Category Archives: First page critiques

First page critique: QUEST FOR HONOR

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by Joe Moore

Today’s first-page critique is from a story called QUEST FOR HONOR. My comments follow.

July 2011

Somalia

​Every night, he saw the children. No matter how tired he was, no matter how preoccupied he was from the events of the day, no matter anything, he dreamed. And in his dreams, they came for him. Their eyes were filled with pain and supplication, and behind them was always a shadow, looming in the back, dark and menacing, and sometimes he could hear its wicked laughter, smell its fetid breath.

​On this hot night, he woke up screaming. “No! Save them! Save them!” Bolting upright suddenly, the bedclothes fell away from him, drenched with his sweat. He was panting. The shadow had gotten close to him, as the children milled around, and he felt its cold tendrils snaking around him, drawing him closer…

There was a knock at the door, then a muffled voice.

“Yusuf! Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer, and the door edged open. The face that peered in was that of Amir, his most trusted lieutenant. Did the man never sleep? “Are you ill, Yusuf? May I get you anything?”

​In his bed, the man shook his head, banishing the last wisps of the faces, knowing they would be back, perhaps as soon as he nodded off again. “Thank you, Amir, but I am fine. A bad dream, that is all.”

​“Shall I prepare some hot tea? It often helps me sleep.”

​Yusuf started to object, but said, “That would be good. Please, bring it to the library, and join me.”

He rose and pulled on a dry robe, switching on the light. The lone overhead bulb sputtered but stayed on. At least the electricity was running, he thought. Otherwise it would be candles and lanterns, as it was some nights. How could this truly be part of the land of Allah’s people if it could not consistently provide even the bare necessities? Ah, but what necessities are we thinking of, Yusuf reminded himself. The ones you enjoyed back in America, at university? Or the ones the true believers scraped and scavenged for every day, here in the barren countryside, the crowded cities, that made up the lands of the Prophet, blessings be upon him?

I’m not a big fan of opening a book with a dream, but this does set the stage for drama. The writer has a good command of storytelling. I have a suspicion that this is going to be an emotionally charged tale. There’s not much I find to critique here. Some unneeded use of adverbs and extra wording. A bit of cleanup can cure that. But overall, a good start. Here are a few suggested line edits.

Avoid passive voice. Change “Their eyes were filled with pain and supplication…” to “Pain and supplication filled their eyes…” Change “…and behind them was always a shadow, looming in the back, dark and menacing…” to “a shadow, dark and menacing, loomed behind them…”

Avoid run-on sentences. “Their eyes were filled with pain and supplication, and behind them was always a shadow, looming in the back, dark and menacing, and sometimes he could hear its wicked laughter, smell its fetid breath.” to “Pain and supplication filled their eyes, and a shadow, dark and menacing, loomed behind them. Sometimes he heard its wicked laughter, smelled its fetid breath.”

Avoid adverbs and unneeded words. For example: “Bolting upright suddenly, the his bedclothes fell away from him…”

Avoid confusion. “Did the man never sleep?” is Yusuf’s interior thought yet the reader might feel it is Amir who thinks it. Place it in italics. Then start a new paragraph with “Are you ill, Yusuf?”

Avoid unneeded words. Change “In his bed, the man shook his…” to “Yusuf shook his head…” We already know he is in bed.

Avoid simultaneous actions that are not simultaneous. Change “He rose and pulled on a dry robe, switching on the light.” to “He rose, pulled on a dry robe, and switched on the light.”

I think this is a good first draft. A little editing would make it tight and crisp. I would definitely keep reading. Thanks to the author for submitting this first-page sample. Good luck.

How about you guys? Would you turn to page 2 or move on?

First Page Critique – Brueghel the Elder (Pros/Cons of Using First Person)

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We have another first page anonymous submission from an intrepid author. My comments on the flip side.

 

 

Brueghel The Elder

My name is Lucas.  Lucas M Steiner.  My friends of course never pass up the opportunity to use it.  “LUKE, I’M YOOR FAHTHER.”  I cannot describe in words how much I have come to loathe that line.  Don’t misunderstand.  I thought the movie was great—just like everybody else.  But after you’ve heard the same joke a thousand times the charm wears thin.  And invariably they say it as if they were the first person to have thought of it.  The last impresario of impish wit went so far as to put his head inside of a metal trashcan to get that much-coveted “voice of god” effect.  He then walked smack into the edge of a swinging kitchen door and landed square on his ass.  He leaned back against the wall and remained there the rest of the evening.  I don’t go to parties so much anymore.  Suffice it to say, the Force has not been with me.

 

​At one time in my life I thought things would be different.  At one time I thought I would be tenured, published, renowned, and happily on my way to a well endowed retirement by now. Instead I am here telling you this story.  Things didn’t work out as I had planned.  Who knew?
 

