think you might be able to do it.
Another place where I agree with Ruthy: Be very picky about which details of that drive you show us. Having to sit erect to avoid the flash of sun in the side mirrors could be paired with a thought of how he avoids talking about the real issue of his job with his wife, and that would make that detail effective. Make every word have a purpose in propelling the story forward.
Just a thought!
Thanks for the feedback! Sam’s two passions in life are his profession and his family, especially his son, Nick, who is about four at the beginning of the story. Originally, the story started with Sam thinking about their argument from the previous night. He thought about it in addition to all the other ones they had over the years. As he replays these arguments over and over in this head, he knows he won’t be able to easily convince Sandra that his profession shouldn’t bother her and assumes time will fix things (that is: once she sees it’s not affecting things, she’ll accept it). He concludes he’s tired of arguing and makes it a point to stop. That’s when she comes into the kitchen, "You're still going to do this?"
DeleteUpon rereading it (to the point of desensitization), I felt I wasn't pulling the reader in quick enough and made the change to the point it’s at now. I do tease things out more into the story, including their past. But, like I said to Ruthy, I don’t want to make Sam seem too selfish. I will definitely think through this a little more.
Thanks again for your comments! :)
Okay. Haven't done this before here. This is a contemporary Amish romance. Conversation between the hero and heroine after her brother has died and hero has been asked to take over the family shop. A few chapters in.
ReplyDelete“But you don’t know how I kept the books. How will you know what my abbreviations are?” Lila stood her ground.
“Okay. You can do that. But I feel your father is depending on me to make sure things work.”
“I have been making things work for Peter and our shop for years. I don’t see how you can automatically step in and do that.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult . . .”
“My family still owns this shop.” Lila slammed her fist down on the counter.
John could hear the hurt in her voice. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t examined the books closely, but he and David ran their own business successfully and why couldn’t he do this business as well.
He could see the anger in her eyes, and it was true that this was her family’s business. But he did feel a responsibility to not only her father because of his request, but also to Peter. But he didn’t think the two of them could both get their hands into the books and keep them straight and he had to be the one to do that. He was ultimately responsible now that Peter was gone.
“I know your family owns the shop. I’m not trying to take that away, but I have been asked to take this over for a while and make sure jobs that have been left will get down.”
He could see Lila’s eyes open wide and had to admit to himself that her strong spirit made her even more attractive.
“I’m not trying to be difficult. I really am not. I am glad you’re helping our family, although I was surprised that father asked you to take over for a while. I cannot do the work here, so we need your expertise, but I believe I have an expertise in keeping track of the accounting, and it pleased, and improved, the shop for my brother.”
John could see her calming down a little and he thought she truly wanted him to be successful. They had to work through this, or he would fail her father and he was sure the words he said to her would be conveyed to Mr. Troyer and he didn’t want that to happen.
Hi Tammie, and congratulations for taking this brave step!
DeleteI'm going to give you my take on your story first, then I'll give some hints specific to Amish stories.
You've got your conflict here, and it's clear. Lila's family owns the shop and John is a newcomer. Hurt feelings abound! And did I see some grief in there? Is that why Peter is gone?
One thing that I would change is when Lila says, "I'm not trying to be difficult." I think you need a dialogue tag of some kind there. Perhaps like this:
Lila turned away from him slightly. "I'm not trying to be difficult."
That would give your readers a simple way to see who is talking before the dialogue even begins. Without it, I wasn't sure if this was Lila or John.
(By the way, you have both characters saying "I'm not trying to be difficult..." Was that intentional?)
Another thing to look at is that the entire scene could be tightened up. For example, in your narration, you state concepts that you also bring out in the dialogue. Like in this passage:
John could hear the hurt in her voice. He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t examined the books closely, but he and David ran their own business successfully and why couldn’t he do this business as well.
He could see the anger in her eyes, and it was true that this was her family’s business. But he did feel a responsibility to not only her father because of his request, but also to Peter. But he didn’t think the two of them could both get their hands into the books and keep them straight and he had to be the one to do that. He was ultimately responsible now that Peter was gone.
“I know your family owns the shop. I’m not trying to take that away, but I have been asked to take this over for a while and make sure jobs that have been left will get down.”
You've told your reader how John feels about the situation in the first two paragraphs, and then you show your reader the same thing in his dialogue. But if you tone down narration, it highlights the "showing" of your dialogue.
Try changing the narration paragraphs to something like:
John flinched at the hurt in her voice. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt Lila, but he had made a promise.
"I know your family owns the shop..."
Now to address the particulars about writing Amish stories. :-)
Don't rely on reading other Amish fiction to learn about this unique group of people. Learn about their ways and beliefs by reading books like "The Amish Way" by Kraybill, Nolt, and Weaver-Zurcher. Or "The Amish in Their Own Words" by Igou. Those non-fiction books will help dispel some of the myths that abound.
By learning to know the Amish better, you'll discover that an Amish girl would never allow herself to become angry enough to slam her fist on a counter - at least, not without immediately apologizing.
In this scene, you have your characters in an angry discussion. It isn't that an Amish person never gets angry, but they learn from infancy to avoid confrontation and anger when dealing with others. So some of the clues you've used, like "He could see the anger in her eyes" don't ring true. Hurt, yes. Doubt, yes. But both characters would be more likely to be seeking cooperation and a way to work together than arguing about who is in charge. (Of course, this is just a snippet of your story, and I don't know what has happened before and after this. Perhaps you have your characters coming together in cooperation later on.)
And a last, minor detail: The Amish never use the terms "Mr." or "Mrs." They address each other by their first names, or a nickname (to distinguish one John from another,) but they don't use titles when talking to or about each other.
Thanks again for sharing, Tammie! It looks like you have a great story here!
Thank you very much Jan for taking the time to comment on this for me. I do see where I have told and shown. Thank you. I also have the book, "The Amish Way." I am still working on this story and your insights will help. Thanks, again.
