A popular thread on the soon-to-be-defunct Authonomy was the "G600" thread. The first 600 words of your manuscript are the most vital in impressing agents and publishers. If those opening pages don't draw your readers in and get them to want to keep turning the pages, you've failed to hook them and you'll get a rejection slip in the post. The idea behind the thread was for authors to post up their opening section for review, as if they were sending their manuscript in to an agent. A few selected editors would then critique the passage, telling them if they saw any glaring flaws in plot, structure, characterisation, POV and the normal grammar, spelling and syntax issues. This gives writers another opinion on their important opening few pages and gives them a chance to polish that section of their book further in advance of submitting to a real agent. The rules for the thread, simplified as much as possible, are:

Submissions:

You must be a current member of BookCountry, in that you have reviewed someone else's work, and posted your own book, in part or whole, on the site.

Submissions should be of a standard that you feel is the best you can do, that you would submit to a real agent in the hope of getting a publishing deal. This means that they should have been thoroughly edited and proof-read.

Submissions should be of the format:

Title.

A short pitch (no more than 25 words).

The first 600 words of your manuscript (wherever it starts; Chapter 1, Prologue) rounded off to the next sentence end.

Genre.

(Optional: A link to your book page).

(Optional: Specification of language version - US English, British English etc).

A Faux Editor will then review the passage, giving you editorial feedback on what they see. If there are no problems, then you should be confident that your work is pretty much agent-ready. If there are problems, then the editor will hopefully be able to suggest revisions, corrections and guidance on refining the manuscript such that you will have a better chance when you do submit to the industry for real.

On Authonomy, a long-standing coterie of respected contributors (and myself) were invited to take the roles of editor. As this is a new initiative on BookCountry, I'm happy to step up to the plate as a Faux Editor to start, but I hope that others who enjoy reviewing, have extremely high critiquing standards and are respected amongst the BookCountry community as constructive and fair contributors, will want to join me.

A word of warning: Submissions will be reviewed dispassionately, and purely on their merits. Critiques should be fair and hopefully constructive, but also honest and forthright. This is not a validation exercise, but one that will hopefully help unpublished and unagented writers to achieve the high standards necessary to be taken seriously by the industry.

Also, this isn't a "workshopping" thread. You're posting up your opening in order to get a second opinion on it. If you don't like the opinion you receive, that's unfortunate, but there's not much point in arguing with it - it is just an opinion, after all. The thread will live or die by what people make of the advice offered. If the critiques are consistently rubbish, then no-one will bother submitting and the thread will die off.

You won't get the opportunity to argue with a real agent, or a real publisher. Consider this as a dry run for professional submission.

 On Authonomy, the guidelines were that you shouldn't resubmit an opening to the thread within a month after having had it critiqued. This was both to give other people a chance, and also to give authors who have had a critique the chance for ideas that might have been suggested to percolate and simmer. Otherwise the temptation is to rush out another version of the same opening that you think the editors will like. This isn't the point of this thread. What we are collectively trying to do here is make your opening the best it can be.

So, if you are contemplating submitting a work to an agent or publisher in the very near future, or just want to know if a work-in-progress is on the right track, post your opening 600 words (according to the guidelines above) and I'll take a look at it. Who'll be first?

--edited by D'Estaing on 10/5/2015, 6:36 AM--

Where do we post? Here?

Yes. Just post Title, short Pitch, First 600 words of your book, the genre that best describes it (and a link to your book if you wish).

Another side effect of posting here is the improved visibility your opening passage gets on the site as a whole. If other people read this thread and like your opening, they may be encouraged to go and read your book. If you like, include a link to your book page, so that people can navigate straight to your book from this thread. I've amended the OP accordingly.

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/22/2015, 6:43 AM--

EEEHAA!

(First six letters of joy to find more Authonomy!)

Title: The PICKLED MEMORY OF CAPTAIN SILAS E. PARKS

Genre: Maritime Fiction, humor

Link to the Silas E. Parks Page: http://www.ieuandolby.com/silas-e-parks

Pitch 

No time to spare and if you begrudge an old codger a whisky or three then don't sit down, move up and let another sit for the ride.

First six hundred words or so

Chapter One, Title: First, a word with Joe Larkin

Yes, my name is Joe Larkin. So what can I do you for today folks?

     Ah, dear Captain Silas!

     Yes, I sailed with the old geezer a few times over the years, on one vessel or another. Not that I had any choice in the matter and I never found out he was skulking on-board till I walked up the blasted gangway.

     I certainly don't want to kick the guy down by speaking badly about him. Plenty of others have done that over the years and really, underneath that white shaggy beard he is a well-meaning skipper, one of the better ones around I suppose. He always reminded me of a retired old fisherman, even way-back in the heyday, always a bit wobbly on his legs by lunch, invariably totally pickled by dinner. Most of the time his head was in the clouds, invariably steaming that way after the first whisky of the day had been poured down his gullet. Don’t get me wrong here. He was not an aggressive skipper or anything like that but like many at sea he was an unrecognized closet alcoholic and his copious drinking habits tended to get in the way of the job and his good intentions. Although with Silas his closet doors were always wide open. But he was not the worst ship-handler around. He mostly got the job done and his crew were usually happy.

     When I first sailed with him, all those years ago, he struck me as being a carbon copy of that captain in the film about err, towing a ship, I think. That one with, err, the black and white one with err, that’s him, Humphrey Bogart as the skipper of a ship and when he starts to go all mad. What’s that film called? Humphrey nearly causes a mutiny because he thinks somebody has stolen his strawberries. Silas was like that. When he had a few drinks under his belt I always felt that something drastic was about to happen, that a calamity was waiting around the corner or that the boiler safety valve was about to blow on one situation or another. Sailing with him had the hairs on the back of my neck permanently acting like the bristles on a wire brush.

     He also reminded me of that Captain Haddock character, you know? The one in those old cartoon books – Tintin, that’s right. Yes, a few rums later and his mind had all but left the building.

     Ach, poor man. He had a heart of gold and as I said before he was not the worst captain to sail with. Plenty of other maniacs at the wheel that should be avoided at all costs. Silas was good at his job too. Mostly ran a smooth ship and he knew the ‘rules of the road’ inside out, pickled or not. If we were ever in the eye of a hurricane or battling the tide in a busy sea-lane with a damaged engine then Silas was the man to place your bets on. He might not do the expected thing in such situations but I would always bet my bottom dollar on him bringing the ship and all safely back home.

     He was not quite the full packet up top though! Somehow he could never think in straight lines like everybody else, always zooming off on the tangential, barking up the wrong tree and creating havoc as a result. He had a certain knack for misjudging situations. Maybe this was due to the copious amounts of alcohol that he flushed away faster than a bilge pump on full power, or possibly due to a fizzling wire in his pickled brain! Might have been genetic or the workings of a highly developed mind, but then again he did drink from morn-till-night which is the easiest explanation for his ‘cuckoo’ tendencies. 

Ieuan Dolby wrote:

 Title: The PICKLED MEMORY OF CAPTAIN SILAS E. PARKS 

Thanks for being the first, Ieuan!

Pitch: The pitch doesn't really tell me anything about the story. It's a line very much said "in character", by Captain Silas, which is great, but your pitch really needs to tell the prospective agent or publisher what your book is actually about. I took the opportunity to visit your site, and the first paragraph of your long blurb is a better pitch, conceptually: "An old ship's captain, eighty years if a day, retired and well-lubricated, Captain Silas E. Parks lays out his life at sea to a series of often dubious but always captivated listeners". It's not perfect either (and over this thread's arbitrary 25 word limit), but it at least tells us what the book is about, and roughly what to expect.

Text: "Yes, my name is Joe Larkin." - It's not apparent at first glance who Joe Larkin is. Why are we listening to Joe Larkin? What are Joe Larkin's credentials to be talking about Captain Silas?

" Yes, I sailed with the old geezer a few times over the years, on one vessel or another. Not that I had any choice in the matter and I never found out he was skulking on-board till I walked up the blasted gangway." - this could happen once, I suppose, but it seems to be pushing credibility that it happened several times and anyway, surely if you signed up to sail with a boat, you'd know or enquire who the skipper was first? It's not really clear why he had "no choice" in the matter, either. Were there a limited number of opportunities? (and "on-board" has no hyphen).

"I certainly don't want to kick the guy down by speaking badly about him" - but he just has?

Semi-colon after "well-meaning skipper" reads better, I think.

No hyphen in "way-back".

"even way-back in the heyday" - I think "heyday" should take a possessive pronoun. It's his heyday, not just the heyday. Or you could say "back in the day", slightly more colloquial.

"invariably steaming that way" - is that a nautical version of "heading that way"? Is he heading towards having his head in the clouds, or heading towards being totally pickled?

Comma after "anything like that".

"unrecognized closet alcoholic" - Repetition: "unrecognised" and "closet" mean the same thing in this context. "closet" is probably neater.

 "with Silas his closet doors were always wide open" - has gay connotations. Is this intended?

"He mostly got the job done" - I wonder about this. Surely he did get the job done, but perhaps not as efficiently as someone sober? "mostly" implies that he didn't get the job done sometimes, which could be fatal at sea.

