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.”
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.”
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.
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