First Impressions - Overland

Welcome to First Impressions, whereby we (Dianne Salerni, Krystalyn Drown, and yours truly) critique someone's first page. This month we have the first page of a YA post-disaster adventure novel, tentatively titled, OVERLAND, by Kristen Zayon, aka AKLibraryChick on twitter.

         

           It was a seemingly innocent thing, that first flicker. We were sitting in the Anchorage airport waiting for our flight home to Cordova when it happened. The lights trembled once, twice, then went out completely. If it hadn’t been daytime, the blackness would have been absolute. There were none of those emergency back-up lights shining in the corners, no glow from someone’s iphone. Anything electrical or computerized was just finished. We heard what sounded like a few distant explosions, then an eerie silence. We looked at each other and around at the other passengers. Everyone was stabbing fingers uselessly at their phones, laptops, the kiosk computer terminals. A murmur of voices rose, as everyone began to speculate.

             Some of the airport personnel arrived with good old-fashioned battery powered or crank operated flashlights. The intercoms weren’t working either, or the little cars they sometimes drive around, so they were busy hoofing it from gate to gate, letting everyone know as much as they did, which was not much. There appeared to be a blackout that was at the very least spread across the Anchorage Bowl and Matanuska-Susitna Valley, and was most likely statewide. Perhaps it went even further. Nobody knew because communications were gone along with everything else; even old school land lines.

            We hung out in the airport for a few more hours, until the time of our flight had come and gone. Eventually, someone announced that all flights were cancelled for the day, or until the power came back on. We left the airport to go back to the hotel we had just checked out of that morning. We had to walk, because anything with a motor was simply not running. Something major had happened, we knew. Power outages don’t affect cars. Solar flare? Nuclear bomb? We noticed smoke rising in several spots over the inlet, and remembered the explosions we had heard immediately after the outage. The planes. They had all crashed. I started feeling sick to my stomach. 

We were in Anchorage for the state cross country running meet. For the first time ever, both the boys and girls teams had qualified, so we’d taken the ferry to Whittier and made the short drive to Anchorage. There were seven guys, six girls, and two coaches for the three day trip. By the time we were supposed to return, a storm had moved in to Prince William Sound, cancelling the ferries, so we had to book flights back to Cordova. This was always a hazard in Alaska when traveling in remote areas. Then we couldn’t all get on one flight at such short notice – it’s a small plane – so eight kids and Coach Ron were on the first flight, while the rest of us waited for the next one with Coach Casey.

#

My thoughts: 'It was a seemingly innocent thing, that first flicker.' For some reason this phrase bothers me. Maybe it's too vague, and too obviously not innocent. How about: "I remember we were sitting in the Anchorage airport waiting for our flight home to Cordova when it happened." I do like the rest: the brief description of what's happened and then the brief back story that tells the reader how our narrator got where where he/she is. The transition between the two felt very seamless. The only other thing I might mention is the lack of characterization for our narrator. We don't have a name or a sex, only the knowledge that our narrator runs cross country. Assuming more info is coming up shortly, not knowing doesn't bother me because the set up is good enough to make me curious about what's going on and what's going to happen next. However, everyone might not feel the same, hence the mention.

Readers, what are your thoughts on this first page? Any helpful suggestions/comments? Don't forget to go see what Dianne and Krystalyn had to say about this first page and I'll be back Wednesday with another First Impression :)

First Impressions and why you should

As many of you know, author Dianne Salerni and I have teamed up each month to bring you First Impressions, in which we critique someone's first page on our respective blogs (a two for one deal! How can you resist?!). I can attest to the excellence of Dianne's critiquing ability as she is my Numero Uno critique partner and I can't even begin to tell you how much she's helped my work improve. So that's reason number one.

Reason number two can be found in this post 'The Value of Critiques' over at MJ's. I'll wait while you go read it...

See? Wasn't that a great post?

Finally, reason number three: because it's fun! Okay. Maybe not as fun for you, the writer, but great fun for me. I love reading first pages and finding ways that might make it better or even discovering that I like it pretty much as is. I love seeing what other people are writing, their style, the words they use. And I especially love the idea of giving back and helping others as I've been helped.

