Saturday, March 31, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y12 - Ryan Burt




We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y12 - Ryan Burt:

ORIGINAL:
I take a deep breath and settle the crosshairs on the man I’m about to kill. I’ve made this shot hundreds if not thousands of times. Okay, not in real life just in video games. I’ve never killed a man before. I have never even been in a fist fight before but I’m on the verge of killing a man. A man who deserves to die. This man has killed before. This evil man has killed fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers. This horrible man definitely deserves to die.

I try to relax knowing I need to make this shot count but relaxing is easier said than done. I try to imagine it like a video game. “Just playing a game. Shooting a bunch of pixels not shooting flesh and blood.” The trigger moves backwards and this man’s life draws closer and closer to ending. Just as I’m sure my gun should fire, the man’s head explodes in a spray of blood and brains.

I drop my rifle and vomit into the bushes besides me not even worrying about who killed the man. It doesn’t take me long to empty my stomach considering the amount of food in there. It hasn’t been that long since I had a full meal.

I never would have thought my life would have turned out this way. A fifteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be trying to kill full-grown men on a full stomach. He should be home playing video games. Like I was only one week ago.

WITH KELLEY'S COMMENTARY:
I take a deep breath and settle the crosshairs on the man I’m about to shoot. I’ve made this shot hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

((Paragraph)) Okay, not in real life just only in video games. I’ve never killed a man before. I've never even been in a fist fight before, but now I'm about to kill a man. I’m on the verge of killing a man. A man who deserves to die. This man has killed before. This evil man has killed fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers. This horrible man definitely deserves to die. ((I like the feel this is going for, but the words are falling a little flat. 'the man' and 'killed' are repeated so many times they start to lose their impact.))

I try to relax. knowing I need to make this shot count, but relaxing is easier said than done. I try to imagine it like a video game. “Just playing a game. Shooting a bunch of pixels. Not shooting flesh and blood.” The trigger moves backwards and this man’s life draws closer and closer to ending. Just as I’m sure my gun should fire, the man’s head explodes in a spray of blood and brains.

I drop my rifle and vomit into the bushes besides me, not even worrying about who killed the man. ((Again, repetition of words.)) It doesn’t take me long to empty my stomach considering the amount of food in there. It hasn’t been that long since I had a full meal.

I never would have thought my life would have turned out this way. A fifteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be trying to kill full-grown men on a full stomach. He should be home playing video games. Like I was only one week ago. ((I really do think this has good potential, but the writing needs some work. Overuse of words makes them lose impact quickly. Try to smooth out the writing and focus in on how the MC is feeling. He says he's trying to relax, but we get no insight into how he's feeling internally, physically. "My hands are cold and clammy and won't stop quaking. I'm caught between breathing too hard and not feeling like I'm breathing enough, and all I can do to try steadying my nerves is to remind myself—this is a bad guy. He's murdered people. Husbands, wives, sons, daughters. What I'm doing is nothing more than serving justice." If you ditch the overused phrases, you'll be able to get more into these 250 words and therefore have a better chance of hooking attention!))

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y11 - Mia Rose


We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y11 - Mia Rose:

Original

My mum rubbed at her neck and glanced up at the wall clock. All during dinner I noticed her do it. A frown creased my dad’s forehead ever since we sat to eat. It was a weekend, and school holidays, they shouldn’t be feeling stressed.
“So,” I said, “what will it be tonight?”
“Is it a Saturday?” Mum asked, her lip twitching.
“Yes,” I replied and stared down at my empty plate. The first Saturday of every month, all three of us would sit in the lounge and watch a movie, and eat popcorn together. Mum exchanged a quick glance with my dad and I frowned a little.
“I think we forgot to pick up a movie from the video store,” Dad said. “Sorry Aisling.” I suppressed my sigh and feigned a smile. Never had they forgotten before, not in the six years since the tradition started.
I placed my knife and fork together on my plate with a loud clatter. Mum’s leaf green eyes darted in my direction and she exhaled heavily. She never startled that easily before. Even my dad shot me a quick glance.
“Can we play a board game instead?” I asked. Again, both of them exchanged looks, their eyes looked haunted. My stomached contracted into a tight ball.
Mum gave a short nod. “Sure honey. Why don’t you go grab one and we’ll clear the table.”
“Great,” I said and forced a smile. All the bedrooms were up on the second floor, the collection of board games sat on a shelf in the spare room.


My mum rubbed at her neck and glanced up at the wall clock. All during dinner I noticed her do it. A frown creased my dad’s forehead ever since we sat to eat. It was a weekend, and school holidays, they shouldn’t be feeling stressed. I found myself wanting more with this opening. It lacked tension. I also felt the stress statement illogical - weeknend and school holidays doesn't equate to stress free for parents.
“So,” I said, “what will it be tonight?”
“Is it a Saturday?” Mum asked, her lip twitching.
“Yes,” I replied and stared down at my empty plate. The first Saturday of every month, all three of us would sit in the lounge and watch a movie, and eat popcorn together. Mum exchanged a quick glance with my dad and I frowned a little. There's a lack of setting. We have little to go on for the surroundings. The physical room and other things. They've just had dinner, there should be lingering smells.
“I think we forgot to pick up a movie from the video store,” Dad said. “Sorry Aisling.” I suppressed my sigh and feigned a smile. Never had they forgotten before, not in the six years since the tradition started.
I placed my knife and fork together on my plate with a loud clatter. Placing motion would not create a clatter. I'd rethink your verb. Mum’s leaf green eyes darted in my direction and she exhaled heavily. She never startled that easily before. Even my dad shot me a quick glance.
“Can we play a board game instead?” I asked. Again, both of them exchanged looks, their eyes looked haunted. My stomached contracted into a tight ball.
Mum gave a short nod. “Sure honey. Why don’t you go grab one and we’ll clear the table.”
“Great,” I said and forced a smile. All the bedrooms were up on the second floor, the collection of board games sat on a shelf in the spare room.