The three examples of "err" in quick succession sound a bit contrived. When he does remember the film, is it necessary for him to "err" twice more?  I'm not sure it adds anything further to the sense that he's trying to recall something. And I've seen these types of "breath-stops" punctuated differently "about… err… towing a boat". I'm not sure there are any rules, but to me simply "about err, towing" reads awkwardly.

Larkin has said earlier that Silas was "well-meaning", "head in the clouds", "a bit wobbly by lunch", "not an aggressive skipper or anything like that". So when he then says that "I always felt something drastic was going to happen, the boiler safety valve was about to blow" he seems to be contradicting himself. And then he follows this comment by saying that after a few rums Silas's mind had all but left the building. This doesn't sound like a skipper about to blow a fuse. Is Silas an angry drunk or a benevolent one?

"If we were ever in the eye of a hurricane" - the eye of a hurricane is a relatively calm place, yet you've held it up here as a dangerous scenario.

"he could never think in straight lines like everybody else, always zooming off on the tangential, barking up the wrong tree" - You've said the same thing three times in a row. I'm not sure that the repetition adds much. Every word has to count, especially in the first 600. I'd choose your favourite and delete the other two.

That was the end of my detailed run-through. General impressions? Well written, technically. Very little to complain about. A few passages were a bit over-written. My only concerns are more themic.

There are two reasons I can see an agent turning this down.

The first is the fact that all of this character synopsis of Captain Silas is being told to us second hand, from the eyes of an observer. I understand (from looking at your book page, not from your short pitch) that the MS is a kind of episodic memoir of Captain Silas's life at sea. In order for this not to be extremely dull (who wants to listen to someone else's life-story, really?), we need to empathise with Captain Silas. We need to understand his motivations, work out why he's such an alcoholic, get to know him, ideally have a contiguous narrative thread running through the memoirs. In the first 600 words, all you've told us is what someone else thought of him, someone not particularly close to him, someone who implied in the first few lines that they wouldn't have sailed with him if they'd known he was on board. This is very distancing and uninvolving. It's like picking up a biography of, say, David Beckham, written by someone who met him once or twice but didn't like him very much. We don't even know if this Joe Larkin person is a reliable narrator. Was Captain Silas always drunk, or is Joe Larkin making this up? Why don't you start the book with Captain Silas?

The second reason is the alcohol thing. There are those who would umm and ahh and scratch their chins and pontificate about "alcohol abuse being no laughing matter", blah blah blah. I'm not one of those, but it does seem, on initial exposure, that this is a bit of a one joke story. Is there no other depth to Captain Silas than his being an alcoholic? Is that his defining characteristic? Is every episode about how Captain Silas conquered extreme inebriation to achieve his goal? Certainly, in the first 600 words, all we have really been told, repeatedly and at length, is that Captain Silas was a drunk, but he managed to get the job done (mostly). That really doesn't make him very interesting, and while it could possibly carry a short story, I don't see how it can support something of novel length. If I was an agent, that would be my biggest worry.

Conclusion: Agent ready? No, for the above two reasons.

This thread might take some time to settle down. This is the first review. I hope you found it useful. It is only one opinion, and other opinions may differ. Ignore it, or think on it, as you will. Thanks for posting.

Working on mine. Up tomorrow probably. Thinking about it. The first 600 words, amusing, tells little about what's to come. Get that in the pitch? In twenty-five words? Yikes!

--edited by Mimi Speike on 8/22/2015, 3:29 PM--

Oh my, golly gosh old chap - I wish I hadn't been the first now. Do dip my head in the sand and paint my backside in tar - nah, I'll just crack open a cool beer and ignore the tosh! Jolly ho!

I do indeed thank you, it is nice to have a review and a bad one is indeed better than none. However, a couple of immediate points eagerly crank my hand to rush out a harried yet slightly infuriated response.

- being in the eye of a hurricane is never a nice place - as one does have to get oneself out of it. The proverbial calm before the storm so to speak ....

- Agreed that the pitch was not worth the paper it was written on. Thankfully it was not part of the completed manuscript.

- I'm going to steam ahead - having completed over 81,493 words I guess there must have been sufficient line or story to fill a book.

- Lots of jobs don't get done at sea, or partly done, or half-done, etc. and the level of success does not relate in any way to fatality - having spent over twenty years at sea I have inkling that I might just know what I'm talking about.

- Same with walking up a gangway - no, you join ship and meet for the first time, and it's not as if you can then turn back and walk away if you don't like them. But yes, this might need some clarification in the book which would perhaps have been a nicer way to critique it.

- on board or on-board or onboard? Well, me hearty, in England it can be said any which way but loose.

- You suggest that Larkin's analysis of Silas is contradictory - "fuse about to blow on one situation or another" - it is not Silas that is about to blow, it is always  the SITUATION that is about to blow and every time I reread this bit it makes perfect sense to me. I never said that Silas was about to blow. He is just an amiable fart who causes A situation to blow.

- You wrote, "who wants to listen to somebody else's real life story, really? I find this quite confusing noting that  half the books on the shelves today are all about other people. In this book Silas launches into his own life and the numerous calamities from around the world - all of which are exciting tales of adventure and mayhem, with input from his wife, a cook or two and of course when Joe was with him.

- The first chapter is specifically designed to show distance and disinterest in Silas, to run him down beneath the floor to provoke interest in the 'why'. This is called reverse psychology and provides suitable intrigue - the reader wants to know more, for Silas is such a poor drunk - or is he?

- And why did I let Joe talk about Silas before letting the Captain rip? Well, I guess one would have to read the next chapter to find out. But this one point I might have a good think on - perhaps a chapter of Silas first might be in order.

Thanks again and better luck to the next hopefuls who fancy putting their heads into the slow-twisting vice.

Ieuan

Sorry you didn't like my opinion, Ieuan.

Unfortunately in the real world you don't have the opportunity to argue with agents and tell them that they haven't "understood" your book. It's also slightly counterproductive to argue points of grammar with people who copy-edit for a living. A case in point. "On-board" is a hyphenated adjective, as in "on-board engine", the opposite of an outboard engine. However, in the context you have used the words, "I never found out he was skulking on-board", they constitute an adverbial phrase describing his skulking, in which case it is grammatically incorrect to hyphenate them.

Points of grammar aside, the wider issue is that this was my opinion, clearly and cogently (I hope) expressed, and there's little point in arguing with it. You are free to ignore it, of course, but I think at the end of your missive you agree that I might have actually been some constructive help, even in just one small detail. That's the sole point of the thread.

 I wish you well with your writing.

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/22/2015, 10:01 PM--

Title: Sly! (My novella. Introduction to a series, no final title yet.)

Genre: Comic Faux-Historical Fantasy

.

Pitch: A smarty-pants talking cat cavorts through sixteenth century Europe in a series of screwball adventures, an assassination plot against Queen Elizabeth impacting all else.  

. 

FYI: The diminutive associate mentioned below is my cat. This foundational fact is not revealed until around word eight-hundred.  

.

Link: http://www.bookcountry.com/Bookdetail.aspx?BookId=7948

. 

1.

A FINE KETTLE OF FISH.

. 

Sly was glum, as glum as he’d ever been in his life. After tense hours with testy officials in a stuffy room, he’d followed his embattled superior down a secret stair and through a door that provided unobserved access to serene formal gardens. Batten the hatches, boy, he told himself. You’re in for a real blow this time. Keep your trap shut. Smile. Nod. Get through it.

.

He knew well – damn well - what to expect. “Lord Above,” he groaned. “Enough upset for one day. No more, please.” He attempted a diversionary tactic, a string of acidic quips assessing the intellects of the men they’d just been sparring with. In response, he got annoyed shrugs and a variety of mirthless sounds, snorts, snarls, and sighs aplenty.

.

In his best nothing-fazes-me voice he exclaimed, “Sir! This is a bad business. We must ponder a response, certainly, but I’m not up to it just now. Let’s shrug off this sour mood and enjoy what’s left of a beautiful afternoon. We’ll go at it tomorrow. What do you say?” 

.

The old man tramped sullenly along the brickwork path. Sly followed dutifully. Finally, behind a dense hedge, the graybeard bent low, a hand cupped on one knee to steady himself nose to nose with his diminutive associate. The other hand clutched his cloak tight at his throat. His thin lips were contorted in a deep frown. “Look here,” he spat. “You would abandon me to those fat-heads? I refuse to believe it.”

.

The hunched form, indifferently braced, was tettering, but his underling did not back off. Should the man topple, he meant to cushion the fall. Although of small stature, nowhere near the other’s heft, he disdained to act on his impulse to dodge a crush. But he was not able to suppress a frenzied rejoinder. “Let me slip away,” he hissed. “It’s all my fault. These fools are in revolt against me, not you. The most of them are good men. I am willing to assign them the least foul of motives; they are fearful. You and I have been too flagrant in our unnatural association. That bastard has given them an issue to rally around. The sudden accord of ones normally at each other’s throats is the closest they dare come to a bald rebuke. Once I’m out of the picture they’ll revert to their fractious ways, for this proposal is, unquestionably, indecent.”

.

“Don’t leave me!” begged the anguished ancient. He lurched toward a stone bench, collapsed onto it, and buried his face in his hands. “Holy Mother,” he cried, “steel my spine, as you did that of my kinsman, the Friar of Carcassonne.”

.

