First Page Critique – Digging Up the Dirt

by Debbie Burke

Today let’s welcome another Brave Author who submitted a first page for critique, genre described as “Comedic (Cosy – not so cosy) Crime.” Please read and enjoy then we’ll open the discussion.

Title: Digging up the dirt

‘Some secrets won’t stay buried.’ Myrtle’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile; there’s a malicious glee in her delivery.

Some secrets won’t stay buried — and I’m looking at the person most likely to make sure of it.

Her words land like a promise.

She’s itching to unearth what’s been hidden. To watch what crawls out and enjoy the look on everyone’s faces when it does.

She’s insane to believe that by betraying us she won’t expose herself.

Why couldn’t our investor, predator, blackmailer — call her what you like — have been Bob? Someone with the temperament of a Labrador, willing to please for a mere pat on his head.

Myrtle’s opportunistic and slippery as a catfish hauled from our Riviersvalleij river.

‘When did Constable Maritz take Sylvie away?’ I ask.

‘This morning.’ Her smile deepens.

I control the urge to slap her smug face; demand back the purloined shop keys and replace the locks.

She crams a fat wedge of Sylvie’s banana-bread into her mouth, then swigs back the dregs of a cappuccino. Both of which she’s helped herself to after letting herself into our shop.

I look around, spying the basket of homemade nougat wrapped in silvery cellophane, its ends twisted by Sylvie’s deft hands. The nougat has the same stretchiness as the Prestik that glues my scribbled genre labels on the shopworn bookshelves. Our combined distinctive minutiae are everywhere. How dare Myrtle think she’s welcome to claim part of our bookshop cafe.

It’s ours — mine and Sylvie’s.

Her earlier threatening suggestion that Sylvie’s doomed to spend time behind bars and I’ll be grateful for her help has lit an inferno inside me. The old me might have wilted, but she’s underestimated the power of our bond. If we’re going down, I’m bloody well dragging Myrtle with us.

Constable Maritz has carted Sylvie off to confiscate a sample of our dog food. Someone complained food isn’t fit for consumption.

This batch is to have ‘Happy belly – Healthy heart’ as a tagline. Sylvie’d conjured that up based on the resveratrol found in red wine. This time, the, shall I call it meat, lay marinating in a vat of wine for seven days. Let’s pray Sylvie didn’t claim the meat to be pork or horse, or whatever’s usually used in raw dog food. That would be a misrepresentation.

It’s the source of the meat that’s the problem.

