Sorry I'm behind the 8-ball, y'all. We had an evening run to the ER last night and it totally threw me off my do-it-the-night-before groove.
Now, we're still playing with this format, so let us know if you'd like to see changes!
ORIGINAL SAMPLE AS CHOSEN BY RANDOM.ORG:
a YA Gothic thriller told from five perspectives.
Title: The Curse of Elizabeth Brewster, by Julie Kingsley
Pitch: Banished to Pemberton Academy in Western Massachusetts, Eli quickly finds herself embroiled in a four hundred year old love triangle that leads her to lost secrets about America's earliest beginnings - turns out those Puritans were not so pure-can she survive it?
First 250:
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree and thick ivy that grew up the brick walls outside weaving its way from one thing to the next. He pushed open the old paned window and smelled the sharp scent of the crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared that it was going to suffocate him at night- that damn ivy.
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. He flung around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must he was home. He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods.
NIKKI'S CRITIQUE:
I liked this overall, there are some distinct "senses" that we get, but I still didn't feel attached to the character. I don't know anything about him... which is fine if we switch POVs pretty quickly. Especially with this being YA.
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree and thick ivy that grew up the brick walls outside weaving its way from one thing to the next [this sentence was really long for an opening, considering splitting into two!]. He pushed open the old paned window and smelled [don't tell us he's smelling it, instead say that the sharp scent made his lips pucker or seared his throat or something ... ]the sharp scent of the crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared that it was going to suffocate him at night- that damn ivy [two "was"s in this sentence ... too passive].
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. He flung [usually you fling something. did he spin around? fling his arms?] around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must[missing a comma] he was home. He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods. [is this memory important? if not, keep us in the present and get us quicker to the action!]
ANN'S CRITIQUE:
Pitch: Banished to Pemberton Academy in Western Massachusetts, Eli quickly finds herself embroiled in a four hundred year old love triangle that leads her to lost secrets about America's earliest beginnings - turns out those Puritans were not so pure-can she survive it?
{This feels disjointed to me. You go from the dramatic pitch language to trying to sound hip. I recommend dropping - turns out those Puritans were not so pure- then it would flow better and have more consistency.}
First 250:
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree and thick ivy that grew up the brick walls outside weaving its way from one thing to the next. {This is a long first sentence that does nothing to hook my interest as a reader. I realize you're trying to set the stage, but I really don't care what it looks like outside the office--tell me what's happening INSIDE first. I would cut half the modifiers, too. It feels heavy.}He pushed open the old paned window and smelled the sharp scent of the crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared that it was going to suffocate him at night- that damn ivy. {This last bit feels tacked on. I'd cut it. I think you're going for a deep 1st POV, the more literary feel and heavy description doesn't support it. So, I recommend you settle on the more literary tone you've established.}
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. {Cut the reflexive. Try 'mutter', or make the statement an internal thought.} He flung {second use of this word in as many paragraphs. Beware overusage!} around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must he was home. {heavy with description here, and I wonder if it's necessary.} He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. {Already I'm noticing you have a tendency for overwriting. I realize, as a writer, we want to bring people into our world, show them the scene we see in our head, but all this description detracts from the action. Do we NEED to know he has a practicied hand at making tea?} He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. {I hate to harp this much but do we need to know it's exactly six minutes? Does that have a bearing on what comes in the six minutes?}His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods.
Julie, I think you have a great concept, from the pitch line, but having been edited to death for over use of modifiers in my day, I see you are falling into the same trap. Readers don't need the scene in such detail. Feed them bits here and there to enhance your characters thoughts and actions. It will create a tighter, heightened scene and story. Also, I'm don't think this is the right start for your YA story. YA is by nature, teen-centric and starting with a Headmaster is not.
JESSICA'S CRITIQUE:
[Proposed restructuring of first sentence: A gnarled apple tree obstructed the view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office. Thick ivy grew] up the brick walls outside, weaving its way from one thing to the next. [Change ‘He’ to Headmaster Proctor] pushed open the old paned window and smelled the sharp scent of [cut ‘the’] crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared it was going to suffocate him at night- that damn ivy.
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said [cut ‘to himself’]. He flung around to
face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must, he was home. He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn [and yearned] for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand, he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods.