While this was interesting, it needed more tension and a stronger hook at the opening. You could do:

Something was terribly wrong.

A statement that sparks the reader to ask questions. Or pose a question to make the reader think.

I definitely want more description of her surroundings and her parents slipped in as well. But the key is the hook.


Friday, March 30, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y10 - Geila Jones



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y10 - Geila Jones:

Original

Darkness.
It can leave you eternally mad or if your lucky, forever enchanted – for when there is an absence of light, the imaginings of the mind flirt with unseen things. There lies the danger.
The mind has no boundaries, no shape. And it can expand far past the physical constraints of the brain. When that happens, legends are born.
The creature was a bit of both, part vampire, part magickal being. Deadly and beautiful. Human and otherworldly. Embracing the night. Tolerating the day, blending in with the spectrum of light, visible at odd angles and to only those who truly believed in things beyond their earthly perceptions.
He stood, as quiet as the moon in all her celestial beauty. He wasn’t unlike the night goddess, glowing like a gem set in the night sky. He was radiant in his own way, his diamond cut eyes, his satin soft wings, shimmering with a deep unearthly gleam. For the moment, the moon, the only one who could spark his total transformation, was on the side-lines – a rarity in itself. He was staring up, his nocturnal eyes locked on Nina’s mind, pushing him into a dream-like state, odd for someone so powerful. He could see her clearly, even though she was sitting at her desk and the blinds down. He was not just watching, he was protecting his own.
The night sky was blossoming like the dark petals of a purple orchid, slow and soft. It purned his mind even more.

 
WITH KELLEY'S COMMENTARY:
Darkness.  
It can leave you eternally mad or, if you're lucky, forever enchanted – for when there is an absence of light, the imaginings of the mind flirt with unseen things. There lies the danger.
The mind has no boundaries, no shape. And it can expand far past the physical constraints of the brain. When that happens, legends are born. ((This feels like some sort of prologue at this point. I'm not getting a sense for any character or voice.))
The creature was a bit of both, part vampire, part magickal being. Deadly and beautiful. Human and otherworldly. Embracing the night. Tolerating the day, blending in with the spectrum of light, visible at odd angles and to only those who truly believed in things beyond their earthly perceptions. ((Neat, but there's no emotion in this. I'd rather have someone be seeing this creature and relating their reaction to seeing it.))
He stood, as quiet as the moon in all her celestial beauty. He wasn’t unlike the night goddess, glowing like a gem set in the night sky. He was radiant in his own way, his diamond cut eyes, his satin soft wings, shimmering with a deep unearthly gleam. For the moment, the moon, the only one who could spark his total transformation, was on the side-lines – a rarity in itself. ((So, this is very, very omniscient 3rd person writing. Unless this guy thinks of himself as deadly, beautiful, radiant, with diamond-cut eyes, etc. While this kind of writing can be done and done well, I've yet to see it handled in any recent YA stories because it's a very distant form of narration. Generally in YA books, you want to be right in the character's head, either with a 1st person POV, or a very close 3rd person.)) He stared up, his nocturnal eyes locked on Nina’s mind, pushing him into a dream-like state, odd for someone so powerful. He could see her clearly, even though she was sitting at her desk and the blinds down. He was not just watching, he was protecting his own. ((So we have Nina. Okay. Can we instead be witnessing this from Nina's POV somehow? It would give us a much stronger sense of voice than this distant POV we have now.))
The night sky was blossoming like the dark petals of a purple orchid, slow and soft. It purned ((I have no idea what this word is.)) his mind even more. ((A case of lovely poetic writing, but lacking a real focus, direction, or voice. The narration is very distant so I have no idea about either of these characters. How they feel, who they are. This reads very much like a sort of prologue and I'm expecting it to eventually slide into Nina's POV. (Am I wrong about this, though?) If that is the case, I would axe this and start there. Start with the conflict.))