It’ll land us in jail.

~~~

Kudos on a flash-bang first sentence! Great job beginning the scene in media res. The conflict is immediately shown without any backstory dump. Myrtle’s character is quickly established as gloating, threatening, and manipulative.

I suggest a slight rewrite:

‘Some secrets won’t stay buried.’ Myrtle’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile; there’s a with malicious glee in her delivery.

Some secrets won’t stay buried — and I’m looking at the person most likely to make sure they’re uncovered of it.

Repetition is not needed and dilutes the impact of the compelling first sentence.

The following line packs a lot into a few words:

“She’s insane to believe that by betraying us she won’t expose herself.”

This describes the situation (an apparent conspiracy), the stakes (if their secrets are exposed, they’re at risk), and a serious rift among characters. Good job! 

The voice is humorous and snarky with high tension lurking just below the surface. The author classified this story as “Comedic (Cosy – not so cosy) Crime” and that accurately nails the tone.

However, the next paragraph lost me.

“Why couldn’t our investor, predator, blackmailer — call her what you like — have been Bob? Someone with the temperament of a Labrador, willing to please for a mere pat on his head.”

Investor, predator, blackmailer is an excellent summation of Myrtle that explains her involvement.

But who the heck is Bob?

That distracted and confused me. My mind went off on a tangent wondering what role Bob plays and even thinking he might be the dog.

Then the focus shifts back to Myrtle who’s as “slippery as a catfish hauled from our Riviersvalleij river.” Wonderful description but it feels overdone, coming right on top of the comparison with the eager-to-please Lab.

At this point, the author needs to slow down a bit and let the reader catch a breath. Give them time to become grounded in this world.

Too much backstory slows pace, but too little confuses the reader.

I suggest cutting the paragraph about Bob and saving it for later. For now, keep the focus on Myrtle and the narrator.

The next paragraphs do a fine job of slipping in the setting without stopping the action, but tend to be a bit too complex in places.

“I control the urge to slap her smug face; demand back the purloined shop keys and replace the locks.”

That requires the reader to shift chronological gears mid-sentence. In the present, the narrator wants to slap her. In the past, it’s implied Myrtle has stolen the keys and let herself in. In the future, the narrator plans to change the locks.

Those details are good because they further build Myrtle’s character, as well as establish the narrator’s resentment. But I had to reread the sentence a couple of times to understand it. I suggest simplifying the chronology and getting rid of the semicolon.

Here’s another sentence that’s hard to comprehend: 

“Her earlier threatening suggestion that Sylvie’s doomed to spend time behind bars and I’ll be grateful for her help has lit an inferno inside me.”

I suggest breaking this into shorter sentences:

Myrtle’s threats light an inferno inside me. How dare she imply Sylvie could go to prison, then expect me to be grateful for her help? 

The next two sentences effectively summarize the narrator’s character, relationships, motivations, and goals:

“The old me might have wilted, but she’s underestimated the power of our bond. If we’re going down, I’m bloody well dragging Myrtle with us.”

Well done!

Then the author reveals a provocative detail: the mystery meat used to make dog food sold by the shop is illegal.

Hmm. I can’t help but think of the barbecue in Fried Green Tomatoes.

I’m curious about the setting. The use of single quotes for dialogue and the spelling of “cosy” signals British or Australian. “Prestik” is a rubber-based, reusable, adhesive putty made in South Africa. Eventually I’d like to know more about the location but the plot is intriguing enough that I’m willing to wait.

A dynamite first sentence grabs the reader’s attention. The situation unfolds quickly with blackmail, betrayal, and potential criminal charges. As a reader, I want to learn answers that may turn out to be gruesome.

Brave Author, I really enjoyed the dark, humorous tone of this page, but I suggest you slow down a bit and simplify some sentences. You pack in so much detail that, at times, it becomes overwhelming and a little confusing.

Overall, it’s well written and intriguing. 

Thanks for submitting!