​I wanted to teach.  Specifically, I wanted to teach art.  During my post-graduate years at the school—you’ve heard of it but it doesn’t matter as they are all somewhat similar—I had the opportunity to teach an art history class.  Several, in fact.   I loved art.  I loved the making of it.  

 

I loved the history of it.  And I loved teaching it and if I was good enough and  lucky enough I may have imparted a little of that love to some of those previously unimpressed minds full of mush.

 

​My schedule was pretty agreeable.  It consisted of an hour and a half lecture twice a week and office hours on class days.  I taught a survey course—sort of a “greatest hits” list of the marquee masters.  The remainder of my time was spent on research.

 

 

My thoughts:

I love the intimacy of first person point of view. I became more aware of the effectiveness of this kind of narrative after getting hooked on Young Adult books, but recently I’ve seen more suspense authors (for adult crime fiction) doing this with success, so much so that I’m trying it myself with my latest project. It is very tempting to follow the stream of consciousness of a strong character to hear their story in your head, but an author should still be aware of what will entice a reader to stay tuned and keep turning pages.

 

Advantages of First POV:

1.) First person is easier to write (if you get the whole stream of consciousness thing going where you don’t filter yourself much) and it can help you flesh out the character – a good exercise even if you write in third POV.

 

2.) There is an immediate connection and intimacy to a first person POV voice. It is a blast to write. Even if you are writing in third and come across a bad writing day where nothing works, try writing your character’s diary and see what I mean. It can jumpstart your creativity.

 

3.) Writing in first person creates a clear perspective and a more linear plot involving the same character in every scene, but you better love that character—and make the reader love him/her too.

 

 

Challenges of First POV:

1.) If you choose to stay in first POV only, you must stick in the head of the character and plot the book from only things they can see. By doing this, you may give up some ability to manipulate your plot for mystery elements through secondary characters or foreshadow the workings of a villainous mind. Your character can only know what they have seen through your plot. This can be a limitation. I mix first with third POV to keep all my flexibility and tag the start of every scene where the main character is in first person so the reader can easily follow, but this method may not suit every author.

 

2.) The gender of the character can be a challenge if you do not identify your character, as the author did here with a name. He/she pronouns aren’t used, so you should find a way to indicate early on which gender is speaking before the reader gets too far along with an idea.

 

3.) The biggest challenge is not slipping into the “tell” mode, rather than the “show” mode in a first person narrative. This submission falls in that category where the lure of the narrator appeals for a while, but when nothing really happens in the critical first paragraphs, the reader’s mind may stray. Give the character something to do that will showcase his nature and attitude so the reader sees why he is a star in your story.

 

4.) Setting the scene can be a challenge in the first person. You have to “see” the surroundings and convey them through your character’s eyes, using the same attitude and flavor of their voice, without being obvious that you are “setting the stage” with an inventory or checklist.

 

Comments on the Submission:

1.) I tend to like a more distinctive first line to start a story, something more memorable, or something that might foreshadow what’s to come, or say something more about Luke than his first name.

 

2.) I was lured into the story for the first paragraph, but the weight of that paragraph (with nothing going on except one incident at a party and a Star Wars schtick on the perils of being called Luke) had my mind starting to drift toward the end. The last few lines of that paragraph were the first indicator that he was at a particular party and justify why he doesn’t go to parties anymore. It might be more interesting to me if Luke shared the reason he wasn’t a party animal, and how that might relate to the rest of the story as to why his life didn’t work out, but that could just be me.

 

3.) This intro quickly turned into back story dump. The author should focus on creating a “Defining Scene” for Luke by showing us who he is, similar to Johnny Depp in his Pirates movies. In that first scene, Depp does something that will be memorable while also revealing something of his nature. In one nutshell, a moviegoer will know who Capt Jack Sparrow is.

 

4.) In writing first POV, an author can get so invested in their character, that they can’t edit  out what need to go to keep the pace moving. Therefore the actions of the character must dictate what’s important, with a peppering of the character’s thoughts added for seasoning/spice.

 

5.) The title needs work, but perhaps this is only a working title. Without knowing what the story is about, the significance of the title doesn’t stick with me.

 

What do you think, TKZers? Our daring author could use good feedback to help improve the intro.

 

 

First Page Critique: THE CIRCLE

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Today we have a first page from a story called THE CIRCLE. My comments follow.

***

Leigh looked up from her mum’s casket, concentrating on the slatted, pitched ceiling of the church. The familiar voice of the chaplain droned on from the pulpit and she focused not his words, which would surely undo her, but to the soothing and steady cadence. She held the back of her forefinger to her nose, wincing as she touched the swollen, chapped skin.

