It's Beta Club Tuesday! I apologize for the late posting. I had the joy of going to the dentist this morning and forgot to set up the post. I also am not going to post the excerpt uncritted because the document has no paragraph breaks and would be too big of a block of text to read easily. So for this time only, I'll just include the critting version for you to view. Please don't let that stop you from providing your own feedback to the author.
Title: Darkness Comes Calling Author: Monica Q. (she is looking for beta readers, email her HERE if you are interested)
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to everyone who comments and to the author for volunteering!
First of all, thanks to everyone for your comments on my one-year blogiversary post yesterday. Today is officially the date, but I didn't want to do it today because it's...
Beta Club Tuesday! Sci-Fi/Paranormal Thriller is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be one of the last Beta Clubs, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: DA Trevino (He is looking for beta readers, email him if you are interested!) Title: The Phelan Chronicles Genre: Sci-Fi/Fantasy/Paranormal Thriller
Excerpt: My name is Phelan--Phelan Martin Llewellyn--don't blame me, blame my parents, I know I do. The Order has asked me to chronicle some of my encounters; they seem to think that you can learn something by listening to this stuff. I agreed to chronicle but if you have ever listened to or read any of the chronicles you know they are boring. I am going to tell it my way. # Of course she was hot and blond--probably a cheerleader too--and she was looking up at him with doe eyes that said, Oh! Eddie, my tall dark beautiful tortured love and eternal-soul-mate take me in your arms and sweep me off to Barf-ville. Gag! I can't tell you how much that whole romance with the undead thing grosses me out! And yes, before some smart-ass psych major asks; yes, as a guy I take it personal. I work out, a lot, for reasons you will soon see, so if some normal guy were to see this, a blond hottie throwing herself on a walking corpse--like football players aren't bad enough--he would be seriously pissed, disillusioned, and jealous, at the very least. The only difference between him and me is I can do something about it. But back to the chronicle. To make matters worse, her being there at that moment messed up my night. I was going to have to wait to kill him. Not that you could kill something that was not alive. I mean, killing the undead isn't murder or even killing. I mean, when I kill a cockroach, I'm killing a living, breathing creature--they do breathe, don't they--that serves a useful, if revolting, ecological purpose. This thing was a vampire. A vampire that was leaning over to bite the blond on the neck. Great! This was going to eat up my night. I pulled up my camera, checked that it was still mirror-locked-up and took their picture, really her image was the one that mattered. Unfortunately, I might have to kill her later. Details keep you alive in this business. Yes, you heard me; it's a business, not a calling, not a yearning, not a whatever, and don't forget it. You think I didn't have better things to do that Friday night then track a master vampire and his latest late-girlfriend? Get it, late-girlfriend? Vampire hunting was--still is actually--how I paid for my car, paid for my killer game systems, and how I intended to pay for my trip to Tokyo. Yes, LANapalooza! The biggest, baddest, LAN party on the planet was in Tokyo that year and I was going. And that master vampire's head was going to pay my way. Yes, it was a master; the Fraternity doesn't farm out jobs unless they're killer, but they pay well if you live. Remember that, you only get paid if you live!1 And details are what get you paid. Fact: Vampires have great hearing. But what most people do not know is they are better at picking up sharp noises, like the sound of a twig snapping or the mirror in a camera clicking up and down. So, take your pictures from far away--I was using a 70mm-300mm zoom image stabilizer lens with a 2x teleconverter--and lock the mirror up. Before I realized it, he was finished snacking. That was too fast, which could mean he was not hungry--NOT likely--or he was saving her for transformation. Back then that was pretty rare. Vampires, despite silly movies to the contrary, did not go around making more vampires. Not like cockroaches. Vampires also got all ritually when they transformed a new vampire. That would have explained why they went walking off into the park, hand-in-hand. Ain't that sweet, gag! OK, I told you if you want to get paid you have to stay alive and that comes down to details. Vampi and Bambi went walking into Tyler State Park, my home turf. I knew every blade of grass on a first name basis. If I'd been someplace else I wouldn't've been too eager to follow. That night sucked! It was a heavy overcast new moon night, which in Bucks county Pennsylvania we're talking blacker that a witch's--actually I shouldn't say that, witches ain't that bad, and some are sexy cute. I mean, could this dip vampire get any hokier? I mean, he could turn her in the middle of the day with clear skies. All this drama meant was that I was going to be cold, miserable, and maybe wet before I killed him—the air smelled like rain.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what did you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time for taking the time to comment and for the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Tuesday! Middle Grade is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be one of the last Beta Clubs, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Penny (you know her as Too Cute to Be Very Interesting) Visit her here. Title: The Tooth Fairy's Assistant Genre: Middle Grade
Excerpt:
“How much further Dad?”
“Twenty five miles. Please Owen, stop pestering me. I need to concentrate on my driving.”
Dad always has to concentrate extra hard on everything. Owen, be quiet, I’m thinking. Owen, settle down, I’m trying to focus. Owen, Owen, Owen. He does look a little more white-knuckled than normal though. Probably all the accidents on the road.
It’s raining pretty hard, about as hard as it ever does in Washington. Usually it just mists here, like you’re all wrapped up in a cloud, but today it’s pouring. That must be the reason for all the problems they keep reporting on the radio. It’s really weird though, because it seems like we’re just barely ahead of the trouble every time.
….Watch for a jackknifed semi northbound on Route 3 at Finn Hill Road …if you can even get there folks, that twelve car pileup still blocks all traffic west of Silverdale…
We were turning onto a floating bridge now. From up here I saw that down in the middle of the water the bridge split in two. It looked like an hourglass, with a single lane for north and another lane for southbound traffic belling out and away from each other. On the right, the water was really choppy. On the left, it was as smooth as glass. Weird.
“Hey Dad, why would they build the bridge like that?”
“Huh?”
My dad was so focused on the road ten feet in front of him that he hadn’t noticed what was coming. He looked up and gasped. “Oh no you don’t! I see exactly what you’re up to and I won’t have it! Do you hear me? I will not have it!”
“What?”
“Not you Owen! Hang on!” We were almost to the split. Dad cranked the wheel and our car veered into the southbound lane, still headed north.
I may have screamed. I hope not, because I’m almost thirteen years old and screaming like a baby isn’t the coolest thing I can think of, but seriously. My dad has clearly just lost his mind. Or maybe not. He gunned the gas and drove like Jeff Gordon. We must’ve been going a hundred miles an hour, trying to beat the traffic that was about to enter the one-way lane and smoosh us head-on.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a tractor-trailer flash past going the opposite direction. Wait…if we were going the wrong direction on the road and he was driving that way…he was going the wrong way in the lane we’d just been in!
I whipped my head around and watched, horrified, as the big rig smashed into one concrete barrier, then the other, then cartwheeled through the air, spilling its load everywhere. He’d been carrying chickens. Thousands of them flopped all over the roadway and into the water, beaks snapping and feathers flying.
Our car was going so fast that when Dad yanked us back into our own lane I swear we went up on two wheels, because the car slammed down and I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Ow!”
“Are you okay Owen?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I watched the accident scene behind us as we sped away. The feathers swirled in the oddest pattern, almost like a woman’s dress. I blinked and the image went away. A curve in the road made the bridge wink out of sight.
I faced forward, and my stomach turned. We’d be dead right now if it weren’t for my Dad’s quick reflexes. I hadn’t even seen that truck go the wrong direction on the bridge. “Nice driving Dad,” I said weakly.
“Thanks Son.” His hands were completely relaxed on the steering wheel. “We’re out of the woods now. It’ll be smooth sailing the rest of the way to Port Townsend.”
“Do you think?”
“I know.”
When my dad drives, he sits ramrod straight, his nose practically touching the windshield. My mom calls it driving Mormon, whatever that means. Now he eased his seat back a couple of inches. Who was this person? What was next? Was he going to crack open a beer and offer me some? Maybe he’d just let me drive.
“Uh, Dad? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I hate to admit it, but it feels good to be back.”
“Back?”
“Yes Owen, back. I went to school here. I met your mother here. All of us, Uncle Leroy, Aunt Clara, everyone. We all went to Holliday. And I swore that you never would.”
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to everyone who comments and to the author for volunteering!