Sly bowed his head in an approximation of reverence. “A fine kettle of fish,” he muttered. D’Ollot’s latest assault was a honey. He had to admire the creativity of the man, if nothing else. “This new joke,” he growled, “is a shot across the bow. The spark grows bolder by the hour, encouraged by your goodwife’s – I use the term loosely - support. This stunt, meant to humiliate you, is the first salvo in a power struggle, make no mistake. Fine. Fiddle this tune for all its worth. Here’s what I advise: condemn the depravity, but do not attempt to obstruct. Whatever you do, he’ll find a way to use it against you. Look the other way. Let me handle it. All manner of things can go wrong. Will go wrong. I have my own nasty ways, and you know it.”

.

“Do I not!” moaned the grizzard.

--edited by Mimi Speike on 8/23/2015, 9:53 AM--

I rose early morning: the sun shining for the first day in many. I began by cutting down the last of the remaining rhubarb, brought it to the boil, added a half pound of wild berries and a pound of sugar and produced five jars of fairly wicked tasting jam. Whilst occupying myself with this infrequent but tasty task, I gulped down three mugs of hot coffee, weirdly decaffeinated for a change but purposefully chosen to avoid a distracting buzz later. I then wildly and mostly erratically mowed the lawn; a chance to ponder life and to clear my head of some residual nighttime cobwebs - and as a potential replacement for the earlier lack of caffeine.

Then I looked up the word 'Forum'. I won't delve into the various definitions that I obtained but suffice it to say that I was correct to believe that most include words like debate, exchange, ideas, discuss, etc.

Now, I worked at sea for over 25 years and I think I know a little about the sea, ships and seafarers. In fact I am extremely passionate about the subject and I have taken to writing to express such knowledge and experience that I amassed and with what could be described as 'raw enthusiasm bursting out at every seam'. Now, in the past I have received hundreds of rejections letters and I have accepted these - I have, like many others, limited choice to do otherwise and against a poor backdrop of never really being good at grammar, an engineer was I. 

In a 'forum' various opinions are expressed, ones that are accessible to thousands in comparison to the usual trains of personal rejection letters - I cry alone over those. In short, I will fight for every word that I write. I will stand-up and protest, defend and debate, every single review or opinion that is detrimental to my future success. Unlike many hopeful authors, I will not sit down and meekly accept, not in open debate nor open forum. I will endeavor to ensure that my side is vividly presented, that my books are not swept under the carpet by others opinion and that my work gets the attention that I think it so rightly deserves.

I may not sell many books, nor find a publisher or agent, but I will always keep my head high and retain pride in my creations.

Again, thanks for your critique, some points of which have been extremely valuable and that I have taken on-board. However, on an open forum I have the right to respond and to defend my work, and I will always fight tooth and nail to do so, which in my opinion more authors should do instead of meekly being put down at every turn of a page.

Thanks again.

It is always good to have potential problems pointed out to you. (If you had seen them, you wouldn't have written them, right?) It's even better to be able to defend your choices, to be at peace with your approach, come what may in terms of marketability. This may be the most satisfaction you will have of it. (I cling to this thought, my own work having small chance of a success, being idiosyncratic in the extreme.)

.

My six hundred words, above, are straightforward, if somewhat mysterious. Things get nuts in terms of structure soon afterwards. In terms of concept also.

--edited by Mimi Speike on 8/23/2015, 10:25 AM--

No, Tricia, I just keep pondering the existence of so many "legitimately" (not self) published books that don't fit into the wisdom of how to publish. Books that AREN'T exciting on the first page, that DON'T present a conflict or problem early on, that--well--don't do what we are told will get us published. And then, if you think, as leuan did, that you ARE giving a reader (agent, beta reader, whatever...) the "right stuff," you find out you're not. It's overwhelming. And yet, I know there's much truth to the narrow passageway of success in writing, but so too is there much published writing that starts out with a bang and then fizzles (but the almighty hook was in place). How DID 50 shades get published (connections). How did The Historian survive the first 600 words test? I read all 700-plus pages and can't help but subtitle the book, in my head, The Metronome. The 600 words test is right to be the same kind of brutal as writing a graduate thesis or dissertation. But it needs to be supplemented by a variety of critiques on the first AND subsequent words. That's what this site offers

--edited by RCGravelle on 8/23/2015, 11:23 AM--

 Title: The Twenty-five Years

Pitch: The threat of death shows a mentally ill man he has the strength to reclaim his life.

Beginning Chapter 1: The Gazebo [not sure I will retain chapter titles, but they help me write]

  A man’s voice, deep, with some kind of accent; words, but none I can make out; English, but… Maybe I’m the only one listening. Sitting here in the gazebo, you can hear the voice come through the branches into our little cloud of smoke. That’s what this thing’s for. I’m sitting with Alice and Lillian, my friends, keeping them company. Lillian’s an older white lady—Mrs. Chalmers we call her, out of respect—not sure she was ever married. She never says much, not like me and Alice, we can talk when we’re in the mood. We’re all quiet now, though.

Nothing much happens around here; this is the most interesting thing for a while, this voice. Another one too, a woman, but so faint I can’t be sure. Not one of mine, though, I can hear them loud and clear. My ladies—not Alice and Lillian, the ones in my head—they want me to hear every damn word; always about me—personal, nasty most of the time. 

  My name is Paul Abernathy, and I live here at 67 Farnsworth Street in the Roxbury—that’s part of Boston. Farnsworth is a house for crazy folks…like me. That’s what you got to know about me right off, because it’s been my home for almost twenty-four years. I know it exact—twenty-three years, eleven months and fourteen days—but they say it annoys folks, makes me seem strange, so they got me on this plan…

Anyway, it’s a nice warm evening in July, and I’ve been sitting with Lillian and Alice, smoking. That is, they smoke; I don’t, but I like sitting and talking with them outside, away from the others, where it’s quiet. Gazebo’s an open eight-sided little porch, outside on its own, on the other side of our yard. Got us a double lot, the extra over to the left of the house when you come at it from the street, so there’s the driveway on the side, then this great big old tree and a monster of a bush that’s full of yellow flowers in the Spring. And then us, sitting.

   Alice is probably—no, no probably about it—she’s my best friend. Been here about the same as me; came sixteen days later; my first friend here. Nice lady. Alice Pickering; about fifty-five, would make her six years older than me. Quiet, but real nice when she does talk.  About my height, average for a woman, I guess. She's got kind of medium brown skin like mine too; gray hair, nice and clean, pins it up all around; still pays attention to the way she looks. She’s getting kind of heavy, started huffing and puffing on our stairs—always seems like I’m so tired—but we’re all that way, all the pills we take every damn day.

   It’s a little far from my room, but this is a good day, this one, good enough that I made it all the way out here on the other side of our property to where we got to smoke, even though I don’t. It’s like you’re in the country, but just a few steps from my room. Fifty-eight steps: I can make it back. I don’t like to go far, so it’s nice, this green place, after supper on a warm summer evening in July with the sun low and a breeze making this noise that softens everything. Even has a smell like you’re out in the woods somewhere. I might even be OK a little longer with Lillian and Alice. Nobody’s talking, but that’s no problem. Not much to say when nothing happens. And nothing wrong with that either.

For the consideration of the Faux Editors:  BAD NAPKIN.

Genre: YA/New Adult Humor

SP: a comedy of errors about love, lies and lists.

Chapter One: Sophy

My Social Studies project is torture.

It's not actually about torture, like pulling out fingernails, hanging people up by their thumbs, tongue-stretching, or hooking up car batteries where they shouldn't be hooked up. Of course it's not about that.

Um, unless… Perhaps it actually could be about that?

No, where would I ever find examples of torture around West Kissfield? There are rumors of the manager at the McD's using the mayo gun on staff, and Julie was stalked in Walmart by a shelfstacker with a huge watermelon, which she said was both odd and repellent. But that's really not torture, is it?

Thing is, my Social Studies project just is torture. I haven't even chosen a topic yet, and there're only six weeks left until I need to hand it in. Topic, theories, case studies, data.

Not that I haven't had ideas. But they just kinda melt away after a few days. It wouldn't be so bad if nobody else had picked theirs, but Russ told me he's going to research Effects of Vertigo on Skyscraper Office Workers which is super-clever, to the point of being annoying, and even Julie has nailed down Fast Fashion and the Bangladeshi Economy. I absolutely would have chosen that last one. If I'd thought of it.

What did I come up with?

Music Choices for Kissing - a Longitudinal Study. It sounded so good until I started it. Kissing and music, it's like chocolate and peanut butter. I started out practicing on Russ, which was fun. But after tons of more serious research, mostly on YouTube, I had to file it away in the 'Too Freakin Difficult' folder.

Girls Who Dream About Kissing Boys - and Their Dreams. First thing I did was interview Cosmo Corrie. Two hours. She has a lot of dreams. Seriously weird dreams. The notes I typed went straight into a very different folder. Maybe I should have deleted it completely. There were all these things she said that I don't understand. I'm not sure she does either.

Fast Fashion and the Chinese Economy. I know.

Russ's friend Darren suggested Online Dating and the Computer Club. It wasn't a bad idea, but after he said it he gave me the hot-eye, so I dumped it faster than toxic waste.

Julie thought I could do Hairstyles That Make Sense For Dating. But how would I ever impress a college admissions officer with that?

It's just so hard.

I stare at my laptop.