 So what are you waiting for? You know you want some feedback on that first page, and Dianne and I are just dying to read, so check out my sidebar and the FAQs, and hit send...I'll be waiting :)

Oh, and here's one of my recent first impressions...

First Impressions - Out of Touch

For our first First Impression for November, we have Robin from The Daily Dose. This is the first page of her novel, OUT OF TOUCH, a Paranormal Mystery/Romance. My comments will be in purple and to say what Dianne Salerni thought of this first page, head over to her blog, In High Spirits. And don't forget to add your comments!

Chapter One

Until one Saturday morning in July I was only a mildly damaged seven year old kid living in a mostly dysfunctional house.  All of that changed when I went to the Patterson garage sale with my best friend, Franny, and her mom.

Like all self-respecting garage sale junkies, we arrived at the crack of dawn.  All of the good stuff was always gone by 7:30 a.m.  Mrs. Patterson's house was our first stop.   We had chosen it for two reasons:  the merchandise and the gossip were known to be in abundance.  Mr. Patterson up and left Mrs. Patterson about a month ago and tongues were wagging.    Mrs. Fitzgerald's eyes opened round as quarters when she saw the contents on the lawn. These seem like more adult thoughts than a seven year old. But that's just my subjective opinion. I also notice you put two spaces between sentences. Standard usage now says one space.

Franny said, "Do you think there is anything left in the house?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald didn't answer, but she hustled out of the car.  We bounded out after her.  It appeared that the house had vomited up the sum of its contents all over the yard.  I had never seen so  much furniture outside of a home.  I didn't have any money, but I still liked to look.

 It was when I picked up the an ivy trimmed teacup and... (I think if you write it this sentence with a more active voice it will be improved) that my entire life changed forever - and I can't say it was for the better.  A feeling of panic engulfed me and the following scene rolled out like a movie:  I  saw Mr. Patterson drink from that teacup, clutch his throat, while his face turned a mean red, and then he pitched face forward into the table and looked...dead.

The cup slipped from my hands, I started screaming, and I tripped and fell into a wheelbarrow that was parked on the grass and marked with a "For Sale" sticker.  Then it happened again...

This time the feeling was satisfaction.  But not the good kind.  It felt black and mean. (like this) And the image of Mrs. Patterson wheeling Mr. Patterson in the wheelbarrow across the backyard to the garage popped up like I was actually there.  She took a shovel, dug a grave, put his body in it, and parked her Oldsmobile (I would question whether a 7 year old would know what kind of car it was, just sayin...) right on top.  Her car, right this minute, was sitting on top of Mr. Patterson. 

That was when it sunk in that  I was sprawled where his dead body used to be.   I couldn't get out fast enough.  However, my brain and muscles were no longer working in tandem, so I just flailed around like a beached fish.  Mrs. Fitzgerald yanked me out and we all made a beeline to the car.

***

I like this beginning. I think the only thing I would change is to try and keep with the 7 year old voice even if it is a memory in the very beginning. I don't know too many 7 year old garage sale junkies. After she finds the cup however, the narration feels much more natural, more like the memory of a seven year old who is rightly horrified by this vision of what Mrs. Patterson did. Which makes me wonder what else she'll touch and see...

I would totally turn the page to find out what happens next. What about you? What did you think of Robin's first page? Oh, and Dianne and I still have one slot left for this month if you want some help polishing your first page. Instructions are on the sidebar, top right.

See you Monday with another Robin's first page and have a fabulous weekend :)

first impressions - THE MACHINATIONS OF DR JEKYLL

 Our final submission of the month comes from fellow UB author and almost neighbor, Alicia Willette-Cook. This is the first page of her steampunk wip, THE MACHINATIONS OF DR JEKYLL. My comments will be in purple and do go see what Dianne Salerni had to say about this first page - here. 

