#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 10: RULES OF THE DRAGOS

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 10:

Title: RULES OF THE DRAGOS
Category and Genre: YA Fantasy
Word Count: 70,000
Query:

Give eighteen-year-old Ava Dracaena a sword and someone to swing at, she’ll excel beyond every expectation set. But put her in charge of making decisions that can change the way her clan lives, expect disaster. Ava thinks with her heart and not her head, which more than one person in the clan has told her is the practice unfit of a leader. Now if she could only get her parents to see her reason for turning down her birthright as clan leader.

The chance to show her father just how strong a protector she is never comes. Ava’s world is shattered with the murder of her sister and disappearance of her parents. Topped off with a declaration of war from the enemy clan, she no longer has a choice of whether or not to lead. Ava wants to protect her clan, and the only way to do that is be the leader she’s not sure she can be.

Because death, kidnappings, and self-doubt aren’t enough, Ava’s finding it difficult to get the dark-souled leader of the enemy clan out of her thoughts. She shouldn’t want anything to do with him, but she finds herself drawn to his darkness, determined to find the light she senses is buried deep within. If she goes to war with his clan, she may end up losing her soulmate. And if they don’t fight, the enemy will follow-through on a promise made centuries ago and forcefully take her people under their control.

First 250 Words:

I, Ava Cecilia Dracaena, do not accept my birthright as the next Dragos Clan Leader. I pass this honor to my sister. In exchange for my title, I request of the Dragos Guard and Clan Leader to amend the laws preventing women from training to be a member of the elite group of protectors. Guard General Braylen Negrescu, with your permission I request to officially join the trainees who will soon compete for their spot on the Guard.

A gust of wind pulled the paper off my lap where I’d balanced it on my knees. As it floated to the ground,  I ran my hands over the tops of the grass, smiling at the way the tips tickled my palms. No need to chase after it, I’d memorized exactly what I wanted to say weeks ago.

The crisp air filled my lungs. Insects all around chirped. We’d finished training twenty minutes ago and rather than head back home, I sat in the grass near the edge of a cliff overlooking the river below. Tomorrow I was supposed to give a speech to accept my birthright as Clan Leader. Instead I’d prepared one to denounce the title and instead give it to my sister.

As I gathered my towel, water bottle, and bag my phone vibrated in the side pocket. We weren’t supposed to have them, but what our trainers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

Give eighteen-year-old Ava Dracaena a sword and someone to swing at, she’ll excel beyond every expectation set. But put her in charge of making decisions that can change the way her clan lives, expect disaster. Ava thinks with her heart and not her head, which more than one person in the clan has told her is the practice unfit of a leader. (Ugh. I’m sure that makes her feel fabulous…*cue eyeroll*) Now if she could only get her parents to see her reason for turning down her birthright as clan leader. (Okay! MC is set up, we know her and what she wants! Where are we? Earth?)

The chance to show her father just how strong a protector she is never comes. Ava’s world is shattered with the murder of her sister and disappearance of her parents. Topped off with a declaration of war from the enemy clan, she no longer has a choice of whether or not to lead. Ava wants to protect her clan, and the only way to do that is be the leader she’s not sure she can be. (And obstacles to what she wants! Great! And dude, too bad for her…)

Because death, kidnappings, and self-doubt aren’t enough, Ava’s finding it difficult to get the dark-souled leader of the enemy clan out of her thoughts. (Oh dear, drawn to the bad boys…I understand.) She shouldn’t want anything to do with him, but she finds herself drawn to his darkness, determined to find the light she senses is buried deep within. If she goes to war with his clan, she may end up losing her soulmate. (Soulmate? How does she know this?) And if they don’t fight, the enemy will follow-through on a promise made centuries ago (What promise? This is too vague.) and forcefully take her people under their control. (Is the taking them under control the promise? How will they do it? With magic? With swords and shackles? Let us know what evil waits. And stakes! Check!)

First 250 Words:

I, Ava Cecilia Dracaena, do not accept my birthright as the next Dragos Clan Leader. I pass this honor to my sister. In exchange for my title, I request of the Dragos Guard and Clan Leader to amend the laws preventing women from training to be a member of the elite group of protectors. Guard General Braylen Negrescu, with your permission I request to officially join the trainees who will soon compete for their spot on the Guard.

A gust of wind pulled the paper off my lap where I’d balanced it on my knees. As it floated to the ground, I ran my hands over the tops of the grass, smiling at the way the tips tickled my palms. (Wait! Her paper! She doesn’t react to it blowing away? We went from a letter to the grass too fast for me. See it float to the grass…let us feel what she does about it, then let her touch the grass, let her think about what those words mean…is this a big deal, what she’s about to do? At first I had her inside, by an opened window…then there was grass. So she’s outside, sitting on the ground? Set the scene. Let us see it.) No need to chase after it, I’d memorized exactly what I wanted to say weeks ago. (Ah, she doesn’t care that it blew away! I’d like this reaction right away. And she’s nervous? Excited? Scared? Running her hands over the grass and smiling…how does she feel? That letter is pretty big stuff, yet she seems at ease?)

The crisp air filled my lungs. (any smells in the air that can let us get to know the world? Any of her reactions to the scents to let us get to know her?) Insects all around chirped. (What kind of insects? How do they sound? Is this another world? How is it different, unique?) We’d finished training twenty minutes ago (Is she sweaty? Was it good training, training for what? Swords?) and rather than head back home, I sat in the grass near the edge of a cliff overlooking the river below. (Let us see the river, let us hear it.) Tomorrow I was supposed to give a speech to accept my birthright as Clan Leader. (Is this a tradition? She had reached a certain age?) Instead I’d prepared one to denounce the title and instead give it to my sister. (we read the speech, so we know…give us her feelings about it.)

As I gathered my towel, water bottle, and bag my phone vibrated in the side pocket. (A water bottle and a phone? Surprised me! I might need more worldbuilding. Talk of leading clans and joining the guard and training…my brain instantly imagined a no tech fantasy world. Where are we?) We weren’t supposed to have them, but what our trainers didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

*Good set up of a story full of possible drama and tension, but I am missing the emotion. She seems calm about what she is about to do. Is it no big deal? And the world…I have no idea where we are. Earth? If not Earth, give me details to show me where we are.

 

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

 

 

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#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 9: TALES OF THE RASHA LA

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 9:

Title: TALES OF THE RASHA LA

Category and Genre: YA, Contemporary Fantasy

Word Count: 58,000 words

Query:
…and since it was their turn the monarchs told their own story, a tale of lost children returned to earth as butterflies on the wings of the Fyrstellia, the falling stars.
For when the Lord of Light granted men a mortal lifespan He founded a halfway house in the nearby heavens as well, where angels could bring the fallen and tend their spirits until they were ready to enter the Light. For most it was only a short stay, but not for the children.
“They don’t want to go on”, reported the Keeper of the Halls. “They want to go back”.
Here are two that did–‘Rasha La’ such monarchs call themselves—-together with an account of their journey into Mexico, caught up along the way in the fortunes of the fairy people on earth.
The main characters, monarchs of that little-known subspecies, are recently arrived in the wildwood: Yero and Boca, a girl and a boy.
You’ll find them sheltering overnight in a thorn bush and awaken early with them to an awareness of predators in the trees above—-a roost of hungry crows—-some wary of the monarch toxicity, some not. Debate ensues about the butterflies’ edibility and the Top Crow calls for a review of the old ‘Warnings’.
They’ll survive this peril, one of many, but a greater threat is about to overtake them: They are the last monarchs of Northern Autumn. They have delayed their migration too long and are about to be overwhelmed by the change of seasons.

250 words:

A thorn bush was perfect. It was already dark in the woods and the wandering monarchs knew that a veil of thorns was better protection overnight than their own reputation. They couldn’t have chosen a worse perch, as we shall see. But they were young, just passing through, and unaware of local customs. A brisk shower awoke them in the wee hours, but otherwise the night passed quietly until early dawn when…
Splat!
A drop hit one of the butterflies, jarring her awake. She fumbled around in the gloom and poked her companion.
“Boca! Wake up. It’s raining again”.
He tried to ignore her. “Lemme be, Yero. Fold your wings”.
Splat!
Before she could do so the next drop landed on her back and dribbled down her leg. That was the end of her patience. She folded her wings tight and poked him harder.
“It’s raining! I’m moving!”
That brought him awake, bewildered. He felt perfectly dry.
Splat!
The third drop split on her neatly folded wings and trickled down both sides. She yelped and tip-toed away through the thorns in search of leaves to perch under. Boca followed in the dim light.
By good chance there was a canopy of leaves close by. The tough buckthorn bush had thus far ignored the frosts of autumn, retaining most of its green leaves even now on the doorstep of winter.