That's when I hear the doorbell. Julie!

A millisecond later she bursts into my room, a jumble of two backpacks jammed with half-finished homework and ancient art projects, plus a shopping bag from Target filled with impulse purchases. Which I immediately inspect - a pair of pink sneakers, a fifteen dollar watch, two blue satin tops, a white straw floppyhat, and a king-size Kit Kat.

She's also very close to tears.

She flops on my bed and opens the Kit Kat. "What a heinous crap-juggling day."

I hate to get all observational, but you could also say Julie has a bit of a mouth on her.

Then, all unexpectedly, she takes this gnarly looking paper napkin out of one of the backpacks and tosses it over. She rolls those wide blue eyes.

I look at the napkin, it's got writing all over it, and a Rorschach ketchup blot in one corner that looks like a cat dancing.

"That," Julie says, "that's what I mean by a crap-juggling day."

I look at the napkin. "Is this about Freddie?"

Freddie, the boyfriend. He and Julie are totally into each other.

"Freddie the assclown."

Oh dear. Oh no.

A breakup. Out of the blue. 

Thank you D'Estaing. You mention a few things I've wondered about myself, and others besides.  

.

Why a cat? This is my screwball version of Puss in Boots, for adults. I intended to be mysterious about the matter D'Ollot, the Finance Minister, has proposed. I make it clear in chapter two, after my very short first chapter. (This is two-thirds of it here.) Maybe I'd best rethink that.

.

I have copied and pasted your comments into a word file to study in depth later. You have done an excellent job, reminding me of my tendency to be too in love with cute at the expense of clarity. 

--edited by Mimi Speike on 8/24/2015, 10:09 AM--

 Bob Schueler wrote:

 Title: The Twenty-five Years 

 Pitch: The threat of death shows a mentally ill man he has the strength to reclaim his life.

 Beginning Chapter 1: The Gazebo [not sure I will retain chapter titles, but they help me write]

  A man's voice, deep, with some kind of accent; words, but none I can make out; English, but… Maybe I'm the only one listening. Sitting here in the gazebo, you can hear the voice come through the branches into our little cloud of smoke. That's what this thing's for. I'm sitting with Alice and Lillian, my friends, keeping them company. Lillian's an older white lady-Mrs. Chalmers we call her, out of respect-not sure she was ever married. She never says much, not like me and Alice, we can talk when we're in the mood. We're all quiet now, though.

Nothing much happens around here; this is the most interesting thing for a while, this voice. Another one too, a woman, but so faint I can't be sure. Not one of mine, though, I can hear them loud and clear. My ladies-not Alice and Lillian, the ones in my head-they want me to hear every damn word; always about me-personal, nasty most of the time. 

  My name is Paul Abernathy, and I live here at 67 Farnsworth Street in the Roxbury-that's part of Boston. Farnsworth is a house for crazy folks…like me. That's what you got to know about me right off, because it's been my home for almost twenty-four years. I know it exact-twenty-three years, eleven months and fourteen days-but they say it annoys folks, makes me seem strange, so they got me on this plan…

Anyway, it's a nice warm evening in July, and I've been sitting with Lillian and Alice, smoking. That is, they smoke; I don't, but I like sitting and talking with them outside, away from the others, where it's quiet. Gazebo's an open eight-sided little porch, outside on its own, on the other side of our yard. Got us a double lot, the extra over to the left of the house when you come at it from the street, so there's the driveway on the side, then this great big old tree and a monster of a bush that's full of yellow flowers in the Spring. And then us, sitting.

   Alice is probably-no, no probably about it-she's my best friend. Been here about the same as me; came sixteen days later; my first friend here. Nice lady. Alice Pickering; about fifty-five, would make her six years older than me. Quiet, but real nice when she does talk.  About my height, average for a woman, I guess. She's got kind of medium brown skin like mine too; gray hair, nice and clean, pins it up all around; still pays attention to the way she looks. She's getting kind of heavy, started huffing and puffing on our stairs-always seems like I'm so tired-but we're all that way, all the pills we take every damn day.

   It's a little far from my room, but this is a good day, this one, good enough that I made it all the way out here on the other side of our property to where we got to smoke, even though I don't. It's like you're in the country, but just a few steps from my room. Fifty-eight steps: I can make it back. I don't like to go far, so it's nice, this green place, after supper on a warm summer evening in July with the sun low and a breeze making this noise that softens everything. Even has a smell like you're out in the woods somewhere. I might even be OK a little longer with Lillian and Alice. Nobody's talking, but that's no problem. Not much to say when nothing happens. And nothing wrong with that either.

Pitch:   The pitch is immediately arresting. It's succinct and maps out a clear conflict. I do wonder if "the threat of death" isn't rather vague though. Is this through illness, or is he being physically threatened?

Text:

"That's what this thing's for" - redundant . As soon as I saw "gazebo" and "cloud of smoke" I put two and two together and realised they were in an outside smoking area. If you feel you need to spell it out, I would use a more definitive phrase, but I don't think you need to. If the reader hasn't got it by now, they will in a few lines' time and it's just an awkward phrase.

You've quickly and neatly established his problem, the voices in his head, "always about me-personal, nasty most of the time" in the second paragraph.

I'm not sure of the ellipsis after "folks". A full stop might make the next sentence more compellingly abrupt. "Like me."

I can't quite place his accommodation. "Farnsworth" is a "home for crazy folks", yet he lives at "67 Farnsworth Street in the Roxbury". Is the Farnsworth "home" so large that it contains streets? If it is, why then does he mention "the Roxbury-that's part of Boston". If he had been there twenty four years, would he have become that institutionalised that the wider geographical area in which the home is situated would become meaningless?

"so they got me on this plan…" - another rather unnecessary ellipsis. And it reads as if they've put him on this plan merely because he knows to the day how long he's been inside the home, which seems a bit harsh. Thinks: Perhaps he goes around telling everyone, repeatedly.

"outside on its own" - unnecessary.

"the extra over to the left of the house when you come at it from the street, so there's the driveway on the side" - None of this really makes the geography of the garden much clearer, to be honest, and I'm not sure it's necessary. They're in a gazebo. A gazebo is by definition a free-standing structure in the garden. Do we need to know any more? The only fact that you need to mention is the distance it is from his room, which you do mention a couple of paragraphs later.

At this point I'm beginning to wonder about the voice that you introduced the piece with? Where is the voice coming from? Over the garden fence? What is the relevance of the voice to the rest of the piece? Was it something you used just to bring out the fact that he has voices in his head? If that's true then you could ditch it, and bring that facet of Paul's character out by listening to, say, Alice talk. The voice attains an out-of-proportion weight in the reader's mind because you chose to start your entire book with it and you might not need it at all.

Summary: Agent ready? Needs just a little tweaking. There are the small details you need to address detailed above, then one other issue. It's nicely described, you capture the microcosm of an institutionalised patient-the width of his universe is the length of the garden from the gazebo to his room (hence my comment about Boston earlier). We don't get much character information yet, but you have a good way of dropping details in to otherwise ordinary narrative, like the voices in his head, which gives the reader confidence to continue. But, and it's the usual "but", there isn't anything happening. I've been carried so far by the delicacy of description and the set-up of being in a schizophrenic's head (if that's the correct terminology for someone with his condition). There is some tension. It's all very nice and peaceful, "nobody's talking", there's "not much to say when nothing happens" but you get the feeling that something awful is about to happen, and to be honest, you'd better deliver on that in the next few pages. I haven't read any further on your book page, but if the first chapter goes on in this vein for a while or even worse finishes without any conflict emerging, then I'm going to have a problem maintaining my interest. You always need to have a reason to start a book at a particular point. What happens here to drive the story forward?

But otherwise an interesting start.

Thanks for posting.

--edited by DianaRoseWilson on 8/24/2015, 1:44 PM--

D' Estaing,

I thank you for taking the time to read my 600 words. This is a debut novel for me and I am stumbling through the process a bit, learning as I go, and all critiques can be useful somehow. I found yours extremely helpful.

Points take in your observations

• All of the mechanical issues, with the exception of spelling differences in the UK and US.
• Pitch missing name.
• "God this place is tacky"-- I started the writing process in the present tense and then decided past tense would suit better. Clearly I have missed some of the change over in re-write, and you are not the first to mention it. I believe you are correct. This line is not necessary, if only to point out my tense issue, I'm glad I left it in, to this point. I was trying to establish the MC's tastes, which become important throughout the novel, but as you pointed out, it's redundant.
• "both the bane and breadth" -- In this line I have included, and then removed, the use of "I've received." However, I did find it clumsy so I looked for other options. Coming up empty, I decided to let it stand, guessing the reader would know the intent. Apparently, I'll be back to the drawing board here.
• "I have a porn habit," becomes a running joke in the novel, as well as the MC's expertise on porn. It absolutely contributes to her perceived body issues, but no, it's not a porn novel, it is a steamy contemporary romance.
• The MC's name is revealed in the next paragraph, when her name is called. Avery is the main character. A paragraph later the esthetician reveals that Avery is at a Waxing Parlor, and about to experience her first Brazilian wax. Which is a very embarrassing experience for any woman, the fact that Avery is overweight compounds the anxiety.
• The use of "literally"--quite frankly this was embarrassing as I am someone who shakes my head at writers who use 'literally" wrong. Guilty, party of one.