I'm still working on the final chapter (chapters?) of my book. *sigh* This last love scene is giving me fits. Don't ever let it be said that sex is easy to write--especially when so much emotion needs to be conveyed in a scene as well. I need this one to be romantic and sweet and now-we-realize-we-were-always-meant-for-each-other. BUT I also need it to be smoking hot for my not-so-conservative couple.
So, I will continue to work on it and I hope next week I'll be able to report to you guys that I wrote "the end".
Now, one other quick note. Comments on the Beta Club have continued to drop off. I'm starting to stress for the authors who volunteer because they are putting themselves out there and then only getting my feedback, which was not the point. (Thank you, btw, to those of you who have commented. I really appreciate it.) So I'm going to close submissions and only continue the feature until I get through the queue of people who have already submitted.
I'm not sure if you guys just don't have time or interest in reading the excerpts and crit (which is fine) or if people are reading it and just reluctant to comment because a) I've covered the things they thought of or b) don't feel comfortable giving feedback to someone. Either way, it seems the feature has run its course. Thanks to the authors who have bravely submitted over the last few months. I've enjoyed reading your work. :)
So, how is your WIP going? Are you struggling with anything in particular like me?
It's Beta Club Tuesday! Paranormal fiction is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Shain Brown Title: Keepers of the Order Genre: Paranormal
Beta Readers: She would love extra beta readers, so drop her an email if you're interested: shainer72@gmail.com
Excerpt:
I could hear the waves violently crashing down on the white sand, kind of symbolic I thought. The moonlight illuminated the crushed shells like diamonds spread along the sand. It was apparent that much of my time was being spent here. And it wasn’t for the view, but it was one of the places they frequented to hunt and to feed.
Turning my face downwind I buried my nose deep into the crook of my arm, and with each step their stench further surrounded me, turning my stomach like rancid meat of a rotting corpse. Their voices growing louder, filling my head with the deathly screams. Every night was this way for me it felt like a curse; a curse which forced me to endure my own personal torture.
No matter how long or how often I was exposed, it never dissipated. It hovered over me. No matter how much I resented the breathers deep down I desired their normalcy more than anything.
“If you are going to patrol with me, you have got to keep up.” I told him.
“I’m trying.” He said in a winded voice. Continuing up the stairs I was greeted at the top by a steel door. It was apparent the alarm was dead by the frayed wires hanging down from inside the door jam.
“Will this work?”
He handed me a steel pipe that he had lifted earlier, most likely for his own protection. With a firm grasp, I wedged it behind the lock bar and using all of my weight I leaned back. With a single jerk, the metal snapped echoing in the tiny corridor, where it fell to the floor.
Apprehensively I pushed the door open, leaning forward I eased my head slowly between the door and the jam, where the warm wind rushed my face. The darkness surrounded me as if it was swallowing me whole. As I looked up there wasn’t a single star to be seen. The eeriness continued as it covered my skin like a thick sweat slowing me down. “Stay low, and follow me.” I whispered in a forceful tone.
I took off across the roof at a blistering speed. Lucas knelt down on all fours where he low crawled along the black tar that covered the roof. All the while he worked to keep up. I headed to the base of a large billboard sign that was mounted at the front of the building. It offered a perfect place to take cover. After several minutes Lucas sat down joining me, still winded.
Lucas was my partner, and his appearance said GQ. In his early twenties, and always sporting some new fashionable hair do, which currently resembled that of an angered porcupine. He seemed to pride himself in wearing the latest style of Martin Dingman’s. Though he had money, well his family did, he never flaunted it or made anyone think he was better than they were. It was just who he was. His position in The Order had been secured long ago by his family’s lineage.
Lucas was a definite pain in my ass, but he was well educated and his multiple degrees from MIT were an asset. We sat patiently on the roof waiting. During which I couldn’t help but think, if only the humans knew what the night held, they might consider how freely and carelessly they scattered about after dark.
“Lucas, you need to get back to the car.” I whispered.
“Are they close?”
“Get going. I’ll meet you there soon.” I pulled both Glocks chambering the first round.
The pain tightened through my sides as I tried to expand my lungs, reaching for a breath. Sitting hunched over seemed to be the least painful as I worked to take in the larger breaths of air.
“Maybe I could stay? I can help.”
“Lucas you’re just not ready.” I winced in pain.
“If you don’t ever give me a chance how will you know when I am ready?”
“Don’t argue or you can stay at headquarters from now on.”
“Soon though?”
“Soon Lucas, providing you’re ready.”
He scowled as he turned to get up.
“Give it time you are still new, you’ll have your day.”
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to every one who comments and to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Tuesday! Young Adult is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Beta Readers: He would love extra beta readers, so drop by his blog and let him know if you're interested :)
Excerpt:
ParadiseValley is a wild and pristine country in Boundary County, Idaho. Its glens and meadows are strewn with hawthorn bushes and snowberry shrubs; its hills and mountainsides with Douglas Fir and Lodgepole Pine, their evergreen boughs springing forth from the hillsides like emerald whiskers roughening the chin of a slumbering elder god. The land is cold and lonely, distant peaks flashing skyward, bounding up from the deepening shadows of the hollows in their wake. Only the wind and silence grace it.
The county is the only one at the tip of the Idaho panhandle where it nestles up against the Canadian border like an afterthought. The valley rests between the Cabinet and Selkirk mountain ranges and sprawls around the KootenaiRiver’s east fork.
The teepee sat in a field of long yellow grass at the foot of the “Mountain” known on the map only as 4032. There were many mountains in the area – some like this one: just foothills; others real mountains whose batholithic crowns stretched above the tree line. Apparently there were enough mountains in the area that the cartographers couldn’t be bothered to name them all. The only notation this one received was its elevation above sea level.
The teepee was simple; so natural it could have sprung from the ground. It was made of cured hide alternating with birch bark stretched over several wooden beams leaning together. The bark had been cured until it looked like old leather from a distance. The hide smelled like the musk gland of the elk that had been skinned to provide it.
It stood at the entrance to the reform school known as RockyMountainAcademy. Inside the teepee 13 teenagers sat cross-legged in a ring. A wizened old man headed the east side. They had just arrived.
They sat in the half-light of the teepee, dazed and reeling as their eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows filling the lower half and contrasting sharply with the blinding rays of sun soaking in through the smoke hole at the top. A few shifted restlessly as they turned their attention to the old man. One pulled his ear buds from his ears, the tinny sounds of KRS-One’s “The Sound of the Police” ceasing as he shut his walkman off.
“Hello. Welcome to RMA.”
Some of them fidgeted a little and dug into the dirt beneath them. The others looked up and tried to gauge what sort of man this was.
“There are certain things about life, the universe and nature,” the bald old monk began with a resonant voice that belied his frail appearance, “that we here hold as fact and will hopefully be able to instill in all of you as we attempt to broaden your understanding of the world around you.”
He relaxed in the lotus position. The long yellow grass gathered around his legs and seemed to caress him as he sat there gazing at the students from under his stern grey eyebrows. A pair of dried up bushy caterpillars, they stood out sharply against the shiny-smooth baldness of his pate.
“One is that the energy that makes up all things is constantly in motion around our bodies, and that once you have obtained a knowledge of it, you can learn to manipulate it; in a way, and to be in harmony with it.” He continued, gazing at the group attempting to gauge their reactions.
He tugged on one of the long, drooping ends of his mustache which hung past his chin in wisps like the greyed boughs of some ancient weeping willow to form a fu-manchu. He glanced around the room again; knowing they had no idea what he was talking about. “You are all new here so we must go over what is expected of you and what it is we do here.” He stood up and withdrew a scroll from the sleeve of his robe.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Tuesday! Young Adult is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Margeret (check out her blog here!) Title: One Fine Day Genre: Young Adult
Excerpt:
Jamie pressed the button that kicked off the countdown on her digital watch. One hundred eighty seconds until she knew her fate. Three minutes until her life may—or may not—change forever. Rob had looked away when she mentioned the test, and her heart thudded the same double-beat, as if he were sitting across from her right now and rejecting her all over again.
She wanted him to wrap her in his arms, hold her tight and tell her that everything was going to be OK. That they would be OK—that they would make it. Together, Jamie believed, they could make it. But when she had dropped the bomb, he broke her gaze. They had crossed a threshold—their relationship was forever changed.