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y9 - Jamie Corrigan


We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y9 - Jamie Corrigan:

Original
Taisie Monahan pressed herself against a brick wall, trying to catch a break from the sea of Forever 21 and American Eagle drenched students flowing through the floodgates of Saint Isabel High. Last night's nightmare was still fresh on her mind as she gave her ponytail a nervous tug, pulling her hair tighter. Taking a breath, Taisie swore she could smell the metallic stench floating from his dead body, making her stomach lurch.
A raven glided across the silver clouds, pulling her from her torture as her blue eyes flicked up to watch it. Goosebumps sprouted on her arm, forcing her to tear her gaze away. Taisie knew her stalker was there. She searched the crowd frantically looking for him. She may have never seen his face before, but that creepy-spider-crawling-up-her-back feeling was something that belonged only to him.
“Get a grip. People are staring,” she whispered to herself.
“Hey! Come here!” The hot jock waving at her made Taisie forget about everything.
A huge smile spread across her face as she sucked in a breath, abandoning her quest, and walked up to him. She opened her mouth, not knowing exactly what to say, when a gorgeous brunette stepped in-between them.
“Oh, my God! Did you actually think he was talking to you freak?” The girl let out a heinous laugh that sent everyone around into a fit of laughter and ice through Taisie's veins.
“You’re new,” a sexy smooth voice rang out from behind Taisie, saving her from her humiliation.


Taisie Monahan no need to use the MC's surname in narration - dialogue only pressed herself against a brick wall, trying to catch a break from the sea of Forever 21 be careful of dating your work with popular culture references and American Eagle drenched students flowing through the floodgates of Saint Isabel High. The first sentence needs more of a hook to grab the readers attention - something that makes us HAVE to read on. Last night's nightmare was still fresh on her mind as she gave her ponytail a nervous tug, pulling her hair tighter. Taking a breath, Taisie swore she swore (be careful not to overuse names) could smell the metallic stench floating from his who? dead body, making her stomach lurch. Now this drags me in more. Maybe an opening sentence like:
Tasisie swore she could still emall metallic stench of the dead body.
A raven glided across the silver clouds, pulling her from her torture as her blue eyes flicked up to watch it. Goosebumps sprouted on her arm, forcing her to tear her gaze away. Taisie knew her stalker was there. This would also make a stronger opening sentece. I'd add the opening two sentence of this par at the end of it.  She searched the crowd frantically looking for him. She may have never seen his face before, but that creepy-spider-crawling-up-her-back feeling was something that belonged only to him. 
“Get a grip. People are staring,” she whispered to herself.
“Hey! Come here!” The hot jock waving at her made Taisie forget about everything.
A huge smile spread across her face as she sucked in a breath, abandoning her quest, and walked up to him. She opened her mouth, not knowing exactly what to say, when a gorgeous brunette stepped in-between them.
“Oh, my God! Did you actually think he was talking to you freak?” The girl let out a heinous laugh that sent everyone around into a fit of laughter and ice through Taisie's veins. The lack of names for these people are odd. Why would she be so excited to see a random stranger calling out to her, especially if she's worried about a stalker.
“You’re new,” a sexy smooth voice rang out from behind Taisie, saving her from her humiliation.

While I'm finding parts of this intriguing - I think you might have too much going on in this first 250 words. First there's the dead body issue, then she has a stalker. That's a lot for the reader to process in a short space of time. Focus on one for starters then bring the other in a bit later.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y8 - Hope Roberson


We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y8 - Hope Roberson

Original
Going to the river was forbidden. I knew this, yet it didn’t keep me from stepping off the gravel path or walking into the field. The early moonlight sparkled off the few remaining patches of snow. Even it knew better than to dwell there.
My heart banged against my ribs. The space in my lungs shrunk. I sucked in a shallow breath, enough to nearly taste the crisp grass beneath my feet.
Stop, Eri.
A gong sang out across the village, ringing through my insides. The warning bell.
I glanced over my shoulder to find the dark silhouettes of people fleeing for refuge, their shouts dying in the distance growing between us. I should have turned back. But the charcoal sky and inky river pulled me forward.
Conflicting thoughts swirled through my head. I squeezed my eyes shut against the confusion and pressed my hands over my ears, begging the pounding inside to leave me alone. “Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop—”
A current of adrenaline flooded my core. The blood tsunami in my veins propelled my legs faster. My brain searched for one sane thought, something to stop my muscles from carrying me out there.
Suicide. This is suicide.
Something broke through the tree line. Blurry with speed, eerily dark within the dusk, features impossible to decipher.
A blanket of anger draped over my world, muffling sound, wrapping me in rage.
Logic told me to turn and run for my life, but my feet rooted to the frosty ground, waiting for it.

Going to the river was forbidden. Good attention grabbing statementI knew this, yet it didn’t keep me from stepping off the gravel path or walking into the field. The early moonlight sparkled off the few remaining patches of snow. Even it knew better than to dwell there.
My heart banged against my ribs. I feel this is overused by authors. Find your voice and come up with your own unique way of saying it. The space in my lungs shrunk. I sucked in a shallow breath, enough to nearly taste the crisp grass beneath my feet.
Stop, Eri.
A gong sang out across the village, ringing through my insides. The warning bell.
I glanced over my shoulder to find the dark silhouettes of people fleeing for refuge, their shouts dying in the distance growing between us. I should have turned back. But the charcoal sky and inky river pulled me forward. Very nice
Conflicting thoughts swirled through my head. I squeezed my eyes shut against the confusion and pressed my hands over my ears, begging the pounding inside to leave me alone. “Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop—”
A current of adrenaline flooded my core. The blood tsunami in my veins propelled my legs faster. My brain searched for one sane thought, something to stop my muscles from carrying me out there. Just be aware there's a lot of "my" in this par. Look to see if you can reword at all.
Suicide. This is suicide.
Something broke through the tree line. Blurry with speed, eerily dark within the dusk, features impossible to decipher.
A blanket of anger draped over my world, muffling sound, wrapping me in rage.
Logic told me to turn and run for my life, but my feet rooted to the frosty ground, waiting for it.
I found this very intriguing. Great setting, beautiful prose for the most part. I really want to read more. There's just those two little things that need tweaking for me.