Points of contention.

• I think Avery's anxiety, and the suspense level, are appropriate. "Ramping it up," could make the reader think she has some sort of neurosis, which she doesn't. She is realistic about her body, not "body-dysmorphic." And no, Avery is not gigantic, but her body issues have been amplified by her relationship with her best friend, a former runway model. Her friend always pulls the focus in a room, from men and women, and Avery, who is actually quite attractive, ends up becoming a wallflower. The reader learns this in the subsequent scene.
• Women and weight issues: Sir, all women feel defined by their weight in some way or another or at some point in time, no one more so than an overweight woman who knows she stands little chance of looking like the magazine covers. Avery's journey is to come to terms with her body, and accept that she is beautiful just as she is, that beauty is a matter of perception, not fact.
• "Then, generally, this isn't a particularly original observation, and I'm not even sure it's right. Most men aren't that fussy: they tend not to look a gift horse in the crotch. Isn't it women who are conditioned to have unrealistic expectations of [i]themselves[/i]? Leaving aside the rights and wrongs of it, you're flagging to me that the character you're writing about isn't a particularly deep thinker, and tends to think along rather conventional and clichéd lines. You should be aware of this, as author. I don't know the character yet, you do. Only you know if my emerging impression is accurate." --Frankly, this doesn't have to be an original observation; for women with weight issues, it is constantly at the forefront of the mind. I'm certain a woman editing the piece would know that, not your fault. However, I'm afraid we will disagree with "men aren't that fussy." It isn't a credible statement. In the new world of political correctness, being heavy is the last acceptable form of prejudice. There are men in the world that like a curvier woman, and that is what we find in the novel, but they are the minority: A lesson Avery has learned through experience, as have most overweight women. Rejection wears on self confidence to the point that it's easier on the ego to not search for the small percentage of men who do enjoy hips and curves.
• It is women who are conditioned to unreal expectations. Avery learns that through the novel, but she isn't wrong about men having been conditioned as well. If they were immune, the whole of the problem wouldn't exist. Yet it does, as a woman who had been both thin and athletic and heavy and curvy. The difference when interacting with men is night and day. It is a reality that I can't expect you to understand as your not a woman. However Avery has developed her opinion through experience, which I eluded to in the "fuckable" comment.
• Actually Avery is quite intelligent, but who would be a "deep-thinker" in the weighting room of a wax parlor getting ready to do something completely superficial, and painful, and embarrassing? The fact that Avery is worrying about how chubby she is at that moment is a natural reaction, and not cliché. It is truthful. I would ask what exactly you would contemplate in the weighting room before you had the twig and berries waxed clean. Doesn't exactly lend itself to contemplating the meaning of life. Also, in a waiting room setting, I think Avery has "done" about as much as she can. She's made observations, she's taken in the setting, she's nervous so she's not likely to carry on a conversation with a woman that just gave her a once over. What else would she be doing other than worrying about what was to come in the next twenty minutes? Waxing, your first time, is humiliating, and a damn brave thing to do, especially when you know you'll likely be the heaviest girl in the room.

But of course, you wouldn't know most of this, since I had to cut the scene to 600 words. However with some tweaks I might be able to be a bit more forthcoming a little earlier on without feeling like I'm just information dumping (because there isn't anything that annoys me more than a book that tries to dump all the pertinent information right off the bat). I prefer an author assume I am intelligent enough to grasp their meaning without having everything spelled out for me straight away. I'm sure that is why I write this way. Waxing was meant to be an example of the tribulations of life as an overweight woman. It says a lot to the reader up front about the kind of woman Avery is, without spelling it out for them. Also, that big bang? It was just a few more paragraphs away.

Obviously, I still have work to do, and I thank you for the time spent reading my 600 words. I would like to do some reworking and then have you take another look if you are up for it? Rest assured, I am quite pleased that you've decided to provide us such a service and I hope that other author's will realize that they are putting there work here for you to pick apart. If that's not what they are looking for then they probably shouldn't post. Of course as author's we are all going to feel the need to defend out work, but it doesn't mean that it can't be improved upon.

Hi

Thanks so much for the feedback. It's very helpful to hear the questions the first few pages raises. I have lived in the world that's described so long, I lose sight of what is familiar and unfamiliar to others, and it's hard to draw the line on how much information is enough.

Just to clarify, and not in any way dispute your feedback, here are a few points of clarification, which come not much later in the story--hopefully soon enough:

The voice Paul hears is critical to the story. In the next chapter, we learn why. 

The institution is a group home, which is community housing for 8-10 adults, so he would be aware of his community, especially with his particular background and condition, which is explained as the story progresses.

He is indeed under physical threat. At the end of part I, Alice, his friend in the gazebo, is murdered, though it is made to look like natural causes, because of the 25 years reduced life expectancy of people with these conditions, which is, unfortunately, real.

The issue of the plan he is on, to help him to not communicate details of things that he obsesses over, is a part of the story as well, though we get into it a bit later. The over-controlling nature of the 'care' Paul and his housemates receive, and it's effect on their recovery, is a big part of the story as well.

The issues you raised let me know where I need to focus. Thanks very much for taking the time.

Bob

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/24/2015, 7:15 PM--

 Moonlight and Whiskey by Tricia McKee

Hi Tricia,

Thanks for submitting to the Faux Editors.  Please bear in mind that these are just the opinions of one reader, take what you think might work, throw away the rest.  I’m happy to debate on occasion, but time is limited for other reviews and also my own work.  Also, I haven’t read any reviews of your work, so I’m coming to this unbiased.

Overall I found this to be something of a mix – good voice, good dramatic stakes for this early on, but too much lecturing.  You write rather well, and it’s very easy to digest.  There’s also a strong voice for your narrator, which is essential.  The dramatic tension you develop would make me read on – I want to know how she gets along in her interview – or whatever they make her do.  So, you have a lot of essential elements working for you.

Moving to what I hope will be constructive criticism…

1) Voice.  “God this place was tacky.” I like this, in fact, I think this is actually the place to start.  I’d prefer you were in first person present, it’s more immediate.  But, earlier, the voice of “I have a porn habit” and the following 6 paragraphs reads like a lecture (albeit a somewhat interesting and challenging lecture.)  I don’t want to be lectured, I want to “feel” or “live” the character.  All the thoughts in the lecture can come out later, and maybe much more naturally.

Imagine you’re reading a novel that starts “I have a fishing habit.”  Right, unless you like fishing, I can imagine the sigh of boredom.  Your readership may be OK with that, but I just feel it could be stronger.

Also on voice – M/F/M etc doesn’t let me hear the voice, it feels too technical.  Simply, write it out in full, or find a better way to write it.

2) Dramatic edge.  ‘An adventure, if a bit naughty’ – this is really important and I think you underplay it.  Why does she want to move from voyeur to participant?  It’s not really explained by this statement.  That said, you do have dramatic tension in a woman who doesn’t fit the stereotype trying to ‘make it’ – so I’d want you to really focus on portraying that experience.

3) Cliché alert. ‘Ample butt.’ ‘Bane of my existence.’  But I place that against a much larger number of intelligent and more original descriptions that mark you as a better writer.

4) Start where the story starts.  You have two decent openings here, and neither is “I have a porn habit.”  One is “God this place was tacky” and the other is “The chair I occupied, if you could call it that, was a clear plastic modern thing that was way too narrow for my ample butt.”  But the one I’d prefer is more along the lines of “God, this place is tacky, and all these people are all looking at me like I’m in completely the wrong fucking place.” [sorry, first person present.]

So, overall, I quite like it.

TSWS / Bad Napkin

Edit for clarity:  'So, overall, I quite like it" means 'with those suggested changes I'd quite like it.' I don't much like it as it is. Sorry.

--edited by T.S.W. Sharman on 8/24/2015, 10:02 PM--

On the topic of why the lovely and intelligent people at BC might want to shutter this little thread, I offer these three points:

1. I hope this thread will encourage a high degree of creative criticism, which will draw in both readers and writers.  The current standard for a review, as I understand/misunderatnd it, is only 140 words. My FE reviews are generally >500 words on 600 words posted.  Not a bad ratio, and others have higher ratios.
2. An interesting or good showing on the Faux Editors can lead to people checking out a book more fully on BC.
3. It could bring in new writers.  I wouldn't review any book on this thread that was not already posted on BC.  Period.

Bad Napkin

^Subsequently edited for clarity

--edited by T.S.W. Sharman on 8/24/2015, 9:45 PM--

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/26/2015, 7:44 PM--

Oooh, this seems like an awesome idea!

I'll join in:

Title: DESTINY'S BOND, Volume I of the DARK DESTINIES TRILOGY

Pitch: A stoic assassin molded by adversity must purge the world of taint, while struggling to overcome her own inner demons

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Link: http://www.bookcountry.com/BookDetail.aspx?BookId=7289

Note: I added an extra space between paragraphs to make the reading easier on this thread. I do not have extra spaces in my Draft document.

Prologue:

I want my momma.

 
Huddled in the darkest shadows of the caged room, Destiny palmed her ears and hummed as loud as she could in her head to drown out the scary noises drifting down the hall. Someone was being hurt again, and she didn't like hearing the sounds, because they made her chest swell up and ache. And if that happened, she'd cry and the mean people would hear her and remember she was in this cage.