The new perch was much better. Occasional drops splashed harmlessly off the canopy now and all would have been well except for a strong, fetid odor.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE: 

Query:
…and since it was their turn the monarchs told their own story, a tale of lost children returned to earth as butterflies on the wings of the Fyrstellia, the falling stars. (The beginning of a hook here…I would cut the first part of the sentence go with the second part. A tale of lost children, fallen angels, the Rasha La, returned to earth as butterflies…to do what? To face what? Hook us here.)
(Intro our mcs…Yero and Boca, a girl and a boy, fallen angels waiting to be ready to enter the light, only they want to go back, to life, to earth…this sets up the mcs and what they want) For when the Lord of Light granted men a mortal lifespan He founded a halfway house in the nearby heavens as well, where angels could bring the fallen and tend their spirits until they were ready to enter the Light. For most it was only a short stay, but not for the children. (This is worldbuilding and gets in the way of your query.)
“They don’t want to go on”, reported the Keeper of the Halls. “They want to go back”. (This isn’t a mc…this is a detail not needed in the query.)
Here are two that did–‘Rasha La’ such monarchs call themselves—-together with an account of their journey into Mexico, caught up along the way in the fortunes of the fairy people on earth.
The main characters, monarchs of that little-known subspecies, are recently arrived in the wildwood: Yero and Boca, a girl and a boy. (I want to know what they want, what is their goal? Then add in what they face to get there…a journey through Mexico, how does that hinder them? The fairies, what do they do?)
You’ll find them sheltering overnight in a thorn bush and awaken early with them to an awareness of predators in the trees above—-a roost of hungry crows—-some wary of the monarch toxicity, some not. Debate ensues about the butterflies’ edibility and the Top Crow calls for a review of the old ‘Warnings’. (Last sentence is unnecessary detail for a query.)
They’ll survive this peril, one of many, but a greater threat is about to overtake them: They are the last monarchs of Northern Autumn. They have delayed their migration too long and are about to be overwhelmed by the change of seasons. (What is their goal? What are they doing on earth? What are the stakes? If the seasons change, what happens to them? How much time do they have?)

*A beautifully written query, though it needs a bit more to make it a working query. A little too much detail and not enough of the big picture. I am very intrigued by your concept! I have a feeling the writing mirrors that in the ms, so YEA!

250 words:

A thorn bush was perfect. It was already dark in the woods and the wandering monarchs knew that a veil of thorns was better protection overnight than their own reputation. They couldn’t have chosen a worse perch, as we shall see. But they were young, just passing through, and unaware of local customs. A brisk shower awoke them in the wee hours, but otherwise the night passed quietly until early dawn when… (Oh…)
Splat!
A drop hit one of the butterflies, jarring her awake. She fumbled around in the gloom and poked her companion.
“Boca! Wake up. It’s raining again”.
He tried to ignore her. “Lemme be, Yero. Fold your wings”.
Splat!
Before she could do so the next drop landed on her back and dribbled down her leg. That was the end of her patience. (Why? Is she just impatient or have they been in this situation before?) She folded her wings tight and poked him harder.
“It’s raining! I’m moving!”
That brought him awake, bewildered. He felt perfectly dry.
Splat!
The third drop split on her neatly folded wings and trickled down both sides. She yelped and tip-toed away through the thorns in search of leaves to perch under. Boca followed in the dim light.
By good chance there was a canopy of leaves close by. The tough buckthorn bush had thus far ignored the frosts of autumn, retaining most of its green leaves even now on the doorstep of winter. (And it being close to winter is…bad? For butterflies, right?)

The new perch was much better. Occasional drops splashed harmlessly off the canopy now and all would have been well except for a strong, fetid odor.

*I am interested in the odor! What is it!?!? A couple of butterflies, hmmm…I like the voice, but I want a hint at something bigger. A hint at what they are doing? At their goals? What is this book going to be about? Two butterflies in the rain is nice, but what of the journey? A bit of emotion…worry about where they have to go, a touch of anxiety, or excitement…something to connect me to what is about to happen. Why do I care about two butterflies in the rain? I just need a little bit more.

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 8: SALVATION

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 8:

Title: Salvation

Category and Genre: Adult, Suspense/Thriller

Word Count: 75,000

Query:

Small town journalist Tom Coster is chasing a story 30 years in the making. The story: The untold events that went on behind the doors of now-shuttered Salvation Home for Wayward Children. Tom, however, has a hidden motive behind the article he wants to print. He hopes the story draws out his cousin, Dianna Lane, who disappeared from the troubled teen home those 30 long years ago, or the person he suspects kidnapped her; The former owner of the compound, Marcus Taylor, who went off the grid around the same time.

The further Tom digs the more attention he gains, and from those who would rather Salvation Home’s troubled past remain out of the public eye. It becomes clear to him the depths of depravity those who come after him will sink to. After all, the narratives people weave for God to be on their side have no boundaries when it comes to madness.

First 250 Words:

At first, the icy steel floor was a welcome reprieve. Then her bleeding welts began to scream.

“Esther, git off th’ floor.” the man standing over her demanded. “Y’ain’t gon’ bleed t’ death. Y’got ten mo’ah swats comin’.” She looked up at him, looked him in the face, and found a gaze that was unrepentant and just as cold as the floor. “Esther” struggled, her legs shivering as she made the attempt to stand.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “please…Brother M-Marcus, no more…”

“Shut it, girl.” the man said. “Assume th’ position, an’ repeat Proverbs 23:13.” “Esther” did as told, despite her body pleading for her not to go through with it.

“W-withhold not c-cor—agh!” she screamed, as the cane, a twisted and evil implement, came across one of her already opened wounds. She could feel the wood, jagged and tattered from years of use, cut into the back of her legs. Another strike, and she doubled over, doing her best not to vomit from the pain.

“Don’ you get sick all ovuh, child.” Marcus growled. “Eight mo’ah, then we git you all nice an’ cleaned up.” He chuckled, and his attempt to make it sound light-hearted instead turned it into the most soul-crushing sound in the world. “Now, git up, and git back into position!”

But “Esther” couldn’t manage it. Her body wouldn’t obey. Once before she had been in a similar situation: Her back tensed, the scars there already beginning to hurt through sympathy.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

Small town journalist Tom Coster is chasing a story 30 years in the making. The story: The untold events that went on behind the doors of now-shuttered Salvation Home for Wayward Children. Tom, however, has a hidden motive behind the article he wants to print. He hopes the story draws out his cousin, Dianna Lane, who disappeared from the troubled teen home those 30 long years ago, or the person he suspects kidnapped her; The former owner of the compound, Marcus Taylor, who went off the grid around the same time. (Nice! Good set up. I wonder why? Why is he so committed to finding the answers?)

The further Tom digs the more attention he gains, and from those who would rather Salvation Home’s troubled past remain out of the public eye. (Give me what they do to stop him. Give me what obstacles he faces, details that will stand out and be remembered.) It becomes clear to him the depths of depravity those who come after him will sink to. (this is vague) After all, the narratives people weave for God to be on their side have no boundaries when it comes to madness. (an interesting line, but it doesn’t give me what he faces, it doesn’t give me the moment he faces a big choice, it doesn’t give me the stakes. What happens if he uncovers the truth? Is there a moment when he thinks that maybe he shouldn’t?)

First 250 Words:

At first, the icy steel floor was a welcome reprieve. Then her bleeding welts began to scream. (Nice!)

“Esther, git off th’ floor.” the man standing over her demanded. “Y’ain’t gon’ bleed t’ death. Y’got ten mo’ah swats comin’.”

(New para) She looked up at him, looked him in the face, and found a gaze that was unrepentant and just as cold as the floor. “Esther” (Love the name in parentheses!) struggled, her legs shivering as she made the attempt to stand. (Any sights, sounds, smells to add a bit to the scene? What is she wearing?)

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “please…Brother M-Marcus, no more…”

“Shut it, girl.” the man said.(what does he look like?) “Assume th’ position, an’ repeat Proverbs 23:13.” “Esther” did as told, despite her body pleading for her not to go through with it. (With what? What is the position?)

“W-withhold not c-cor—agh!” she screamed, as the cane, a twisted and evil implement, came across one of her already opened wounds. She could feel the wood, jagged and tattered from years of use, cut into the back of her legs. Another strike, and she doubled over, doing her best not to vomit from the pain.

“Don’ you get sick all ovuh, child.” Marcus growled. “Eight mo’ah, then we git you all nice an’ cleaned up.” He chuckled, and his attempt to make it sound light-hearted instead turned it into the most soul-crushing sound in the world. “Now, git up, and git back into position!”

But “Esther” couldn’t manage it. Her body wouldn’t obey. Once before she had been in a similar situation: Her back tensed, the scars there already beginning to hurt through sympathy.