Chapter One - 

 “She’s got quite the nerve, I must say. Five invitations to tea in one month.” There was, of course, no response from the battered hulk of useless Clockwork taking up room on the divan next to Henry. (I might start a new paragraph here even tho it’s the same person speaking) “I said. She’s got...oh never mind. Incompetent pile of dreg.” He heaved himself up from the couch and made his way through the cluttered room to his desk to read the embossed letter again.

Your Presence is Requested at

the Grand Palace

by Her Majesty Queen Victoria

for High Tea

1Pm

Sharp

Thursday

Please RSVP via AutoBalloon.

Then in her tidy scroll (I like this telling little detail) underneath, she had taken the time to write out: “No games this time, Jekyll. N&B ~Vicki.”

He crushed the thick stationary in his hands, tossing it in the incinerator along with the other trash. He absently picked up a scarred crystal snifter and poured a splash of whiskey. “Tea. As though that would fix anything. Infuriating woman.” His eyes stared blankly out the small porthole window directly behind his desk. Just as he was about to turn away, the sun glinted off a small machine darting behind the clouds. Henry growled in frustration, dropping his glass heedlessly to the floor.

“Really, Victoria! StealthWings? Do you really think I can’t out fly them?” Reaching above his head, he grabbed for a dangling pair of binoculars and squinted through them. Seconds later, the small machine broke through the cloud cover for a few moments before diving back in, clearly trying to follow the great airship without being seen. Spinning from the window, Henry raced to the door, barking his shin against a pile of loosely piled rattan and wood baskets. Goddamn crap everywhere! Useless USELESS clockwork brassmen. God I miss my lab!

Just as he was about to holler for his automated butler, the small two way (should it be two-way?) ariel on his desk squelched to life. He froze as a distinctly female voice cried out over the aether, obviously in distress.

 “Mayday! Mayday! Harbringer5 to W Class Airship! Do you copy? Mayday!”

Henry ground his teeth and frustration knowing this to be yet another ploy of Vicky’s. Maybe if he waited for another minute he wouldn’t have to respond. She would just...go.

“W Class! Do you read! Level One Mayday! Please Respond!”

Just another minute....

There was a horrible staticy squelchy noise over the radio. Silence.

Henry smiled tightly to himself. Well. That was...

"...Jekyll. Please. I've been shot."

 Well, I rather like this first page, I have to say, in fact, I liked the whole first chapter. I just wish there had been more when my writing buddy Alicia (who actually lives in Maine, nearby!) sent the first chapter because I would've kept on reading. I like all the details that describe this place like the rattan and wood baskets (makes you wonder what sort of ship this is that would have such things) and I love the voice (Useless USELESS clockwork brassmen), Jekyll's, which is obviously disgusted with how things work, or rather don't work. And then of course there's the name, Jekyll. Just knowing that the infamous Dr. Jekyll will be taking center stage in this tale intrigues me to no end. I just wish this one was on the shelves.

first impressions - AND WE ARE ALL DAMNED

  Our second submission of the month comes from Sarah Turnbull, AND WE ARE ALL DAMNED, a Gothic horror novel, which Sarah describes as of a similar vein as A Great and Terrible Beauty and Clockwork Angel. You can follow Sara on twitter @thesaturnbull. My comments will be in purple and if you want to see what Dianne Salerni thinks of this page, head over to her blog, In High Spirits. 

 CHAPTER ONE

“As Raymond would have wanted,” Veanne said, clinking her clay mug to her brother’s. She took an inexperienced mouthful of foamy pine cider and burped, immediately pleased by the chance to be improper.

“Bless you,” said Haeden.

“‘Bless you’ is for sneezes,” she replied, pinching his arm. Veanne took another sip, smaller this time, and admired the mirror behind the bar, etched with climbing ivy and forget-me-nots. At the top, a pillar and scroll clock sat, wooden dial stopped at the doctor’s time of death.

Veanne’s heart sunk in her chest. The aromatic scent of brandy and hops was a warm reminder of the man who had raised her and Haeden as his own. If Raymond was important I might add a little more about him here.

