500 Word Critique: MG Fantasy

Here's a recent critique of a story submitted by Daniel Klock. If you want to learn more about him or his story, you can visit him at his website, www.Fatherchristmasbook.com.

***
Fraud at Snowfields

This time Annabel leaned forwards and operated the screen. She closed the current job and opened the next one.

‘“Job 03, Area B3, Code yellow-2”,’ she read aloud.

‘Good. That’s not far from here. Off we go.’

And they took off again.

Contractus turned partly round to them again and said, ‘As you know a yellow-2 is a bit more challenging, so I’ll handle it, especially since we already have another job waiting and have to hurry. But you can help, of course.’

‘Okay,’ replied Will and Annabel in unison, and Will cer­tainly did not mind. He was happy just to watch and learn how to handle the different jobs. Because, he real­ised, even if they had trained and practised at school, be­ing out there and doing the job for real was quite a bit dif­ferent.

Soon they had reached their destination and Will could see the problem. Just as the code implied, the presents were all scattered around at the far back of the garden of the house. One was even up a tree; another one was stuck in the branches of a bush. Contractus hurriedly performed the cover spell on the sleigh and on himself, then jumped down from the sleigh as soon as it had slid to a stop. He hurried over to the scattered parcels, closely followed by Will and Annabel, covered once more by Annabel’s spell.

When they reached the presents, Contractus took out his wand, swept it around in a wide circle to include all the pack­ages, and performed the rather complicated spell that would re­locate them to the inside of the house, dir­ectly underneath the Christmas tree. Will was impressed by the ease and grace with which Contractus performed the spell. Annabel—and Sabrina of course—could probably have matched it, but Will could still well remember his first tries with the spells in the training area at school. He certainly had not managed to relocate the presents, but had ended up with them scattered even more about the place than when he had started.

Meanwhile the presents had disappeared, and there was no trace of them left in the snow. Contractus looked pleased, and led Will and Annabel over to the house. There he waved his wand again in the pattern of a com­plicated spell that Will did not know, and part of the wall in front of them turned transpar­ent, so they were looking directly at the Christmas tree inside the living room and could see that the presents were arranged neatly under­neath it.

‘Wow,’ Annabel said. ‘That’s a fabulous spell. I’d like to learn that one!’

Contractus smiled. ‘Yes, it can be very helpful indeed. But it’s quite complicated, and unfortunately has much potential for misuse, so I’m afraid it will be some time be­fore you’ll learn it.’

‘Oh.’ Annabel looked rather disappointed.

‘Let’s go back. We’re done here, and we already have the next job waiting.’

Will was the first to climb back onto the sleigh. He quickly closed the current job and opened the next one.
***

And here's my comments:

***
Fraud at Snowfields

This time Annabel leaned forwards and operated (a little awkward; perhaps 'to operate'?) the screen. She closed the current job and opened the next one.

‘“Job 03, Area B3, Code yellow-2”,’ she read aloud.

‘Good. That’s not far from here. Off we go.’

And they took off again.

Contractus turned partly round to them again and said, ‘As you know a yellow-2 is a bit more challenging, so I’ll handle it, especially since we already have another job waiting and have to hurry. But you can help, of course.’

‘Okay,’ replied Will and Annabel in unison, and Will cer­tainly did not mind. He was happy just to watch and learn how to handle the different jobs. Because, he realized (these are filter words, which aren't necessary and put a barrier between the reader and the story), even if they had trained and practised at school, be­ing out there and doing the job for real was quite a bit dif­ferent.

Soon they had reached their destination and Will could see the problem (this tells us what you're about to show us, so it's not needed). Just as the code implied, the presents were all scattered around at the far back of the garden of the house. One was even up a tree; (change to comma, then revise the rest of the sentence) another one was stuck in the branches of a bush. Contractus hurriedly performed the cover spell on the sleigh and on himself, then jumped down from the sleigh as soon as it had slid to a stop. He hurried over (how does this look? Does he trip over anything? Does he stumble through the snow? How does Contractus hurry? His actions will show us more of his character.) to the scattered parcels, closely followed by Will and Annabel, covered once more by Annabel’s spell.