*Oh my heavens! Someone needs to get this Marcus guy and possibly, maybe murder him. Yup. This is not what I expected after the query…In the query I only heard of Tom, so I am a little thrown. But I realize this is the possibly the past, possibly what happened to the lost cousin Tom searches for. Is this a prologue?

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 7: WHEN THE PAST KNOCKS

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 7:

Title: WHEN THE PAST KNOCKS
Category and Genre: Adult psychological thriller
Word Count: 83,000
Query:

The night Blake can’t remember is the one he’ll never forget.

Businessman Jeffrey Blake is confident he left his juvenile habits of binge drinking and drugs in the past. And besides juggling a healthy mix between his new GM position and his wife and two daughters, he is successfully hiding a two-decade-old felony. Until his boss is killed

Blake finds evidence in his possession linking him to his boss’ death, but his muddled recollection of the murder night leads him to consider he could be an involuntary accessory in the crime. One memory, however, awakes: he was blindfolded and gagged by a stranger, and his family and friends’ safety threatened should Blake seek any help. In fear for their lives, he only hints at his dilemma to his friends, as he doesn’t trust anyone, dreading the assailant isn’t a stranger—or that the murderer isn’t himself.

When text messages warn him of future killings, Blake condemns himself for his inability to prevent more deaths without ending up in jail. Then, the company VP goes missing. Pressure mounts when Blake’s weak alibi prompts a detective to dig into his past. Tangled in lies, brooding about why he has become a target, Blake seeks solace at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Finally, a clue kick-starts him. If he doesn’t take the reins into his hands, or risk even a wrong move, he’ll never be able to prove his innocence to the police—and to himself.

First 250 Words:

Thursday – Day Two

Sometimes it’s wiser to forget a day than to try remembering it, but being wise was the least of Jeffrey Blake’s worries.

He clenched his fist, fearing the knife at his throat would prick his skin. Or worse—kill him. He wanted to get out, run away, run for his life. He couldn’t move. I don’t want to die.

A blunt voice rattled him, crawled under his skin. “You’re responsible.”

Blake cracked his eyes open.

The season’s first brisk morning breeze streaming through the window raised his hair; something wasn’t right. His head felt as if it had collided with a concrete wall at full throttle, his brain derailed. A memory gushed back: the knife. Instinctively he threw a hand to his neck, stifled a cry as he felt a scab.

Heart in his throat, he tilted his head. She was asleep, purring next to him. Last thing he needed was throwing his wife into the same panic streaming through him. With care he peeled back the blanket, the sunrise throwing enough beam onto the pillow—blood. He flipped the pillow, tiptoed in haste to the spacious granite en-suite bathroom, held his breath as he braced himself to check the mirror, his discovery proving his fear: a cut, not big but big enough to notice.

“What the fuck happened!” His eyes darted from side to side, from ceiling to wall, and stopped—yesterday’s shirt was sticking out of the laundry basket. He yanked it out, examined it.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

The night Blake can’t remember is the one he’ll never forget. (Like this as a hook!)

Businessman Jeffrey Blake is confident he left his juvenile habits of binge drinking and drugs in the past. And besides juggling a healthy mix between his new GM position and his wife and two daughters, he is successfully hiding a two-decade-old felony (What did he do?). Until his boss is killed. (Nice character set up! What does he want? To continue this way?)

Blake finds evidence in his possession (a bit vague…what does he find? How long since the death?) linking him to his boss’ death, but his muddled recollection of the murder night leads him to consider he could be an involuntary accessory in the crime. (Why is his memory muddled? I thought he left the drinking behind?) One memory, however, awakes: he was blindfolded and gagged by a stranger (How does he know it was a stranger? Did he see them?), and his family and friends’ safety threatened should Blake seek any help (help for what?). In fear for their lives, he only hints at his dilemma to his friends, as he doesn’t trust anyone, dreading the assailant isn’t a stranger—or that the murderer isn’t himself.

*This para gets muddy. We should learn what gets in his way of his goal, of living his nice life. Suddenly thinking he killed someone, finding time he can’t remember would do that! Does he wake up confused one morning? Does he remember what happened up until the lost time? Was he drinking? Does he immediately recall his life before? Does finding this “evidence” trigger the memory of the night he can’t remember? When he finds evidence, he struggles to remember what happened. Is it possible he killed his boss? A fuzzy memory surfaces. Being blindfolded. Being gagged. But by whom? The lives of his friends and family are threatened…if he seeks help, but for what? What do these kidnappers want from him? I like the end sentence…that he fears being the murderer.

When text messages warn him of future killings, Blake condemns himself for his inability to prevent more deaths without ending up in jail. (What do they want him to do? What is he not doing to prevent the deaths? They are killing people…why? How does it link to him?) Then, the company VP goes missing. (Is he worried they will blame him?) Pressure mounts when Blake’s weak alibi prompts a detective to dig into his past. (Uh oh.) Tangled in lies, brooding about why he has become a target, Blake seeks solace at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Finally, a clue kick-starts him. (What clue?) If he doesn’t take the reins into his hands, or risk even a wrong move, he’ll never be able to prove his innocence to the police—and to himself. (Stakes…What is the big moment where he faces a choice? If he can’t prove his innocence…what specific thing does he fear? What about his family? Is he losing them?)

*I don’t get why they take him, what they want from him? They threaten his family, but why? What is he supposed to do? What drives him through this? What does he want? What about stakes? Will he lose his life? His family? Will he end up in jail? The secret felony…how does it link to the story?

First 250 Words:

Thursday – Day Two

Sometimes it’s wiser to forget a day than to try remembering it, but being wise was the least of Jeffrey Blake’s worries. (Like this!)

He clenched his fist, fearing the knife at his throat would prick his skin. Or worse—kill him. He wanted to get out, run away, run for his life. He couldn’t move. (Why can’t he move? Any sights, sounds, smells? Can he see? Set the scene.) I don’t want to die. (italicize “I don’t want to die” and put it in its own para…as his thoughts.)

A blunt voice rattled him, crawled under his skin. “You’re responsible.” (Nice! Creepy!)

Blake cracked his eyes open.

The season’s first brisk morning breeze streaming through the window raised his hair; something wasn’t right. (What? Is there a lingering panic? And he opened his eyes, so I expected to see something…but he feels a breeze…what does he see? Sights that don’t match with fuzzy memories? Or does he feel the breeze, a breeze that doesn’t go with what he’s feeling…then opens his eyes) His head felt (stronger word than felt…throbbed?) as if it had collided with a concrete wall at full throttle, his brain derailed. A memory gushed back: the knife. Instinctively he threw a hand to his neck, stifled a cry as he felt a scab. (make this stronger…as his finger bumped over a thin scab.)

Heart in his throat, he tilted his head. She (She who?) was asleep, purring next to him. (A cat?) Last thing he needed was throwing his wife into the same panic streaming through him. (Oh! His wife! Description of her please when he looks at her.) With care he peeled back the blanket, the sunrise throwing enough beam onto the pillow—blood. (Sentence is a little awkward. The sun throwing enough beam to illuminate a spot(a big spot, little line of?)—blood.) He flipped the pillow, tiptoed in haste to the spacious granite en-suite bathroom, (the familiar scent of his wife’s perfume? The towels on the floor in a heap? Give us little details to build character.) held his breath as he braced himself to check the mirror, his discovery proving his fear: a cut, not big but big enough to notice.

“What the fuck happened!” His eyes darted from side to side, from ceiling to wall, and stopped—yesterday’s shirt was sticking out of the laundry basket. He yanked it out, examined it. (AH WHAT?!??!?!!? WHAT IS ON THE SHIRT!?!?! Interesting start! I am already dying to know what happened!)

*We need the query to match this. I’d take out the “Until his boss is killed” in first para. Start second para…when he wakes up with blood on his pillow and a scab on his throat, the fuzzy memory of a knife and a voice might not be a dream…then put in when he learns his boss is dead…now the fear he has that he can’t remember…that what if he did something…what is it he remembers…

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 6: HOMEGROWN

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 6:

Title: Homegrown

Category and Genre: Adult Thriller

Word Count: 82,000

Query:

DALTON, an eighteen year old from Washington D.C. suffering from depression since the death of his father, has come to the attention of ISIS recruiters. He and many others like him worldwide are being radicalized to perform atrocious attacks against the enemies of the Islamic State.

AAZAM, an ISIS Commander, has set in motion a plan to attack the International Coalition in their individual homelands. He will use Dalton and the other homegrown terrorists to make the West pay for their interference.

When Dalton’s mother, GAIL, realizes his involvement with the fanatical group, she will turn over heaven and hell to rescue her son before he does the unthinkable or gets himself killed.