Rob exhaled loudly through clenched teeth, and then casually, oh so casually, threw it out there.
“It’s OK, James. We’ll go to Manch Vegas and get this all worked out.”
Shuddering, Jamie flung away the memory. The test stick on the counter quietly waited. One stupid pink line could be the end to her simple existence, and the beginning of a new world order. Or, she reminded herself, it could be the harshest wake-up call with no actual consequence, known to high school kind. Please, let it be negative, she thought, I’ll do my homework as soon as I walk through the door, even on Fridays. I’ll help mom with Lola in the mornings. I won’t skip class to sneak out to the Dunkin Donuts for coffee with Rob. PLEASE be NEGATIVE!
As if all the deal-making in the world was going to impact the appearance, or lack thereof, of one simple line. It’s already been decided, she thought. I can sit here waiting for these three minutes to pass on by, but the facts will not change. I’m either pregnant or I’m not. It’s already done.
Fact: She had sex with Robbie. Several times.
Fact: She loved him. Completely.
Fact: She would do anything within her power to make sure she and Rob would last.
Fact: They’d have the most beautiful children. Ever.
No matter how many ways she tried to convince herself that everything would be OK, there was no changing the reality that being pregnant was the worst thing that could happen. At school, the pregnant girls were shunned worse than the geeks. No question there was no lower rung on the high school ladder than the Preggos.
Located below the Hos, who got props from a few of the guys, particularly the jocks, Preggos walked around in their snug-fitting shirts practically shouting out—“Busted!” The proof’s in the bump. And that bump was the difference between simply flying under the radar and being a total, slutty loser.
I’ll never make another snarky comment when I see Evelyn Shotte in the hallway. Even…
Time check—45 seconds to go
…even though she’s a total geek and always knows the answer that Callahan is looking for in U.S. History. Jamie’s heart was pounding. She avoided looking at the stick, her whole focus centered on the numbers displayed on the tiny gray screen she held clutched in both hands. She was perched on the edge of the bathtub, waiting. Again, she replayed the scene when she told Rob about the test, wincing once more at his reaction while a single tear crept down her flushed cheek.
19…18…17…You can handle this James…16…15…you can’t be pregnant…14…13…even if you are, which you’re not, you can handle this…With each passing second the drum beat in Jamie’s chest grew louder, stronger. This was worse than waiting for the starting gun in the 50 meter.
5…4…3…The numbers refused to stop…2…1…she squeezed her eyes shut and filled her lungs with one final breath of ignorant bliss…
Beep…beep… beep…
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
Make sure and stop by tomorrow when guest blogger Gwen Mitchell will talk about writing kickass heroines!
It's Beta Club Tuesday! Women's Fiction is on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Michelle S. (check out her blog!) Title: Parachute Jump Genre: Women's Fiction
Excerpt:
I should have known that when the grandmother I had never met showed up, banging on the door like she was the police in pursuit of a criminal, that things would never be the same. I actually knew before she showed up. He had been gone for close to ten days and our mother hadn’t gotten out of the bed at all that entire week and a half.
We didn’t know where she had come from or how she had known to come. Curtis guessed that mom had probably called her as a last resort. We all knew that she hated her mother and where she had come from back in North Carolina.
“She’s a wreck,” Curtis had said after he had come from her room, his hands empty of the bowl of chicken noodle soup he had entered with.
Claude was quiet, his analytical demeanor sizing up the situation. Dad was gone and mom was quickly deteriorating into a useless heap. He glanced at the small pile of mail that sat on the coffee table. Bills would be due. So would the rent. It wasn’t looking good. He wouldn’t tell us for years that he had been the one to call Grandma.
I had never seen a picture of her. She was a myth. Resembling the fairy godmother from Cinderella, in my mind. She would float in, not on wings, but something like wings, smelling of cinnamon and peppermint and sprinkle us with her sweet hugs and kisses. So when Claude finally opened the door to her, I was taken aback. She was tall, which none of us were expecting since our mother stood at a measly five feet and four inches. At twelve, I already towered over her.
Besides her height, I couldn’t help but to notice how pale she was. She looked like the sun was her enemy. I could see the blue lines of her veins through the skin in her arms, which were clutching a brown bag close to her chest. Atop her head was a mass of curly brunette hair with sprinklings of gray, the front that she had pinned back with gold bobby pins.
“Curtis?” she asked apprehensively looking back and forth between Curtis and Claude.
“Claude,” he corrected her and stepped back from the door to allow her inside.
“Right. Claude,” she said as if she were committing his features to memory.
She would need to in order to tell the difference between him and Curtis. They were twins; fraternal, but still similar enough in looks that sometimes it took a second glance to confirm whom was who.
“And Imogene?” she said, turning her attention to me as she stepped through the threshold and into our living room.
I nodded. Not sure what was appropriate. A “nice to meet you” or a hug. I didn’t offer either and neither did she.
She glanced around the living room, taking in the pale yellow on the walls, the English ivy plants that hung from the corners looking thirsty, and the brown leather couches that had been discolored and sunken in over the years. In our mother’s absence, only Claude straightened up regularly, placing our dirty dishes into the dishwasher and picking up our discarded snack containers. The floors had gone with out vacuuming and dust had settled onto the surfaces.
“Where is your mother?” she asked, finally looking back to the three of us huddled together near the door, unsure of what we should be doing.
“She’s in her bedroom. Last door on the right,” Claude volunteered.
She nodded and gazed down the hallway to the left taking a few steps. She stopped momentarily and looked back at Claude as if to confirm that she was going in the right direction.
Claude nodded. “Last door on the right,” he repeated.
Curtis waited until Grandma knocked and entered our mother’s bedroom before he headed down the hallway.
“Where you going?” Claude whispered loudly from behind him.
“To listen,” he said, not bothering to whisper.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
**Also, quick PSA...For anyone looking for a critique group, the ladies over at Critique this WIP are holding a contest to find new members. Stop by and see if you may fit the bill! **
Okay, so Tuesday I had a blonde moment (actually a sleep-deprived one) and forgot about beta club. So today I'm making up for my oversight and having Beta Club Thursday instead! Fantasy is on the agenda today. This is not my genre, so I'm counting on you fantasy readers to help me out and give your opinions. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Christine Hardy (go visit her on her blog and say hi!) Title: The Golden Gryphon Genre: Fantasy
Excerpt:
Moonlight cast blue shadows on the snow, turning the great drifts that stretched across the meadow into waves in a silent sea. Faldur perched like an incongruous bird in the boughs of a large fir, one arm wrapped around the trunk for support. He had chosen this position in order to observe the guests arriving at Crikhaven for the Midwinter feast. With the keen eyesight of his people, he could see each tiny figure distinctly as it dismounted in the courtyard, or alighted from its carriage. Tonight was a rare opportunity for the Restorationists to meet openly. What better excuse could they have than Midwinter’s Eve? And if the menfolk gathered in the wee hours to talk a little treason, who would know but themselves?
“Do you think Chalmeth posted so many sentries to keep undesirables out, or to keep his guests from leaving?” joked Harth, his First Ranger, who guarded the foot of the tree. Shrouded by his light gray cloak, Harth was nearly invisible from above. There was no danger of being overheard. The branches muffled their voices and a wide sweep of meadow still remained between them and the wall.
“To keep us at a distance,” Faldur replied. “I wish I could be a cat in the corner tonight.”
He surveyed the building critically. It was made of grey stone from the surrounding mountains, protected by a thick, battlemented wall which was starting to crumble in places, along the top of which the sentries could be clearly seen moving back and forth. A carved gryphon over the main entrance had lost half a wing, and the elaborately painted stucco on the sides of the buildings was faded and flaking off. But there was no getting in tonight.
“There’s a cat for you,” said Harth, interrupting his thoughts. A black mountain lion was loping towards them across the meadow. Faldur stiffened. It was a young female. There was no wind, so with luck she wouldn’t scent them. Harth pushed back his hood and reached for his bow, then drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and strung it in one quick movement. He sighted along the shaft, pushing aside the branches of the fir tree just slightly so as to have a clear shot. About fifty yards from them, the lion turned aside, heading for the castle.