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y7 - Meradeth Houston



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:
Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.
#Y7 - Meradeth Houston
ORIGINAL:
The dark rind of dried blood wasn’t coming out from under my fingernails no matter how hard I scrubbed. I finally grabbed a paper towel to turn off the faucet and push open the graffiti-coated door.
The wooden dowel the gas-station owner used to manage his bathroom key was shoved into my back pocket. The teller was reading Busty Babes in the Bedroom, his eyes glossy as he turned the page. I dropped the key on the counter, biting back my “In your dreams” comment—I didn’t want him remembering me. Turning, I nearly ran into the cop sauntering up to the counter, coffee in hand.
I forced a small smile of apology and stepped aside.
Keep calm. She’s not here for you. No way the cops here had any idea to look for me so far from home. Not yet.
The stolen BMW out back was a different story. Was she just waiting for me to return to it so she could pick me up? Had she even seen it back there?
I tried to walk slowly as I exited the store, though my feet wanted to take off sprinting. I went the opposite direction from the beamer, rounding the other side of the garage and ducking behind the gated off area housing a propane tank by the wall of the store. The cop’s car sat out front and I could just make out the edge of its back bumper.
Taking two deep breaths, I forced myself to calm down.

WITH COMMENTARY:
The dark rind of dried blood wasn’t coming out from under my fingernails no matter how hard I scrubbed. ((Good opening line!)) I finally grabbed a paper towel to turn off the faucet and push open the graffiti-coated door.
The wooden dowel the gas-station owner used to manage his the gas station bathroom key was shoved into my back pocket. The teller was reading Busty Babes in the Bedroom, his eyes glossy as he turned the page. I dropped the key on the counter, biting back my “In your dreams” comment—I didn’t want him remembering me. Turning, I nearly ran into the cop sauntering up to the counter, coffee in hand. ((Okay. So, I like this paragraph and what it implies, but think it could be restructured to help with repetition. The 'in your dreams' comment is pretty good because it helps imply our MC is female, but I think that could be done a little differently.  "Back in the gas station, the teller was reading Busty Babes in the Bedroom, his eyes glossy as he turned the page. I pulled the wooden dowel used to manage the bathroom key from my back pocket and deposited it on the counter without a word, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I didn't want him to remember the girl who came in with the bloody fingernails driving the stolen BMW." Or, you know, something. It's a good point to give us a tiny bit of insight into our narrator and if anything else is 'off' about her; her state of dress, looking tired, panicked, frazzled, what have you.))
I forced a small smile of apology and stepped aside.
Keep calm. She’s not here for you. No way the cops here had any idea to look for me so far from home. Not yet.
The stolen BMW out back was a different story. Was she just waiting for me to return to it so she could pick me up? Had she even seen it back there?
I tried to walk slowly as I exited the store, though my feet wanted to take off sprinting. I went the opposite direction from the beamer, rounding the other side of the garage and ducking behind the gated off area housing a propane tank by the wall of the store. The cop’s car sat out front and I could just make out the edge of its back bumper. ((Good, but could be smoothed a bit. A lot of words for what could be summed up in much fewer. "I exited the store as slowly as I could, heading the opposite direction from the beamer, around the corner of the building, where I ducked behind a fenced-off propane tank."))
Taking two deep breaths, I forced myself to calm down. ((I like this, and it would make me want to read more. I'm curious to know why she showed up at a gas station in a stolen car with blood under her nails. Just smooth some of the writing a bit. Take out any unnecessary words, and restructure sentences and paragraphs so everything flows smoothly. Read out loud; I find that helps for finding awkward phrases and words that don't sound quite right!))

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y6 - Rachel Hert



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y6 - Rachel Hert

Original:

The blow smashed into his right cheek and lights exploded before Jared’s eyes. He crashed against the wall and crumpled to the ground. A high pitched ringing blocked all sound. Pain ripped through his side as the tip of a boot caught him and slammed him against the wall again. He gasped and curled up, protecting his face. Not again. I’ve been home less than two minutes. What can he possibly blame me for this time?
The collar of Jared’s shirt bit into his neck as Dad dragged him to his feet. Is this it? Is he really going to kill me this time? The vision in his left eye returned, bright afterimages still obliterating most of his view. Dad glared at him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused as he swayed. The foul stench of his breath curled up Jared’s nose.
Drunk again.
He wouldn’t even remember this by tomorrow. Jared shoved Dad into the wall, pulling his shirt out of Dad’s fingers. He darted through the black and white tiled kitchen and flung the sliding glass door open.
“Get back here you worthless brat!”
Pain spread through Jared’s side like fire. His head pounded as if it were about to burst, but he didn’t dare stop. If Dad caught up…
His feet raced over the uneven ground, clumps of weeds snagging his sneakers. He slipped through the gate toward the front of the house. Each step sent lances through his lungs and tears blurred his eyes, but he didn’t dare stop.