First 250 words:

Ninety seconds; do or die. Glancing at the scoreboard, Dalton saw he had less than a minute and a half left to break the tie for the State Hockey Championship. The cold from the ice gave no relief as he shook the sweat from his eyes. His chest pumped like billows from exertion, using the break that the off-side gave him to recover. This is it. We either end it here or take a chance in sudden overtime. Got to get the puck out of our zone. What would Dad do?

He looked up in the stands and the empty seat beside his mother played on his mind. Not like Dad to miss a game this important.

“Okay guys, let’s do this,” Dalton said, the letter ‘C’ on his jersey heavier than it had ever been. For a seventeen old, it was a heavy responsibility, but he shouldered it well.

“Jaxson, we got this,” he yelled to the goalie. Jaxson shifted nervously on his skates, banging each post with his stick to center himself to the net, trapper raised at the ready.

The linesman slid up to the left faceoff circle, scanning to see if the players were in their positions.  Both Dalton and the opposing centerman faced off; muscles tense, sticks quivering.

The puck dropped and Dalton scooped it behind him to Daniel. As the puck rebounded behind the net, Dalton didn’t hesitate but, left his opposite standing there watching the play.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

DALTON, an eighteen year old from Washington D.C. suffering from depression since the death of his father, has come to the attention of ISIS recruiters. He and many others like him worldwide are being radicalized to perform atrocious attacks against the enemies of the Islamic State. (this final sentence is an omniscient POV and doesn’t seem to fit. If this is Dalton’s POV, let us meet the ISIS recruiters through his eyes…what draws him to them. What does he want from them, for himself?)

AAZAM, an ISIS Commander, has set in motion a plan to attack the International Coalition in their individual homelands. He will use Dalton and the other homegrown terrorists to make the West pay for their interference. (this final sentence gives us what you said in the previous para’s last sentence in the POV it belongs in…good set up here.)

When Dalton’s mother, GAIL, realizes his involvement with the fanatical group, she will turn over heaven and hell to rescue her son before he does the unthinkable or gets himself killed. (Good character motivation here, but a bit of description, who is she?)

*You have three POVs set up, the mother needs a bit more description. Dalton needs a bit more set up with his desires, what he wants, the other two have clear goals, clear motivations.

Now bring them together. Now how do they link? How do their stories come together? What do they face. What obstacles? What are the stakes for each as they face final decisions? From this I assume this ms has three POVs…

 

First 250 words:

Ninety seconds; do or die. (Nice opening!) Glancing at the scoreboard, Dalton saw he had less than a minute and a half left to break the tie for the State Hockey Championship. (make this sentence stronger, up the tension…Dalton glanced at the scoreboard. Less than a minute and a half to break the tie…) The cold from the ice gave no relief (relief from what?) as he shook the sweat from his eyes. His chest pumped like billows from exertion, using (this is confusing because I connect the action to his chest) the break that the off-side gave him to recover. (How is he using the break? What is he doing? What does he see, smell, hear? Set the scene.) This is it. We either end it here or take a chance in sudden overtime. Got to get the puck out of our zone. What would Dad do? (Like these internal thoughts! WHERE IS DAD? SHOULD WE BE WORRIED?)

He looked up in the stands and the empty seat beside his mother played on his mind. Not like Dad to miss a game this important. (And he’s…upset…confused…worried?)

“Okay guys, let’s do this,” Dalton said, (there are others around him? Who?) the letter ‘C’ on his jersey heavier than it had ever been. For a seventeen old, it was a heavy responsibility, but he shouldered it well.

“Jaxson, we got this,” he yelled to the goalie. (The rest of the team are not near the goal?) Jaxson shifted nervously on his skates, banging each post with his stick to center himself to the net, trapper raised at the ready.

The linesman slid up to the left faceoff circle, scanning to see if the players were in their positions.  Both Dalton and the opposing centerman faced off; muscles tense, sticks quivering.

The puck dropped and Dalton scooped it behind him to Daniel. As the puck rebounded behind the net, Dalton didn’t hesitate, but, left his opposite standing there watching the play.

*I like the hint that something is wrong…Dad not being there, maybe make this stronger, let him react to it. Set the scene a bit more. Overall, I like it. I don’t know much about hockey, so some of the terms are unknown, but I can get the feel for what it means.

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

 

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 5: HAZELWOOD

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 5:

Title: Hazelwood
Category and Genre: YA, Dark Fantasy
Word Count: 96,000

Query:

Seventeen-year-old Roma Hazelwood’s coping with a disturbing secret involving Brie, her five-year-old sister’s, death.

When mourning the one-year anniversary of Brie’s death, Roma’s shocked to see Brie standing over the corpse of their abusive, psychosis-induced mother, slumped in a tub overflowing with blood. Brie doesn’t seem to remember why she’s drenched in their mother’s blood. But Roma does.

On the run, Roma struggles to clean up the bloody trails that are left behind after Brie’s violent outbreaks while balancing her own mental health. As if answering her prayers, Roma receives a phone call from a woman named Veralyn, offering Roma and Brie sanctuary on a remote island. It seems too good to be true.

It is.

Thrown on an island inhabited by Faeries, both alive and dead, Roma struggles to face the fact that Brie might never have been human from the start. With Veralyn’s unsettling fixation on Brie becoming more aggressive, Roma’s behaving recklessly and desperately, struggling to keep Brie safe. So when Roma’s offered help, she’s to decide if the Faery, Machaos, is trustworthy after he’s saved her life on the mainland. All while her mental health is declining to a terrifying, familiar low.

If Roma fails to evade everything that’s threatening Brie’s existence, not only will Brie be taken from her, but Roma may cave to her dark desires to make another attempt to end her life.

First 250 Words:

At five years old my sister, Brie, was beaten, strangled, and held underwater.

I know how she died, I know who did it, because I was the one who buried her body one year ago to the day.

Soft, blonde bristles dip into the coat of blue and black paint, swirling the colors together. My brush moves across the canvas, dragging thick, blue sludge-like streaks behind it.

Ugh.

This isn’t working for me.

I sigh, settling the paintbrush on my easel and then I take a step back, my eyes fixed on my canvas.

After the past year, it’s clear to see I’ve let myself go in more ways than one. Not only am I fifty-two pounds heavier, but my depression’s compromised how I paint. Degrading my natural talent to a mediocre dollar-store quality. Today is different though, a bigger distraction than what depression has to offer. Today marks the first anniversary of the worst day in my life.

I spent weeks in my apartment – that ought to be a closet – after Brie died; planning how to end my life.

I considered hanging myself, but a rope would’ve broken from my hefty, plus-size, bodacious self. My C.A.S. worker ensured the landlord drilled my windows shut as well. All to avoid me from trying to jump off my balcony.

Great for my safety, but horrible for my sweaty pits in the summer.

I’ve thought about bleach but what if I live through it? That’s going to be rough.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

Seventeen-year-old Roma Hazelwood’s coping with a disturbing secret involving Brie, her five-year-old sister’s, death. (Intriguing!)

When mourning the one-year anniversary of Brie’s death, Roma’s shocked to see Brie standing over the corpse of their abusive, psychosis-induced mother, slumped in a tub overflowing with blood. Brie doesn’t seem to remember why she’s drenched in their mother’s blood. But Roma does. (Okay…ummm…confusion. Brie’s dead. But standing over their dead mother? A ghost?)

On the run, (On the run from what? The police?) Roma struggles to clean up the bloody trails that are left behind after Brie’s violent outbreaks while balancing her own mental health (details, what does she struggle with?). As if answering her prayers, Roma receives a phone call from a woman named Veralyn, offering Roma and Brie sanctuary on a remote island. It seems too good to be true.

It is.

Thrown on an island inhabited by Faeries, both alive and dead, (OH I LIKE FAERIES VERY VERY MUCH! What is it like there? Chaotic and evil? Wondrous?) Roma struggles to face the fact that Brie might never have been human from the start. (OH WHAT IS SHE!?!?!?) With Veralyn’s unsettling fixation on Brie becoming more aggressive, Roma’s behaving recklessly and desperately, struggling to keep Brie safe. (Or keep people safe from Brie? Or keep her safe from this Veralyn?) So when Roma’s offered help (help for what exactly?), she’s to decide if the Faery, Machaos, is trustworthy after he’s saved her life on the mainland (saved her from what? How?). All while her mental health is declining to a terrifying, familiar low. (So she’s been depressed before?)

If Roma fails to evade everything (Too vague! WHAT IS THREATENING BRIE?) that’s threatening Brie’s existence (who is she really? Does Roma discover what? Does what her sister is make her second guess fighting for her?), not only will Brie be taken from her, but Roma may cave to her dark desires to make another attempt to end her life. (Those are good stakes. But why…why is Roma driven to do this, to save her sister? And I am still confused by the whole, Brie died a year ago thing.)