And she didn't want that.

So she stayed quiet and shut out the noises. Just remained in her dark corner, breathing stale air laced with the sour odor of bodily waste, shivering against the cold chewing at her naked skin.

Forever ago the mean people had taken away the tunic and trousers her momma had sewn for her and left her bare. Forever ago they'd warned her what they would do to her if she didn't obey. Forever ago they'd abandoned her in here.

Verily, she didn't mind being forgotten, so long as it meant she wouldn't have to go through what they'd described.

Warm fur brushed her shin, but she didn't react--rats lived in the cage with her, and they were nice, sometimes bringing her bits of food they stole out of other rooms. None of the mean people had offered her anything to eat since they'd taken away her clothes forever ago, except an icky-smelling mush.

She hadn't trusted the mush, so she hadn't eaten it. That chipped stone bowl was where they'd dropped it so long ago, on the other side of the bars, across the cage.

Soon the high screams became too deafening to ignore. As her rat friends hissed and scurried, hackles raised, tears clogged her throat and streamed over her cheeks. End it, she pleaded silently. End it. Please end it.

Pain in an innocent creature stabbed her on the inside, stoked an ache in her chest. And she knew the creatures were innocent because the mean people paraded them in front of her cage before forcing them farther down the dark hall, to a place where screams were torn from lungs and some didn't return.

I want my momma.

All at once the hurt noises cut off. Quiet cloaked the shadows.

Destiny didn't take comfort in the silence--It meant the innocent had either been snubbed or their suffering had become too much for them to endure, their throats too raw and their bodies too broken to support a scream anymore.

After a slip of minutes or hours, a squeak of hinges and the clatter of metal announced the Evil Place being opened and closed. Torches of green fire--witchflame--lighted the mean people's approach. They wore dark robes and masks to hide their figures, so she never could tell whether they were mortal or other.

When they came near, she curled tight into her dark corner and squeezed shut her eyes. Agonized moans pealed in her ears as they hauled the innocent past her cell, pebbling gooseflesh on her arms.

Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.

Once the shuffle of footfalls faded to nothing, she breathed in relief and peeked beneath her lashes.

Gone. They were gone. For now.

Silent, she repositioned her weight, seeking a more comfortable seat, and winced at the tightness of her muscles. Hard, frigid stone burned her back and bottom. Her hands and feet were numb, had been for a long while now.

I want my momma.

Another slip of forever dripped by. She didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Didn't move or make a sound. So long as she stayed quiet, the mean people wouldn't remember she was there. She was certain of it.

Until a set of footfalls whispered down the corridor, coming toward her. When she didn't hear the struggling of an innocent, she flattened as far into her corner as she could and pressed her lids tight together, unmindful of the frigid stone digging into her cheek, arm, and leg.

Maybe they were passing by. Maybe they were going to the Evil Place to clean it. Maybe--

A rattle of a key clanking in a lock. Her cell door squeaking open.

Then a menacing, guttural voice rasping, "Your turn, little girl."

She screamed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Looking forward to whatever you have to say! Feel free to tear my prologue apart and make it bleed

--edited by Amber J. Wolfe on 8/24/2015, 10:44 PM--

Thank you TSWS, for taking the time to read and review Moonlight & Whiskey. I appreciated all of your comments and think they are insightful. It seems you understand my writing style or, at least, don't find it completely abhorrent, and I appreciate the tidbits of praise as well as the critism. As I said I am new at this, it's my first manuscript and BC is the first real shot I've taken at letting others have a go at it. Every critique has been helpful from some angle. 

One point, "I have a porn habit." I've gotten strong feedback from readers that this opening grabbed their attention right away; the book is, after all, contemporary romance bordering on erotic romance, so I thought I did have an opening that appealed directly to the "fishing" fans. They are, after all, reading it for the "happy ending." Yep, pun intended. I'll be putting a lot of thought into it before I change that opening, but you've made some very good points and I intend on giving them due diligence. Thank you again, and I really hope they leave this group to their own devices. 

Loved this by the way "God, this place is tacky, and all these people are all looking at me like I’m in completely the wrong fucking place.”

Hey thanks.

New title suggestion:  "I Have a Porn Habit."  

TSWS.

 Amber J. Wolfe wrote: 

 Title: DESTINY'S BOND, Volume I of the DARK DESTINIES TRILOGY

 Pitch: A stoic assassin molded by adversity must purge the world of taint, while struggling to overcome her own inner demons

 Prologue:

 I want my momma.

Huddled in the darkest shadows of the caged room, Destiny palmed her ears and hummed as loud as she could in her head to drown out the scary noises drifting down the hall. Someone was being hurt again, and she didn't like hearing the sounds, because they made her chest swell up and ache. And if that happened, she'd cry and the mean people would hear her and remember she was in this cage.

And she didn't want that.

So she stayed quiet and shut out the noises. Just remained in her dark corner, breathing stale air laced with the sour odor of bodily waste, shivering against the cold chewing at her naked skin.

Forever ago the mean people had taken away the tunic and trousers her momma had sewn for her and left her bare. Forever ago they'd warned her what they would do to her if she didn't obey. Forever ago they'd abandoned her in here.

Verily, she didn't mind being forgotten, so long as it meant she wouldn't have to go through what they'd described.

Warm fur brushed her shin, but she didn't react--rats lived in the cage with her, and they were nice, sometimes bringing her bits of food they stole out of other rooms. None of the mean people had offered her anything to eat since they'd taken away her clothes forever ago, except an icky-smelling mush.

She hadn't trusted the mush, so she hadn't eaten it. That chipped stone bowl was where they'd dropped it so long ago, on the other side of the bars, across the cage.

Soon the high screams became too deafening to ignore. As her rat friends hissed and scurried, hackles raised, tears clogged her throat and streamed over her cheeks. End it, she pleaded silently. End it. Please end it. 

Pain in an innocent creature stabbed her on the inside, stoked an ache in her chest. And she knew the creatures were innocent because the mean people paraded them in front of her cage before forcing them farther down the dark hall, to a place where screams were torn from lungs and some didn't return.

 I want my momma. 

All at once the hurt noises cut off. Quiet cloaked the shadows.

Destiny didn't take comfort in the silence--It meant the innocent had either been snubbed or their suffering had become too much for them to endure, their throats too raw and their bodies too broken to support a scream anymore.

After a slip of minutes or hours, a squeak of hinges and the clatter of metal announced the Evil Place being opened and closed. Torches of green fire--witchflame--lighted the mean people's approach. They wore dark robes and masks to hide their figures, so she never could tell whether they were mortal or other.

When they came near, she curled tight into her dark corner and squeezed shut her eyes. Agonized moans pealed in her ears as they hauled the innocent past her cell, pebbling gooseflesh on her arms.

 Don't look. Don't look. Don't look. 

Once the shuffle of footfalls faded to nothing, she breathed in relief and peeked beneath her lashes.

Gone. They were gone. For now.

Silent, she repositioned her weight, seeking a more comfortable seat, and winced at the tightness of her muscles. Hard, frigid stone burned her back and bottom.

Note: The first 600 words only, please, rounded to the nearest complete sentence. It's an arbitrary measure, but keeps the thread manageable. It's also good practice for sending to agents and publishers. They generally all have slightly different requirements, some insist on double spacing, some want page numbers, some want the first three chapters, some want the first 5000 words. But they do all agree that if you don't fulfil those requirements to the letter, it gives them a great excuse to not even look any further. So, I read as far as "bottom".

Pitch: Good, concise, if a bit generic. "Stoic" is a curious word choice to describe an assassin.

Text:

"hummed as loud as she could in her head" - You don't need "in her head". Is there any other way to hum?

"the scary noises" - unless this is a very young children's book (and I'm hoping from the pitch that it isn't!), be more specific. We want to be scared too. Telling us the noises are "scary" doesn't cut it.

"she didn't like hearing the sounds" - same problem. What sounds? A bell ringing? Sawing noises? Screams? Barry Manilow on repeat play? You don't need any commas in that sentence either.

"remember she was in this cage" - you've already said she was in a cage. "she was here" would do.

You don't need a new para for "And she didn't want that." A good line though, chilling.

"So she stayed quiet and shut out the noises" - this is repeating the previous para, and not adding new information. Cut.

"cold chewing at her naked skin" - its good to be courageous with word choices and avoid cliché, but I'm not sure that cold "chews". Something like this boils down to personal preference though, and it's your book, after all. The nakedness was unforeseen.

I don't feel the repetition of "forever ago", (a rather clumsy phrase anyway that I don't hear a child saying), works (I presume Destiny is a child, from her thought patterns and language).

"they'd warned her what they would do to her" - Again, are you being squeamish on purpose here? Why aren't you telling us what they would do to her? That would be far more immersive. And "if she didn't obey". How can she not obey?  She's locked in a cage.

"Forever ago they'd abandoned her in here." - and I'm not sure this is necessary at all. Thanks to the repetition of "forever ago", we know she has been there a while. It does occur to me though, is she a reliable narrator? Has she actually been there for ages? Children are notorious for having little concept of passing time. Perhaps she has only been there a day, and she is making out as if it's "forever ago"?

No new para necessary for "She hadn't trusted the mush". I won't comment on this again in case it's a formatting glitch.