DeleteRoark paced the narrow eight inch beam that crisscrossed the unfinished belfry of St. Mary’s Church, barely glancing at the sheer three hundred foot drop below. A normal man would have exercised caution. But he was not¬ normal by any human standard.
ReplyDeleteReaching the other side, he angled himself to avoid the direct sunlight, more out of habit than need, and peered through the multi-paned arched window at the woman in the room across the street.
He would kill her tonight.
The sun hovered just above the rooftop of her square, grey building. When it dropped, he would slip into the shadows of her sterile room and end her life with a flick of his wrist.
The orange-red ball inched lower, half hidden now, yet he remained frozen in place. Every night fall, its rays weakened and so did his resolve. He was a coward as well as a killer.
He feared nothing in the human world, except tiny Kate. Her power terrified him. She could level him with a glance. Destroy him with a show of condemnation, disgust or fear. Yet how could he reassure her? He was what he was. The thought frightened him as well.
Every detail of her suffering pressed against him, the distance between them paltry against his heightened senses. She lay in a semi-raised hospital bed, a death pallor displacing the once rosy skin. Life-sustaining technology beeped and glowed while morphine dripped, dripped, dripped from the IV into the disease ravaged body. His senses were so sharp, he might as well have stood at her bedside. Nothing escaped his supernatural notice.
He should put her out of her misery. What did it matter? Damned once, damned twice? Still he clung to hope, like a fly on shite. Disgusted by his own crudeness, he turned from the window, sick to death of blood and suffering and bad choices.
Jesus God, would the belfry of this church be as close to paradise as he would ever climb?
Oops I got so carried away with the story I forgot to introduce myself. Judith. a long time reader but a chicken at really participating but it's time! Thank you for anything, Ladies, that you can contribute. All comments welcome!
DeleteJudith, we're so glad you joined in! I'm late to the critique party. I missed yesterday.
DeleteWow, you sucked me right in with this opening! I'm going crazy trying to figure out this character. Is he a sick killer? Or a guilt-ridden person who wants to end a loved one's suffering? Is this a paranormal and he's not human? I want to read more!!
I'm with Missy on this, Judith. Whoa.... and double whoa. Whatever you're creating, you made him absolutely sympathetic (like Jason Bourne... A killer we all want to love and heal) because he's totally enraptured by someone who is dying...
DeleteSmall bits of advice: Second paragraph I would break up into shorter sentences. To many long ones drag the pace.
Next paragraph, I would stretch out his lack of movement. Make the reader feel it in their gut. You tell us he's frozen in place. I'd like to see that go on a little longer...
...half hidden now, and yet Roark stayed where he was, a statue, unmoving. Frozen in place. (then back to your narrative)
... he was what he was, through no fault of his own. (a possible addition to garner sympathy)
Every detail... (I would suggest tightening this sentence slightly. Minimize words because the image is powerful enough. Or cut into two sentences. These slight tightenings make the difference between good and great prose.)
I would suggest changing dripped, dripped, dripped to drip, drip, dripped to keep the cadence of the drip in the reader's mind...
And I LOVE THE LAST TWO PARAGRAPHS. They pull the reader immediately into his corner. So very well done!
My guess is that death is something he knows a lot about, and if it's not, then that was a great red herring way of writing this.
I love it.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteLee-Ann, this is another good one! I do have a question about why the silent screams. Is she afraid of him? If so, that doesn't seem to fit later when she's thinking that he's saved her once before and she knows she'll be okay. So you might want to reconsider the silent screams or explain it better. Also, should she be worrying her sugar level is off up near the beginning of the this segment? (I realize you may have that at the end of chapter one, though.)
DeleteHi Missy - in chapter 1 before she leaves her car she checks her glucose level and snacks as she's walking. Silent screaming - I was thinking of it's just too much, more of a release kind of thing. She's definitely not scared of him. Perhaps, her voice instead of screams are caught in her throat?
DeleteWould she be the type to get tears in her eyes? I'm not a big cryer, but sometimes when I'm at the end of my rope, I'll burst into tears. :) Or, yeah, I think her voice getting stuck would work. Or could she even say something out loud?? Something like, "You've got to be kidding me," or "Not one more thing. I just can't take one more thing." I once attended a workshop at RWA where the speaker suggested having your characters sometimes say their thoughts out loud just to make things interesting! :)
DeleteMerilee yawned and stretched in bed. Morning. The sun stretched in through the window near the door, and if she squinted, she could make out the motes of dust falling through the beams.
ReplyDeleteHer eyes slid shut for a moment before she again opened them with a start. What time was it? She heard no noises. Lifting her head she peered around the communal bedroom she shared with six other kitchen maids. All of the beds were neatly made. No one else was here.
She was late! Why hadn’t they woken her? She sat up quickly and stiffly in bed and peeled her gritty eyelids open once more. Drat! Crying late into the night certainly wasn’t conducive to waking up early. But, no time to think of that now. Her legs flew over the edge of the bed into her deerskin slippers. The king’s one concession for her “particular situation,” as he called it.
Running to the changing screen, Merilee pulled off the sheaf of rough cotton that was her sleeping shirt and tossed it over the screen. She tugged her underdress off of its peg, then threw on the dull brown overdress. A Clean white pinafore from the cupboard completed her maid’s attire.
Glancing in the mirror, Merilee came to a stop from her hurried preparations. Her eyes widened. She looked like Mother. At least with the wide expression in her eyes, her high cheekbones flushed red and her hair flying wild.
She could still hear Mother’s laugh that day.
Mother swung down off of her horse and knelt by 7-year old Merilee’s side. Her smile stretched wide across her face, and Merilee’s attention caught on Mother’s perfect white teeth, the brilliant gold and green specks of her wide eyes, the excitement in them. Her cheeks were flushed from the race with Merilee’s father. Merilee knew she had won by the triumphant sparkle, and she began to laugh as well, even through her tears, but soon remembered her fear.