She slid off her bonnet, even though she knew her ears were still red, and toyed with her curls, attempting to arrange them into some sort of acceptable shape. (Toyed seems like the sort of thing a girl would do to attract attention to herself while arrange is a different thing entirely - imo.) Without her hat, the bustle of the alehouse streamed louder and more chaotic. A welcomed distraction. From what? Her grief at Raymond's loss or something else? Show us or tell us if you can.

Peasants (I'd like something more specific than peasants. Tradesmen? Ragpickers? If you name them they'll make a better picture.) made up the majority of space and noise, happier away from the cold scrutiny of the upper class. Few of Haeden and Veanne’s age, and those that were carried steaming cups of coffee and mulled wine to patrons. Extra hands hired by the Vintner.

In the center of the house, a pair of familiar faces invited the siblings over.

“Welcome, young bantlings,” cheered Seamus Hartwell, pulling out a chair. “Here, have a seat.” What's a bantling?

“Thank you,” said Veanne, accepting.

Haeden followed her lead.

“Put your stampers up,” added Deri Wren. The cobbler’s untidy, red hair had achieved an unusually chaotic arrangement that night. He gestured to the misshapen platter of stacked smoked ham, charred apples, and crumbling fire-cakes on the table in front of them. “Fine fare tonight.” Like this description.

“Seems so,” said Haeden, pinching off a piece of cake before downing another swig of cider.

Seated and silent, Veanne observed her surroundings.

The Awry Anchor’s oil lamps, sporadically placed and too numerous to count upon first inspection, hung on cherry cedar walls. In the back of the alehouse, haloed by an engraved whitewashed mantel, a cold hearth rested. Four marble-coated posts divided the room into neat quarters, interspaced (do you mean interspersed?) with a mixture of russet-colored chairs and walnut box tables, overflowing with boisterous patrons.If this is YA I'd suggest a single description of the place with a few telling words.

One or two more blasé gentry littered the room, out of place in their fine apparel. They sipped dainty beverages and murmured in low tones. (Why are they here? What brings the rich to this place and isn't anyone curious why they're there?) Veanne assumed they discussed the political repercussions of Raymond’s death. That or finances.

Aside from the few places where I had questions this reads fine. What's missing for me is a connection to one of the characters. I assume Veanne is the mc and if that's the case I want to be in her head more. I want to know how she's feeling about Raymond's death. Is she grieving? (she doesn't seem to be) Is she and her brother underage? Will this change their circumstances? I want to hear some of the thoughts flitting through her head, especially the worrisome ones because those are the ones that will connect me to her and make me want to read on. Does this make sense? 

What do you think? Agree? Disagree? Do tell.

first impressions - DemonBorn

Our final first impression comes from Lauren Ritz, who can be found on her blog, Eclectic. This is the first page of her sci-fi/fantasy, DemonBorn. She notes that the ameso are aquatic so they use sign language. My comments will be in purple and when you have a moment, go see what Dianne thought about this first page.

Shadyel turned her head to let her side-set eyes focus on a space in the circle, the place of least prestige (this is an interesting phrase) immediately in front of her. Her hands moved in the familiar ameso (Should ameso be capitalized?) signs, larger than normal because she was angry. Where is Tiyet? she asked, and the others' hands fluttered without meaning.

Sunlight sprayed in curious ripples from the surface of the lake above them, obscuring some motions and accentuating others. Trees wavered beyond, two moons almost indistinguishable from the clouds. Like this.

They floated in the traditional circle in the deep water shadows, Shadyel in the center where the priestess should have been. Only one priestess agreed to come with them, and she had died at the beginning of this campaign against the humans. This is interesting but might be more so if I knew the importance of the priestess and Shadyel's relationship to her.

Not able to get away, Giyac reported, his hand-signs very small as if he wanted to avoid her notice. He held a position on the human Blod Lord's team, (who is this person? Someone important?) hunting the ameso. The identifying pattern of scars along his arms in ameso form were not something which could be easily duplicated. The humans seemed unaware that the ameso took on the memories of their targets when they chose another shape, so they had created "safeguards" which rested in the memory rather than the flesh. This made it very simple to replace humans when the team felt it necessary.