Reaching in her handbag for a tissue, her searching fingers settled on the age-softened newspaper article her mum had given her just two days ago. A jolt fired through her stomach and she yanked her hand out and clenched her palms in her lap, her fingers twining together until her knuckles blanched.

What had they been like?

The unspoken question itself felt traitorous. A glance to her left confirmed that her dad—that is, the only man she’d ever known as a father—was sitting upright, only the sparkling reflection on his cheeks belied his stoic figure.

Leigh took a steadying breath. Today she would ask Uncle Pete about the article. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if she could spot him in the pews but her attention was caught by a man near the door in plain green Barrack Dress, staring at her.

She turned around to face forward again, her brow puckered. The military uniform must mean he was a friend of her dad. But surely the man was too young? Her dad had retired from the service when she was a baby. And the man had rudely not looked away when she’d held his gaze.

She turned to look again, but now there was only empty space where he’d stood.

###

Leigh found Uncle Pete at the reception back at the house. He was loading a plate from the buffet of casseroles and cakes in the dining room. When he saw her, he set it down and held out a hand. As she hugged him, he tucked her head under his chin.

“Hey little bit,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Your mum was one of a kind.”

Leigh relaxed into his embrace, hitching in a stuttering sigh. Though they weren’t related, she’d called him uncle as long as she could remember. And now he might be the only one who could help her. “Can I talk to you alone?”

***

My comments: I like the premise the writer establishes in this first page. We immediately know that the narrator is going through multiple crises–her mother has just died, and she just learned that the parents she has always known are not her real parents. There’s also a hint of military intrigue to come. This is a good opening situation.

In general, the writing here is strong enough to keep me reading. I would suggest some tweaking to make it even stronger. I put my specific suggestions in bold red.



Leigh looked up from her mum’s casket, concentrating on the slatted, pitched ceiling of the church. The familiar voice of the chaplain 
(Perhaps mention the chaplain by name, if he’s familiar?) droned on from the pulpit. She  
(I think this sentence is stronger if broken up) focused not on 
(Missing preposition inserted here) his words, which would surely undo her, but to the soothing and steady cadence. 
(After inserting the missing ‘on’, the combination with ‘to’ doesn’t read well. Might need to rewrite this sentence)
 She held the back of her forefinger to her nose, wincing as she touched the  swollen, chapped skin. 

(This sounds stronger to me without the ‘the’. Also, the first sentence of the paragraph already has a gerund clause. Try to vary the structure of sentences in every paragraph as much as possible, to punch up the rhythm.)

Reaching in her handbag for a tissue, her searching fingers settled on the age-softened newspaper article her mum had given her just two days ago. 
(Another gerund clause, plus there are two “ing” words in the same sentence. As writers, we all tend to overuse one type of structure, punctuation, or phrasing in our first drafts. This writer might want to check for the overuse of ‘ing’ throughout the manuscript.)
A jolt fired through her stomach and she yanked her hand out and clenched her palms in her lap, her fingers twining together until her knuckles blanched.  
(Here, there are too many actions in one sentence: jolt, yank, clench, twine, and blanch. Consider breaking this sentence up to strengthen the flow.)

What had they been like?  
(I put this in italics to indicate inner thought. This sentence was a bit jarring to me as I read it. It might have worked better if we’d gotten some clue about what was in the newspaper. Perhaps the narrator could glance down and register a word from the headline, a picture, or something that would set up her internal question.)

The unspoken question itself felt traitorous.  
(This sentence felt slightly awkward to me.)   
A glance to her left confirmed that her dad—that is, the only man she’d ever known as a father—was sitting upright. Only the sparkling 
(ING Alert. Break up this sentence to make it stonger. Also, ‘sparkling” didn’t convey tears to me on the first read) reflection on his cheeks belied his stoic figure. 
(“Belied his stoic figure” seems stiff, somewhat Churchillian. It doesn’t match the tone of the rest of the piece.)

Leigh took a steadying breath. Today she would ask Uncle Pete about the article. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if she could spot him in the pews but her attention was caught by a man near the door in plain green Barrack Dress, staring at her.  
(ING Alert. And again, there are too many actions in one sentence. Separate the man’s action to distinguish it from hers.)

She turned around to face forward again, her brow puckered.  
(This might just be me, but I don’t like the word ‘puckered’. I think it’s because I read so many manuscripts that overdo facial and hand tics.) 
The military uniform must mean he was a friend of her dad. But surely the man was too young? Her dad had retired from the service  when she was a baby. 
(It might be stronger to mention the name of the Service. Specific descriptions give the reader hints about your characters’ backgrounds, and adds authenticity to your writing) 
 And the man had rudely not looked away when she’d held his gaze.
(Why is this  rude? Wasn’t she staring at him as well? “Rudely not looked away” is slightly awkward, as well. )

She turned to look again, but now there was only empty space where he’d stood.