"on the other side of the bars" - how is the bowl on the other side of the bars? Is suppose it could have fitted through sideways perhaps, but it seems an odd thing to specify.

"hackles raised" - not sure rats have hackles, do they? A rat once came at me. It actually stood up on its hind legs and started hissing. I was too astonished to see if it had hackles, I must admit.

"tears clogged her throat" - no they didn't. I can kind of understand it as a metaphor for the "lump in your throat" glottal contraction you experience when trying to suppress the urge to cry, but you can't use "tears" both literally and metaphorically in the same sentence, because in the next phrase you have them conventionally streaming down her cheeks. It reads as if they came out of her mouth.

"Soon" - avoid using words like soon. It means nothing, if you think about it. 

"End it, she pleaded silently." - I don't think a child would express the thought "end it" implying that the torturer should put their victim out of their misery. They might think "make it stop", but that has a slightly different perspective, if you see what I mean.

"Pain in an innocent creature" - again you're being vague, which unless there's a good reason for it, is beginning to get irritating. What creatures? Why don't you tell us what they are? Does the child not know? Can't she make a guess? Even if the creatures are totally alien to her, surely she'd approximate them to something she does know: "The monkey-like creature" ? And why did the mean people parade these creatures in front of her cage before they hauled them off to the torture chamber? What are they to her?

I think you could switch the order of the next two sentences and rather effectively ramp up the tension a little more. So:

"All at once the hurt noises cut off. Quiet cloaked the shadows.

 I want my momma. "

In this way the repeated "momma" line resounds in the new and dangerous silence.

 "It meant the innocent had either been snubbed or their suffering had become too much for them to endure, their throats too raw and their bodies too broken to support a scream anymore." - I'd consider if you really need to spell this out. It's a bit obvious.  And "snubbed" is a curious word in this context. Are you sure you mean to use it?

"After a slip of minutes or hours" - now I am thinking she's an unreliable narrator. If she can't tell the difference between minutes and hours, we can't have much confidence in how long she has been down here in the dungeons. I think it would help us empathise with her if we did know. Can she not scratch marks on the wall or something, in the time-honoured way of marking days in captivity?

"They wore dark robes and masks to hide their figures" - why, as a matter of interest? It's their dungeon. No-one gets out of there alive. Why would they hide themselves, and risk getting their nice cloaks all covered with blood and god knows what?

"Hard, frigid stone burned her back and bottom" - and perhaps I'm getting overly picky now, but you probably don't need "hard" because you have the far better adjective of frigid to describe the stone she's sitting on, but then frigid doesn't burn, unless it's actually well below freezing. I'm not sure about that entire phrase, but I like the use of the word frigid.

Summary:  Ready for an agent? No, but then I think you said at the outset that this is a draft.

You have a scene with great potential here. A girl, naked, praying for her momma while cowering in a dungeon as other unfortunates are being tortured along the corridor. There are some bits and pieces in the above observations that you should perhaps think through a little more clearly, but nothing terribly major. Some word choices are a bit odd, to say the least, and you said you'd fiddled with the presentation in order to make it clearer to read, so I'm not sure whether your knowledge of the use of paragraphs needs as much work as it appears to .

The biggest single issue with this piece I think is that you're pulling your punches. Is this book an adult fantasy or a child's fantasy? I'd say the themes are very advanced for a child's book, so I'm presuming it's an adult or at least YA work. In which case, why aren't you ladling on the horror and suspense to make us really feel the terror of this girl's situation? Too much is left undescribed and vague, the "scary noises", the "mean people", "what they would do to her if she didn't obey", the "innocent creatures", even the torturers themselves are not described beyond "dark robes and masks". It leaves the reader guessing. Too much description is poor writing, too prescriptive, allowing the reader no "wiggle room", but this errs on the too little side, I feel.

I think that the problems might arise from the fact that you appear to be stuck working with a young child's POV. The language and emotion of her thoughts is clearly childlike and appropriate, but we're adults, reading an adult book, so we are constantly looking over the top of her head and wanting to see what is really going on, metaphorically speaking.

There are a couple of things you could do. You could change the POV to an omni one, looking down on the child. "The child shivered, naked in the dirt, her hands clapped over her ears trying vainly to shut out the long drawn screams that echoed off the damp stone" - that kind of thing. I certainly wouldn't suggest using it for the entire book, but it might work just for a prologue. It leaves you free to describe the scene as an adult would see it, and given that we would feel naturally protective to a child (one would hope), what empathetic strength you lose from not being in the POV of Destiny, you could more than compensate for by really ratcheting up the horror and suspense. The trouble is that omni is difficult to write well, and the advice is usually the opposite, to go into deep third person.

If this is too complicated, you could just make the girl older. Does she have to be so young that she's crying for her "momma"? If she was a teenager, even a relatively young teenager, her language and emotions would be far more keenly expressed and her appreciation of the true peril of her situation would be much sharper. At points in the narrative above I felt as if Destiny was actually okay in the cage, playing with her little ratty friends and doing the young-kid-in-denial thing of putting her hands over her ears when she heard something she didn't want to hear.

It's a good scene to start with, but I think you could do so much more with it. If you cut a little excess verbiage out where I suggested that it's not needed , the pace would also be quicker and we could get to the point that you wanted me to get to (the hook of when the torturer bloke comes for her) within the first few pages, which would also be a bonus.

Thanks for posting.

My opinion is that it is better to mull over the changes being suggested before doing anything. I'm just a reader, but have followed the threads on the other site. If writers start editing and changing, it not only gets confusing for the rest of us, but sometimes trying to please everyone makes the work worse. 

Plus these threads are very popular and to make sure that everyone gets some input, usually it is suggested that a writer doesn't keep resubmitting changes over and over. Much better to think about it for a spell. Also, as more faux agents are attracted, we'll start seeing differences of opinion.

Hi @Mimi--no worries. So long as the thread stays easy to follow, I think it's good.

What's happened in the past is that a member might come over to the discussion board and start critiquing a book, and so I've encouraged people that if they are going to critique a book or discuss it, to do so on the page of the actual book. That way, the reviews all stay together.

I liked the idea of experimenting with a thread like this. Have at it! Enjoy!

DianaRoseWilson wrote:

Heeeeey--before I give this a try...how many tries do we get at this?

 Well, as many as you like in theory. But this isn't a work-shopping thread in the true sense of the phrase. The idea is that you post up, see what the Editors have to say and go away and reflect on their advice. You may decide it's utter garbage and carry on with your book. You might decide that one or more of the points they've made are quite valuable, and you'll include them in a subsequent rewrite. You may get a sudden inspiration for a complete rewrite of your book's opening. In all but the last case, it would probably be a waste of time re-submitting here unless the changes you had made were substantial.

The important thing to remember, as with any advice, is that it is only someone else's opinion. Although I might have disagreed with the way Ieuan made his point, I do agree with the point he made. It's your book, and before you rush to act on any suggestions made here, you should have really thought about them and decided whether they accord with your vision of your work. That is not a process that happens in a few days, and the general rule of thumb over on Authonomy was that you wouldn't re-submit to the G600 thread within a month. If people did, their re-submissions were generally slap-dash and illconceived and usually worse than their original.

The key thing to remember is what this thread is a dry-run for. If you want to submit to an agent or a publisher, put it up here first, and if there are glaring errors, you'll have saved yourself a straightforward rejection. You generally only have one chance to impress an agent.

I might be jumping to conclusions, but I think from your question, you're not quite convinced that your opening is the best it could possibly be.

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/25/2015, 5:33 PM--

Of previous reviews, I have acted on less than a third of the suggestions. I simply did not agree with most of them. D'Estaing, I predict that I will act on most of your input to one extent or another. And, yes, this calls for considerable reflection.

.

Mysterious references aside, this sample is pretty straightforward. The rest of my thirty-thousand words novella is more difficult. In a few months, after I go through it good, what are the chances of getting you to read a bit more and give your opinion on my odd structural choices?

--edited by Mimi Speike on 8/26/2015, 9:17 AM--

 Hi Amber,

Thanks for submitting to the Faux Editors.  I love the name by the way – you could be a character right out of a vampire novel.  I’ll use it in one of my future books if you don’t object!

Anyway, to business. Normal caveat, please bear in mind that these are just the opinions of one reader, take what you think might work, throw away the rest.  Also, I haven’t read any reviews of your work, so I’m coming to this unbiased.

First off, I’ll recognize this is a prologue.  I’m not a big fan of these, as they often set the mood without introducing the immediate drama of the story.  So really think hard whether you need it, and wouldn’t be better off going with the old rule “start where the story really begins.”

There’s quite a lot I liked about this.  Some attractive phrasings: “Quiet cloaked the shadows” (although I might prefer ‘silence’)  ‘Palmed her ears” “cold chewing at her naked skin” “pebbling gooseflesh”  “Another slip of forever dripped by” (although you repeat slip.)  There’s also a sense of awfulness in this, a dungeon full of children being abused.  I also like the imagery of the green flame – “witchflame” – which is a new portmanteau to me, it felt original.

There are a few areas I’d offer some more critical notes on.

1) Naming.  Oh my.  The “mean people” the “evil place” (which apparently they might be going to “clean”.)  I’m sure you could come up with something better than “mean people” – even if you main character is quite young.  BTW, they’re not mean – they’re torturers.  An older child could have whispered to her that they’re called the ‘shameful ones’ or the ‘axe-tongues’ or the ‘bone splitter’ or the ‘blood whisperers.’  C’mon, you can do better.  Same goes for the ‘evil place.’