A beam of light drew Faldur’s gaze from the lion to the courtyard. A side door had been opened and a tall figure stood framed in the doorway. He couldn’t see the person’s face, for the light was behind him, but he was exceptionally tall for an Hanorja, stooping to looked out through the opening. He (or possibly she) had to be about six feet tall. That meant that he was an elevja, a member of the royal family. But whom? Faldur knew of no one with royal blood collaborating with the Restorationists. He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard, willing the figure to step out of the shadows so he could get a better look.
The lion padded lightly through the snow along the outside of the wall, although it appeared to be buried up to its stomach. A path must have been cleared there. Then it nosed its way into some bushes, exactly where Faldur knew a small door was concealed, and disappeared inside the wall. There was no cry from the sentries, no sign at all that it had been noticed. Was it waiting in the shadows to spring on them?
“Gryphon feathers!” muttered Harth.
“Why was that door left open?”
The lion reappeared moments later, trotting towards the opened doorway. It sidled inside and the mysterious person closed the door behind it, cutting off the light. Faldur scanned all of the lit windows on that side of the building, watching for the person to appear, but there was no one. He swore softly.
“What is it?” Harth asked. Faldur told him, leaving out the fact that the guest was an elevja. He wanted to consult the Prince first. Melbinor would know if any of his relatives had developed a fondness for lions.
“Do you suppose it’s tame?Chalmeth isn’t breeding nightstalkers, is he?” There was a note of horror in Harth’s voice.
“No,” said Faldur. “Chalmeth is cunning, but he is too much of a coward for that.”
They fell silent again, waiting for more arrivals, but no one else came. Faint strains of music reached them; the dancing had begun. Faldur climbed down from his perch, being careful not to disturb the branches too much and send down a shower of snow that would alert the sentries to their position. He stood next to Harth, rubbing his hands together to warm them and massaging his backside. He was small of stature, even for an hanor, and had to look up slightly at Harth. “Next time, you may have tree duty.”
Harth chuckled. “Oh no, Captain, your sight is much more excellent than mine. I am only fit to stand guard beneath your tree.”
Faldur shot him a dry look, then adjusted his gloves. Harth privately ribbed Faldur about his recent promotion at every opportunity. Every leader needs a foil to keep him humble, thought Faldur philosophically.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Tuesday! YA Urban Fantasy on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Dawn Hullender (go visit her here) Title: Harbinger Genre: YA Urban Fantasy
Excerpt:
Cool, crisp night air sneaked in through the partially open window and cast a light veil of mist throughout the small bedroom. Karma shifted restlessly as the dream dancing through her mind pulled her deeper and deeper.
Sweat dampened her brow and the covers tangled around her failing limbs. In her mind she ran from four hooded figures on horses; each one carrying an identical sword as the next. Her flight through strange woods proved fruitless when everywhere she turned there they were, bearing down upon her.
Her bare feet were covered in scratches and the hooded ones seemed to smell her seeping wounds like bloodhounds on a trail. She grasped at the wispy ends of her cotton nightgown as they fluttered in breeze of her flight. Her breath came in ragged bursts and she was sure her lungs would explode at any moment.
“What do you want from me?” she screamed into the blackened night sky and cringed when one black horse approached her slowly. His breath came in soft tufts, lifting the ends of her hair. The rider remained seated, as did the others; however he did reach down for her to take his gloved hand.
“We want you Elemental, come with us or fail the world,” his voice rang hollow, his breath putrid upon the breeze. Karma backed away from the rider and horse. She lost her footing when she stumbled over a tree root and screamed as she fell down a black hole.
Karma eyed her grandmother’s front door with a mixture of suspicion and dread. Today was her eighteenth birthday and she knew; she just knew Nana had something up her sleeve. Remnants from last night’s dream still plagued her and the last thing she wanted was a noisy – unwelcome – birthday party.
Every year she begged for this day to pass unnoticed, but the universe never indulged her whim and neither did her grandmother.
Tired of dallying, she sighed and trudged up the steps, mentally preparing herself for the insane surprise waiting, but nothing could have prepared her for what she faced once through the blue door.
“Happy birthday dear,” Nana smiled and handed her a large, over-wrapped present. “I know how you dislike surprises, so this year I decided not to throw a party. Today it’s just you and me.”
Karma didn’t know whether to laugh or cry so she did the only thing she could think of and that was to hug the older woman, “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Nana patted her roughly on the back, “That present arrived for you today. It came from your parent’s attorney,” she narrowed her eyes and frowned. “I suppose they wanted you to have it today. There’s a letter on the table that came with it, I suspect you should read it first.”
With a small nod, Karma pushed past Nana and raced to the kitchen to find a long white envelope bearing her name resting amongst the napkin holder.
She sat the box on the table and ripped into the envelope. At first the letter didn’t make sense, so she closed her eyes – counted to ten – and read it again.
“Karman,
If you’re reading this letter then it’s your eighteenth birthday
and we aren’t there for you. Who knew Anthropology was such a
dangerous field huh?”
Karma rolled her eyes at her mother’s attempt at humor. She always had some lame joke to tell and it never failed to make people laugh. She would never understand why.
“…Have you opened your gift yet? Well, what are you waiting for, open
it now!”
Karma sat down the letter and ripped into the cartoon duck covered wrapping paper. She frowned when she opened a square box and her eyes settled on an old leather tome. It looked older than her 1807 first edition of Children’s and Household Tales, written in native German by the Brothers Grimm.
“Wow, I wonder what this is.” Karma muttered as she gingerly opened the front cover. Her heart flip-flopped when she realized it was no published book but a personal journal. Its handwritten pages were smudged here and there, but she had no way to determine just how old it was. Turning back to the letter, she sat the journal back in the box.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments. Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
**Today's Theme Song**
"Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These) - Marilyn Manson version
It's Beta Club Tuesday! YA on the agenda today. Read on and let the author know what you think! Remember, this will be the only Beta Club of the week, so give it all you got. ;)
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Georgia Cranston (Check her out here.) Title: Meadowlark Genre: YA
Excerpt:
I hear her voice before I see her. A slow mournful song, thick with loss and longing.
I put down the trap I'm setting, lifting my head towards the sound coming from further up the path. The notes are strong, pleading; They call to me. I move quickly through the tree's and up the trail, her voice pulling me along on invisible threads until I am standing at the edge of a wash looking down.
She's kneeling in the mud and snow at the edge of the river below me, her hands grasped tightly to the hand of a girl laying beside her.
"Lark." I say to myself, her name caught in my throat. I've seen her at the market with her mother and sister. Her mother sells herbs and medicines while Lark and her sister sing for coins. I've only ever spoken to her one time, a mumbled apology for bumping into her. She'd just smiled her forgiveness and we both moved on. I always wished I had said more, I've imagined a thousand conversations... I just never had the courage.
My legs move, before I can even think. I climb down off the trail into the wash, being careful where I step. The rocks and dirt have become loose this spring with the melting snow.
I hadn't thought she'd noticed as I came up behind her, but just as I approach she quiets her singing and turns to look at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are a storm. Grey and green, with flecks of gold, staring at me between strands of yellow hair.
She turns her gaze back to the hand she's holding. Her sister Wren, I realize. The girl is dead. Her leg twisted at an unnatural angle, her eyes staring into nothing. Blood spread out beneath her head, a steaming crimson pool carving little canyons into the snow.
"She tripped." Lark looks towards the trail high above us. "She tripped and fell over the edge. I was singing for her... Wren loves when I sing, I thought if she could just hear me..." Her voice breaks.
I kneel beside Lark in the mud, gathering her into my arms, this girl I barely know. She blinks, a tear slowly trails down her cheek. And I just sit. Staring. Frozen; Not sure what to do, because nothing I can do would ever make this right . Her shoulders drop, and she turns to press her face into my chest letting her sister's hand go. Her tears come quickly then, soaking into my jacket. Her body heaves and shakes with each sob. Her knuckles are clenched, white, grasping onto my shirt. I wish I could shield her from her pain but all I can do is whisper her name into her hair.
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Day! On today's agenda, our first middle grade! So, I hope you'll take the time to take a look and let the author know what you think.
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Deniz Bevan (check out her site here!) Title: The Face of a Lion Genre: Middle Grade Historical/Time Travel
Excerpt:
Austin met the cat during his first week in Turkey.