Three of the humans rested under rocks at the bottom of this lake, and ameso had taken their places. (I'm a little confused. How could humans 'rest' at the bottom of a lake. Wouldn't they drown? And when you say three ameso had taken their places, do you you mean stolen their identities and lives?) Three of the ameso on the team had been discovered, tortured and killed.

Shadyel indicated her contempt for the absent ameso woman, fingers almost shouting the words. No excuse.

It seems like there's a lot of interesting things happening here. The trouble is none of it means much because I'm not familiar enough with this world and I don't know these characters yet. Is Shadyel a good guy? Should I like her? Or is she the enemy? I think if I understood the characters and had a better sense of place I would like this opening a lot more. I wonder if there's a way to intersperse information through action or dialogue or even inner dialogue. Maybe focus on one character (someone to care about perhaps?) and let us see this world through their eyes. But let me add that scifi/fantasy is one of my favorite genres to read and I would probably read on out of curiosity. 


What about you guys? What do you think of this first page? Any suggestions for Lauren?

first impressions - Tsavo Pride

Today's first impression comes from Laura Diamond who can be found either at her blog or her author site. This is the first page of her short story spin off to her debut, SHIFTING PRIDE. My comments will be in purple and do head over and check out Dianne's critique of this same first page.

     The world split before me, torn open by a road of steel steel road slicing its way through the countryside and arcing across the Tsavo River. This was my land, my territory, that the outsiders were digging up, claiming it as theirs to further their own agenda. Only a fool would allow such an invasion and I was no fool. Problem was, the more I cleaned the fields of foreigners, the more showed up to take their place.

     Then Patterson came. The Colonel and Engineer who promised to rid the Uganda Railway project of the scourge attacking it. He made Lutalo and I sound like monsters when all we were doing was defending what was rightfully ours. It wasn’t our fault we had to use extreme measures. ( Anyone else would do the same. 
     The only difference was that we’d be successful. < but this sounds like the future.

     Patterson thought he could defeat us. He was wrong. Lutalo and I were invincible. Invincible gods with the power to do anything and everything we wanted. The local tribes knew it. So did the Indian immigrants (un)fortunate enough to labor for the British to build the railway bridge.

     The workers—who stayed in camps littering along the thirty miles (this should either read, littered along the thirty miles, or littering the thirty miles) or so of the ever-lengthening railway—feared us.

     As it should be.

     But Patterson didn’t. His foolhardy narcissism would be our playground.

     I realize this is a spin off, and perhaps this first part is a reminder of what has already occurred, but there's a lot of telling, which takes away from the impact this opening could have. I suggest replacing at least half (if not more) of the "to be" verbs (highlighted in annoying yellow) with more active verbs. Show us who Patterson is. Then show us who Lutalo and the mc are and what they're going to do or what they can do (those extreme measures, perhaps?). And if Patterson is the bad guy, show us that, too. I want to know who to root for and this opening doesn't quite make it clear. Of course, I also realize this is a short story, so there may have to be more telling than in a full length novel, but I think by replacing those passive verbs with some kick-ass verbs, this opening can be a lot stronger.
     Now, what do you think? How do you think Laura can improve upon this first page?

first impressions - Keep Away

Today we have our very first first impression of 2013. A big thanks to Joanne who is submitting the first page of her MG contemporary/mystery, KEEP AWAY. Her blog is My Brain on Books and you should definitely go over and say hi. I'll be commenting in purple (my favorite color for those who don't know) and Dianne Salerni is critiquing this same first page on her blog so don't forget to pop over and see what she had to say.

Chapter One - Chicken

                                                                                          
          Jake never expected to be standing on this bridge again. Not after what happened last year. (Nice hook.) The rough cement scraped his bare feet. He clung to the wire fencing behind him and shivered in his swimsuit. Luckily for him, the August sun was playing Hide and Seek behind thick clouds. Maybe he could pretend his goose bumps were from the weather. Notice all the active verbs?