~~~

TKZers: what is your impression of this first page? Do you want to dig deeper in the dirt?

~~~

 

“Authors of any genre will benefit by using this book to take a deeper dive into the antagonist of their story.” — James Scott Bell

“You will certainly find insight and inspiration to make your villains leap off the page and haunt your readers’ dreams.” – Christopher Vogler, The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers

 

 

Build multi-dimensional antagonists who fascinate and frighten readers in The Villain’s Journey – How to Create Villains Readers Love to Hate. 

Buy at Bookshop.org

Also in paperback and hardcover at 

Amazon

Barnes & Noble 

Reader Friday-May Day or No Pants Day?

From Wikipedia:

Now, be honest! Doesn’t this look like fun?

No Pants Day is an annual event in various countries that became more widely celebrated in the 2000s. It is most often observed on the first Friday in May and involves publicly wearing only undergarments on the lower part of the body, not nudity. Except for making people laugh, the holiday typically serves no other purpose or agenda, but some organizers later used it to raise social issues.”

(No agenda…how refreshing!)

May Day is a European festival of ancient origins marking the beginning of summer, usually celebrated on May 1…

International Workers’ Day, also called Labour Day in some countries and often referred to as May Day, is a celebration of labourers and working classes…and occurs every year on May 1 or the first Monday in May.”

* * *

So, TKZers, what’s your pleasure today? Would you rather celebrate May Day, International Workers’ Day, or No Pants Day?

Me? Hands down, No Pants Day, every day and twice on Sunday . . . way more fun than the other two!

 

Reader Friday-WordNerds Unite!

Good morning, and welcome to all my WordNerdy friends and family!

Quick question to get the fun ball rolling:

Can you add to this list?

(Credit for this meme goes to Chip MacGregor–saw it on his FB page, and almost snorted coffee!)

I did an internet search on “WordNerd”, and boy howdy, did I get some fun stuff to read.

Your turn…and, go!

 

 

Reader Friday-Let’s Talk Billets…

Okay, Killzoners, let’s be up front with each other…and have some fun while we’re at it.

 

Be it paper delivery, fast food shenanigans, kiddo-sitting, or shoveling out your neighbor’s chicken coop . . . what was your first paying billet (or J.O.B.)?

I like to think of my first job as the First Draft of My Life.

 

Remember these?

 

I was the advanced age of fourteen when I was hired in my mother’s office. I worked after school three days a week, filing real estate cards—way before the digital age—and answering the black dial phone. Not exciting, but I could start buying my own clothes!

 

We won’t talk about the other job I had . . . intermittently dog-sitting for our neighbor’s twin St. Bernards . . . actually, I don’t know to this day who was sitting who. (Whom?)

Two of them!

 

Your turn—what was your first experience with a paycheck (and, dare I say, taxes?)

And, second question: How has that first paying job influenced your writing–such as plot, character development, etc.?

 

 

Reader Friday-Dinner’s On!

As we approach the summer cookout season . . .

How many chefs do we have amongst this august group? Do you like to cook for your family or guests?

As I threw a casserole together on the fly (so to speak…) the other day, it occurred to me that cheffing styles are somewhat akin to writing styles. What in the wide world am I talking about?

Just this.

I am a Pantser Chef. Most of the time, I have no recipe, no plan, just the glimmer of an idea. Like my casserole.

This is me…sigh…

As I wondered what to fix for dinner that night, I thought of the boneless chicken thighs I had packaged in the freezer. I got them out, put them on the counter to thaw, then went about my day.

As dinner time approached, I looked at those thighs and wondered what to do with them. I decided to brown them. When they were done, I thought, “Now what?”. I opened the refrigerator and spied some carrots. Ah! Diced carrots!

Before you get bored with my culinary adventure, I’ll just say that when the casserole was released from the oven, it was a divine combination of pasta, chicken, Alfredo sauce, carrots, and Parmesan. As there are only two of us, it fed us for about 3-4 days…the perfect food creation in my book.

So, TKZers, the question for you today is: 

Are you a Pantser Chef like me? Or are you a Plotter Chef—do you always start with a detailed recipe and plan your whole day around that recipe?

 

 

Or, you might be a Plantser Chef—you have a recipe, but as you go, you substitute this for that and that for this until it’s your recipe, not someone else’s.

What say you?

Bonus Question: Does your cheffing style match your writing style, as mine does?

 

 

 

Reader Friday-The Hobby Horse

In honor of Good Friday, please share a hobby/activity you enjoy.

The only rule is this: it must have nothing to do with publishing or writing. Not to say your hobby/activity doesn’t feed your storytelling brain cells, but if you have one unrelated to writing, this is the day and the space to share it.

And . . . go!

Oh! Me first? You got it!

Target shooting’s my game–if it fires a bullet, I’ll try it.

 