*I am struggling to understand. The first sentence is throwing me off. Brie is dead…a year ago…but this is the story of how Roma protects her? How Brie is violent (possibly a changling? A ghost? A zombie?) and Roma covers it up? But she’s dead? Is this the story of why Roma kills her sister? I am very intrigued by the faeries! Who is this Veralyn? What does she want? Who is Machaos? What is it that keeps Roma protecting her sister? What kind of help do they get on the island? Does that help?

First 250 Words:

At five years old my sister, Brie, was beaten, strangled, and held underwater. (Nice opener)

I know how she died, I know who did it, because I was the one who buried her body one year ago to the day. (AND YOU WON’T TELL US WHO? Kinda mean. That event could certainly leave a scar, a wound that never healed….)

(need a transition here from the memory to the present) Soft, blonde bristles dip into the coat of blue and black paint, swirling the colors together. My brush moves across the canvas, dragging thick, blue sludge-like streaks behind it.

Ugh.

This isn’t working for me. (Don’t need the “for me” Does it usually “work” and work to do what?)

I sigh, settling the paintbrush on my easel, and then I take a step back, my eyes fixed on my canvas. (which looks like what? Details, feelings…)

After the past year, it’s clear to see I’ve let myself go in more ways than one. Not only am I fifty-two pounds heavier, but my depression’s compromised how I paint. Degrading my natural talent to a mediocre dollar-store quality. Today is different though, a bigger distraction than what depression has to offer. Today marks the first anniversary of the worst day in my life. (I think this para could be more powerful, if we hear those internal thoughts, the ones fueled by depression the ones that tell her how awful her painting has become, the ones that tell her to chuck the paint at the wall and never touch it again, or tell her to sit in a corner and cry, the ones that say chocolate will make it better. Show me the depression and its effect. Show me the empty plates of food she shouldn’t have eaten. Show me paintings she has done before…how much netter they are. Does she know she’s let herself go? Being aware of that is interesting…she must have fought depression before, must have been to therapy? There’s a lot I want to know, a lot of inner things.)

I spent weeks in my apartment – that ought to be a closet (you mean it’s very small?)– after Brie died; planning how to end my life.

I considered hanging myself, but a rope would’ve broken from my hefty, plus-size, bodacious self (earlier it was letting herself go by gaining weight, now she seems proud of it, or has she accepted it? Or is she hating herself and being sarcastic?). My C.A.S. (For those of us who do not know…maybe spell it out?) worker ensured the landlord drilled my windows shut as well. All to avoid me from trying to jump off my balcony (awkward wording here…to keep me from jumping from my balcony).

Great for my safety, but horrible for my sweaty pits in the summer. (Ew.)

I’ve thought about bleach but what if I live through it? That’s going to be rough. (I’ve thought…or I thought? still thinking of suicide? Or was this a while ago? Why tell us how she thought of ending it? Does she still think up ways?)

*I am left unsure. The mystery of how the sister died is interesting, but I know nothing about the sister…what was their relationship?

How painting helps, it’s therapeutic, but not today. Had she been doing better, until today. Why did she choose to live? Why is she going to choose to continue to live? Where is this going?

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 4: SCRAPETOWN

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 4:

Title: Scrapetown
Category and Genre: Adult Horror
Word Count: 82,000

Query:

Ghosts in the mirror aren’t stressful enough, so thank god Clare Monroe also lives with anxiety, Georgia summers without A/C, and quicksand feelings for her best friend Isobel. At least she knows the scrapes are harmless, half-sentient remnants trapped in reflections . . . until one of them eviscerates a friend minutes after Clare left him alone.

A necromancer stalks her adopted city of Atlanta, able to manifest scrapes and bend them to his will. He knows about Clare’s hidden gift, her unrealized potential—and how to win her undivided attention. When the killer turns his eyes (living and dead) on Isobel, Clare sees no choice but to embrace her own unsettling capacity for necromancy.

She finds an unexpected ally in bayou warlock Remy Leignon, whose snark might hide a kinship Clare has craved through years of obsessively hiding her abilities. But as they race to trap the enigmatic necromancer and Clare finally explores the true scope of her power, the line between survival and ambition begins to blur.

First 250 Words:

The dead thing in her closet whispered low and cigarette-rough.

Sprawled on her back, whiskey swimming in her head and floaters in her eyes, Clare Monroe tried not to notice.

Glass crashed from the living room; a sloppy curse. “Nothing broke!” Isobel called, then burbled something between a belch and a giggle. Couch springs squealed as she collapsed back down, the sound cutting right through the closed door between them.

Clare shut her eyes. Ignored that too.

Concentrate on your breathing. A siren wailed out towards Emory. More sly grumbles from the closet, the scrape’s voice catching on her cotton sheets like fingernails on skin. Don’t think about it. Attention gave it power.

Don’t think—

Too late.

Clare rolled over and stared at her closet. A slurry of Spanish crept around her mattress, welling up around her naked calves.

Unsteady footsteps and a rusty hinge marked Isobel’s journey to the bathroom; the shower turned on. Clare honed in on the dead thing’s voice so she wouldn’t listen for the soft flump of clothes hitting tile.

“No puedo respirar, no puedo…”

“Go away,” Clare whispered.

Her white closet door shone dully despite the lack of moonlight. (No light at all, nothing to turn innocent glass or metal into a reflective surface where a scrape might creep.) Behind the door, underneath the towel tacked over the mirror, the thing that had most likely been a stroke victim named Luis Delgado let out a wet and gravely sigh.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:

Ghosts in the mirror aren’t stressful enough, so thank god Clare Monroe also lives with anxiety, Georgia summers without A/C, and quicksand feelings for her best friend Isobel. At least she knows the scrapes are harmless, half-sentient remnants trapped in reflections . . . until one of them eviscerates a friend minutes after Clare left him alone. (Wait…OMG…Scrapes? Mirrors? I LOVE THIS IDEA! However, this beginning confused me a bit. I had to reread it. What about starting with a hook like… Scrapes, the half-sentient remnants of people(?) trapped in reflections, are harmless. Or not. Then go into the next para with To –add in what she does? Or some tidbit about her-Clare Monroe, the stress of ghosts in the mirror is only made worse by anxiety, Georgia summers without A/C, and quicksand feelings for her best friend Isobel. At least the scrapes can’t hurt anyone. Until one (describe it a little give us a small detail we’ll never forget, A CREEPY TERRIFYING DETAIL!) eviscerates a friend minutes after Clare left him alone. Left the friend alone…in a room with a mirror? Left the scrape alone? What exactly happened? That was a lot…I know…I got very excited about this idea and couldn’t stop.)

A necromancer stalks her adopted city of Atlanta (maybe tell us she lives in Atlanta before, then here just give us the necromancer stalking the city), able to manifest scrapes and bend them to his will. (OOOOH! I like this guy, sounds fun.) He knows about Clare’s hidden gift, her unrealized potential—and how to win her undivided attention. (How does he know about her? AND UNREALIZED POTENTIAL? Dude. This sounds like the ms is in his POV as well as Clare’s, right?) When the killer (wait…killer? Who is the killer? The necromancer? No…the scrape/killer who murdered her friend?) turns his eyes (living and dead) on Isobel, Clare sees no choice but to embrace her own unsettling capacity for necromancy. (which does what to her?)

She finds an unexpected ally in bayou warlock Remy Leignon, (he seems thrown in here. Does she seek him out for help? Does she happen upon him? How does he enter the scene?) whose snark might hide a kinship (kinship…as in someone to understand what she can see? Someone who can help her learn how to control it? She didn’t want to learn, to really understand her power until Isobel? And now she needs to know?) Clare has craved through years of obsessively hiding her abilities. But as they race to trap the enigmatic necromancer and Clare finally explores the true scope of her power, the line between survival and ambition begins to blur. (Stakes here. What is her final choice she faces? To survive, learn enough about her power to get rid of the killer and save Isobel? Or become powerful to save Isobel? What? If she gives into the power what happens? Will she not save Isobel? Why is the call to power, this ambition so strong?)

*I got a little lost. Clare…her gift. The scrape who kills her friend. A necromancer, who wants to win her attention, but why? For what purpose? And a killer? Who is that? Okay…The necromancer is using scrapes to kill…he wants Clare for something and threatens to kill Isobel so Clare will…what? Give in to the power she could have…so he can what, use it, steal it? I need a better sense of how all these things connect. Is the ms in multiple POV? If so, I’d like to see in the necromancer’s head. See what he wants. If this is just Clare POV, make sure you show us the necromancer through her eyes.
First 250 Words:

The dead thing in her closet whispered low and cigarette-rough. (LOVE! I’M IN LET’S GO!)