"Why did you go, Mother? I though you left me. Why did you leave me?"
Mother’s eyes softened and her long eyelashes fluttered. She leaned close to Merilee and swept her fingers across the trail of tears on Merilee’s face, wiping them away. Merilee’s skin tingled at the faint touch, and immediately she began to relax. Mother leaned closed to her ear and whispered, “Never, ever fear, my Lady Fair, I couldn’t ever leave you. Your father and I are always close by, even if you cannot always see us.” She smiled again then, and for a moment, all was right once more in the world.
Merilee gasped and shook her head. Now was not the time for memories. Memories she knew must be forgotten. Turning, she ran her fingers quickly through her kinky waist-length hair and gasped when her fingers caught and wrenched her scalp. She straitened quickly, but in doing so, the scars across her back tightened and her tender nerve endings screamed in pain. The memories of how she had gotten them raced through her brain, the memory of the why. With a start, she shook her head furiously. No. She would not think of that.
What was wrong with her? Those scars hadn’t hurt in months. Why was she suddenly remembering things which truly must be forgotten? But frighteningly, the images remained close by, on the edges of her mind, ready to pounce. She shuddered at the thought and willed them away. She would not remember. Could not. No more.
She drew a deep breath. No use trying to comb her hair. A slight smile tugged her lips up. Mother had been right about one thing—there was no taming her wild mane. “As wild as the Western Wind.” Father had said.
The smile swiftly slid away as she tucked the memory neatly into place. Memories were dangerous. And she could afford to waste no more time on that danger. She tugged her hair into three parts and quickly twisted it into a neat braid. After swiftly snatching a handkerchief from the cupboard, Merilee plastered it over her frizzed-out hair. Deep breath. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Remember who you are."
Merilee gasped. Where had that come from? Tears welled in her eyes, but she swiftly brushed them away. That was not who she was anymore. THIS is who she was now.
Hey! I'm Grace! Avid reader and amateur writer. Writing is one of my favorite things on earth, but for the most part, I just write for me (and don't show almost anyone what I write).
DeleteOh boy, this is hard! I'm over here cringing as I post this, but I would honestly like to hear some outside feedback on my work, so...here goes nothing...The post above is from the first chapter of my YA/Fantasy novel...
Thanks for reading that (super-rough) excerpt. I appreciate your input!
Gracie, we're so glad you shared with us! This is so good!! I love how you've hinted at her past, so we know she wasn't born a maid. It makes the reader want to keep turning the page to find out what happened! Great work.
DeleteI wonder if she should have a little bit of pain when she puts her dress on. Maybe from the rough fabric. Just a hint about the pain of the scars you mention later. Or if you don't want to mention pain at that point, then she could just put her dress on carefully.
I really love the, "Remember who you are," part!
Gracie, this reminds me of Melanie Dickerson's work. So beautifully done, as if I'm in her head... and a skillful use of words. Just wonderful.
DeleteYour paragraph spacing is off... Is that because of copying and pasting in a blog. If not, I think you want to space them out more. That gives the reader a beginning and ending point for thoughts, etc.
I'll put one below and show you what I mean. Formatting is hard on a blog comment, but if it's not the formatting, I don't want you overlooked for a silly bit of mechanics.
Missy and Ruth, thank you both So Much for your kind words! I appreciate your critiques so much!!
DeleteMissy, I like that idea--I can definitely see how there should have probably been more pain/stiffness earlier on.
Ruth, I know, my spacing is horrendous!lol Normally, the spacing is much better, but the problem was, I exceeded the character limit for the blog comment, so I had to cut out something. And since I had a hard time trying to figure out what words I could cut, I just got rid of spaces instead.
(And that my work reminds you even a little bit of Melanie Dickerson's just blows me away!--Wow!!)
Do either of you have any input for writing mainly from one viewpoint, kind of "inside her head," at least for a while? I want it to have that "inside her head" feel, but I also feel like I'm wayy over-using the words "she" and "Merilee." Does that make sense? Do you have any tips for how to word those sections better?
Thank you guys again, so much!
Thanks so much for this opportunity! This is toward the end of my story. It's inspirational sy-fy, an arachnologist has been called in for the town's spider problem. She has a history with the small town sheriff and has a son he doesn't know about. Her teenage son is in the cave with others his age from town and the spiders; his mother is trying to get there in time to save him.
ReplyDeleteMichael led the way as they trudged toward the light they saw in the distance. The tunnel narrowed. Single file, holding hands, their shoulders brushed against the damp walls of the cave. The ground elevated as they continued on. A hard rock to Michael’s head stopped his forward progress.
Amberlee shook his hand. “What’s wrong?”
“The ceiling is getting low.”
“It’s becoming a tighter fit. Can we still get through?” Sadie asked.
Sadie and Amberlee stopped moving forward. Michael tugged on his hand. “No, we have to keep going. Don’t stop now. The ground is going up. It has to lead out of here, toward that light. Even if we have to crawl, we’re going to get out of here.”
“Crawl?” Amberlee shivered. “Do you know what we’re walking on? I am not getting on my hands and knees.” Her breaths came out in short gasps.
Michael maneuvered around till he was facing her and Sadie. “Look at me. We can’t give up now. Those bats will come back to roost. Those spiders will want their cave back, without unwanted visitors.”
“What’s that?” Amberlee and Sadie turned around away from Michael, looking back the way they came.
“What do you hear?” Michael tried pulling them toward him, keeping their progress going toward the light.
“Sounds like…” Amberlee stopped. “Oh, no.”
Sadie dug her fingers into Michael’s other hand. “What?” she hissed.
“I hear a scraping noise, a clicking noise, like on rock. What could it be?” She whipped around to face Michael.
“Let’s move, now,” he shouted as he pushed Sadie and Amberlee in front of him. “Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t turn around.”