###

Leigh found Uncle Pete at the reception back at the house. He was loading a plate from the buffet of casseroles and cakes in the dining room. When he saw her, he set it down and held out a hand. As she hugged him, he tucked her head under his chin.

“Hey Little Bit,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Your mum was one of a kind.”

Leigh relaxed into his embrace, hitching in a stuttering sigh. 
(ING Alert) 
Though they weren’t related, she’d called him uncle as long as she could remember. And now he might be the only one who could help her. “Can I talk to you alone?” 
(The formatting of the paragraph detracts from the tension of the scene, and it’s slightly unclear who is asking the question.  It might be stronger if you show her voicing a muffled question into the wool of his jacket, or something like that.

***

Overall: I made a lot of suggestions for this page, but the fixes are all fairly minor, and easily made. This is a manuscript that seems very promising to me. It just needs a polish and some tweaking to get it to the next level. The writer should examine the rest of the manuscript for some of the issues we’ve discussed.

Thank you for submitting this page, Writer! Well done, and keep going with this story!

TKZ’ers, do you have any suggestions or anything you’d like to add?

First page critique: ARCTIC FIRE

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By Joe Moore
@JoeMoore_writer

Here is today’s first page critique. My thoughts follow the text.

ARCTIC FIRE

Ben was excited. It would be his first year as a full time counselor at scout camp, a hard to get position he’d dreamed of since first attending as a Tenderfoot four years earlier. His brother Ian, three years younger, was a First Class scout attending his second camp and seemed proud of his brother’s position.  Ian would only be at Gorsuch for a week while Ben would be there for two months. Ben hoped to give his brother something to attain to.

Ben was an exemplary scout, a member of the Order of Arrow. At fifteen he was within six months of earning his Eagle Scout rank. Only ten percent of all scouts complete the demanding path to Eagle. It had been hard work and he was going to complete it a full eighteen months ahead of schedule.

After two sessions of the National Youth Leadership Training School at Camp Denali he knew how to lead boys. He was aware of not only how to teach them the skills every scout should know, but knew how to prepare for any emergency he could think of, how to keep them safe on campouts and hikes, how to perform advanced first aid and wilderness survival.

And to top it all off, maybe most important for many of the scouts in his charge, Ben Sanders knew how to tell stories. It was a skill he had learned from his father whose skill at filling the boys imaginations with visions of mountain trolls, sea spirits and brave warriors was amazing.  The only props his father used for his tales were a ratty old gray wool blanket and his story stick.

The well-worn birch walking stick had been made about the time Ben was born. Carved images of bears, wolves and eagles decorated the shaft just below the handle, worn smooth and shiny by his father’s own grasp, the oil and sweat of his palm rubbing the white wood to a sheen as if it had been polished and rubbed with varnish.  And now, his father was handing the stick to him.

There’s not much to say about this. Unfortunately, it’s all backstory. Nothing happens. There is no story question, no tension, no suspense, no crisis (physical, mental or spiritual). I have no idea what the story is about other than a well-worn birch walking stick may be involved. Aside from instances of passive voice, the writing is clean, mature, and matter of fact. But there is no grab, no hook, no reason for me to keep reading.

Good luck to the author and thanks for submitting to TKZ.

First-page critiques at TKZ

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We’re delighted to announce the launch of first-page critiques as a regular feature here at TKZ! You can send us the first page of your manuscript, and we’ll critique it.

Here’s how it works: Send us the first page (400 words max) of your manuscript in an email or as a Word attachment, along with the title, to the email address killzoneblog at gmail dot com. We’ll take the first 30 submissions we receive, then announce when we’re accepting submissions again. The pages will be divvied up among the Zoners for review. We’ll post the pages on recurrent Thursdays, along with a critique. Readers will be able to comment as well. Note: Critiques are done anonymously–writers‘ names will not be posted, and reviewers will not know who authored their assigned pages.

In years past we’ve had great fun doing this exercise! We’re looking forward to reading some of your pages!

RAILS Critique

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RAILS: First Page Critique
Enoch grumbled through his mustache. His head jerked left and right, looking for a parking spot around Canaan Height’s town hall. Deputy Hollis Wolford stepped into the street, flashing the flat of his hand, slowing us to a stop.

“Head over to the church’s lot. Ain’t no parking here.”

Tobacco juice stained a corner of Hollis’s mouth, his finger barreling toward the Methodist church. I couldn’t help but focus on his lazy eye, the right one. When he looked toward the church, the eye drifted elsewhere.

“Have to wonder how he got into the sheriff’s department,” I said after we parked. I grabbed a fan, the one with Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane. I didn’t expect it to help, being July and with hot-heads gathering at the hall.