When they reached the presents, Contractus took out his wand, swept it around in a wide circle to include all the pack­ages, and performed the rather complicated spell that would re­locate them to the inside of the house, dir­ectly underneath the Christmas tree. Will was impressed (this tells us he's impressed. Instead, give him some internal dialog so you can show us he's impressed, and what, exactly, impressed him) by the ease and grace with which Contractus performed the spell (show us this ease and grace as he's doing it--easy flick of his wand, hardly needed to say the incantation, the presents responded as if eager to please him, etc. Let us see his action instead of telling us that he's doing something). Annabel—and Sabrina of course—could probably have matched it, but Will could still well remember his first tries with the spells in the training area at school (this isn't needed; the next sentence gives us the same information, but far more effectively). He certainly had not managed to relocate the presents, but had ended up with them scattered even more about the place than when he had started.

Meanwhile the presents had disappeared, and there was no trace of them left in the snow. Contractus looked pleased (how does this look? How does Contractus show pleasure? Does he smirk? Shake his hips in a victory dance? Nod his head once? Different people show pleasure in different ways, so show us what Contractus does, and it will show us what kind of person he is), and led Will and Annabel over to the house. There he waved his wand again in the pattern of a com­plicated spell (what kind of pattern? A figure eight? A bunch of criss-crossing lines? Give us some basic idea of how the wand moved, even if Will can't catch all the details. He'll still catch some basics, and then we'll get a clear image in our heads) that Will did not know, and part of the wall in front of them turned transpar­ent, so they were looking directly at the Christmas tree inside the living room and could see (filtering words and not necessary) that the presents were arranged neatly under­neath it.

‘Wow,’ Annabel said. ‘That’s a fabulous spell. I’d like to learn that one!’

Contractus smiled. ‘Yes, it can be very helpful indeed. But it’s quite complicated, and unfortunately has much potential for misuse, so I’m afraid it will be some time be­fore you’ll learn it.’

‘Oh.’ Annabel looked rather disappointed (how does this look? Again, different people show disappointment in different ways, and these details show us what kind of person Annabel is. Give her specific actions, and we'll get her emotions from that).

‘Let’s go back. We’re done here, and we already have the next job waiting.’

Will was the first to climb back onto the sleigh. He quickly closed the current job and opened the next one.
***

What a cool idea! I'm curious to know more about the world, as well as how Will and Annabel came to be in a sleigh helping to fix Christmas presents. Also, how the presents ended up so messed up in the first place.

I think you mostly need to focus on bringing more action to your characters. Body language, facial expressions, small actions, etc. These details will bring more life to your characters, make them feel more realistic, and engage your reader more.

I hope this was helpful. Happy writing!!
 

500 Word Critique: MG Fantasy

I have another request for a critique, and this is a revision from a previous piece, too! To the author: you are a brave and wondrous soul. :)

I do hope those of you reading will offer your thoughts on this story. If you like, you can read the original by clicking on the link above. The new version is below:

***

~Prologue~

                Come at eleven, he had whispered. No earlier, no later.

                Sifting and searching through the chest at the end of her bed, Annie’s fingers finally found the dark red cloak she had been looking for. Hastily throwing it on, she grabbed the basket of food off her bed and set out into the hallway, headed for the front doors of the academy.

                Finally reaching the ground level of the school, Annie flung the heavy oak door open and set out into the freezing night. It was quarter to eleven, which meant she had to hurry to make it to her destination in time.  She almost made it to the bottom of the concrete steps when she saw something in her peripheral vision. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she sat down the basket of food and bent down towards a bush. Illuminated by a street light, a piece of sparkling purple fabric was hanging off of a branch.

                Just a piece of fabric, she thought, and glanced at her watch. Now I’ve got to leave.

                And she almost did.

                She picked up her food and finished descending the stairs. But then she heard something that forced her to stop. The voice of a scared, nervous child came from the bushes. It was barely a whisper, but it was loud enough for Annie to hear. She knew she needed to hurry to make it to her plans, to Anthony, in time, but she couldn’t leave. The child sounded so scared.