After a few minutes, Michael bumped into Amberlee. “What’s going on? Why are we stopped?”
“I can’t go any farther. The ceiling dips down, the ground inclines and the walls are closer together.”
“Let me see. Can we get closer to the ground and get through?” Michael maneuvered around and took a look. “It’s a tight squeeze. I barely fit. You two should be fine though. Let’s go.”
“Michael!” Amberlee bumped up against him, clawing her way around. A long skinny leg reached around the corner they had just passed. “What is that?”
He pushed Amberlee and Sadie in front of him. “Get in there now, get on the ground. Crawl fast. Keep going and don’t stop.”
Sadie flung herself to the ground and skittered into the opening. Amberlee clung to Michael’s arm. “What are you going to do?”
He traced her cheekbone. “Follow you, of course. Now get going. We’ve got to crawl faster than this spider walks. My mom says the female spider is the biggest. From the looks of that leg, I’d say we’ve found her. I don’t aim to be food for her little ones.” He gave her a quick kiss, knocking her out of her daze. “Catch up to Sadie.”
Amberlee whirled around and took off on her hands and knees, not looking back. Michael turned back around. Half the spider’s body had cleared the corner. If that was the first half, he didn’t want to see the last half. That was one big spider. Its eyes were the size of dinner plates.
Ahhh, Saalllly!!!! That's so creepy!! (And you may have to resuscitate Mary Connealy if she reads this.) :)
DeleteBoy, this sucked me right in. I want to keep reading to see if Michael gets rescued. Yet I also want to close my eyes and shiver! haha That's a sure way to keep a reader interested.
OH MY STARS!!!! EEEK!
DeleteThis is so good, Sally! Oh mylanta, I am skeeved out. Totally.
Sally, honestly, a few things...
"shook his hand"...
Maybe squeezed or gripped? I know she's getting his attention but I think the first mental image that comes from shaking hands is, well.. shaking hands!
Sadie Paragraph 4: "It's becoming a tighter fit."
Kind of formal, isn't it? Unless she's British. Like high brow. :) Maybe "It is getting tighter." with emphasis on "is".
Next line Michael tugged on his hand. What a dolt! He should be tugging on Amberlee's hand!!! :) I love that name Amberlee.... Sounds Southern.
And that's it. The progress they make... his chivalry... Oh mylanta, kill that stinkin' spider!!!!
Sally, I've been watching "Stranger Things".
DeleteYou have skeeved me out to an exponential factor with this on top of that.
I shall not thank you!
Ruthy, I'm glad I skeeved you out! And to an exponential factor on top of that. Awesome! Yes, the wording needs work. Thank you for pointing out the parts that stuck out. Thank you so much for your feedback!
DeleteMissy, thank you so much for your response! It's fun to "watch" someone read your work and get their reaction. My son has read this story and is hooked on it lol.
Nope, I'm good. If it was a MOUSE I'd have to skim but I'd just smash a spider with my bare hand. I might wipe the spider guts off on the floor though rather than my jeans. :)
DeleteGreat tense opening.
You ladies are so kind to make this offer, and your newsletter/blog is a budding writer's best friend. I'm barely ankle-deep into this story, based on true events of the Civil War in Georgia (1864). This is my opening.
ReplyDeleteA torch sailed through the air and disappeared into the top floor of the building destined for destruction. Moments later orange flames grasped the timbers, pulling them inward as the fire feasted on wood and cotton bales, exposing the skeleton as its frame bowed to the heat and hunger of the flame.
Black smoke puffed through every crevice, marring the blue summer sky, its acrid odor drifting across the hillside.
Like a wild hog devouring all in its path, belching dark clouds of smoke as it gobbled every morsel, the fire raged on and on. it drowned out the song of Vickery Creek below, where water tumbled over great slabs of rock, blissfully unaware of the terrible drama playing out on the eastern bank.
Birds sprang from their perches; squirrels and chipmunks and deer darted to safety on the western side of the creek. Their cries of alarm went unheard, their desperate departure unnoticed as the fire screamed with maniacal strength, wreaking destruction.
Heat from the fire intensified the stifling temperature of an early July day. Yet everyone watched in silent terror, transfixed by the sight of such wanton, deliberate destruction of property. They watched their world collapse in charred heaps on the ground.
Finally the fire whimpered, its ferocity spent, its appetite sated.
Yet the screen of smoke spread insidiously over the area, stretching its tendrils as far as the eye could see now, polluting the air with its acrid scent. Men fished wrinkled handkerchiefs from back pockets and covered their noses. Women raised the tail of their aprons or cupped both hands over their mouths to combat the choking odor. Perspiration slid from brows and sprouted beneath armpits, darkening homespun shirts and blue wool uniforms alike.
It was July, after all. And this was Georgia.
SilverCurls, you have a wonderful, descriptive opening. What beautiful, evocative writing! Nice work! It definitely makes me want to read more.
DeleteHi, SilverCurls! I agree with Missy.... this is beautiful. The words you use, the descriptors and the use of multiple senses pulled me in. My major suggestion would be to vary sentence type. Give us some of those short sentences to break up description or to hammer it home.
DeleteHere's an idea of what I'm talking about.
A torch sailed through the air.
It sailed into the upper reaches of a building destined for destruction. Moments later, orange flames grasped the timbers, pulling them inward as the fire feasted on wooden beams and cotton bales, exposing the skeleton as its frame bowed to the heat and hunger of the flame. Black smoke marred the blue summer sky, its acrid odor drifting across the hillside.
(I didn't change much because it didn't need it, but I dropped a few words and let the stronger ones do the job. "Acrid odor"... brilliant. What a great coupling of words. Just the sound of them together paints a picture for the reader of that never-forgotten stench of burning buildings.)
I would do the same throughout, make every word count and give some of the long sentences a break. SilverCurls, I absolutely loved this.