Bored with helping his parents clean their villa, he set out to explore the town. Every few minutes he had to climb onto the stone wall edging the street – there were never any sidewalks in this country – when a car or bus full of tourists whizzed past on the narrow road, a stench of diesel fumes floating behind. As the roar of each vehicle faded, the seaside sounds rushed back into his ears: the drone of motorboats slicing the water, cicadas buzzing in the distant tops of the fir trees, and below everything else, the unending rhythmic crash of waves breaking one after another on the sand.
He waited on the wall as another car zoomed by, then peered through the exhaust and added up the houses he had passed. His mum had said there were forty houses in the original village. Something had to be wrong somewhere, because he had counted every house for the past ten blocks and there were still a few streets to cross before he reached the ice cream shop –
An unearthly howl filled the air, drowning out the disappearing rumble of the car. It came again, a long-drawn out screech, close at hand. Austin ran to the crossroads and looked down into the weed-filled garden of a boarded-up villa. On a patch of paving stones, two kids crouched over the prone figure of a thin grey cat. One gripped its front paws as the other tied a couple of tin cans to its tail. The cat wrenched and jerked its back legs.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
His yell was swallowed by the roar of two buses zooming past behind him, and a truck loaded with watermelons that came clacketing up the street. He looked down, ready to risk a jump, and saw a garden shed directly below. He leaped, and as the boys glanced up, hands still on the squirming cat, he vaulted off the shed's roof to stand beside them.
"What are you up to?" He glared, trying to look as imposing and foreign as possible – easy enough, given the contrast of his blond hair and blue eyes to their own dark features. They looked about eight years old, four years younger than him. They shot each other shifty glances out of the corners of their eyes.
"Abi, yabancı bu. Bizden büyük."
"Ya birini çağırırsa? Hadi gidelim."
It was impossible – but he had understood what they said! They were afraid because he was older – what if he called someone?
He took a step forward, as if to grab the cat. As one, they released their grip, leapt up and ran off.
The cat crouched low on all four paws, eyes wide and ears taut, but did not move as Austin approached. If it would just trust him… With one hand extended, palm out, he waited. Either the cat would sniff the offered fingers or get up and run.
Slowly, slowly, he bent and untied the twine binding the tins to a tail puffed out and crackling with electricity. The cat did not twitch once, even as Austin broke away the last of the metal and tossed it aside, but eyed him the entire time, as if waiting for a signal.
He stroked the cat between the ears and, to his surprise, heard the low rumble of purring. The yellow eyes narrowed and, for a moment, he had the silly idea the cat was actually smiling at him.
"Thank you."
He had been bending forward, petting. He overbalanced and nearly tipped over, palms flat on the tiles to keep from pitching head first into the cat.
Had it actually spoken? He gazed at the shadowy creature, who had stopped purring, but stayed still, yellow eyes fixed on him. Had he really heard –
"Thank you, Augustine."
There it was again! Not meowing or purring, but chirping, like a new species of bird. And under that tone, he could have sworn the cat had spoken in English.
He peered around the garden. No, there was definitely no one else near. He sat and stared back into the unblinking eyes. Far down on the beach, he could still hear the ordinary shouts and laughter of tourists, and the unending whine of cicadas and crash of surf. The smell of fried fish floated up from the restaurants on Ocean Boulevard.
He said the first thing that came into his mind. "My name's not Augustine, it's Austin. After my great-grandfather." He kept his voice low, as though he might be overheard. Silly, talking formally to an animal – the cat wasn’t really talking was it?
But the chirping English came again. "In Latin, your name is Augustine, or Augustus. In Ancient Greek it would be Σεβαστός."
Sebastos. Austin heard the cat's mrrp!, the soft Greek letters, and yet understood the name as if it was in English. "But no one speaks those languages anymore!"
"Perhaps not here, Augustine. Yet I know a number of languages from a variety of places, and times. In return for your kind gesture today, rescuing me from those young hooligans," the cat rested a paw on Austin's knee, "I may be able to do something for you. Not a favour, exactly, but I fancy you're a little bored here?"
"How did you know?"
"You were not walking with a friend and you had time to notice an animal in distress." The cat sat up, so that they were nearly face to face. "I can lead you to an adventure."
"An adventure? Where would we go?"
"Not where but when."
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments. Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
**Today's Theme Song**
"Time Is On My Side" - Rolling Stones
(player in sidebar, take a listen) *sorry Deniz, couldn't find your song choices on playlist.com, so had to pick another*
It's Beta Club Day! On today's agenda, one of my favorite genres, paranormal romance. So, I hope you'll take the time to take a look and let the author know what you think.
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Mishi (check out her site here) Title: The Calling Genre: Paranormal Romance
Excerpt:
Maire ran to the man who lay face down in a heaping mess before her, his head mass of blood and hair. “What do I do?” she gasped, kneeling down beside him. Then it hit her, “Cell phone! Iris, can you help him while we wait for an ambulance?” She asked, fingers fumbling in her purse for the tiny phone.
“Don’t worry about calling for help; it’s not needed,” the angel assured her, placing a finger on the vampire’s head. Instantly, the wounds began to close.
“Are you kidding me? Look at him!” The blood terrified her, “There’s no way he could survive that kind of a beating. You know how much damage a demon can do when they possess people.” Glancing again at his head, “Not that I’ve ever seen one up close and personal like that. There’s no way this guy will survive without some medical attention.”
“Should I try to move him, he can’t possibly be able to breathe like this.” She inched closer as Iris watched. “I will not to panic if his face is worse,” she whispered, reaching out to him. “I hope I don’t do more harm than good by doing this.”
“Oh thank God, he’s fine on this side!” She sighed. Reaching for a tissue, she muttered, “He’s a little pale and cold to the touch, but this is much better.” She reached for his jugular, trying to find his pulse, “His heart is beating too slow, should I perform CPR?’
Touya felt warm trembling fingers on his neck. The air was thick with the scent of human fear and flowers-irises-of all things. He felt energy beaming down on him; soft and pure as it pulsed against his skin-nothing like the energy of the demon he had been fighting. With fangs out, Touya sprang to a sitting position, and found himself staring into a young woman’s panic filled eyes.
“Iris, it’s another demon!” She cried and scrambled backwards.
Trying to get to his feet, Touya growled angrily, “Do not insult me, I’m no more a demon than you are!”
He looked around himself for the power that he felt, Where are they? Are they in the building waiting to gun me down? It doesn’t matter, I need blood and I need it now! He looked back to the man lying out of sight near the dumpsters. If I have to feed, it’s going to be on someone tainted by evil, and not this innocent woman. But she gets to watch for that demon crack.
Even in his weakened state, Touya moved faster than human eyes could follow, and with a sharp jerking motion, he had Mr. Baseball Cap in his grasp. The man moaned with the shock of being on his feet. “Stop complaining,” Touya grumbled, “I just took enough to get the demon out of you. You can complain when I’m done, because this will not be pleasant. Next time you’ll think twice before asking a demon to possess you.”
Rising to her feet, Maire walked over to him as he cradled the stranger in his arms.
“Oh God, you’re drinking his blood!” She gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.
Touya stopped to look at her, “It’s how I heal. Sorry that it displeases,” he said, with an edge of sarcasm before returning to his business.
“Darn it, Iris! Why didn’t you tell me he was a vampire?” She looked behind her, her voice holding heavy with anger.
The angel was leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Her tone dry, she asked, “Would you have believed it?”
“Considering that I talk to you on a constant basis, I think I could handle the information. What the hell do you think?”
“Oh calm down, sweetie, I was only playing it out the way I was told. I don’t write the dialog, I just deliver the lines.”
He bit his thumb and placed a drop of blood on the wound showing on the man’s neck. After seeing the marks vanish, and releasing the hold over the man’s mind, Touya let him fall to the ground. I need to get out of this alley and find someone else; this guy’s given me all he can. He looked down at his shirt, which was ruined, Home and shower…I won’t find anyone if I look like a mob hit!
He wiped his mouth, turning to the young woman, he glided towards her. “You didn’t see what happened here. You will go home and sleep…”
“Whoa, hold the Jedi Mind Tricks, I don’t think you can make me forget this,” her hands out in front of her as she backed away from him.
Stunned, Touya looked her over. “Your mind is too strong for you to be crazy. Maybe I was wrong about that.” He reached out with his mind and found silence. Flustered he asked, “Who the hell do you keep talking too?