The blow smashed into his right cheek and lights exploded before Jared’s eyes. He crashed against the wall and crumpled to the ground. A high pitched ringing blocked all sound. Pain ripped through his side as the tip of a boot caught him and slammed him against the wall again. He gasped and curled up, protecting his face. Not again. I’ve been home less than two minutes. What can he possibly blame me for this time?
Be careful about putting your MC into peril before the reader has had a chance to relate to them.
The collar of Jared’s shirt bit into his neck as Dad (I'd put 'his father' instead of Dad here as you use Dad againin this par and you need to avoid repetition of words) dragged him to his feet. Is this it? Is he really going to kill me this time? The vision in his left eye returned, bright afterimages still obliterating most of his view. Dad glared at him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused as he swayed. The foul stench of his breath curled up Jared’s nose.
Drunk again.
He wouldn’t even remember this by tomorrow. Jared shoved Dad into the wall, pulling his shirt out of Dad’s fingers. Again over using Dad. He darted through the black and white tiled kitchen and flung the sliding glass door open.
“Get back here you worthless brat!”
Pain spread through Jared’s side like fire. His head pounded as if it were about to burst, but he didn’t dare stop. If Dad caught up…
His feet raced over the uneven ground, clumps of weeds snagging his sneakers. He slipped through the gate toward the front of the house. Each step sent lances through his lungs and tears blurred his eyes, but he didn’t dare stop. Repeated phrase - didn't dare stop.

Overall there's a lot of emotion. The main problem I had was a lack of connection to the MC. While it's a very sad situation, there isn't enough time for me to get to know and feel for the character before he's being put in this circumstance. While I haven't been in this situation personal, I also didn't feel like I was tranported there. I think there needs to be more description about the father - I have no idea what he looks like other than having bloodshot eyes. It also seems odd to me that he has the strength and accuracy to kick his son causing that damage, but the son can push him away. I'd be rethinking where you should be starting this novel.

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y5 - Heidi Tabing


We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y5 - Heidi Tabing

ORIGINAL:

My Game Boy is going to die, but I’m in the middle of a final battle!
Why did my brother have to steal my charger? I don’t remember the last time I saved, so if my battery dies then I’ll lose more than just this boss fight. If that happens, I know my revenge: I’m going to steal my brother’s car! Then we’ll see how he likes it when I take something from him!
Can my button-jamming skills help me now? My nerves might get the better of me if my hands continue to shake like I’ve had too much caffeine.
I think the last time my heart beat this fast was when I first started playing Resident Evil 4—but chainsaw-wielding zombies are nothing compared to lost game data! I’m at the end of Chain of Memories, and Marluxia, whose pink face is even prettier than mine, taunts me with his flowery scythe. Maybe if I keep throwing high-numbered cards at him, I can beat the game before my battery dies. He only has half of his green health bar left. I can do this!
And just when Marluxia blocks my next attack with a zero card, the light of the LCD screen fades, and the jagged rows of pixels disappear into gray oblivion.
My Game Boy is dead.
I would hurl the thing at the wall, but my growling stomach rumbles my entire body. I take this moment to breathe deeply and remind myself that I’m going to take Aaron’s car. Yeah, that’ll make me feel better. At least then I can buy myself something to eat other than mayonnaise.

WITH KELLEY'S COMMENTARY:
My Game Boy ((GameBoy)) is going to die, but I’m in the middle of a final battle! ((My first thought is "GameBoy? Wow. Old-school." It made me think 90s. But given the games the MC is playing as mentioned later, this would date it to 2006, which is still pretty old considering. Unless you're specifically trying to make this dated, be careful of mentioning very specific technology.))
Why did my brother have to steal my charger? I don’t remember the last time I saved, so if my battery dies then I’ll lose more than just this boss fight. If that happens, I know my revenge: I’m going to steal my brother’s car! Then we’ll see how he likes it when I take something from him! ((I'm getting a very young feel for the MC. Is this a flashback?))
Can my button-jamming skills help me now? My nerves might get the better of me if my hands continue to shake like I’ve had too much caffeine.
I think the last time my heart beat this fast was when I first started playing Resident Evil 4—but chainsaw-wielding zombies are nothing compared to lost game data! I’m at the end of Chain of Memories, and Marluxia, whose pink face is even prettier than mine, taunts me with his flowery scythe. Maybe if I keep throwing high-numbered cards at him, I can beat the game before my battery dies. He only has half of his green health bar left. I can do this! ((This paragraph, I can appreciate, because I've played and loved both these games. However...much of the population hasn't and this is going to lose some of them who will be going, "Wait...what?" I wouldn't mention specific titles. This could be summed up in a sentence.))
And just when Marluxia blocks my next attack with a zero card, ((Again, info people who haven't played aren't going to get.)) the light of the LCD screen fades, and the jagged rows of pixels disappear into gray oblivion.
My Game Boy ((GameBoy)) is dead. ((This right here is where you could potentially start, though it's hard to say without knowing what comes next. Everything before this point doesn't add or tell me anything about the story. "My GameBoy is dead. It shouldn't be dead. Wouldn't be dead if my brother hadn't stolen my charger. Now all I've got is a botched boss-battle and potentially corrupted save data." Etc etc. Continue on with stealing-brother's-car revenge.))
I would hurl the thing at the wall, but my growling stomach rumbles my entire body. I take this moment to breathe deeply and remind myself that I’m going to take Aaron’s car. Yeah, that’ll make me feel better. At least then I can buy myself something to eat other than mayonnaise. ((There's a decent sense of voice in this and good punctuation/spelling/grammar, however, I'm left with little to no information about the MC. Male, female? Name? Age? I don't know any of these things. All I know is he/she is mad his/her game died and he/she is planning to steal a car for revenge. Which also rings more true for a younger MC, as stealing a charger compared to stealing a car is a pretty drastic difference.))