                “Emmy? Emmy,  where are we?”

                Annie jogged back up the stairs and walked into the landscaping. Peering around the same bush from before, she looked for the source of the voices.

                “Hello?” She called quietly. “Who’s there?”

                The sound of rustling bushes came from behind her.  When she spun around, she came face to face with four little girls, no older than four or five years old. They looked scared and exhausted, and their clothes were clearly old and stained. Dark rims were definite and sharp underneath their eyes. They made Annie’s heart break instantly.

                They’re homeless, was Annie’s first thought. What I am supposed to do? Annie bent down to their height to talk to them.

                “My name is Annie,” She said, “What are you doing out here in the cold? Who are you?”

                The little girl with short, brown hair cut off at her chin stepped forward. “My name is Emmy. I’m fow-a.” She spoke with a small lisp. “I do not know why we are here. Please help us.”

                Annie could not believe her eyes or ears. This kind of stuff just doesn’t happen. She looked at her watch and saw that it was only three minutes until eleven. She couldn’t leave the children now; she had to know why they were there. She would just have to explain to Anthony another time.

                “Here,” she said, holding out a hand. “Come inside the doors with me, and we’ll figure this out.”

                She stood up and motioned them forward. On the way inside, Annie picked up the basket of food up and hurried the girls along.  Just as the last girl was entering the building, a small piece of paper fell out of a hole in her pocket. Staring at it for a fraction of a second, Annie scooped it up and closed her fingers around it.  Printed in large, loopy handwriting was one important, crucial word:

Instructions

            Sneaking one last look behind her, Annie walked into the school, latched and locked the door behind her, and turned to face the mysterious strangers.

~ ~ ~   

The Note that Annie Read

***

My Comments:

~Prologue~

                Come at eleven, he had whispered. No earlier, no later. (Interesting request. Sounds kind of ominous. Is that the intent?)

                Sifting and searching through the chest at the end of her bed, Annie’s fingers finally found the dark red cloak she had been looking for. Hastily throwing it on, she grabbed the basket of food off her bed and set out into the hallway, headed for the front doors of the academy. (So, she's off to a clandestine meeting? :) I'm hoping this will play a big part later on.)

                Finally reaching the ground level of the school (might be a good opportunity to tell us the name of the school, plus Annie's role here--student, teacher, assistant, etc. It sounds like she's a student, but it would be nice to know for sure.), Annie flung the heavy oak door open and set out into the freezing night. It was quarter to eleven, which meant she had to hurry to make it to her destination in time.  She almost made it to the bottom of the concrete steps when she saw something in her peripheral vision. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she sat (set) down the basket of food and bent down towards a bush. Illuminated by a street light (Hmm, I'm intrigued. Annie has a cloak which implies a time long ago, but street lights imply modern. Are they gas street lamps? I love that you add this detail, and I think a little more will paint a clearer picture), a piece of sparkling purple fabric was hanging off of a branch.

                Just a piece of fabric, she thought, and glanced at her watch. Now I’ve got to leave.

                And she almost did.

                She picked up her food and finished descending the stairs. But then she heard something that forced her to stop. The voice of a scared, nervous child came from the bushes. It was barely a whisper, but it was loud enough for Annie to hear. She knew she needed to hurry to make it to her plans, to Anthony, in time, but she couldn’t leave. The child sounded so scared.

                “Emmy? Emmy,  where are we?”

                Annie jogged back up the stairs and walked into the landscaping. Peering around the same bush from before, she looked for the source of the voices.

                “Hello?” She called quietly. “Who’s there?”

                The sound of rustling bushes came from behind her.  When she spun around, she came face to face with four little girls, no older than four or five years old. They looked scared and exhausted, and their clothes were clearly old and stained. Dark rims were definite and sharp underneath their eyes. They made Annie’s heart break instantly.

                They’re homeless, was Annie’s first thought. What I am supposed to do? Annie bent down to their height to talk to them.

                “My name is Annie,” She said, “What are you doing out here in the cold? Who are you?”

                The little girl with short, brown hair cut off at her chin stepped forward. “My name is Emmy. I’m fow-a.” She spoke with a small lisp. “I do not know why we are here. Please help us.”