Maire felt that old familiar panic creep into her voice,“Iris.” It was more of a plea than an answer, but Iris was more than happy to keep herself hidden from the vampire.
“Iris?” He spun his hand, gesturing her to continue.
Turning to face the angel, she cried out, “Come on, Iris, stop playing around!”
Iris shrugged, “I can’t help it, I’ve not been told to reveal myself.”
Marie threw up her hands and yelled, “Great, just great. Thanks God, thanks for making me look like a total nut again!”
“Well, at least you know you’re crazy.” He said with a harsh chuckle, picking up his sword. Moving towards his coat, “I would’ve liked to take some of the shock from your mind, but oh well…it’s not like anyone will believe you.”
She whirled to face him, “I’m not crazy. I was sent here to find you. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now, but I’ve got instructions to stick around. The salvation of your soul depends on it.”
“The what…?!”
Below is my detailed critique. Please select FULL SCREEN to view, then once the document is open RIGHT CLICK to ZOOM and view the comments. Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Thanks ahead of time to all of you who comment and thanks to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club Day! On the agenda today: Young Adult. So pull up a chair, take a gander, and let the author know what you think.
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Plamena Jetcheva Title: The Ivory Promise Genre: Young Adult
Excerpt:
Get up, Clara told herself. Get up or you’ll be late for class again and stuck in detention for the rest of the school year. She didn’t want to stagger out of bed and put her cold clothes on. This morning’s lecture was a waste of time. The teacher only read out of the book anyway.
Clara’s left eye cracked open cautiously to check the time as she tried to decide if she could risk sleeping for another five minutes. As her vision adjusted to the light and the room swam into view she realized there was something strange. Rubbing her eyes she looked out at the bottom of the lecture hall where Ms. Lipsinks was sitting at her desk. As usual, she was reading the textbook without pauses between the sentences and without ever looking up at the students.
Nice. I’m already in class. Clara grinned and stretched her arms out. No need to get up. In fact, I could sleep some more. She had drifted away with her head on An Introduction to History. After trying to flatten its pages out without any success she slid the book to the side. There was a crick in her neck. I really need a better pillow. Rummaging through her schoolbag she pulled out a scarf and arranged it on her desk.
Clara’s head had just touched the soft fabric when a bang cut through the room and silenced Ms. Lipsinks. Clara startled and sat up trying to locate where the noise had come from. All the girls in the room were staring down at the open door which had slammed against the wall. Standing in the doorway was a man wearing a dark green military uniform. A gun glinted in his hand reflecting the fluorescent lecture hall lights.
“Freeze!” He bellowed raising the weapon to chest level.
He didn’t need to say it. Clara was already frozen along with everyone else in the room. She sat transfixed as uniformed men poured into the room each of them carrying a rifle. Had it happened? Had the Equal Rights Movement already taken over this part of the country?
The click of the soldiers’ polished boots was the only source of sound in the room and it reverberated off the walls making them seem to be closing in on her from every direction. Clara could hear some of them marching up the steps towards the back of the auditorium where she was sitting but didn’t dare looking up. Instead she stared straight ahead at the front rows where the soldiers were inspecting every girl’s face.
They reached Amanda, the daughter of the family that was currently in power, and one of them called out “We found one!” Grasping her upper arm he roughly pulled her to her feet, spun her around and handcuffed her wrists behind her back. Clara could see Amanda’s face as she looked out frantically over the girls filling the seats in the room almost as if she expected someone to spring to her rescue.
The gravity of the situation started to sink in Clara’s mind. Her palms began to perspire dampening the paper they were resting on and sticking to it. She expected for the intruders to leave now that they had found Amanda but they continued to search the room. Clara tensed when she heard the scraping of chairs against the linoleum flooring only several seats down her row.
“Take your hood off!” a voice barked from her right.
Clara couldn’t move. It had been a very happy day for her when the school revised the uniforms and added a hood to the sweater. She hid behind it whenever she could get way with wearing it. Clara didn’t want it removed now but she would have still pulled it off if only she could have forced her arms to move.
The man to her right let out a quick tsk under his breath and the shadow of his hand fell across her face as he reached for her hood. Clara felt his fingers dig into the back of her scalp as he grasped the fabric and yanked it off snagging a few strands of her hair. Her head snapped back and she gasped at the pain that shot through it. Tears filled her eyes and she had to blink several times to clear them.
“I think I found the other one,” the soldier’s tone sounded pleased.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit?
Also, this author is looking for beta readers to exchange with, so if you are interested, please email her at phoquinn(at)gmail(dot)com. Thanks ahead of time for offering feedback and thank you to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club day! On the agenda today: Historical Fiction.
But first, a quick announcement: My online crit group had a member leave this week because of other time commitments, so we are looking for a new member for our Rumored Romantics crit team (which includes the fabulous Lynnette Labelle and the amazing Gwen Mitchell). The way we fill openings is by holding a contest to see who is the best fit (this is how I got in, too). This involves submitting a writing excerpt and possibly critiquing a sample. Details and the link to enter will be here on the blog tomorrow. At this time, we are only looking for people who write adult romance (any subgenre: paranormal, romantic suspense, contemporary, erotic, historical, etc. is fine), but no YA (sorry!) So if you are interested or know someone who would be, please make sure and stop by tomorrow to check it out. I can't wait to find our new member!
Alright, so on to Beta Club. Enjoy the excerpt and let the author know what you think!
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Katie-Marie Stout (go check our her blog and sign up for her college blogfest!) Title: In the Shadow of Illium Genre: Historical
Excerpt:
Burning. Wherever I looked, everything was burning. I peered out from underneath the wagon as armed men unfurled swords and threw spears. Their shining metal armor caught the sun’s rays and blinded me.
Blood spilt on the ground, stinking in the heat. I closed my eyes and tried to think of peace while shutting out the horrors of battle around me. I pulled my legs to my chest and made myself as small as possible, hoping to shrink into nothingness to escape this place.
Something dripped on my hand, hot and sticky. I gazed down and saw a patch of red. A gasp caught in my throat. Biting my lip, I looked up at the slats of the wagon’s bed. Between the cracks, I saw a body slumped on top of them. Blood seeped from a wound in the man’s chest and fell to the sand at my feet. I scooted away from it, faintness clouding my thoughts.
Certain names I heard repeated over and over again, unfamiliar terms. Troy, Hector, Agamemnon. Who, what, did these names mean? I knew nothing of them.
The hollow sound of something hitting the ground, followed by the sickly sweet scent of poison, assaulted me. I peeked open my eyes and saw the contorted face of the caravan leader; an arrow protruded from his back. He no longer breathed.
But I still did, though probably not for long.
Screams rang out around me, and I cowered behind the wagon’s wooden wheel. Donkeys squealed as men slaughtered them. Gold jingled in heavy purses, and wood crackled amidst flames.
Adonai, protect me.
The entire caravan was lost, and most of its passengers had been killed. Soldiers now herded up the scant number of women into a tight ring. Any remaining men had swords thrust into their bellies while I grimaced and fought the instinct to gag.
“That one down there.” A man pointed at me. “Under the wagon. Bring her.”
A bronzed and bloodied face turned towards me, and fear gripped my heart. I scrambled out from my hiding spot and sprang to my feet. Before me lay a vast wilderness and beyond, the sea. The azure waters called to me, and I ran towards them.
Footsteps pounded the earth behind me, accompanied by laughter. But soon, my own panting drowned out all other sounds from my ears.
My sandal caught on a rock, and I tumbled to the ground. I landed hard on my back, and for a moment, could not breathe. My mouth worked and my lungs gasped for air, but nothing came. Had I been speared? Was this death?
A bloody face appeared above me. The man grinned, his black beard parting to reveal yellowed teeth. He spoke to me in the language of the men from the caravan. “You’re a pretty thing. It would be a shame to lose such a fair face.”
He grabbed both my arms and swung me over his shoulder. Shock and terror had so consumed me I couldn’t fight. I stared at the receding view of burning wagons, killed livestock, and a pile of goods the attacking soldiers had stolen.
Our caravan had been given no warning, no chance. How could the men have defended themselves against these armored warriors? And why did I feel such pity for the people who’d enslaved me years ago? I had not joined this caravan by choice.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit? Thanks ahead of time for offering feedback and thank you to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club day! On the agenda today: Young Adult.