          Next to him, Flip Farrell balanced on the narrow ledge as lightly and easily as if he were standing on solid ground. He didn’t even need to touch the high fence behind them. “Kankowski, are you nervous?” Flip laughed. “I thought you grew up here. I thought everyone did this. I figured it was some sort of Pocono Mountains rite of passage.”

          Jake shook his head. Half the time when Flip talked Jake didn’t understand him. “If my parents knew we were jumping off the Ledgedale Bridge, I’d be grounded for life.”

          Flip shrugged. “Aw, who cares about parents?”  

          Far below the two boys, the choppy water of Lake Wallenpaupack looked almost black. Murky. It made Jake think of horror movies, of drowning and death and pale limp bodies. No. Not that. (ooh, was that hint of what happened before...?) A strong breeze carried the high-pitched whine of boat motors and the bitter fumes of their exhaust. He swallowed hard. The three cinnamon rolls he had wolfed down for breakfast were threatening threatened to come back up. He choked back the acid taste and wondered why he’d said yes to Flip’s idea. Hmm, yes why did he?

          A guy’s thirteenth summer was supposed to be more fun than this. 

          A car rattled over the bridge behind them and a deep voice yelled, “Go for it!” Jake shuddered but didn’t release his tight grip on the wire. His palms were starting to hurt.  

          Flip laughed softly. “You’re chicken, aren’t you? Come on, Rock, Paper, Scissors. Loser jumps first.”

          


This is a pretty darn good beginning, imo. We've got an excellent hook with the first line which strongly hints at some past unpleasantness plus Jake's memory prompted by the murky looking lake which reminds him of 'death and pale limp bodies.' I can't help but wonder whether this is something he's seen before, which would be pretty horrifying for a thirteen year old. Flip strikes me as your typical sassy does what he wants boy, the sort who manages to talk other people into doing what he wants whether they want to or not. And Jake, for reasons we don't understand yet, is trying to impress him. I would definitely read on to find out what happens next AND what happened before. Nice job. 

Now, what do you think of Joanne's first page? Any suggestions? Comments? You know we love comments around here so don't be shy!

first impressions - Redefined

Our final first impression of the month comes from Julia who can be found at Diary of a Word Nerd. This is the first page of REDEFINED, with my comments in purple. To see what Dianne had to say about this first page head over to her blog, In High Spirits. 

 

  

Most seniors from Keene County High School didn’t stay home on Friday nights to babysit their moms, but I did. Nice set up. I instantly want to know why.

Dad called while Billie and I were working on dinner.  I hesitated before I answered, wishing for the millionth time that my dad had a normal job.  Something predictable, nine to five. 

 “Hi Cat,” he said, “I’ve got a patient here who has been in labor for hours, and we’re worried about her blood pressure.  The baby is starting to show signs of distress.  This could be a long night.”

I held the paring knife up in midair.  “You’re not coming home, are you?” I asked. Should this be a question? Or more of a statement? Just asking.

“I’m afraid not for awhile.”

 “But I made plans to go to the football game tonight.”

“I’m sorry, Cat.  I really need you to stay with Mom.” 

I slammed the knife down to the cutting board.  “Fine,” I said, and hung up.     

“Dr. Tierney working late?” Billie asked.  

“Yes,” I said, chopping tomatoes more violently than normal.  Then I got an idea.  “Hey, Billie, are you busy tonight?”

She dropped the towel on the counter, looked at me over the top of her reading glasses.  “Your daddy hired me to help your mama during the day.”  She glanced at her watch.  “It’s already past five.  I’ve gotta help Earl castrate cows in the morning, and then we’ve gotta move some hay.  These old bones need to get in bed early tonight.”  She pointed a thick finger at me.  “And you need to stay here and do what your daddy asked you do to.”

           I slid the tomatoes into the salad bowl.  “Fine.”


Hmm. I'm not finding much else to comment on. Let me read it again...Nope. That's it. That first line hooked me and made me read on to learn a little more about our narrator, as well part of the mystery: Dad is a Doctor - Obstetrician, I'm guessing - which leaves Cat as caregiver in his or Billie's absence. The setting is the kitchen which gives me a visual without a lot of description to slow the action. I hear the tomatoes being chopped. This is great scene building imo. Plus I still need to know why mom needs help so I have to read on - or would've if there had been any more!