Overall, your writing is strong and I get a pretty clear mental picture of Headmaster Proctor, however, this beginning is a bit boring. Not to put too fine of a point on it. It would be interesting, say, if this were further into the story, but as an opening it doesn’t have the hook to make me really want to keep reading
Also, this feels very much like a prologue (am I right?), since it’s from the headmaster’s POV. I’m just not sure that teens are going to be able to relate to someone of his age (since you mention his mind wandering to his boyhood) telling a story about his younger self. It would be my suggestion that you cut this POV all together. It’s really hard to sell (And I’m using sell loosely. This would apply to finding an agent as well as an editor) a YA being told from an adult’s perspective because YA is all about the voice and this piece, like the majority of stories told from an adult perspective don’t have that YA voice (and they shouldn’t since they’re being told by an adult).
You mention the story is being told in 5 different perspectives and this sounds like an intriguing story, I have to question if you’re just starting in the wrong spot and with the wrong character (do you even really need Headmaster’s older POV at all?)
However, I am intrigued to know about who has been chosen and why. And how come this man knows about it. From your pitch, I can tell this is a story I would definitely want to keep reading, but I just don’t see it from these 250 words. I also enjoyed your descriptive phrases. They were very pretty and gave me an excellent sense of what I should be seeing.
LARISSA'S CRITIQUE:
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s [This name seems odd, and distracted me the first time I read it.] personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree and thick ivy that grew up the brick walls outside weaving its way from one thing to the next. He pushed open the old paned window and smelled the sharp scent of the crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared that it was going to suffocate him at night- that damn ivy. [Given that he hates/fears the ivy so much, why does he bother to grab a handful and throw it? It seems like a pointless activity. (This stands out because he’s a headmaster and lives in a world of musty books—he would seem to be a smart guy, yes? Smart guys tend not to do pointless things.)]
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. [This is intriguing.] He flung [not sure this is the right word here] around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must[comma] he was home. He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. [“He was home” doesn’t flow with then slamming the window shut and hating autumn.] He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly. [This is confusing. Is it necessary?]
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods. [This is also intriguing.]
Hi Julie! So, from your pitch and description, I am interested in this story. However, your first 250 words don’t draw me in. If this is Eli’s story (which I am assuming from the title and description), why are we hearing from some old man first? Is this a prologue? (It sort of feels like one.) In other words, I am not convinced that this is the place to start your story. Since I haven’t read any more of it, I can’t say for sure, but I would suggest you should start with Eli. Also, I’m curious, why five points-of-view? Again, the story sounds interesting. Best of luck!
JESSIES CRITIQUE:
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree and thick ivy that grew up the brick walls outside, weaving its way from one thing to the next.[1] He pushed open the old paned window and smelled the sharp scent of the crabapples rotting in the sun. As always, he reached out to grab a fistful of ivy and flung it to the ground. A part of him was scared it was going to suffocate him at night- that damned ivy.
He took a deep breath. “They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. He flung[2] around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must, he was home. He slammed the window shut and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea [3]to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his bedroom (?) window, peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods.
the last sentence finally got my attention - that and “they’ve been chosen.” my problem with this is that you’re starting off a YA novel with an old man reflecting on his youth. I worry that teens won’t instantly connect with Proctor the way they should. IMO, since you’re telling this story from 5 alternating POVs, you ought to start with one that your target audience will connect with. Your writing itself is very strong, I just think you’ve picked the wrong starting point.
SHERI'S CRITIQUE
First 250:
The view from Headmaster Proctor’s personal office was obstructed by a gnarled apple tree. Thick ivy grew up the brick walls outside, weaving its way from one thing to the next. He pushed open the old paned window and grabbed a fistful of ivy. The sharp scent of crabapples rotting in the sun stung his nostrils. He flung the greenery to the ground, fearful it would suffocate him at night- damn ivy.
He took a deep breath. [sal1]“They’ve been chosen,” he said to himself. He flung [sal2]around to face his sanctuary. Here, surrounded by tall bookcases full of classical tales with thick covers and pages that smelled faintly of must, he was home. He slammed the window shut [sal3]and reached over to crank up his air conditioner. He hated autumn, yearning for the darkness of winter. With a practiced hand, he filled his teapot from the kettle, watching as the steam swirled through the air like magic. He warmed his pot and poured the used water down the drain before adding more water and his Earl Grey tea to the prized pot with the Pemberton Academy crest on its belly.
He put his timer on exactly six minutes and waited. His mind wandered to his boyhood. Back then, he recalled sitting at his window peering out into the night and seeing four girls flying across the Green, heads thrown back in laughter, racing toward the woods.
Overall comment: try to eliminate a few of the ‘he’s.’
[2]
very long first sentence