Enoch rushed me along the sidewalk. “C’mon, woman. We’re missing the Ol’ Time Bloomers Raiders.”

“Pshaw. They haven’t sung any new songs since John Polk passed two years ago.”

He steered me around a cluster of men milling near the door. “Airplane crashes killed many a great song writer. Buddy Holly, Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas,” he said.

A row of chairs showed two vacant seats. Helen Lipscomb sat in front of them. I took a deep breath before surging ahead. “At least John made a respectable exit. The others could learn from him.”

We clambered through a line of legs, offering “Excuse mes” and “Pardon mes.” Enoch settled in his seat as I leaned over and whispered in Helen’s ear.

“Who’s minding the restaurant?”

Perspiration beaded on her forehead. “Laurel. Thought you’d be here. Deloris’s running things. Hopefully, not into the ground.” Years of smoking gave her a raspy voice. She chuckled at her own joke, causing a coughing spasm.

“Fat chance. With this crowd here, your daughter’s probably sitting alone.”

Her nose sniffed the air. “They paint the hall recently?”

Paint cans and drop cloths gathered at the platform’s base, left by careless caretakers. I tilted my head in their direction. “As they say, ‘A good paint job covers a multitude of tales.’”

“If that’s true, more than the hall needs painting.”

My Critique
Overall, the author’s voice is unique and I can picture a western setting here. However, I need more thoughts and identity on the main character. Establish that the protagonist is a female right up front. I’d like to be in her head and learn her attitude toward this meeting. And what’s she wearing? Have her smooth down her dress or skirt or whatever.

Also, the setting isn’t clear. Is this modern day or the past? Western U.S.? You’ve established that it’s July, so that’s good.

Now for some particulars:
In the first paragraph, you have Enoch’s head jerking around and then looking for something. Change sentence to read: He jerked his head…

Then you change viewpoints with the Deputy. Start a new paragraph there.

Slowing us to a stop? Who’s us? The viewpoint character is unclear.
Better to read like this:

Enoch grumbled through his mustache. He jerked his head left and right, looking for a parking spot around Canaan Height’s town hall.

Deputy Hollis Wolford stepped into the street, flashing the flat of his hand, slowing us to a stop.
“Head over to the church’s lot. Ain’t no parking here.” Tobacco juice stained a corner of Hollis’s mouth, his finger barreling toward the Methodist church.

I couldn’t help but focus on his lazy eye, the right one. When he looked toward the church, the eye drifted elsewhere.

<><><>

I like the speaker (Relation to Enoch?) grabbing a fan and the references to July and the hot heads in the town hall. Oh, then we find out she’s a woman. Make this clear up front.

You don’t need the “he said” in the paragraph beginning with “He steered.” It’s clear who is speaking: “…Cowboy Copas,” he said.

Careless caretaker: Can you change the adjective?

<><><>

In general, it’s an interesting start but I think the action skips ahead a little too much with not enough setup regarding the protagonist or the location. Sometimes we’re a bit too eager to get to the action. In this case, I’d rather you slow down and show me more insights into who these people are and where they are.

First Page Critique: Shopping Can Be Deadly (& Fun)

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by Jordan Dane

I am still chuckling over this delightful submission. It felt like a cross between Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum (a guy version) and a lite tongue-in-cheek rendition of Robert Crais’s Elvis Cole. (Elvis has some pretty funny schtick.) See you on the flip side for my critique and I would love to hear what you think too, TKZers.
SHOPPING CAN BE DEADLY
Detective Rule #13: Treat every case like it’s your first case, especially if it is.

I checked my watch and then the wet windshield.  A twenty-eight-year-old vivacious woman crossed the street.  She was my client, Mrs. Ellen Donefield.   Eleven o’clock and she was right on time.  Her ash blonde hair was covered by a red scarf, her highly pilates-ized body was covered with St. Somebody’s fashions and her back was covered by me, Guy Graff, a twenty-seven year old private investigator on his first case.

Yesterday, in my office she told me that for the past two weeks she had been followed while shopping in Beverly Hills and hired me to find out who it was.  She didn’t feel threatened but she wanted him stopped.    

The expensive streets in Beverly Hills were filled with bustle and haste on this Valentine’s Day buying posh presents and keeping out of the rain.  I got out of my ’94 Tercel and glanced around the soaked street.  I wasn’t the only one watching my client.  A dark haired man, with a deep tan and dressed in a brown plaid suit fit Mrs. Donefield’s description.   And yes, he was definitely watching that body too.  I felt professional, finding my man right away.

Mr. Plaid looked directly at me, checked his watch, then turned his gaze back to Juicy Couture the boutique Mrs. Donefield had just entered.  I knew this guy had no idea of who I was but to look inconspicuous, I also looked at my watch and tapped my foot as if waiting for my girlfriend.  Little did he know Janice broke up with me two months ago.  She didn’t believe my new business venture would generate a large income.  So far, she was right. 