                Annie could not believe her eyes or ears. This kind of stuff just doesn’t happen. She looked at her watch and saw that it was only three minutes until eleven. She couldn’t leave the children now; she had to know why they were there. She would just have to explain to Anthony another time. (I'd love to know the nature of her meeting with Anthony. The 'no earlier, no later' request sounds a little business-like, but the basket of food sounds personal. I'd like to know exactly what she's giving up in order to help these girls. And to risk getting into trouble with the school for being outside at night when she found them. Knowing this info will help me know Annie better, which will help me connect with her.)

                “Here,” she said, holding out a hand. “Come inside the doors with me, and we’ll figure this out.”

                She stood up and motioned them forward. On the way inside, Annie picked up the basket of food up and hurried the girls along (Are the girls hungry? Does she offer them the food inside the basket?).  Just as the last girl was entering the building, a small piece of paper fell out of a hole in her pocket. Staring at it for a fraction of a second, Annie scooped it up and closed her fingers around it.  Printed in large, loopy handwriting was one important, crucial word:

Instructions (Great hook!)

            Sneaking one last look behind her, Annie walked into the school, latched and locked the door behind her, and turned to face the mysterious strangers.

~ ~ ~   

The Note that Annie Read

This appears to be the title of the first chapter, yes? I am quite interested enough to keep reading so I can find out what was inside that note. Also, I think this opening is more effective than the first one you sent in. With a little more clarification on Annie's midnight picnic, you'll have one heck of a hook here.

What do the rest of you think? Leave your feedback in the comments, and please be honest AND constructive.  

500 Word Critique: Adventure Story

It’s been a while since someone took me up on my offer to critique 500 words, and recently a lovely fourteen year old stepped up to the plate. So, here’s the snippet, followed by my critique. Please give your own feedback if you can (and keep it constructive!).

***

Raven gritted her teeth in frustration, her knuckles turning white against the ship's helm as she clutched it to bring the ship to a heave to, ready to meet the storm. Hazel eyes ringed with dark green blazed in anger and defiance, her jet-black hair plastered onto her forehead. 

"Cap'n, they've spo'ed us! She's headed our way! They be comin' from larboard!"

Damn it! she thought. Rain beat down in a relentless torrent upon the world, the waves roaring as loud and wild as a captured beast finally set free. Again and again, the vessel was jostled to and fro at the ocean's whim. It wasn't that Raven disliked the rain––she loved the feel of the drops cascading down her face and relished the wet that it brought with it––but she disliked the problems that it brought for her ship and her crew. Shutting her eyes, she tried her best to calm herself down and calm the ocean down, but to no avail. The sea had a will of its own. 

"All hands on deck!" she hollered in a loud, carrying voice that contrasted with her small build. She whirled to the man standing beside her, her first mate. Wide, light blue eyes studied her with an unnerving calm, as if the two of them were taking a stroll in the park and not riding the storm of their lives, and his auburn hair clung to his head.

"Jory, make sure tha' the loot is safe. Don't let anythin' happen to it, understand?" she commanded. 

"Aye aye, captain," he replied, and dashed down toward the bay, his tall, lithe figure lumbering farther away from her.

"Rags! Scrat!" she shouted at two men that were standing port, near the bridge. "Man the tiller!" The two nodded as they understood the command. "Kar!" she bellowed to the man on the crow's nest, and he looked down, though it was hard to make out the movement in the rain. "Keep an eye on the enemy!" She then yelled out for everyone to hear, "Free the sails! Put your backs into it! We be ridin' out this blasted storm!"

Raven struggled against the wheel as it tried its hardest to turn the opposite of the way she wanted. The rain beat down harder and faster than before, a feat she had considered impossible. It seemed that God had decided to turn the water on full blast, icy sheets pouring down with heartless abandon. Colorful curses flew from her mouth as she heard the dreaded cry of "Wave!", and she braced herself for impact. 

A wall of liquid ice slammed into her, the rain seeming almost warm in comparison, and she tightened her grip on the wheel to keep from losing her footing. Just when she was sure that she would have to open her lips and inhale a mouthful of cold water, the wave passed, leaving her rasping for breath and shuddering with cold in its wake.