Okay–your turn, TKZers. What do you do when you’re not writing/reading/editing/marketing?

 

 

 

 

Reader Friday-What’s In Your Bucket?

 

Let’s talk about buckets. Or, more specifically, bucket lists.

From Wikipedia:  “The term “bucket list” refers to a list of things a person wants to accomplish before they die, derived from the phrase “kick the bucket,” which is a euphemism for dying.

“Nuff said there, I think.

 

Next, what does your bucket look like?

The one above? Or this…? If you’ve got a lot left you want to do, this might be the one you need.

 

To the point, what’s in YOUR bucket that you want to accomplish before you move on to the next sphere?

 

 

Me: I hate flying, but when I was about 12, my friend’s dad was a pilot and owned a small plane. He took us up one day and flew around our small valley here in central Washington. At one point, he handed over the controls to me. And I’ve always wanted to do that again.

TKZers, it’s your turn. What’s inside that bucket you’ve been carrying around?

And, just because I couldn’t resist . . . isn’t she cute?

 

 

 

Reader Friday-Life Rewound

Entertaining question to kick around today.

If you could rewind your life to any age or year and relive it, what would it be?

I’ll go first. (Mine might have something to do with rewinding back to public civility and party lines…)

But, I digress.

When I was 10, I got to do two things I’ll never forget. If I could go back, I would in a heartbeat.

I got my first real bike. My dad gave it to me by riding it out of one of the bays at the service station he owned at the time.

 

Picture big guy riding small blue girl’s bike. Priceless memory.

 

 

The second thing we did was visit the Space Needle for the first time. My parents had a birthday tradition back in the day. They didn’t have a lot of money, but on your day, the birthday boy or girl got to pick the place for dinner.

Yours truly picked the Space Needle. (The Space Needle was only ~two years old in 1964.)

You should’ve seen their faces when I announced that’s where I wanted to go. But, it was tradition, so we all piled in the car on my birthday and drove the 150 miles to Seattle. We rode to the top, and had steak dinners—all five of us, plus one on the way.

Another precious memory I’d like to relive, more so now since there’s only two of us left.

Okay, Killzoners, your turn. What does your Life Rewound look like?

***

 

How would you live today if you knew you had no tomorrows left?

Follow Annie Lee as she navigates what she believes is her last day on earth.

Walk in her shoes . . . and ask yourself the same question. Will your answer be the same one Annie discovers?

 

 

Reader Friday-Talk To The Animals

 

I know, I know, it’s Friday the Thirteenth.

But this isn’t about that. Or is it? Read on…

 

 

 

As authors, we sometimes interview folks, or we are interviewed ourselves . . . or, we interview our characters. Let’s flip that on its head for a moment.

 

 

If you could, by some magical wave of your Yoda hand, choose one animal or insect to interview, what would it be?

He just looks like he’s got something on his mind, right?

 

 

 

 

 

I can guess which one some of you might choose, like our own Sue Coletta. Crow anyone?

 

 

 

 

 

For me, it’d have to be this fellow.  What interesting tales he might tell!

 

 

 

How about the rest of you? Any of these tickle your fancy? Do tell…

 

Reader Friday-Bring Back The Face!

(This post was born on my own website, and I thought it would strike a chord with the TKZ folks also.)

What’s the most recognizable part of the human body? The thing that defines who we are to each other? Other than fingerprints and DNA.

Our bodies have similarities. People are designed with two arms ending in hands, two legs ending in feet, twenty digits, a head, neck, and torso. Requisite musculature and frame to make everything work, surrounding and protecting our inner organs.

Aside from those born with health issues and anomalies, the human race looks and moves pretty much alike.

Except for the face. The human face. Infinite variety.

 

We could say the same about all species. But we, more often than not, cannot tell others of a different species apart by looking at the creature’s face. Perhaps individuals in that other species can recognize a face within their species, but evidence points to other indicators. Like the zebra baby who knows its mother by her stripes.

I had a disturbing dream last night. In the dream, I moved through groups of people—people who talked to each other. In an office, a hospital, a grocery store, on the streets and sidewalks. Everywhere I looked, people were talking to each other. Some argued, some spoke words of love, some asked those mundane questions we ask of each other upon meeting. Just everyday conversation.

But something was very wrong, as often happens in dreams. No one faced each other. Each group of two, three, or more faced away from each other, standing back to back as they spoke. I began to cry when I saw two of my friends speaking to each other, but not looking at each other. I thought, how sad. Is this where we’re headed?

 

Let’s bring back the face. Lest we forget what we look like to each other.

Your comments are most welcome!