Sprawled on her back, whiskey swimming in her head and floaters in her eyes, (Love this!) Clare Monroe tried not to notice.

Glass crashed from the living room; a sloppy curse. “Nothing broke!” Isobel called, (Who is Isobel?) then burbled something between a belch and a giggle. Couch springs squealed as she collapsed back down, (Clare can’t see this, right? She can hear the couch and imagine how the sound happened, if she has a crush on her, now would be the time to give us a hint…Clare imagines her falling onto the couch, her cute drunk smile, the way her hair is probably a mess, a wonderful mess) the sound cutting right through the closed door between them.

Clare shut her eyes. Ignored that too. (Ignored the sound of Isobel? Why?)

Concentrate on your breathing. A siren wailed out towards Emory (Emory? Who or what? Where is there a siren?). More sly grumbles from the closet, the scrape’s (because I read the query, I know what this refers to, but uncertain whether I would connect it to the mention of the dead thing earlier… can add a bit before it… the closet, the remnant of a life, the scrape’s) voice catching on her cotton sheets like fingernails on skin. Don’t think about it. Attention gave it power.

Don’t think—

Too late.

Clare rolled over and stared at her closet. A slurry of Spanish crept around her mattress, welling up around her naked calves. (Nice!)

Unsteady footsteps and a rusty hinge marked Isobel’s journey to the bathroom; the shower turned on. Clare honed in on the dead thing’s voice so she wouldn’t listen for the soft flump of clothes hitting tile. (Because hearing that would, what? Make her think of what she doesn’t have?)

“No puedo respirar, no puedo…”

“Go away,” Clare whispered.

Her white closet door shone dully despite the lack of moonlight. (No light at all, nothing to turn innocent glass or metal into a reflective surface where a scrape might creep.) Behind the door, underneath the towel tacked over the mirror, the thing that had most likely been a stroke victim named Luis Delgado let out a wet and gravely sigh. (Love it! Creepy and fabulous!)

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

 

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 3: HANGING

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 3:

Title: Hanging
Category and Genre:  Adult Supernatural Thriller
Word Count: 80,000

Query:
Ruth’s phobias have ruled—and ruined—her life. She dropped out of veterinary school because of a snake. She hasn’t slept in the dark in twenty years, since she was four. Desperate to conquer her fears and looking for a fresh start, she relocates to Wisconsin. There, she begins a new graduate program in Water Resources Management. With three classmates, she embarks on a field trip to Lake Chevinette, where two logging crews have vanished in the past.

Arriving at the site, Ruth finds the lake has strange qualities: the water is dark, but she cannot filter out particles; the plankton net reveals no life whatsoever; and an equipment cable, at least a hundred meters long, fails to reach the bottom, then gets caught and is lost. One of the girls has visions of smoke-shaped creatures gliding over the surface. She falls in, and, although Ruth rescues her, she vanishes when back on shore. With no cell-phone signal and the sun progressively dropping in the horizon, Ruth must either abandon her missing companion and live with the guilt, or continue to search after the darkness she dreads falls.

First 250 Words:

Madison, Wisconsin, September 25, 2015

Ruth lit a new tea light in the perforated lantern by the window. A beacon in the darkness of her studio apartment, the candle projected stars onto the floor and part of the wall and would last a few hours—usually until she awoke.

She changed into an old nightgown, its seams thick from the many times she had stitched them. Yet she couldn’t persuade herself to discard her thirteen-year-old birthday gift from her grandma.

Ruth lay on her stomach on the open futon with the laptop in front of her and opened the email from Barb. She copied the words “Lake Chevinette” and pasted them into the search box. Would the images be as breathtaking as those from Sparkling Lake?

But she found no images. In fact, the resulting links all seemed irrelevant. The text at the top of the page added to her disappointment: “Did you mean: Lake Chevrolet.”

The only Chevrolet she knew was the car. Did a Lake Chevrolet actually exist? Had Barb misspelled the name of the lake in her email?

A slight change in spelling produced: “Your search – Lake Chevinnette – did not match any documents.” Bullet point suggestions followed. “Make sure that all words are spelled correctly,” read the first one.

Ruth sneered. Wouldn’t it be great if I knew the correct spelling? Those bulleted pearls of obvious advice also included: “Try different keywords.”

So she did: “Lake Chevinette Northern Wisconsin.” To no avail. Again, no matched documents.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:

Query:
Ruth’s phobias have ruled—and ruined—her life. (I like this as a hook!)

(At –insert age-years old Ruth –then give us a description, let us get to know who she is, what she is doing, what she wants.) She dropped out of veterinary school because of a snake. She hasn’t slept in the dark in twenty years, since she was four. (I like these little details.) Desperate to conquer her fears and looking for a fresh start, she relocates to Wisconsin. (Why there? What does she think she can find there? What drives here there?) There, she begins a new graduate program in Water Resources Management. (Is this her dream? To work in that field?) With three classmates, she embarks on a field trip to Lake Chevinette, where two logging crews have vanished in the past. (They go there…why? When she begins a graduate program…she learns of people who have vanished…and what? She needs to go find them, find what happened? Why?)

Arriving at the site, Ruth finds the lake has strange qualities (Instead, maybe…At the site, the lake has strange qualities.): the water is dark, but she cannot filter out particles; the plankton net reveals no life whatsoever; and an equipment cable, at least a hundred meters long, fails to reach the bottom, then gets caught and is lost. One of the girls has visions (visions, as in dreams? Or she thinks she sees?) of smoke-shaped creatures (THESE SOUND SUPER COOL!!!) gliding over the surface. She falls in, and, although Ruth rescues her, she vanishes when back on shore. (What? *gasp* Dude. Love that!) With no cell-phone signal and the sun progressively dropping in the horizon (why does it matter if the sun goes down? Because of that fear? Tie that in here!), Ruth must either abandon her missing companion and live with the guilt, or continue to search after the darkness she dreads falls. (Who is this companion? Why does she care?)

*This is very intriguing! I love weird and creepy! I do want more set up of the mc. And show me the emotion/motivation that drives her to move, to study what she studies, to go to the lake.

She wants to live free of her fears? Right? That is what drives her? What stops her? Give me the obstacles. Weird things at a lake? Nice, but what really stops her. Her phobias? Tie that first line into the whole thing. These strange happenings at the lake…what do they have to do with her phobias? What do they mean? How is she moving to what she wants?

Can she handle the fear to save a life? Make sure you keep that theme in the query.

Now the bonus question…if she is afraid of snakes and the dark, why the supernatural element? If she has no phone and her companion gets hurt, and she is dealing with the outdoors and the fact it will be dark…why does the supernatural have to be there? Why does the companion disappear? Why does she think she can save her from something she can’t understand? Why not leave and come back?

After reading the first page…the relocating to Wisconsin seems to be backstory and not necessary in the query. We need to know she is in a graduate program…and the inciting incident…that she was sent an e-mail referring to a lake she can’t find. How does she find it? And why go?

First 250 Words:

Madison, Wisconsin, September 25, 2015

Ruth lit a new tea light in the perforated lantern by the window. A beacon in the darkness of her studio apartment, the candle projected stars onto the floor and part of the wall and would last a few hours—usually until she awoke. (From your query, I know she’s afraid of the dark…give us more of that here. Phobias rule her life? Right? And aren’t there other lights on? What else can she see? Set me in the scene.)

She changed into an old nightgown, its seams thick from the many times she had stitched them. Yet she couldn’t persuade herself to discard her thirteen-year-old birthday gift from her grandma. (Nice character building here. Maybe more…why keep it?)

Ruth lay on her stomach on the open futon with the laptop in front of her and opened (watch repeat of the word “open” in this sentence) the email from Barb. (Her computer…more light to fight the dark.) She copied the words “Lake Chevinette” and pasted them into the search box. Would the images be as breathtaking as those from Sparkling Lake?

But she found no images. In fact, the resulting links all seemed irrelevant. The text at the top of the page added to her disappointment: “Did you mean: Lake Chevrolet.”

The only Chevrolet she knew was the car. Did a Lake Chevrolet actually exist? Had Barb misspelled the name of the lake in her email?

A slight change in spelling produced: “Your search – Lake Chevinnette – did not match any documents.” Bullet point suggestions followed. “Make sure that all words are spelled correctly,” read the first one.

Ruth sneered. Wouldn’t it be great if I knew the correct spelling? Those bulleted pearls of obvious advice also included: “Try different keywords.”

So she did: “Lake Chevinette Northern Wisconsin.” To no avail. Again, no matched documents.

*Nice start! If this ms is about fears…I’d intro a bit in here. And maybe a bit of unease at the lake not existing. Set up the tone of the ms. Set up the theme.