But first, I wanted to share a little exciting tidbit I found out last night. My loving husband has offered to handle daddy duty, so that I can go to RWA Nationals in Nashville in July!!! I didn't think I'd be able to go because I figured the hubs couldn't get off the time from work and I didn't have anyone I could leave my son with for that many days. But now it's all going to work out, woo-hoo! This makes me verra happy indeed. (Btw, let me know if any of you are going. I'd love to meet some of my bloggy peeps. :) )
Okay, so enough about me, let's move on to today's Beta Club...
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Laraine Eddington (check out her blog: Larainy Days) Title: Flying Genre: Young Adult
Excerpt:
Vincent knows he is fat, but he tries to make up for it by being helpful. When the bell rings and rude classmates are bullying their way between classes, he holds the door open. He is always first to duck and pick up a dropped pen or keys, and will quietly let you know if your zipper is down. When he is in public, he clenches his cheeks and contains his bodily gases, even though it makes his stomach hurt. He chooses his chairs carefully, always next to an empty one, which he saves with his backpack so his body won’t overlap on someone else. He drops little generosities like pebbles marking a trail throughout his day.
Vincent’s feet haven’t grown in two years, and that lets him know that he isn’t going to grow into a big guy, the kind of guy whose bulk is the frame of a tough package. His size eight wides say, “You are not going anywhere vertical bud, better get used to growing horizontal.” A five foot six guy is not imposing or threatening, and at the end of ninth grade Vincent’s round head is still stuck under the same pencil mark that has been on his closet door since September.
The noise from the cafeteria hits him the same time as the smells do. Some leftover and vaguely Italian odor wafts on waves of sound. Books and backpacks thud, benches screech and stray words lift above the roar.
“Hey Leonard…”
“….it was the worst thing you ever…”
“…like, you will not believe this. Like it…”
Vincent stands in the beverage line to get his milk. The beverage line never has more than ten people in it, not like the pizza cart line that snakes around the wall under the smudgy windows and out the door. Vincent doesn’t like to wait in the food lines. He would enjoy buying pizza or even a tray with whatever the hairnet ladies are serving today, but he feels self conscious standing in lines, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. A deep crease divides his arms from his wrists; and his hands look like they were sewn on as an afterthought. Mutt calls them “glubs”. Mutt tends to say things straight out. If she thinks it she says it. That’s why she is semiavailable as a sort of friend. She doesn’t have any real friends either. The same day she told Vincent that he had “glubs” she told Kendra Phipps that her laugh sounded like she was gargling snot. It was as true as the Bible, but not exactly how to win friends and influence people.
The cafeteria aide with the cool black glasses scans Vincent’s card and hands it back without looking at him. He fumbles as he stuffs it back in his wallet, trying to hurry. He drops the wallet, bends over and grabs it. When he straightens, a little whoosh of air comes out of his mouth.
“Move it wide load.” Vincent doesn’t turn around, but he can tell it is a girl’s voice. He picks up his cartons of milk (one white, one chocolate) and hurries away. The tables with their attached benches are pushed together in long lines of chipped white formica. He scans the room for Mutt and then remembers she wasn’t on the bus this morning. Not that they usually sat together. Mutt never makes an effort to sit by Vincent. If there is a space by him, fine, but she doesn’t seek him out. They have an unequal cafeteria relationship, and as usual Vincent is on the weighty side.
Vincent looks for a spot on the end of a row because climbing into a bench seat is awkward. He sees one in the corner by the grey trash bins and heads for it. He veers away when he sees Kirk there, presiding over his harem. He finds a fairly wide empty space and puts his milk on the table, thudding his backpack beside the cartons. Bracing a hand on the table, he steps over the bench with one leg and plops his rear end down. A delicate grunt escapes as he hefts the other leg over the bench and under the table. He unzipps the backpack and pulls out his lunch. As usual, it has been compressed into a curved loaf in a brown paper skin. He skillfully separates the thin plastic from the sandwich that has morphed into a bread/peanut butter/ sugar amalgam. The cafeteria noise fades as Vincent’s ears become attuned to his tastebuds. There is a graceful rhythm to his eating; Bite-chew-swallow-bite-chew-swallow-slosh-of-milk-and swallow. Repeat. The second sandwich is even flatter than the first and each bite is delicious.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit? Thanks ahead of time for offering feedback and thank you to the author for volunteering!
Oh, and if you missed yesterday's post, don't forget tosign upfor the upcoming "Let's Talk" Blogfest!
It's Beta Club day! On the agenda today: YA Paranormal/Sci-Fi Romance. Enjoy the excerpt and let the author know what you think!
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below.
Author: Christine Danek (stop byher blogand say hi!) Title: The Guardian Genre: YA Paranormal/Sci-Fi Romance
Excerpt:
The moonlight created a glow through the large picture window illuminating the dark room. I took soft steps as I crossed the hardwood floor and something caught my eye. The tick tock of the clock matched the beating of my heart as it raced due to my surprise and my stomach developed a knot. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as my eyes hesitated to find what I thought I saw.
“Did you see that?” I whispered.
“What?” Ivy’s hand grabbed my upper arm
“Something ran in front of the window. A shadow I think?” I stood frozen in middle of the room.
“How big was it?” Bryn’s voice lightly came from the side. I could barely make out his silhouette as he approached.
“I don’t know. It was a blur.”
The floor creaked as we stepped closer to the window and I could hear Ivy holding her breath. The air felt like it was electrified causing the hairs on my neck to stand on end.
All three of us jumped as a growling screech traveled out from under the couch.
“It’s a stinking cat.” Bryn turned his flashlight on and shone it in the direction of the culprit. The calico’s eyes reflected red as it stared at us.
“We live in a town that is over a hundred years old so you would think we would find something. I swear we are never going to find anything,” Bryn’s voice switched to disappointment. “I think we would have better luck searching for aliens.”
“We are not going to find aliens in West Chester,” Ivy flicked the light switch on.
“Why?” Bryn flopped onto a chair.
“Every time I hear of an alien sighting it’s in a desolate place. We live in a suburb of Philadelphia. I don’t think they like bright lights,” Ivy squinted and put her hand on her hip.
“We’ll find something. We just started this ghost hunting thing and have only had three cases,” I softly smiled.
“Let’s just pack up. I think if we got anything it would have happened earlier, “ Bryn began to disassemble a camera that hung in the doorway. “Anna, am I dropping you off at home?”
“No, my dad is working on a restoration job down around the corner so he said he’ll call when he’s on his way. I have to get home and work on that paper for English so no hanging out tonight.”
“Maybe he’ll stir up some old energy to get those ghosts moving. They always say renovations stir up paranormal activity. He should let us know when he’s finished and we could investigate,” Bryn’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
My phone started to ring. “There he is, “I flipped open my phone. “Hey…”
But I couldn’t get “Dad” out because I was interrupted by a voice filled with hysterics.
“Anna, Anna!” she sniffed and choked.
“Mom? What’s going on?” My face sank at her panicked tone.
“Your father…he’s been hurt…really bad. He fell off of a roof and the doctors…” she began to cry.
“Is he o.k.?” My voice cracked.
“I don’t think…we’re at the hospital,” She sobbed.
Ivy’s head tilted as her eyes rounded in concern. My mom called my name but I just lowered my phone flipping it shut.
“Anna, what’s wrong? “ Ivy lightly touched my arm.
I shut my eyes for a minute and shook my head. My body started to shake as the rise of panic filled me. I had to get to him and make sure he was o.k. Grabbing my jacket and my bag, I bolted for the door.
“Anna!” Ivy yelled out to me as I put myself on auto pilot dashing out onto the brick sidewalk heading in the direction of the hospital.
As I ran, my tears began to fall. He had to be alright –he will be alright. I tried to pass positive thoughts through my brain, but my thoughts were cut short as my attention was drawn to the blinding lights that were heading in my direction. A horn started to blare and I froze unable to move my feet. My mind said –run, get out of the way-- but my body didn’t respond.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Agree or disagree with my crit? Thanks ahead of time for offering feedback and thank you to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club day! This week is turning out to be Lit Fic week. :) Enjoy the excerpt and let the author know what you think!