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y4 - Allie Schellong





We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman


Time to get into it.

#Y4 - Allie Schellong

The shadow in the forest didn’t move.
Sophie edged to her left to get a better look at it, ignoring the comically loud squelch that arose when she wrenched her boot from the mud. For a full two minutes she had stared at this shadow, the human-like shape that had appeared off this trail at Ellery Wildlife Preserve. If it ended up being a tree, she would feel like an idiot for hanging around in the woods when her boss was probably going to skin her alive for taking so long already. But if this shadow was a person, something about the way it was positioned made Sophie think it was looking at her. Watching her.
She looked down for a second to blink away the downpour. Her gaze froze on a pair of boot prints.
They originated at the edge of the trail and disappeared into the green-tinged fog that had consumed the forest.
Sophie’s breath caught in her chest as her eyes traced the zig-zag tread stamped into the mud. There was no way these prints could start at the edge of the path, unless someone had dropped out of the sky into the preserve. And she had personally shepherded all the visitors out of the preserve when it closed half an hour ago to everyone except the preservation crew.
Her eyes peered up at the shadow—or, more likely, trespasser—again.

With Sarah's comments

The shadow in the forest didn’t move. I like this, but I think it might be more powerful if you use positive phrasing. Or maybe even if the shadow did move/flinch/sway - but she still really doesn't know if it's the wind or whatever.
Sophie edged to her left to get a better look at it, ignoring the comically I really don't like that word there; kind of ruins the great, dark mood you established with the first sentence loud squelch that arose when she wrenched her boot from the mud. For a full two minutes she had stared at there is nothing wrong with "stared at" but maybe experiment with some different verbs that might give us an idea about how she feels about it. like stalked or scrutinized or studied this shadow, the human-like shape that had appeared off this trail at Ellery Wildlife Preserve. If it ended up being a tree, she would feel like an idiot for hanging around in the woods when her boss was probably going to skin her alive for taking so long already. <-- This sentence feels awkward to me; don't know why - sorry! But if this shadow was a person, something about the way it was positioned made Sophie think it was 4 "was"s in the past 32 words, three in this sentence alone looking at her. Watching her.
She looked down for a second to blink away the downpour. Her gaze froze on a pair just a pair, or a trail? of boot prints.
They originated at the edge of the trail and disappeared into the green-tinged fog that had consumed the forest. towards the shadow?
Sophie’s breath caught in her chest you're showing us her reaction before you show us what causes it as her eyes traced the zig-zag tread stamped into the mud. There was no way these prints could start at the edge of the path, unless someone had dropped out of the sky into the preserve. capitalize preserve? also, I might have her wonder why the prints started there instead of having her say "there was no way." It's a subtle difference, but might add to the mystery. And she had personally shepherded all the visitors out of the preserve when it closed half an hour ago to everyone except the preservation crew. I had to read this sentence a few times to figure out what you were trying to say.  It may just be me so let's see what our commenters have to say about it?
Her eyes peered up at the shadow—or, more likely, trespasser—again.

I think this was a pretty strong opening in terms of content, but I might look at more powerful word choices.

What say you, YAtopians? Do you agree with me? Disagree? Have something to add? All constructive feedback is welcome!

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y3 - Susan Lyons



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y3 - Susan Lyons

Original
We took the interstate up the Massachusetts coast, on our way to hunt aliens in small-town America.
While my partner Gabriel drove, I rode shotgun in the back, a modified Remington semi-automatic on the seat beside me. At the first sign of trouble, I’d be ready.
He yelled something from the front seat, but I couldn’t hear because the soundtrack from Independence Day blasted on my iPod. I liked dramatic music when we were hunting.
I removed my earbuds. “What?”
“We’re almost there.” He pointed to the GPS screen on the dashboard. He had FM satellite radio tuned to a jazz station out of New Orleans. Our musical tastes clashed, like pretty much everything else about us. “Just making sure you’re ready, in case someone tipped them off.”
I pumped my shotgun and smiled at his reflection in the rear view mirror. “Locked and loaded.”
He shook his head. Gabriel thought it was wrong for someone my age –especially a girl – to be a hunter, but even he had to admit we were important to the war effort.
I stuffed a handful of bullets in my vest pocket. The genegineers made me a crack shot, which came in handy when going up against aliens – 'pods' as we called them. The neural connections in their human hosts were faster than normal. Too fast for the average human.
Luckily, I wasn’t average.
While Gabriel sat in the driver’s seat with one arm out the open window, the wind blowing his dark hair around, I checked my shotgun.