Nice job. What do you guys think? 

first impressions - Waiting for the Horse

Our second first impression for October comes from Mark Koopman, who lives in paradise (also known as Hawaii). This is the first page of his Adult novel, REVIVAL: THE DONALD BRASWELL STORY. My comments will be in purple and to see what Dianne thought of this first page, head over to her blog.

Chapter One: Waiting for the Horse

                            “… People are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment…”

                                     – Hebrews 9:27 NIV

February, 2008 – Dallas, Texas

          In the long, empty restroom, my reflection waits for the answer to my supposed nugget of inspiration, but I’m cautious in case the door opens and I’m pegged as a weird old guy in a dark suit.

         You realize this isn’t your second chance; it’s your last chance, right?

Glancing at the door, I shake my head as the statement in the form of a question repeats itself. Leaving my unanswered reflection in ponder mode, I wave at the automatic towel dispenser, which releases a sliver (I'm not sure if sliver is the best word. What about a slip of brown paper?) of coarse, brown paper.

        Really?

        A little annoyed at the cheap cost-cutting measures of the swanky hotel, I wave my hands like a demented monarch until the reluctant machine parts with enough paper to mostly dry my hands. I add my small offering to a grey trashcan that’s erupting like Mt. Recycled, pull the door open and head toward the busy conference room.      

        America’s Got Talent had called and thousands of us (this phrase feels/sounds a little awkward to me.) descended on Dallas for this, their latest round of auditions. The guy in charge of our loose group had said we were “going up at about noon.” Looking at my Timex, there was still an hour to burn. Relaxed, (is he really? I wouldn't be the least bit relaxed - especially if it was my last chance.) I straddled a chair, with an annoying rock (A chair with a rock? I don't get this.)  – changed it for another – and went through possible answers to whatever questions the three judges might throw at me during the introduction. I wanted to be ready because if I beat the infamous buzzers, I planned to use every second of stage time.

Okay, so I was being a little picky here but only because the writing was very good and this felt very tight, almost perfect. I do have two overall concerns. One is that there's a lot of snark, which is fine, but make sure you want there to be a lot of snark. The second is whether the last paragraph should be first since that's what's likely to interest the reader (the fact that the narrator is about to audition for a famous tv show) and possibly an agent. On the other hand, I do like the way the previous paragraphs introduces us to the narrator, gives us his voice, snark and all. So, maybe we should see what Dianne thought about this...or, maybe you'd like to offer your opinion, tell Mark what you think of his first page.

first impressions - Goodnight Stranger

Our first submission for October is repeat offender Rebecca Buss who can be found blogging at A Page and a Half at a Time. This is the first page of Goodnight Stranger. My comments will be in purple and to see what Dianne thought about this first page head over to her blog, In High Spirits.

 In the middle of the night, and in the middle of a rainstorm, Paige Aldridge climbed up a set of metal-grate stairs in nothing more than her pajamas. The stairs were about as reliable as a fire escape, and a shoddy one at best, but there was no indoor entrance to her friend’s apartment – and Paige did not have many other options so late at night. I wonder if you can show the unreliability of the stairs rather than tell.

It had only been a few minutes earlier that Paige had woken up with her face pressed against the road. It was the rain that had pulled her from her sleep. (was she actually sleeping in the road? Or had she passed out, been knocked unconscious, or ...? Just asking.) A few drops of water landed on her hand and immediately she knew something was wrong. Then the sky opened up and soon Paige was soaking wet. Disoriented at first, she knew what had happened. Only she was not expecting to wake up lying across the double yellow lines of Third Avenue.