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

 

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 2: THE MANHATTAN SWINDLE

Tags

critique, feedback, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, Twitter, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 2:

Title: The Manhattan Swindle
Category and Genre: Adult Thriller
Word Count: 154,000

Query:

From Libyan villages to high society New York, from childhood sweethearts to enemies feuding over an oil cartel, The Manhattan Swindle follows Harry and Lilah.

As teenagers, Lilah and Harry escape an attempted abduction and survive a run across northern Africa, but their paths diverge once they return to New York. Harry joins their families’ oil trading business, planning to make it big enough to destroy the driller who’d ordered the kidnapping to force the sale of the company. Lilah, on the other hand, is determined to move on. She heads to Harvard Law School and still hopes for a future with Harry.

Then, he introduces her to his mentor, Senator Temple. The senator and his family are American aristocracy, with a penchant for plotting incessantly, hating virulently, and loving unwisely. They have one adversary in common with Harry and Lilah: the driller behind the abduction. Temple tries to manipulate Lilah into marrying the heir to his family’s oil empire to join their companies in a de facto merger, tempting her with the leadership of the illegal cartel. If Lilah agrees, she will lose Harry, but the cartel she leads will be big enough to annihilate the enemy who devastated her life and his. If she refuses, their enemy will remain a threat to Harry’s business and, eventually, his life.

 

First 250 Words:

January 1974

Egypt-Libya border

The blades of the search-and-rescue helicopter thwacked the sticky, salty air above the Mediterranean coast. The choppy engine was loud enough to drown out even thoughts. Hot wind gusted into Temple’s face and eyes as he leaned out from the open cabin, squinting at the steep, sparsely-vegetated cliff marking the border between the two countries.

Trucks and vans and cars bound for Alexandria were lined up along the Halfaya Pass. Libyan soldiers swarmed their side of the border and paid no attention to the American chopper hovering one thousand feet above the ground.

“Aren’t they supposed to ask us for identification?” Temple hollered into the mouthpiece, swatting at his billowing shirt.

His headset sputtered. “No one cares as long as we stay in Egyptian airspace,” said the pilot. “They’ve gotten used to us.” The operation to find the two abducted teenagers had been in effect for months.

Temple grimaced and withdrew his head into the cabin, not looking forward to the conversation he was expecting to have with the teens’ families when he landed.

Gaddafi—the Libyan dictator—had denied responsibility for the kidnapping of the ambassador’s daughter and her friend. But he refused to let American personnel within the country’s borders to conduct a search. Instead, he presented to the U.S government the mercenaries involved in the crime, claiming to have apprehended them after an exhaustive hunt. The criminals insisted the hostages had escaped, the boy having killed one of the guards.

Since then, beyond one phone call weeks back suggesting they were on their way to the Halfaya Pass, no one had heard from either the boy or the girl.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and makes YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE:
Query:

From Libyan villages to high society New York, from childhood sweethearts to enemies feuding over an oil cartel, The Manhattan Swindle follows Harry and Lilah. (The way the sentence stands it leaves me hanging…you can rearrange it…The Manhattan Swindle follows Harry and Lilah from Libyan villages…)

As teenagers, Lilah and Harry escape an attempted abduction and survive a run across northern Africa, but their paths diverge once they return to New York. (The ms starts with them being rescued…So maybe…After being kidnapped then rescued in the African plains…friends Harry and Lilah head back to life scarred but hopeful…or something.) Harry joins their families’ oil trading business, planning to make it big enough to destroy the driller who’d ordered the kidnapping to force the sale of the company. (I like this sentence ending at “kidnapping”, don’t know if we need to know all the details of the driller’s evil intentions when the ms focuses on Harry and Lilah.) Lilah, on the other hand, is determined to move on. She heads to Harvard Law School and still hopes for a future with Harry. (Good set up of characters. We know what they want.)

Then, he introduces her to his mentor, Senator Temple. (When Harry introduces Lilah to his mentor Senator Temple…What happens? How does this change what they want or their goals?) The senator and his family are American aristocracy, with a penchant for plotting incessantly, hating virulently, and loving unwisely. (Do we need this info in the query?) They have one adversary in common with Harry and Lilah: the driller behind the abduction. (Ah! Okay! Nice!) Temple tries to (tries to? Or simply manipulates?) manipulate Lilah into marrying the heir to his family’s oil empire to join their companies in a de facto merger, tempting her with the leadership of the illegal cartel. If Lilah agrees, she will lose Harry, (does she have Harry? What will she lose here?) but the cartel she leads will be big enough to annihilate the enemy who devastated her life and his. If she refuses, their enemy will remain a threat to Harry’s business and, eventually, his life. (Nice stakes! If this is dual POV…what about Harry? What choice does he face? Or is this omniscient?)

*Nice query! Focuses on main story line. I would love a bit more character description. Who is Harry? Who is Lilah…maybe mention she’s the daughter of an ambassador? Ambitious? Hopeful? How old? How long between time lines of teenagers and adults? Does the ms flip between two time lines or tell the teenage story first then jump to the adult story? I remember this one from last time! Welcome back!

 

First 250 Words:

January 1974

Egypt-Libya border

The blades of the search-and-rescue helicopter thwacked the sticky, salty air above the Mediterranean coast. The choppy engine was loud enough to drown out even thoughts. (Love this!) Hot wind gusted into Temple’s face and eyes as he leaned out from the open cabin, squinting at the steep, sparsely-vegetated cliff marking the border between the two countries.

Trucks and vans and cars bound for Alexandria were lined (word choice to replace “were lined”…sat along… lined) up along the Halfaya Pass. Libyan soldiers swarmed their side of the border and paid no attention to the American chopper hovering one thousand feet above the ground.

“Aren’t they (the Libyan soldiers?) supposed to ask us for identification?” Temple hollered into the mouthpiece, swatting at his billowing shirt.

His headset sputtered. “No one cares as long as we stay in Egyptian airspace,” said the pilot. “They’ve gotten used to us.” The operation to find the two abducted teenagers had been in effect for months.

Temple grimaced and withdrew his head into the cabin, not looking forward to the conversation he was expecting to have with the teens’ families when he landed. (Oh…He thinks they’re dead…doesn’t he?)

Gaddafi—the Libyan dictator—had denied responsibility for the kidnapping of the ambassador’s daughter and her friend. But he refused to let American personnel within the country’s borders to conduct a search. Instead, he presented to the U.S government the mercenaries involved in the crime, claiming to have apprehended them after an exhaustive hunt. (and we trust them…riiiight.) The criminals insisted the hostages had escaped, the boy having killed one of the guards.

Since then, beyond one phone call weeks back suggesting they were on their way to the Halfaya Pass, no one had heard from either the boy or the girl. (Intriguing! I feel like I’m in the helicopter. Though I don’t know Temple…What does he have to gain here? What is his motive for searching? But missing teens…I would have to keep reading to know what the heck happened!)

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one!

Be sure to join us on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is super fun! #TeamRarity rocks!

 

#SonofaPitch #TeamRarity Entry 1: TWO TAILS OF AMAYA

Tags

critique, query, Son of a Pitch, Team Rarity, thoughts, writing

Son of a Pitch round two has begun! This week my blog will be dedicated to the authors of these amazing entries.

Comments are for the Son of a Pitch critiquers and authors only! All other comments will be deleted, them’s the rules peeps.

At the end of the week, I will vote for my favorites…I think five…I should check that.

Onward!

Welcome to Team Rarity!

Entry 1:

Title: TWO TAILS OF AMAYA
Category and Genre: YA CONTEMPORARY FANTASY THRILLER
Word Count: 69,000

Query:

Sixteen-year-old Amaya is the new girl at Radley High. When she’s adopted by the Mavericks back in Japan, she steps into a brand-new life. A life living as a human with two human parents. A life taking her across the ocean to live in a new country. And strangest of all, a life where she is no longer looking over her shoulder, worrying who is hunting her. But the transcendental Japanese fox’s elation is shattered when she learns she’s sitting in a dead girl’s chair.

Students begin to gossip about the hit and run. Some claim the town’s beloved lacrosse team may have been involved. Amaya keeps her distance from the gossip. After all, she fled Japan to get away from death, to forget about her family’s murder. But then she befriends Sam Warren, brooding loner with a sexy tattoo, and the only human resistant to her mind-altering powers. When the dead girl’s best friend starts to point fingers at Sam’s brother being the driver, Amaya and Sam set out to find the truth.

Amaya’s forced to confront her past when members of the lacrosse team are killed by a demonic wolf—the same wolf who killed her family after she brought shame to the God of Lightning. As the clues pile up and the wolf closes in, Sam and Amaya are drawn closer together. Amaya longs to tell Sam she’s a fox spirit, but in her experience, humans only see her as a demon. And she’s not ready to lose him. But revealing her true self might be the only way to stop the wolf from killing the first boy she’s ever loved.