We took the interstate up the Massachusetts coast, on our way to hunt aliens in small-town America. Nice opening sentence. It could possible be reworded to be a bit stronger though. Like a statement about the hunt to come, something like that - a really strong hook.  
While my partner Gabriel drove, I rode shotgun in the back, a modified Remington semi-automatic on the seat beside me. At the first sign of trouble, I’d be ready.
He yelled something from the front seat, but I couldn’t hear because the soundtrack from Independence Day blasted on my iPod. I liked dramatic music when we were hunting. Be careful about over using words - you use hunt/er/ing, shotgun and Gabriel a lot in this short space of writing.
I removed my earbuds. “What?”
“We’re almost there.” He pointed to the GPS screen on the dashboard. He had FM satellite radio tuned to a jazz station out of New Orleans. Our musical tastes clashed, like pretty much everything else about us. “Just making sure you’re ready, in case someone tipped them off.”
I pumped my shotgun and smiled at his reflection in the rear view mirror. “Locked and loaded.”
He shook his head. Gabriel thought it was wrong for someone my age –especially a girl – to be a hunter, but even he had to admit we were important to the war effort.
I stuffed a handful of bullets in my vest pocket. The genegineers made me a crack shot, which came in handy when going up against aliens – 'pods' as we called them. The neural connections in their human hosts were faster than normal. Too fast for the average human person.
Luckily, I wasn’t average. Intriguing
While Gabriel sat in the driver’s seat with one arm out the open window We already know he's in the driver's seat, you don;t need to repeat what we already know, the wind blowing his dark hair around, I checked my shotgun weapon. - though actually that feels a bit repeatitive to what she's just done.

I'm drawn in by the concept, but I think this could be made a lot stronger. There's some scenery missing, sights, smells. There's also repetition, which needs to be avoided. Be careful not to repeat actions and descriptions. You give us nice background on the situation - alien invasion with humans hunting them down. It did jar a little bit for me that it's war (which conjurs up a battle scenario) and yet the aliens seem to be hiding in plain sight. But this may be something you explain later on. Overall I enjoyed it.

Monday, March 26, 2012

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y2 - Stephanie Diaz



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y2 - Stephanie Diaz

Original
Today is the day I have to prove I deserve to stay alive.
I stand in the dirt beside the fence that separates my shack from the street, watching the last of the moon slip away in the sky. My grip tightens on the tie on the waist of my dress, and my knuckles whiten. My mind flits between thinking too many things and thinking nothing at all.
Children head down the road. I wonder if they stayed awake all night, like I did. I wonder where Logan is and how a “few extra hours” of work for “ill attitude,” as our overseer put it, turned into twelve. He should be here already.
Biting my lip, I stare at each minuscule chip of wood in the fence.
My fingers grasp the fence and squeeze so hard they burn.
“Hey, Clementine!”
I snap my head up.
Logan hobbles toward me, holding something in his hand.
I start running to meet him, maybe to yell at him for taking so long, but I see what it is, what he's holding. And I stop moving.
In his fingers, he twirls a flower that could kill me.
I like to think I'm one of the braver kids. Sure, some days the whippings and beatings make me want to curl up in a ball. When I dream of Logan getting carted off to quarantine, I wake drenched in sweat and trembling, but I master it pretty quick. I get over it. I have to be good at ignoring my fear, because how else will I prove I deserve to escape it?


Today is the day I have to prove I deserve to stay alive.
Great opening line. It could work even better if you shorten it to: Today I have to prove I deserve to stay alive.
I stand in the dirt beside the fence that separates my shack from the street, watching the last of the moon slip away in the sky. (nice description) My grip tightens on the tie on the waist of my dress, and my knuckles whiten. My mind flits between thinking too many things and thinking nothing at all.
Children head down the road. I wonder if they stayed awake all night, like I did. I wonder where Logan is and how a “few extra hours” of work for “ill attitude,” as our overseer put it, turned into twelve. He should be here already.
Biting my lip, I stare at each minuscule chip of wood in the fence.
My fingers grasp the fence and squeeze so hard they burn.
“Hey, Clementine!”
I snap my head up.
Logan hobbles toward me, holding something in his hand.
I start running to meet him, maybe to yell at him for taking so long, but I see what it is, what he's holding. And I stop moving.
In his fingers, he twirls a flower that could kill me. Oh, intriguing!
I like to think I'm one of the braver kids. Sure, some days the whippings and beatings make me want to curl up in a ball. When I dream of Logan getting carted off to quarantine, I wake drenched in sweat and trembling, but I master it pretty quick. I get over it. I have to be good at ignoring my fear, because how else will I prove I deserve to escape it?

Technically this writing it good. There are parts that draw me in, but overall I think it needs a little bit more world building and scene description. 250 words isn't much, I know, but don't forget smell and surroundings. Hopefully this is something you get into after this. I wanted to know more about the stakes. She seemed more concerned about Logan than her impending issue, which I found odd. I think that opening with a bit more about the MC will strengthen the investment from the reader.