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below. Author: Anonymous Title: In the Hallway Genre: Literary Fiction
Excerpt:
I hear the voices yelling at each other above the surrounding din as I bob and weave through the passing time throng that’s slowed up to check out the burgeoning knot of bodies pressing in around something in the middle of the hallway.
I can't hear the words yet, but I can isolate the two voices at the center of the scene.
One male. One female. Both of them loud over the almost controlled chaos in the hallway.
Even over the cacophony, I can identify the sound of imminent confrontation, feel it, alive and humming, shimmering in the air as I walk and wonder what’s going on and how bad it’s going to be.
It’s the lunch block.
Twenty-two hundred students fed and watered during a two hour chunk of time.
Five hundred plus hungry students at a time shoved and herded through lines in the commons like cattle on a tight twenty-five minute lunch schedule in an overcrowded open area that was hard to police.
It’s never good. The hallways leading there are never better.
I try never to be in this part of the building during this time of the day, but in spite of my best efforts my timing, like almost everything else in my life lately, is just a little bit off today.
I've gotten close enough to identify the center of attention, Owen Johnson and his girlfriend Chloe Maxwell, our very own poster children for dysfunctional teenage relationships everywhere.
All about the drama, they were always either fighting in public, having sex in public places and on couches at parties, doing it for posterity on videotape, cheating on one another, abusing a variety of substances together, or simply being co-dependent.
Beyond unhealthy, they are now putting on quite a show for the lunchtime crowd, complete with him red-faced and raging and her with tears running down her cheeks.
I can see they’ve already reached the pushing and shoving part of the program.
“F***ing b**ch!”
Owen’s push off Chloe’s shoulders forces her back up to the bank of windows running long lower D wing, framing her against the bright blue sky and well manicured green grass of the outside common area.
After the sterile, brown brick walls and dark, dirty-blue carpet that makes up my interior life in the institution, the bright almost burns.
The study in contrast seems lost on Owen. “You're such a whore!”
“F**k you! I hate you!” Chloe shoves him back, hard in the chest. “You are such a f***ing a**hole!”
There’s never been any doubt in my mind that Chloe can wax poetic when the mood hits her.
I watch with some kind of morbid fascination as I pick up my pace.
The audience is appreciative enough to take up sides and whisper amongst themselves. They stand a respectful distance off, giving the two combatants a clearing in the middle to work with.
Just as I reach the back of the group, Owen's right hand balls up into a fist and cocks back. S**t, s**t, s**t.
I have a new mantra running unbidden through my mind. He's gonna hit her.
I run my eyes along the hallway searching for either a uniform or another staff member, but it’s lunchtime and everybody’s in the commons. That's just f***ing fine.
I start pushing bodies out of my way, using my elbows and shoulders and hands to clear a path and kept moving through the crowd.
“Don't leave me.” Owen's scream of pain, frustration, and anger bounces off the walls, loud and clear over the din coming from the commons. “I love you!”
He pivots on his heel. What the f**k?
Time slows to a crawl. I watch his hand trace an arc in the air in what seems like slow motion, and then it’s through the floor to ceiling windowpane.
The sound of impact explodes as shards of glass fall everywhere. Cracks run through the glass and sun glints on the spider web pattern.
A river of blood gushes down the broken window and down Owen's right arm and hand as reflexes kick in and he pulls it back through the broken pane.
The sight and smell of the blood dripping down onto the carpet causes everyone closest to the pair to step back. The sight and smell and sound seem to start the normal flow of time for me once again.
In a confluence of the surreal and the ludicrous, I hear the sound of the bell ringing.
B lunch.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback! And thank you to the author for volunteering!
It's Beta Club day! On the agenda: Literary Fiction. As I've mentioned before, this is not my specialty, so I'm hoping my lit fic buffs out there will help me out with this critique (along with everyone else.) Enjoy!
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below. Author: Amber Tidd Murphy (Stop by her blog for some daily hilarity) Title: A Sad Song in a Flat Key Genre: Literary Fiction
Excerpt:
It all started when Laurel was a girl, and her mother walked out on Laurel's father, because don't all our stories really start there, all the way back in those formative years? The deck might already be stacked against us, but the cards are still being shuffled and have not yet been dealt. Then, like lightning, some event or non-event happens or does not happen, and we are thrust into the wheels of fate, which are turned and clank.
Yes, she suffered from the same daddy issues that afflict almost everyone else in this day and age. Still, she felt it poor form to use that as an excuse for the way her life turned out. Who didn't keep a skeleton stuffed closet, after all, crammed full of those secrets that go bump after midnight? When her mind chased sleep the darkness left little room for facades, and she was left to remember it all. If she were celebrating a middle-aged birthday, an emcee might have grabbed a microphone and crooned, Laurel Lancaster, this is your life! as he rolled the tape. A curly haired, cherry cheeked child would appear on a screen while the music of a merry-go-round faded in a bit atonally.
Laurel remembered it with clarity: the day her mother left her father. She was barely five years old; she hadn't started kindergarten. Her sister, Laine, was a screaming toddler. Carol, Laurel's portly mother, wore a powder blue dress. She told her husband the girls were off for ice cream, and they walked out into the heat of that summer in 1986 and never looked back. Carol drove the seven miles to her parents' house and moved back home, heavy two children.
Laurel's grandmother, Elizabeth Hutchings, was a warm, round woman who made butter and sugar sandwiches for Laurel and Laine. Her grandfather, Calvin, worked for Farm Bureau Insurance and smelled of cigarettes, not stale cigarettes, but like bonfires in October. He traveled often, yet when he returned with the grandest of presents -- piggy banks already nearly full of shiny silver coins -- his absence was forgiven and forgotten. They were married in the early forties, before the war. Carol was their only living child; Laurel's uncle Ross died before she was born. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchings hosted many friends and dinner parties, and were the sort who would neaten their home before the cleaning lady arrived, embarrassed to show any sign of weakness, even in the form of dust bunnies.
They were big on appearances, but Laurel crept halfway down the stairs the night they moved in, and watched from behind the banister, her chubby childish fingers tightly wrapped around the smooth, white bars until her knuckles became camouflaged in the same color. Her grandparents sat up straight on the couch, one on either side of her mother. Calvin smoothed Carol's hair while Elizabeth wiped her daughter’s tears. In the dark, drapes tightly drawn, family secrets could breathe. An envy rose in Laurel's chest as she watched her mother in that moment, surrounded by two loving parents, strong Midwesterners who had lost their son to AIDS and would now carry a daughter through divorce.
They lived in Bedford, Indiana, the limestone capital of the world. The house was red brick with a wide front porch overlooking the main street in town. It sat directly across from the new city pool, a chaotic, loud place, foreign to Laurel. She was afraid of the water. She sat in her playroom and stared out the second floor window, mesmerized by the twisting water slide. She wondered when she would be brave enough to climb the mountain of steps to the top for the sole purpose of sliding down.
The day the call came would be that day.
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback! And thank you to Amber for volunteering!
*Sorry couldn't resist using this picture. You'll understand after reading the excerpt*
It's Beta Club Thursday! On today's agenda: Contemporary Romance. My personal favorite.
I hope that you will take the time to read through the excerpt and provide the author with feedback. I've noticed on my stats that Beta club days are getting a lot of hits, but not so many comments. Some people have expressed that they are a bit reluctant to give feedback or feel they have nothing to add. Don't be scared! The authors are posting here because they want to know what people think. Also, everyone has something to add, even if it's "really enjoyed this." When you're putting yourself out there, even those little comments help. :)
Plus, my critique is just one opinion. I don't want anyone to feel like if they disagree with my crit that they shouldn't feel comfortable saying so. If you think I'm off base on something, share that. The author needs to hear all the perspectives.
Okay, *steps off soapbox*, with that being said, I do want to thank everyone who stops by and participates. Now on to the excerpt...
For newbies: If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments. All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive. And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.
Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments. My detailed critique is below. Author: Anne Gallagher (go visit her at Piedmont Writer) Title: Remembering You Genre: Contemporary Romance
Excerpt:
**The author requested that her excerpt be removed. If you'd like to see other Beta Club critiques instead, please click here.**
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.
*removed*
Alright, so what do you think? Are you hooked? What did the author do well? What things could be improved? Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback!