Thanks so much for the critique offer! I write small town category romance. Meadow is a 26 year old woman searching for her birth parents. The search leads her to a small town where she goes undercover to get to know her biological father and uncover the truth about her birth. But when she falls for her father's adopted nephew, family secrets threaten their budding romance.
ReplyDeleteMeadow Reece had no clue why she had been abandoned as a baby.
The search for answers had proved nearly impossible on her own. She didn’t have much to go off of. Meadow knew she was found in the state of Virginia, alone, left on a church bench. According to the hospital records of where the pastor took her that night, an unknown woman give birth to a baby girl earlier that morning at the same hospital, then disappeared. The records indicated the woman referred to herself only as “J” but refused to give a last name.
But thanks to the help of the private investigator Meadow hired, a DNA test, and family history sites, Meadow finally had a piece of the puzzle she longed to solve. The PI was able to discover the name of and location of her biological father, William Sanders of Grey Wolf Lake, Virginia.
Regarding her birth mother, they had nothing besides the letter J. The PI believed her mother had purposefully done all she could to not give away her identity and tampered with the hospital records. Was her birth mother’s name Jennifer, Jessica, Julie?
William was only eighteen years old the day Meadow was born, and still in high school. That cleared up a lot for her. She’d played out so many different scenarios over the years. Drug addicted parents with no money to care for a child. An abused wife, who left her baby behind in an effort to save her.
But now Meadow knew her parents were teenagers when she was conceived. They must have been too scared to tell their parents. Maybe that’s why her mother went to lengths she did to cover her tracks.
Meadow took another sip of her cappuccino before clicking on the link google turned up. It was a newspaper article about William Sanders in the Grey Wolf Daily. The story was from two years ago, about a group of volunteers he formed to help an elderly resident and World War II vet, clean out and refurbish his home, which was quite dilapidated. Of course, Meadow had seen several pictures of the man who was her birth father in the file the detective had given her, but she craved more. They looked alike, Meadow thought. Or was that wishful thinking? Like Meadow, the man had ash brown hair. They had a similar shape to their eyes, too. The guy she dated in college always told Meadow she had “doe eyes.” Two brown pools with a sweet innocence lurking behind them. Though William Sander’s eyes were hazel in color, they were just as round and soulful.
Meadow stared into those eyes, searching for an answer. Do you even know I exist? Was my mother afraid to tell you, or afraid of you?
It was possible the guy could be a scumbag, and that’s where the secrecy had come from. But Meadow tried to stay positive. After all, he had a family. A fourteen-year-old son, and a wife who worked as a middle school math teacher. The woman he married wasn’t her birth mother. According to their wedding announcement some sixteen years ago, she was from Texas and they met while he was on a business trip in Austin. His son, Jacob Sanders, played soccer, another tidbit she learned from the private investigator. Meadow still couldn’t believe she had a half-brother. He looked so adorable in the picture the PI had given her of him in his soccer uniform. And William looked like such a nice guy. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be hiding some terrible secret, though.
Meadow bent her head over the keyboard and rubbed her temples with both hands. She was going to go mad if she thought about this for another minute.
But how could she not think about it? She was leaving for Grey Wolf Lake tomorrow. And she was renting the apartment over William Sander’s garage for the next six months.
Annette, this is a great opening! You have me curious to find out if her dad is really the upstanding citizen that he seems to be. I really love that opening line. Do you think you could make it even more intriguing by adding something about her going under cover? For example:
DeleteMeadow Reece had no clue why she had been abandoned as a baby. But she was about to go under cover to find out.
(something like that, maybe?)
Also, you might want to consider adding someone else in this scene so some of this backstory could be revealed in dialogue. Does she have a good friend she could confide in? Let us feel the emotion she's feeling.
In fact, I just had a thought! Could she be thinking all this while she's moving into the apartment? Maybe she's actually seeing her dad while she's thinking some of these things. It could add a punch of emotion to have her see him for the first time in person. I think it could make the scene more active as well.
Just a couple of suggestions to consider! :) Nice work on the story opening!
Annette, I'm so glad you came over to play! First, this is a great story set-up. I'm using a similar one for a 2020 Love Inspired because this DNA testing stuff has opened a whole new line of romance possibilities.... And you caught right on to that! Go you!!!
DeleteOkay, I'm going to be my typical Grim Reaper self.... I think there are two things you've got to, got to, got to change...
No adopted nephew romance. Make him unrelated. We all understand that he's not REALLY family, except he is. And the heroine is. And you can't marry your cousin, darling, even if he's adopted.... It's got nothing to do with DNA and everything to do with reality and readers.... He can be the best friend's son, who was raised by her dad... maybe his father was killed in Iraq... but I would ix-nay the adoption totally.
Okay, now the set-up. The writing is great... but too much telling to open the book. The opening is all backstory and reading more like a synopsis.
You want that editor/agent/reader to sit straight up and want to continue. You want the grab of human interest... and she's already hired a PI and done DNA tests, so she's a girl sleuth by nature.
Here's a suggestion to use or lose...
Have her go to see her dad, but hesitate outside when she sees him. Have her watch him, caught in fear and excitement and all the things grown up kids feel when they reach into the DNA unknown.
And then have the hero find her watching. If he's former military or cop or just a protective kind of guy for whatever reason, that would help.
Have him be protective of the family for whatever reason, and finding someone, even a pretty girl, spying doesn't sit well. Maybe because he's been spied on in the past (he could have done something famous or infamous and press pushed in too hard) or something her dad's involved in has garnered bad publicity.
Give him a reason not to trust her...
And give her a reason not to trust or like him. He's already the embraced outsider and she's the biological throw-away... so much can be done with this.
And you took the leap of faith by coming by today! I'm so glad you did!