First 250 Words Work Shop: #Y1 - Rebecca Buss



We are joining forces with Brenda Drake, Shelley Watters and Erica Chapman in critiquing the first 250 words of manuscripts of the lucky 60 people who signed up for the After the Madness Workshop.

YAtopians Sarah Nicolas, Kelley York, Sharon Johnston and Leigh Fallon have taken on a few workshop submission each to provide some feedback on the opening paragraphs. We'd love it if you'd add your thoughts (constructive criticism only please) and visit the other critiquers blogs to provide more feedback on the other work submitted:

Brenda Drake
Shelley Watters
Erica Chapman

Time to get into it.

#Y1 - Rebecca Buss:

Original

Sitting in that hard plastic chair in the principal's office stunned Olivia. It was worse than a bad day, or a bad dream. It was more like a nightmare. 
Olivia sat motionless in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. If she could have coiled herself into a ball, she would have. A nervous chill tiptoed its way up and down her spine.
To her left was some girl who had claimed to witness the incident. Legs crossed, her foot shook to some beat that only she could seem to hear. Her gaze never found its way towards Olivia. To her right was Hunter. His eyes were set on the receptionist’s desk, fixed as though he could see through the panel of wood, directly at the secretary who continued to type away at some problem of her own.
Every now and then, Olivia felt his gaze shift, as though he were staring her down through the corner of his eye. She wouldn't blame him. He was the victim's brother.
Olivia did not want to think of Chase as a victim. It made her feel like she hurt Chase on purpose. It made her not want to think at all. As she sat there waiting for her parents though, listening to the ongoing click-clack of a keyboard behind the receptionist’s desk, the unpleasant thoughts pushed their way through, invading Olivia’s mind.
She never wanted to hurt him, Hunter or Chase.
Sitting in that hard plastic chair in the principal's office stunned Olivia. It was worse than a bad day, or a bad dream. It was more like a nightmare.
For me the first sentence is a bit awkward and isn't attention grabbing enough. Something intriguing is going on here and you need to suck us in more.  
Olivia sat motionless in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. If she could have coiled herself into a ball, she would have. A nervous chill tiptoed its way up and down her spine.
Be careful how many times you use Olivia's name. It's six times in 250 words. You can definitely change the one above to she. I love the description of a chill tiptoeing down her spine.
To her left was some girl who had claimed to witness the incident. Legs crossed, her foot shook to some beat that only she could seem to hear. Her gaze never found its way towards Olivia. To her right was Hunter. His eyes were set on the receptionist’s desk, fixed as though he could see through the panel of wood, directly at the secretary who continued to type away at some problem of her own.
Every now and then, Olivia felt his gaze shift, as though he were staring her down through the corner of his eye. She wouldn't blame him. He was the victim's brother.
Olivia did not (unless she's fae, use contrations) want to think of Chase as a victim. It made her feel like she hurt Chase (use him, not Chase - try not to repeat words too much and we already know that's who she's referring to) on purpose. It made her not want to think at all. As she sat there waiting for her parents though, listening to the ongoing click-clack of a keyboard behind the receptionist’s desk, the unpleasant thoughts pushed their way through, invading Olivia’s (her) mind.
She never wanted to hurt him, Hunter or Chase.

 In a lot of ways this is a strong opening as it has a lot of mystery about it. I want to know what Olivia has done to Chase that's landed a goody-goody in the principal's office (good characterisation by the way). But the first few lines need to be stronger to draw us in. You also use people's names too often. You need to minmise this as it's distracting repeated words. You have great prose and descriptions - the sound of the keyboard, her wanting to coil into a ball, the tiptoeing down her spine. All fantastic.  Hook us with your opening words and you'll be set.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Struggle with Your Self-Esteem

Before I start, I just want to point out that my sister and I are giving away a copy of Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi and a customized journal at the YA Rebels this week.

It's no secret that writers struggle with self-esteem issues. Whether it's too much or too little, there never seems to be the right amount. Too little self-esteem is what I'm struggling with right now - and it can be crippling if you let it.

That's the thing about this writing business - most people will never feel like they're good enough. I know writers with many published award-winning books who still doubt their ability, even their worth. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. Thinking you're not good enough pushes you to make yourself better, to improve your craft. Even if you're not "good enough" now, you will be.

As long as you don't give up, you will continue to get better. Each book will be better than the last. Each query will be more enticing than the last. Heck, each blog post will be more engaging than the last. (I hope)

Not quitting is the hardest part. Yes, quitting is so so easy. It takes absolutely no effort to not open up that word document and get those words in. Not doing a complete novel revision will be the easiest thing you will ever do. If you never send that query letter to an agent, you will never have to suffer the sting of rejection.

But it won't be satisfying. If you are truly a writer, not writing will tear you apart.

Your self doubt will lie to you. It will tell you that what you're trying to do doesn't matter, isn't important, isn't worth the struggle. Do what you have to to shut it up. Put duct tape over its mouth. Shove it into the cone of silence. Let the sound of your friends' encouragement and the tapping of your computer keys drown out its noise. 

Leave some encouragement down in the comments for me and anyone else struggling with their writing self-esteem right now. And let us know how you deal with it!