Mrs. Donefield emerged from the store after a few minutes of shopping.  I watched her out of the corner of my eye.  Too busy waiting for my pretend girlfriend, I didn’t notice that the Mr. Plaid was gone. 

Detective Rule #3:  You can lose a sock when doing laundry but don’t lose the guy stalking your client.

Critique

Okay, by the end of this book, I can see the author doing an anthology on all the “Guy” rules, the “World according to Graff.” All anyone would need is a Craig’s list ad and they’d be in the PI business. This has a classic PI feel to it, but it’s updated with the appealing wit of the author. I definitely want to read more of this story.

The first line pulled me out a little. “I checked my watch and then the wet windshield.” The wet windshield might be a way for the author to comment on the weather, but it struck me as odd that anyone watching a vivacious woman (and client) would notice the drops of rain on the windshield, especially on their first case.

In the first paragraph, the words “on his first case” are redundant after the very funny Rule #13. I’m sure this clever author can think of many ways to get this across another way, like “a twenty-seven year old private investigator with a newly minted license with the ink still wet and a week old ad on Craig’s list.”

“…her highly pilates-ized body was covered with St. Somebody’s fashions and her back was covered by me, Guy Graff…” This is a very funny way to introduce the first person POV character, without the reader waiting too long to know who the voice is. (I love the character name too.)

This sentence should be broken apart or revised since the subject—streets—cannot buy posh gifts. “The expensive streets in Beverly Hills were filled with bustle and haste on this Valentine’s Day buying posh presents and keeping out of the rain.” The streets can be filled with bustle and haste (I like that description), but a secondary subject needs to be added to make this grammatically correct. Also, the word “expensive” when describing the word “streets” is a miss for me too. The “shops” are expensive, unless streets in Beverly Hills are made of gold, which they might be.

“’94 Tercel” – Priceless! Nuff said.

“Little did he know Janice broke up with me two months ago.  She didn’t believe my new business venture would generate a large income.  So far, she was right.” This little aside by Guy is so funny. The author jabs in a touch of back story, but does it with humor that also reflects on Guy. He thinks he’s being clever with his toe tapping “technique.” I love this.

The way this submission ended is priceless too. “Too busy waiting for my pretend girlfriend, I didn’t notice that the Mr. Plaid was gone.  Detective Rule #3:  You can lose a sock when doing laundry but don’t lose the guy stalking your client.” I love how the author spells out Rule #3 by starting with losing a sock in the laundry. This not only makes the character very relatable, but it endears him to the reader as well.

Summary – First person POV works so well in this story. It’s classic PI, but the humor of this character shines through and the reader will want to stay in his head, especially if the funny rule making descriptions continue. It’s like Guy is making stuff up as he goes and these rules will come more from his mistakes than his successes. Each thought feels as if it comes straight out of Guy’s head and that not only reflects on what’s happening, but each line also shows his self-deprecating humor, his opinion of his surroundings, and his nature.

Whoever wrote this, thanks for the laugh and I wish you well! Great stuff. What did you think, TKZ?

DOG: First Page Critique

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This story shows the importance of making the reader care about your characters. Engage the reader right away and she’ll want to see what happens next. Tell her what’s happening without any emotional impact and she won’t care. Let’s see what you feel when you read this page.

DOG: FIRST PAGE CRITIQUE

Kathy Culbrennan probably wouldn’t have paid attention to the dog except that it was a cold day and threatening snow.

“Poor thing,” she murmured as she passed.

The German shepherd had been tied to the bike rack alongside the Strand Theater, the town’s only movie house. It followed her with mournful eyes, head on its paws, belly against the cold concrete, but didn’t offer to rise.

In the summer, dog owners often left their pets tied to the grating while they ran down the block to Horace Drugs or sometimes kids would tether their pets while they took in a movie. But on this day before Christmas Eve, winter had settled into the Rockies with a vengeance.

As an emergency nurse Kathy had seen unimaginable things, so many that this was barely a blip on the radar. Even kind folks could be thoughtless in surprising ways, especially if their mind were on other things. Still, leaving a pet tied up this way on such a frigid day seemed odd. She glanced back. Beautiful dog, classic black and tan markings. She hoped the owner returned soon.

The dog went out of mind as she cut across the town square to the Teapot Inn, a small brunch restaurant and the town’s go-to place for ladies who lunched. Today would be the last chance she and her two closest friends would have to get together before the new year.

Emilie Winthrop would be flying off to join her husband in London on Christmas Day, and Thane Margulies had planned a lengthy Mediterranean cruise so she wouldn’t have to face New Year’s Eve alone, having just broken up with husband number five or six, depending on how you counted.