Your story is intriguing, Annette. I want to know what happens. I agree with Ruthy about the opening having too much info. Plus I want that hero and heroine to be thrown together at the get go. Ruthy's idea for the fist meet works for me, but perhaps you'll come up with something that works well for you. Putting conflict between the hero and heroine at the onset is a great way to hook the reader!
DeleteGood job!
Melinda Walker here...getting back to writing...thanks for your feedback!! This is from Secrets of the Garden
ReplyDeletePrologue:
At the edge of the Blue Ridge, a mountain stands alone, beyond the flatlands and before the rigors of the high places. The eastern side slopes gradually, forming peaks and valleys.
After days of relentless storms, clouds drift around the forested mountainside. Mist settles into a shallow hollow tangled by honeysuckle, choked by thorns and tough brush, behind a home with fading paint.
Long after the sun burned off the fog, moisture cloaks the brush and bramble, soaking the ground, holding warmth against the fallow earth.
Chapter One
In the dim light of the bare porch bulb, the peeling paint of the front door formed a pattern of rotting cracks. Edie tightened the hairpins securing the knot at her neck. She twisted the doorknob. It didn’t budge. She jiggled harder. Locked. Her fingers cramped around the icy knob. She looked to the right. Through a gap in the window blind, she saw Daddy in his recliner. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. She banged on the door. “Daddy, Daddy. Let me in.” The doorbell hadn’t worked in years. She pounded the window, then peered into the stark room. He hadn’t moved. After a few beers, he usually passed out in his chair for several hours.
Out of the darkness, something shiny in the corner of the porch caught her eye. A garbage bag. She pulled it into the glow from the window and squatted down. All her scrubs were crammed inside. Nothing else.
The wind blasted her; she lost her balance, her knees meeting the cold floorboards. From across the supper table earlier, Daddy had shaken his finger in her face, his eyes bulging, his skin cherry red. His words lashed her again: You get you a nursing job, or you find somewhere else to live. She had prepared his favorite fried chicken dinner exactly the way he liked it. When he finished, she’d tried to explain her reason for resigning—unrelenting problems at her first job had made her sick at her stomach every time she went to work at the hospital.
Melinda, I'm glad you're getting back to your writing! This is a great opening! I love how your prologue sets the scene. Kind of like starting with a wide angle lens and then zooming in for chapter 1--where your heroine seems to have been kicked out of her home. A great hook!
DeleteMelinda, it's wonderful to see you here! We're so excited for you...
DeleteAnd I don't usually like that kind of opening, but I do on this because the setting is that Christy-like Appalachian and I love that, so I'm embracing that 100%.
I would change this well-written opening slightly.
I would start with turning the handle.
Edie crossed the uneven porch planks and turned the rusting door handle.
Locked.
She tried again.
Still locked.
He meant it. Every single drunken word... he meant them all.
Then have her peer through the window... see him...
I would make this a moment of truth for her. Where the reader jumps onto her bandwagon and shakes fists in the air to encourage her to take things into her own hands...
I would minimize the backstory here. The argument, her job, her choices could all be told to a sympathetic friend in dialogue in a few pages...
This scene has great grab-your-heart potential, and I'd advise going for the biggest emotion you can from the heroine and the reader...
Have her walk away. With the bag...
And take steps to make it on her own.
And part of those steps can be to realize that it's not smart to give up a job before securing a new one... Most of us can relate to the downside of that. That even when things are tough, we need to be tougher.
And I will add right here that it is all right, and even ENCOURAGED to throw darts at my picture because I am totally in your corner and want you to be the best you can be.
(I should really provide a poster-sized image of me when we do this, right? It would make everyone's dart-throwing skillset so much easier to hone!)
thank you both so, SO much for this opportunity & your feedback!!!
DeleteI really liked this! Melinda very attention grabbing.
DeleteWell written! So poignant. Loved your description of the area. The heroine's struggle grabbed me as well.
DeleteGreat job!
With his hand on the small of her back while nuzzling her neck, they walked out of Tiffany’s at Phipps Plaza when she noticed him. The man who shattered her heart into a million Humpty Dumpty pieces. After their divorce, she was so badly broken she thought she could never be put back together again. Her ex-husband was looking rough. Sunken cheeks, sallow skin, and his eyes were blacker than any piece of coal. Seeing her with Sam caused him to realize cheating on her was the biggest mistake of his life. Seeing him again caused her to realize he was the biggest mistake of hers. She smiled as Sam kept a hand on her back as he shook the hand of her ex-husband, lovingly protecting her all the while. After all the formalities and niceties had been exchanged, Sam and Kayla got into his newly detailed luxury car and drove off, leaving her ex-husband behind and forgotten.
ReplyDeleteThe ringer of her cell phone kept pulsing and she grabbed her purse to retrieve it. Gasping, she wiped the drool off her cheek and the sleep from her eyes realizing it was only a dream. Except for the phone. It was still pulsing when she jumped out of bed only to realize how terribly late she’d be for her meeting at work. “This is Kayla”, she answers.
“Girl, you do realize your 8:30 appointment and Marvin are already, here, right?” Lisa her co-worker asked.
“Yes. My alarm never went off. I’ll pull my hair back and be on my way. Please give them my sincerest apologies. I should be there no later than 9:00.” Kayla winced.
“You might want to look a little presentable. This one is hot. As in smoking hot. Normally I wouldn’t warn you, being you’re so shy about jumping back out there, but I don’t want you looking like a homeless chick either.” Lisa laughed.
“Got it. Can you brew fresh coffee? I’ll have to grab a cup there.”
“Sure. I’ll have one ready for you when you get here. You owe me, you know.” Lisa reminded her.
“Yes. I owe you big time. Thanks, Lisa.”