 

First 250 Words:

The tumultuous, smoky grey clouds hiding the pale morning sun perfectly reflect my dark mood. It’s bad enough starting a new school in December, but walking there on the coldest day of the year because mom’s mini-van wouldn’t start… not fun. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. If I could change into my fox form, I’d be warm and farther along in my trek. But I can’t risk any humans finding out what I am. An oncoming gust causes loose snow from the ground to become tiny missiles, and I squint to retain any vision.

I’d been looking forward to starting my first American high school, even if it would be as a junior, since we moved to Minnesota five days ago. The anticipation tingled through me like electrical sparks, gathering in my toes and making me too anxious to sleep most of the night. And this morning, it built to the point I became nauseous from all the butterflies swarming in my stomach.

Afton is a new start. A fresh start. There’s no longer a need to run. Or look over my shoulder. No need to watch my every step and sniff the wind for signs of danger. Fear no longer dictated my actions.

I could finally be happy.

Except instead of today being a triumphant new start, I’m slipping on the frozen sidewalk, my arms flailing about like a spastic ballerina as I attempt to avoid biting it in front of suburban commuters on their way to work.

Now for my thoughts.

But first, a reminder, I am not an expert. I am a writer. My comments are my opinions. If any of these strange wordy things that pop into my brain and onto the page make sense for YOUR ms and make YOUR writer’s brain spin with all the inspiration, YEA!!! Use them…run with them…let your creative brain go! If reading one of my insanely odd thoughts just makes you shrug and sparks no new idea, forget it! YEA!

I am here to help YOU make YOUR ms the best it can be. I do not want to rewrite it. I do not want it to be something else. Your words should be yours. I WANT TO HAVE A GREAT TIME!

Feel free to ask questions. Feel free to post any rewrites in the comments. I will be happy to answer anything and read revisions! Anything I can do to help get the creative juices flowing.

CRITIQUE

YA CONTEMPORARY FANTASY THRILLER…okay, I have a little issue with all the genres, I know you want to let us know what is in it, but I have no idea what I will be reading. To me it seems Fantasy…if it is a scary-ish thriller…Dark Fantasy…OR maybe Magical Realism, if it is basically magic infused into reality. There does seem to be a set fantasy world behind it, with the mention of the God of Lightning, so that would make it fantasy.

Query:

Sixteen-year-old Amaya is the new girl at Radley High. When she’s adopted by the Mavericks back in Japan, she steps into a brand-new life. (Ummm, adopted and moves to Japan? Adopted while living in Japan? Where is she? Is the adoption part of the story? Don’t know if the query needs this as the story starts after they have moved…when was she adopted, as a baby? Do we need this in the query?) A life living as a human with two human parents. (OH! WHAT? She’s an alien?) A life taking her across the ocean to live in a new country. And strangest of all, a life where she is no longer looking over her shoulder, worrying who is hunting her. (ALIEN HUNTERS?!??!!?) But the transcendental Japanese fox’s (OH WAIT WHAT? Not an alien…THIS IS COOL! But I want to know sooner, cause I was confused.) elation is shattered when she learns she’s sitting in a dead girl’s chair.

*For me, the hook of this ms is the fact that she is a spirit fox hiding as a human. Consider starting with a one sentence hook…Amaya, a Japanese spirit fox, hides as a teen girl, but living a carefree existence proves impossible as a deadly foe from her past follows her halfway around the world. Maybe?

After that hook…new para and go into your mc…

Adopted and new to America, Sixteen-year-old Amaya doesn’t mind being the new girl because she can finally stop looking over her shoulder, worrying who is hunting her. Tell us what she wants…to live a normal life? To escape her past? To live as anything but who she is? Does she want to be a human? To be happy? Only…she lands in the center of drama…in a dead girl’s chair.

Students begin to gossip about the hit and run. Some claim the town’s beloved lacrosse team may have been involved. Amaya keeps her distance from the gossip. After all, she fled Japan to get away from death, to forget about her family’s murder. (THEY WERE MURDERED?!?!?! BY WHO WHAT HAPPENED? Do we need to know this in the query?) But then she befriends Sam Warren, brooding loner with a sexy tattoo, and the only human resistant to her mind-altering powers. (SHE HAS MIND-ALTERING POWERS? Love that, but how do these powers impact the story, her life? AND HOW CAN HE RESIST THEM? What does that mean to the story?) When the dead girl’s best friend starts to point fingers at Sam’s brother being the driver, Amaya and Sam set out to find the truth. (Because she cares about Sam and he loves his brother? What’s driving her to do this?)

Amaya’s forced to confront her past when members of the lacrosse team are killed by a demonic wolf (YOU HAVE ME AT DEMONIC WOLF! Why is he killing the lacrosse team? Why isn’t he going after Amaya? Wouldn’t he go after her? Is she afraid he is after her? Is she doing things to protect herself?)—the same wolf who killed her family after she brought shame to the God of Lightning. (Ah! This is how the family died…) As the clues pile up and the wolf closes in, Sam and Amaya are drawn closer together. (As friends? Romance?) Amaya longs to tell Sam she’s a fox spirit, but in her experience, humans only see her as a demon. (Okay…her big decision…reveal herself or not. What is the big moment that she has to decide?) And she’s not ready to lose him. But revealing her true self might be the only way to stop the wolf from killing the first boy she’s ever loved. (Is he part of the lacrosse team? Is the wolf just going after the team still? Why is the wolf after Sam?)

*I feel like there is a lot in this query. Focus on the main story. The main conflict. Stick to the main story. Is it fighting the wolf? Is it solving the crime? What drives her through the story? As a spirit…has she been around forever…is she 16? Set up Amaya…you give us age and who she is. I was confused as to where she was. Give us what drives her. What does she want? Then she is pulled into solving a crime AND there’s a demon wolf (I love demons btw) How do those two things connect? What is driving her to get involved? What about the wolf? What is the big decision moment? You have stakes, but I am confused as to why Sam is in trouble. Why isn’t she in danger?

 

First 250 Words:

The tumultuous, smoky grey clouds hiding the pale morning sun perfectly reflect my dark mood. (Nothing wrong with this opener, I am wondering immediately why they are in a bad mood…though it was a bit wordy to read, tumultuous and smoky and grey…are the clouds really tumultuous? Or are they ominous? Can clouds be tumultuous?…a suggestion…The heavy, grey clouds hide the pale morning sun, a perfect reflection of my dark mood.) It’s bad enough starting a new school in December, but walking there on the coldest day of the year because mom’s mini-van wouldn’t start…not fun. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets. (Of…a bit of description here can give us insight as to who this is…old, worn coat? Puffy pink coat with fur?) If I could change into my fox form (Oh! Intriguing! Maybe a bit more about this…), I’d be warm and farther along in my trek. But I can’t risk any humans finding out what I am. (Is there anyone around? Can the mc look around…knowing that if anyone saw them change, they would freak out? How have people have reacted before? Connect what is happening in mc’s head to environment, seat us in a place. Houses around? A street? How far is school?) An oncoming gust causes loose snow from the ground to become tiny missiles, and I squint to retain any vision. (You can make this sentence stronger…gust launches loose snow like tiny missiles…)

I’d been looking forward to starting my first American high school, even if it would be as a junior, since we moved to Minnesota five days ago. The anticipation tingled through me like electrical sparks, gathering in my toes (Nice!) and making me too anxious to sleep most of the night. And this morning, it built to the point I became nauseous from all the butterflies swarming in my stomach. (Nice! I can feel this!) (The first sentence in this para doesn’t do much for me…too much info just told to me…who is “we”, where did they move from? I like the last part…how this anticipation and excitement is being thwarted by the weather…by Minnesota. First day of a new school…as a junior…where is she from? What is her former school experience? Is this going to be different? Any little details can pull us in more.)

Afton is a new start. A fresh start. There’s no longer a need to run. Or look over my shoulder. No need to watch my every step and sniff the wind for signs of danger. Fear no longer dictated my actions. (Love this! Great)

I could finally be happy. (Nice)

Except instead of today being a triumphant new start, I’m slipping on the frozen sidewalk, my arms flailing about like a spastic ballerina as I attempt to avoid biting it in front of suburban commuters on their way to work. (LOL! Great visual!)

*Good start! First day of school. New home. New start…and she can change into a fox and she’s been running from danger…INTERESTING! I wonder about her background. I wonder about what she was running from. All things that would keep me reading.

I hope some of that, maybe just one little thing, helps!

Thank you so much for being a part of Son of a Pitch!

Thank you for sharing your words!

And may the road of revising and querying and publishing be a great one! See you around on Twitter! #SonofaPitch is a fun place. #TeamRarity rocks!