The tearoom was almost empty and service quick as the ladies laughed their way through soup, salad, and a hearty blackberry/chicory tea that Del, the owner, had brought back from her last trip to Mumbai. Emilie, the oldest member of the group and a decorator, handed out remembrances of small golden knight statuettes done up in sprigs of holly and thin red ribbon.

My Critique

I am engaged in this story right away and feel sorry for the German Shepherd. Kathy is a sympathetic character who cares about the dog, at least initially. It may be a little harsh to say “this was barely a blip on the radar,” but she does hope the dog’s owner will return soon.

Could you add in the town after Strand Theater? I’m wondering where this takes place.

Regarding the last two paragraphs, I’d rather learn this info through dialogue. Can you have the friends in conversation reveal tidbits of backstory? Even if you want to get past the lunch date quickly to get back to the dog, as I suspect, a quick conversation here would be more interesting on revealing character than just telling us about her friends and having them laugh their way through the meal. And you might have Kathy peering out the window, worrying about the dog who is still there.

As a reader, I am intrigued by the story and care about what happens. Good job!

Limit the Exposition in Your Opening Pages

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James Scott Bell
Twitter.com/jamesscottbell


Since I am the resident zombie fiction guy, the first page I’ve been given for critique is, not surprisingly:
Z.O.M.B.I.E. Squad:  Hot ZOMBIE Nights
Jaz surveyed the semi-dark alley after escaping from her BMW. Drat. ZOMBIES. Not what she needed at the moment. How would she explain this to her new boyfriend?  Not the ZOMBIES per se, but the fact that this would be the third time this week that she’d bailed on dinner with him. Well, if he was a quality catch, he’d let her make it up to him, if not, there were other non-ZOMBIES out there in the world. Right?
There was a screech of metal on metal, as one of the ZOMBIEs dragged something along the side of her M3, and it would definitely leave a mark.  Ok, “drat” just officially became “double-damn” the minute both her love life and her car became casualties. Being undercover with ZOMBIE International Technologies was never easy. Often it downright stunk, just like this alley. It always seemed to be us or them and just a street away from normal. Whoever thought that all aliens were smarter and more techno-savvy, never met a pod-ZOMBIE.
The pod-Zs looked almost as unearthly as they were. Jaz could see their sallow, waxy faces as they stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Light-colored images of the humans they might have been. Ok, maybe she could see why someone who didn’t know better might think they were just the walking. Jaz’s chest heaved a bit as she took in one, deep, cleansing breath. It was warm, wet, and tasted a bit like the Cuban carne asada she’d planned on having for dinner. She sighed as she pulled the transonic pen-dart from her bra: her $100 Dior Du jour, lace alternative, super-sexy, continental blue bra, with matching underwear. Yes, they did match her Beemer perfectly. That should say something about the level of clothing perfection and date desirability she had worked so hard for as she prepared to meet up with 3DP-vid god, Wylie Taylor.
It pained her to risk her Dior bra by using it as a weapon holder, but without stockings, there were few choices to secure a pen-sized super weapon and keep it accessible.
****
Paranormal fiction. Zombies. You have to build a world, and that’s what the writer is attempting to do here, plus give us exposition to boot. And the instincts are good: weave the exposition within the action.
However, this opening is weighted too heavily on the informational (notice how “blocky” the text is on the page). It’s a common mistake made because the writer feels the reader has to be clued in to a lot of background before he can understand what’s going on.
Almost always a wrong choice. Because readers will wait a long timefor explanations so long as something is happening that is disturbing.
This first page delivers a great opening disturbance. To make it even more effective, let the action be primary and drop exposition in later, a bit at a time.
To show you what I mean, here is the opening rendered with just the action sentences:
Jaz surveyed the semi-dark alley after escaping from her BMW. There was a screech of metal on metal, as one of the ZOMBIEs dragged something along the side of the M3.
She could see their sallow, waxy faces as they stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. Light-colored images of the humans they might have been. 
She sighed as she pulled the transonic pen-dart from her bra.
***
I am much more in this scene now. I want to keep reading. I want to know what that thing in her bra does.
The author has me hooked, and can begin to drop in exposition as needed. But keep it brief. The next lines might be:
Being undercover with ZOMBIE International Technologies was never easy. Often it downright stunk, just like this alley.  
Then get back to the action. Then later the stuff about the boyfriend. More action. And so on.
Also, I’d cut: The pod-Zs looked almost as unearthly as they were. This is a “tell” just before the “show” of the next sentence. The latter creates a picture for the reader, who can then draw his own conclusion.
I like the voice that is “lurking” here. But it sounds “once removed,” e.g. in this line: That should say something about the level of clothing perfection and date desirability she had worked so hard for as she prepared to meet up with 3DP-vid god, Wylie Taylor.
This is the author commenting on Jaz, not something from Jaz herself. I wonder if the author might consider turning this into a First Person narration. Then the fun aspects of the voice could come out more naturally, e.g.:
I pulled the transonic pen-dart from my $100 Dior Du jour, lace alternative, super-sexy, continental blue bra, with matching underwear. Matched my Beemer, too. But this was about date desirability. Hard work, but then again it was 3DP-vid god Wylie Taylor I was going to meet up with.
If I ever got away from these Zs.
That’s just a suggestion, something to consider. You can achieve pretty much the same effect in Third Person, but you should make sure the narration sounds like thoughts your character would actually think, and keep author commentary out of it.
I like this concept. Hey, fun zombie thrillers are my bag. So hook me with action in this first chapter and drop in only the exposition that is absolutely, positively necessary for the understanding of the scene.
It is much less than you think. And a much better start without it.