No time for full make-up and hair. She pulled out her best scrubs in her favorite turquoise color, washed her face, brushed her teeth and pulled back her hair. She applied foundation, her favorite mascara, and lip gloss. She was still trying to shake off her recurring dream. Not sure which part was worse – dreaming about bumping into her ex-husband or dreaming about being with the gorgeous Englishman, Sam Welling. She arrived in the parking deck at 8:55 AM and sprinted into the building. After entering the lobby and hitting the front desk, she bent over sucking in air. “Good Morning, Sunshine. Here’s your coffee and the file on your patient. That’s my favorite pen and clipboard so make sure you bring them back to me after you meet with the hottie. Did I mention he’s British?” She sighed. “I mean, could he be any sexier?”
Kayla began to feel a prickly sensation on the back of her neck. She had a queasy suspicion. “You’re married. Won’t your hubby be jealous?”
“I’m just checking out the available guys for you, doll. Yes, I’m happily married and Bob takes it all in stride while laughing at me scoping out guys for you”, Lisa chuckled. “Happy Monday.”
Kayla raised her coffee cup, “Happy Monday. It’s been a doozy already.”
When she entered the conference room overlooking the therapy area, she froze. He spun around in his wheelchair and narrowed his eyes as his gaze met hers. Sam Wellington. The same man she just fantasized about in her crazy recurring bumped into the ex-husband dream. Today is definitely a doozy.
It didn't post the entire comment, but at least posted the part for critique. I'd typed before that how incredibly generous this is of you. Thank you so much! The cut and paste isn't how my WIP is formatted, I can assure you. Thanks again! ~Kimberly
ReplyDeleteKimberly, don't worry about the formatting! I could read it just fine.
DeleteI love your opening! You had me so involved in the run-in with the ex I was almost disappointed when I learned it was just a dream. :) I love how you used it, though, to show her torn emotions, even if subconscious. You've set up what looks to be a great story!
Thank you, Missy. Ex was a toxic man. Protagonist met Sam, the Hero, in a divorce support group and encouraged him to get a second opinion on his spine. She’s his head physical therapist now and there’s lots of conflict and tension.
DeleteKimberly, you've got an interesting beginning with the ex. The dream scene put me off a bit...maybe him nuzzling her neck as they walked outside was the problem. I kept trying to see him focused on her neck and walking at the same time! LOL
DeleteI'm thinking...cut the dream scene and have her awake in a panic because she had dreamed the same dream again. Give it a line or two but not so much detail, just so the reader knows there's a good looking Brit and her ex. Your punch line still works nicely when she realizes the guy in the wheelchair is the guy in her dreams. I do think the reader needs to know that she has met the Brit, otherwise you've got a bit of paranormal going...because I thought she was dreaming of a guy she had never seen in person!
Nice job! You've hook my interest!
Really good suggestions, Debby. Can’t think you and Missy enough! You’ve got my wheels spinning now. Ex isn’t a character except in random dreams as part of the letting go process. I love all the perspectives and advice. I’m so appreciative of you all and the time you are giving each of us.
Deleteok, I'm in:
ReplyDelete“YOU!” Elizabeth Elliott skewered her sister with a glare.
“Took a long lunch, did ya?” Meredith shrugged, a smirk streaked across her face.
Bethy jabbed a neatly manicured finger in her twin sister’s chest, punctuating each word. “That.Was.Not.Funny.”
“But you had a good time, didn’t ya?” Mere’s smirk burst into a snicker, then a chuckle. She followed when Bethy turned and wove her way through the cluster of workstations in the open office area.
“Well?” Mere prodded. She folded her arms and propped herself against Bethy’s desk.
Bethy unlocked her desktop computer and started clacking away without so much as a glance at her sister.
“You know I’m not leaving till you at least tell me if you liked him.” Mere slid into the blue upholstered side chair in front of the desk, tipped it slightly, and propped her feet next to the computer.
The keyboard clattered as Bethy’s fingers tripped over the keys. Randomly. On a blank doc. “He.Was.A.Troll.”
“What?” Mere leveled the chair and leaned forward.
“What were you thinking?”
“You haven’t dated since—”
“Don’t say it.”
“C’mon, Beth.” Mere’s confusion ebbed to sympathy. “You need to get back out there.”
“Where did you even find this guy?”
Mere hesitated, sputtered. Her plan had been brilliant. She had anticipated laughing over her sister’s profile on the dating site. Mere had been sure this guy was a perfect match—a match made in heaven, just like the site claimed.
“It was supposed to be a joke.”
“Well it wasn’t funny.” Bethy clacked at the keyboard, and opened her current presentation doc.
“He was cute, at least.”
“Cute? You call pulling his teeth out to bite me cute?”
Mere’s eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth, trying to stifle a snicker. She wasn’t successful.
“It wasn’t funny.” Bethy’s arms tensed and she crossed them over her chest. “It was creepy.”
“I’m sorry.” Mere swallowed another giggle. “He was a hottie in his profile pic.”
“Profile?” Bethy’s eyes narrowed. “What profile?”
“Oh, that.” Amusement sparkled in Mere’s eyes.
“What. Profile?” Amusement was not written on Bethy’s face.
“Match Made in Heaven.”
“The dating site?” Bethy’s chair smacked into the credenza, knocking two books and a plant loose as she launched to her feet.
“What?” Mere shrugged and stood to match her sister. “It’s a good site. They have the highest success rate.”
“Not with gremlins like the one you found.” Bethy surrendered into her chair. “What were you thinking?”
Mere rounded the desk, tugged the keyboard. In a few strokes she had opened the website. “There? See?”
Bethy’s eyes widened. “Well, that’s not who I had lunch with.”
“Maybe it’s an old picture.”
“Yeah, like a hundred years ago.” She scrutinized. “Before a spell was cast on him.”
“I was just trying to help, okay?” Mere logged off and made her way back to her workstation.
(be kind, ya'll... )
FIRST... I love the set-up... Love it! And the natural humor... but here's a suggestion, why not have her ditch the date (so we can see that and the ogre-date through her eyes) and call her sister. We've got so much going on in this dialogue (furniture moving, faces moving, expressions, etc.) that I think it would have more punch as a phone call as she's walking back to work/home wherever and she threatens her sister's life on the phone.