2) Place.  I got a sense of place, but would like a little more.  It’s mostly what she hears and feels – not what she sees.  Not a big deal, I kinda get it’s a dungeon.

3) Not really in her head.  I get she’s young, but there’s a lack of mind-process for me.  That’s the problem with writing about young children.  Even so, what’s in her mind?  Who’s she missing? What does she fear will be taken away?  What’s already been taken away?

4) Word choices, and creative opportunities missed.  Here we go, this is where you need to edit yourself:

the hurt noises cut off – the use of cut-off didn’t sound quite right

snubbed –- surely not the right word?

a squeak of hinges -- boring

clatter of metal -- boring

dark robes and masks – be more imaginative and descriptive, this is a moment to shine

mortal or other – this felt like a missed opportunity to get her interpretation of what they are, but this is a throwaway

Agonized moans pealed – Ok, kinda boring

peeked beneath her lashes –- chick-lit moment

seeking a more comfortable seat –- comfortable, how about ‘less agonizing’

going to the Evil Place to clean it –- really!  Honestly, you could go to town on this.  “Removing bloody vases that were once people.”  Oh yeah!

A rattle of a key clanking in a lock – a bit boring, could be more threatening

Her cell door squeaking open -  cliché, sorry

guttural – bit boring

"Your turn, little girl” – giant missed opportunity, this could be a nice guy at the ring-toss at the amusement park, holding three rings in one hand and a plush SpongeBob toy in the other hand.

She screamed – missed opportunity for invoking fear, c'mon.

So, overall, this was a bit of a miss for me, though there was quite a lot I liked.  I'd like you to possibly post the first 600 words of the first chapter so we can see whether things take off at that point.  If she’s a ninja-style warrior seeking retribution it’ll be too obvious. If she’s a wrecked beggar in the street, praying for revenge I’d be intrigued.

Best of luck with this, and I hope a little might have been helpful.

TSWS

Bad Napkin

--edited by T.S.W. Sharman on 8/25/2015, 11:00 PM--

Keep it up D’Estaing and TSW!  Great work. I’ll try and pop in later in the week to help out (at work now so really shouldn’t be doing this)

Thank you so much for your thorough critique of my prologue, D'Estaing, T.S.W Sharman!

I'll be taking what you've both said and digesting them. I've gotten a lot of great feedback on my prologue from avid readers and writers. A lot of the feedback was mostly praise, but it's nice to have possible problems brought to light.

I'll do some research on the 'omni' perspective. A couple others have suggested I do this as well, but I was hesitant, after hearing how 'close third person' was the best to use.

This has given me a lot to think about. You've both made awesome points. Thank you.

Amber

--edited by D'Estaing on 8/26/2015, 12:44 PM--

--edited by Tricia McKee on 8/26/2015, 5:24 PM--

Title:  Where I Belong

Pitch line: A woman finds the relationship between a mother and daughter can be an emotional minefield.

Genre:  Women's Fiction

    “Do you want to know why we’re not having sex?” Sam asked as Anna walked into the kitchen. 

     It was a sunny Saturday morning in early September and she was dressed in sweats, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Sam had his back turned and his soft voice got lost in the sound of sizzling maple-flavored bacon.  He poured batter onto the griddle.  The scent of his famous pancake breakfast seduced her.  Her run would have to wait. As she opened a cabinet and reached for two dishes, she asked, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” She’d been distracted, making a shopping list in her head.

    Sam turned off the stove, faced her directly, and placed his hands flat on the counter-top. He stared at her for what felt like a very long and disquieting moment. “I said, do you want to know why we’re not having sex?”  

    Is there a good answer to this question? she wondered. Doesn’t this lead to either "I’ve met someone else and we need to talk” or “I am seriously ill and we need to talk.”  Either way –     

    “I don’t think I love you anymore, Anna.”  

    It felt as if she’d entered a time warp. “You just stopped loving me? This morning?” she replied in a teasing tone of voice.  Ten minutes ago she was singing in the shower and now her husband of twenty-five years was telling her . . . What was he telling her? Had she done something to upset him? She struggled to remember some off-hand remark or forgotten promise, but nothing came to mind.  The trouble with Sam was his slow burn.  He never just reacted in the moment – she wished he would just call her on stuff when it happened.  This whole conversation seemed bizarre.

    “Okay, what’s bothering you?” she said. 

    Sam didn’t reply. He stared down at the floor.  A few moments went by, but it seemed like hours.  She was swamped by a fear she’s never felt with Sam before. It wasn’t about his not loving her.  That couldn’t be what was going on.  Of course, he loved her.  So what was it?  She took a few steps toward him.  She wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but the distance between them felt too great.  If he would just look up at her, smile, something.  But nothing.  

    Her instincts told her to tread carefully.  Sam was clearly in the midst of some kind of mid-life crisis.  “Babe, how can you say we’re not having sex?  Just a few weeks ago, we made love. When Lily left for California. You said I was the only woman you ever loved.”    

    Sam stared at her full on. “I told you what you wanted to hear. I wasn’t being honest. And because I knew it was the last time.”       

    She was stunned. This time she heard him. That message came through loud and clear.    

    “I’m not sure I ever loved you.” That damn modulated voice again. His words hurt, but he’d yet to raise his voice.

    Her heart beat erratically and her mouth dried up. She grabbed hold of the counter for support, afraid her legs would give out. It felt as though a gaping hole opened in the kitchen floor and she was falling into it. “Sam, wait. I can’t” – she could barely breathe. 

Sam came closer and touched her arm.  His hands were cold. “I can’t keep pretending. It’s eating me up.  Please try to understand…” His voice softened.  His eyes were moist and he was almost pleading. “I can’t stay married to you.”

Title:  A Surfeit of Deceit

Tag line: Deception is an art at which we all excel

 Genre: (New Adult) Suspense thriller set in modern-day Japan

Link: http://www.bookcountry.com/BookDetail.aspx?BookId=8386

CHAPTER 1

Rash is late. Damn late. And waiting for him here in Shibuya, Japan’s glamorous, clamorous capital for the teens and twenties, I’ve fallen victim to daylight robbery. Distracted by the girls parading by in their spring skimpery and entertained by the comings and goings, greetings and groanings of the crowds milling about, I invited time to turn thief and steal past me like a pickpocket unseen.

I yank my phone out to ding him when synchronicity obliges and he emerges from among the charging hordes pouring across the Shibuya scramble, ponytail swinging in time to his stride.

Now that’s odd. There’s a girl with him, which wasn’t in the plan. She keeps pace till they reach the sidewalk, then Rash weaves ahead through the crowds standing around like me waiting for latecomers. Bodies block my view but the heads turning to check her out ‘splain why the dude’s late.

I throw him a wave, wishing it were a rock, and cop a swerve of direction in return.

“Tim-san! So sorry!” He has to shout on approaching to be heard over an outbreak of yells and shrieks from a nearby gaggle of girls happily hysterical to be meeting up at last. “So sorry. You won’t believe what held us up.”

In no mood for one of his tangled tales and unimpressed by his mile-wide grin, I snap, “On the contrary, knowing you, I likely would. Forget it.”

His family name is Nakayama, Nakajima or possibly Nakamura or Nakamatsu. Whatever, he’s long stopped answering to it, saying it was a pain to keep correcting foreigners as to which Naka he was. Now he’s just Rash: a quasi-affectionate moniker bestowed on him by a French acquaintance after the Akira Kurosawa movie Rashomon—a story that presents different viewpoints of the same incident and leaves it up to the audience to decide what is the truth. Rash too spins a convincing tale, only to head-fake you into believing he meant something else if the outcome turns out different. He ought to be a politician.

More appealing than listening to another of his yarns is meeting his companion, whose honey-colored almond-shaped eyes are now staring back at me above delicate cheekbones, petite Japanese features and shapely figure.

 “ … Chiyo Onishi,” I catch Rash saying.

He turns to her. “The friend I was telling you about. Tim Harrington. I’m helping him find work too.”

We exchange greetings along with small bows. I drag my attention back to Rash when he continues his introduction. “Chiyo’s from Kyoto. She’s come to Tokyo to study acting.”

“That must be exciting. Stage or screen?” I ask her.

“TV, movies maybe. Lots more opportunities.”

“I found Chiyo some classy waitressing work to help her tide things over,” says Rash. “In the Acacia Tea Salon. Know it?”

I shake my head. Though with Chiyo serving there it can only be tealightful.

“Outrageous prices of course. Have to take you some time,” he says, without much conviction. “Not too far from here, towards Harajuku. Supposed to be popular with TV execs.”

“Rash has been so good, finding me this job and everything,” Chiyo says, her eyes and tone radiating warmth. “It leaves some mornings free for acting lessons, auditions too, which Rash is also helping me get. He seems to know everyone.”

“Yes, well, he likely does,” I agree. The guy dabbles in a variety of businesses, including import-export, something to do with computer software, something to do with business consulting and he even owned a minority share of the Sure Progress English Language School in the Ginza, where I taught and managed recently until something rotten happened.

--edited by Kawasaki on 8/27/2015, 9:00 PM--