Somehow, Paige managed to get out of bed. (wait, I thought she was in the road?) Somehow, she left her house and wandered miles away, only to lie down again in the worst possible place. Somehow, Paige had managed to do this while she was still asleep, and unfortunately, this was not a new thing for her. ok. now I get it. She sleepwalks. But I think you can do a little trimming and combine these two paragraphs to make clear what has happened. And I think as soon as she wakes up enough and sees she's in the middle of the road she'll know what has happened because this isn't the first time this has happened.

Paige reached the floor she wanted on the apartment building– three stories above the Westtown Deli, and only one story below the rooftop – and paused. She had to wonder what time it was. She had to wonder if it was a good idea to wake her friend and his brother just so she could come in out of the rain. They probably wouldn’t mind. Was it a better idea to make the trek home though? Or maybe that option was not even a safe enough one to consider. Why isn't it safe? Also, this is a bit of an awkward sentence.

She reached out her arm, gleaming with both sweat and rain, and knocked on the door. Her friends were not the lightest of sleepers. She knocked on the door harder, worried she would wake up the neighbors first. Paige raised her hand again, but she dropped it quickly to her side when the door cracked open and someone peered outside.

“Paige?” she heard.

“Yes,” she said, her voice still surprisingly heavy with sleep.

Ok. So aside from the fact that there are some clarity issues I think this is a very interesting first page which sets up all sorts of questions. One, why does Paige sleepwalk? Not that it's that unusual but sleepwalking so heavily that you end up outside in the road is definitely strange. Two, how come no one in her own house heard her? If this is a common occurrence wouldn't her family lock her in her room or something? Be alert for this behavior? Three, why doesn't she go back home? Why isn't it safe? Four, who are these friends she can go to in the middle of the night? 

All these questions make me want to read on and find out more about Paige and her sleepwalking. Oh, and I love the title :)

Tough Girl

You might recall last week I mentioned a cool contest that could get your first 250 pages in front of an agent along  with the offer to have said first page critiqued by Dianne and yours truly .* Libby bravely took us up on the offer and here is the first page to her novel, TOUGH GIRL. My comments will be in purple and do head over to Dianne's blog to see what she had to say.

Reggie’s finger stiffened over the nozzle of bug spray as she slid (as in icy? Slid indicates slippery which puts me in mind of ice Or maybe it's slimy..) slowly across the surface of the playground.  The can felt cool and light.  There wasn’t much poison left, (do you need the word poison? It felt a little awkward) just enough to rid herself of an incredibly annoying pest.

Her feet moved in a gliding motion, (gliding, too, reminds me of ice, which is fine if that's what you want your reader to think.) careful not to disturb any rocks or kick up dust.  Her invisibility cap kept her hidden from the crowd surrounding the basketball court, but they might notice if she disturbed the world around her.  She’d found the cap in a yard-sale.  It was red and faded and made her completely invisible as long as no one looked at her. Oh! Wait. I want to know much more about the incident of finding the cap of invisibility at a yard sale. Surely there must be more to that tale!

Reggie inched closer and closer to the court, her eyes only breaking from her target to scan for debris below.  There were rumors that the playground was once covered in grass, but it had been (watch your tenses) killed by trampling feet and neglect long ago, leaving only pebbles and litter for the children of The Apartments to play upon. (Here's another hold-on-just-a-minute moment. What are The Apartments?!) A dry condom lay just beyond the toe of her scuffed sneakers.  It was sun bleached a tannish color and blended beautifully into the world around it.  If it hadn’t been torn open, leaving a dangling piece flapping in the wind, she may not have noticed it.  Reggie shuffled to her left, careful to avoid the rumpled heap of paper-thin prophylactic.  It was disgusting, but nothing to fear.  What little use it served was done with, and now it was just another piece of refuse to avoid on her path to vengeance. I'm not sure about these last two sentences. Unless the condom is a symbol for her of something - something in her past, something lost, something thrown away - I wouldn't harp on it. I'd move on.

As for those hold on moments, I want to know lots more about the cap of invisibility and The Apartments. Those two things have whetted my appetite for more. Not to mention the pests. I'd focus on these elements. They could be a way to introduce the reader to Reggie's world.

 Excellent beginning, methinks :)

* aka we of the infamous first impressions.