First Page Critique: DON’T SAY A WORD

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by Michelle Gagnon

Today’s first page critique submission is entitled, DON’T SAY A WORD. As Joe said yesterday, we’re accepting 350 words max of works in progress. We aim to provide an overall assessment of the work based on what we’ve learned through our own publishing experiences. We hope it will be helpful not just to the author of each work, but to all of our readers.

DON’T SAY A WORD

“All right, Marconni, see Valentino. There. Mickey’s the one in the red silk,” I said, pointing to the three gang members of the Valentino family gathered in the New York City Italian restaurant.

Assistant FBI Director John Marconni drew in a deep breath as we watched the surveillance feed. The lights inside glowed dim, and the closed sign appeared in the window with the red checkered curtains two hours ago. The last public patrons were long gone.

“They won’t be there long. Valentino doesn’t socialize well,” I said, running a hand over my neck, massaging the tight muscles.

Marconni nodded. “He’s not slipping out this time, Aiello.”

“You won’t take him alive,” I said, shaking my head, “he’ll never testify.”

I grimaced and felt adrenaline pumping into my system. At least at this hour, whatever went down, no more civilians would die at Valentino’s hands.

Marconni raised his hand and spoke into the mike. “Hold, Team one. Eyes open, Team two!”

I saw it.

Movement on the street caused Marconni’s hesitation.
A figure appeared out of the shadows and walked toward the restaurant. A woman, dressed to the nines, clingy red scrap-of-a-dress, four inch heels, body to die for. Long brown tresses cascaded to her waist. She fished in her purse for something.

“We got her, boss. She’s going in. Team two, hold position. We got a renegade on approach.”

My heart slammed into my chest.

She inserted keys into the lock and for a fraction of a second, as she opened the door to the Valentino hideout, the dim lights inside illuminated her face.

“You seeing this, Tony?” Marconni asked.

“I see it,” I growled, the recognition flooding into me, twisting my gut.

I watched as the woman walked over to Mickey Valentino. He pulled her into his arms and they embraced. Kissed. His hands roamed all over her, and I watched with revulsion as she responded to him.

“We gotta go in, Tony. I’m sorry,” Marconni whispered where only I could hear. Then he spoke into his mike, “Go, Team Two. Take ‘em alive. All of them.”

As an opening page, I really enjoyed this submission. The author does a good job of dropping the reader into the middle of a scene without an inordinate amount of exposition. The stage is set nicely for whatever is about to transpire.

I do wish that I was given a better sense of where the narrator is vis a vis the action; is he in a van? I assumed so, based on the surveillance feed line, but a single sentence of clarification would be helpful. What does it smell like inside the van? Maybe it reeks of take out, since they’ve been there for awhile. Perhaps our narrator is hungry, since he’s been stuck there for hours. Also a few lines about the restaurant, and/or the surrounding area. Is there anyone else outside? Is it summer, spring, fall? This is another opportunity to provide a few key details that really set the stage. I understand that it’s late; can he hear garbage trucks collecting trash from dumpsters? A few cabs sliding past on the nearly empty streets? Are homeless people dozing in nearby doorways?

And what does Marconni look like? Is he in a sharp or rumpled suit? Old, or young? Again, just adding in a sentence here or there to build a sense of what the characters look like and what they’re feeling would be helpful.

There’s a nice noir feel to this piece, and I think it would be great to expand on it a bit. But some of the phrasing is a bit trite: grimacing, heart slamming into my chest, adrenaline pumping into my system. These are all nice and descriptive, but a bit overused. I would aim for more subtlety, and coming up with a way to illustrate these sensations that is more original.

All in all, I would definitely keep reading. I’m curious to find out what the narrator’s relationship is to this woman, and to discover what’s about to happen in the restaurant. Well done.