DeleteHere's a short example of what I'm suggesting:
Priority One: A shower. Followed by killing her sister. Then, by necessity, another shower.
Beth Elliott stabbed her sister Meredith's speed dial number. Her over-zealous poke resulted in a broken nail.
Add ten bucks to the penalty phase to get nail replaced. And maybe another ten for pain and suffering.
"Beth!" Way too much excitement brightened Mere's voice, but then she didn't know she was on her sister's hit list. Yet. "Long lunch, huh?"
"Worst lunch ever, you little toad. What on earth were you thinking, Mere? I can't even--"
Her hiked voice was drawing interest from innocent passersby who might remember her later-- when they found Mere's lifeless body.
"Sisterhood knows no love boundaries, Beth. You haven't gone out or had lunch or dated anyone since..."
"My life. My choice. Stop interfering. Mere, I love you, but you can't do this. Like ever again. I'm already contemplating ways to make you suffer before I end your sorry life, but then I have to run the firm on my own and that makes even more work for me. Which could be the only thing that spares you from sudden demise."
"Was having lunch with an accomplished, nice-looking guy such a travesty? Because I bet it wasn't."
Nice-looking? Accomplished? Beth was glad there was no one video-taping her expression right now, because it had to be a beaut. "Mere, the guy was a goon. Literally. A zombie-look-alike and I'm not exaggerating one bit. What were you thinking?" She clicked on the surreptitious pic she'd taken of the guy in profile. "In fact the term 'goon' might be an insult to goons everywhere. See for yourself."
RUTHY BACK: Okay, that's the idea of what I'm thinking that would accomplish your purpose and the super-cute set-up but get rid of the clutter... and give you a little room for Beth's introspection.
And just so youse know, we're having a SALE ON DARTS today... :)
In case anyone finds the need to throw some.
Robin, this made me laugh out loud! :) How fun! You know, I was reading what Ruthy said about maybe actually showing some of this date, maybe where she ditches him. And I was wondering if you do that, if maybe the hero could be there to see it (assuming this is a romance). Is he someone she already knows or someone who could be in the scene to see the disaster date? It could make her even more mortified. :)
DeleteRobin, I like your beginning. It's fast and cute. Perhaps combine some of the action so the dialogue takes front stage. I think Ruthy thought there was too much to focus on instead of the wonderful sister-to-sister conversation.
DeleteI see this as a Hallmark movie! Something I want to watch Saturday night. Good job!
PS: Does the hero work at the office? If so, he could poke his head in, which would tie in with what Missy said. Just musing here...
Ava's Cottage
ReplyDelete“You're still a good looking woman, Mom. You could date if you wanted to.”
At her 22 year-old daughter's words, many thoughts flitted through Ava's mind. She wasn't sure which of your daughter's assumptions to tackle first. Was her so-called attractiveness in comparison to what she like like at 20? At 40? Did her daughter mean that men were more attracted by looks than substance? And what in her life made her daughter think that her mother needed a man? Ava smiled at her thoughts and tackled the easiest assumption.
“Still?”
“Oh, Mom. You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don't.”
“Who was it who said that men see better than they think? A man sees a good looking woman and he's hooked even if she's dumb as dirt.”
Ava raised and eyebrow and looked at her daughter. “At first I thought we were just being ageist, but we've also turned sexist— and I get the feeling that we're no longer talking abut me.”
“Yes, that scumbag Derick dumped me, but don't change the subject. We're talking about you, not me.”
“Libby, I appreciate your taking an interest in my life, but a romantic relationship is not something I especially miss.” Ava wanted to add, and look at the mess of your love life, but she wisely refrained.
“You've never had a romatic relationship to miss. Not only was Dad too old for you to start with, but he was ill for most of your marriage. Let's face it, Dad was a good guy, but he didn't have a romantic bone in his body. And you were a foxy babe. You could have had anybody.”
“No, I couldn't.” A what-might-have-been moment almost caught hold, but Ava quickly sent her thoughts elsewhere, as she had learned to do, had even become quite adept at through years of practice. She stopped what she was doing. How did one make someone else understand that love came in many different forms?
Carolyn, I think you've got a great start here. There is something missing, though, and that's setting. I see two people having the conversation, but where are they? What are they doing besides talking? Are they in the kitchen, cutting up potatoes? Or are they shopping at the mall? Are they alone or in a crowded room where, perhaps, Ava's daughter saw a man looking at her mother or vice versa? Ground us into the scene right away by letting the reader know what's going on in the background. I, for one, would love to where this story is headed.
DeleteCarolyn, I really like the mother-daughter dynamic! Some fun dialogue. But I agree with Mindy that it could really use some anchoring or maybe some sort of action along with the dialogue. I love the idea of a good looking man being nearby, maybe acting interested in Ava. :)
DeleteThank you. I appreciate your time and your suggestions.
DeletePutting on my big girl britches and sharing the prologue of my first novel attempt, Beside Still Waters. Thanks in advance for feedback!
ReplyDeleteSnowden Lake, a Sunday afternoon in late August
The rusty spring of the screened door squeaked noisily, groaning as it stretched. Released, the weathered wood clapped against the doorframe. Late afternoon sunlight peeked through the trees casting random shadows on the painted concrete.
Usually, she would pause and take in the beauty of the moment. Not this time. Her eyes followed the water’s edge and settled on four teenaged girls, walking slowly in her direction. Even to a casual observer, it was evident the girls were unaware of anything outside their immediate world; but she wasn’t a casual observer.
She slowly lowered herself in a weathered rocking chair, pushed aside a stray wisp of silver hair and smoothed her colorful apron. Her heart was heavy, burdened. While she could not change the situation, Elizabeth did the one thing she could do: she closed her eyes and bowed her head.
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