Running her eyes across her ship, she scanned the occupants to ensure that none had become at mercy of the sea. Satisfied that everyone had made it, she returned her attention to the task at hand––steering her ship.

"Captain!" one of her crew called. "She's sprung a leak! Water's leakin' in fast in the hull!"

A few choice words flew out of her mouth. "Take Blarn and a few men to patch it up. Hurry! We've no' go' much time!" 

She would've gone herself, but she had to evade the cutlass flapping Navy dogs that were on her tail and steer in this blasted storm. 

"Aye aye!" he said, and then clambered toward the carpenter, Blarn.

Wave after wave of sloshing seawater slammed into the side of the ship. Sheet after sheet of icy rain rammed into her. Burst after burst of howling wind made her fingers, her face, her body go numb.

But none of that compared to what she heard next––cannon fire. Nearby. Her heart jumped into her throat and her eyes widened.

"They're here! They're near! Cap'n, they sneaked on us!"

"Rags! Weren't you keepin' an eye on 'em?!" she asked, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisting into a frown, annoyed with the fact that he hadn't done his job. She was almost thrown off her feet as a succession of cannonballs collided with the larboard side of the ship. 

"Cap'n, they've hi' us with cannonballs! They've started firin'!" Rags replied, rather than answering her question.

"Oh, really? Couldn't have figured tha' one ou'!" she snapped, her temper sparked. "Rags, make yourself useful 'n' tell me how many they've go' onboard!"

"They've got...two dozen a' least! No, add another dozen to tha'! The ship's huge!" he shouted back, shocked, and then added with a touch of fright, "Cap'n, if they get us, we're doomed!"

***

My Critique

-------------

Raven gritted her teeth in frustration, her knuckles turning white against the ship's helm as she clutched it to bring the ship to a heave-to, ready to meet the storm. Hazel eyes ringed with dark green blazed in anger and defiance, her jet-black hair plastered onto her forehead. (This is the perfect way to introduce your character's description--using action and not a laundry list. I'm not sure it fits just here since we're in the middle of action. Or, at least, maybe not all of it. The hair could work, but the eyes could come later)

"Cap'n, they've spo'ed us! She's headed our way! They be comin' from larboard!" (I had to read this a couple times, but this is actually a clever way to show that Raven is the captain. At first, I thought it was Raven speaking, but then it becomes clear in the next paragraph that she didn't. So if the person speaking here is identified, that will solidify Raven's status aboard the ship)

Damn it! she thought. Rain beat down in a relentless torrent upon the world, the waves roaring as loud and wild as a captured beast finally set free. Again and again, the vessel was jostled to and fro at the ocean's whim. It wasn't that Raven disliked the rain––she loved the feel of the drops cascading down her face and relished the wet that it brought with it––but she disliked the problems that it brought for her ship and her crew. Shutting her eyes, she tried her best to calm herself down and calm the ocean down, but to no avail. The sea had a will of its own. (I like this bit of insight into Raven. I'm not sure it fits just here, since I've got a burning desire to know who's chasing them and why. This would be a good spot to reveal that info)

"All hands on deck!" she hollered in a loud, carrying voice that contrasted with her small build. She whirled to the man standing beside her, her first mate. Wide, light blue eyes studied her with an unnerving calm, as if the two of them were taking a stroll in the park and not riding the storm of their lives, and his auburn hair clung to his head.

"Jory, make sure tha' the loot is safe. Don't let anythin' happen to it, understand?" she commanded. 

"Aye aye, captain," he replied, and dashed down toward the bay, his tall, lithe figure lumbering farther away from her. (These two words contradict each other. Perhaps choose one and then a different descriptor?)

"Rags! Scrat!" she shouted at two men that were standing port, near the bridge. "Man the tiller!" The two nodded as they understood the command. "Kar!" she bellowed to the man on the crow's nest, and he looked down, though it was hard to make out the movement in the rain. "Keep an eye on the enemy!" She then yelled out for everyone to hear, "Free the sails! Put your backs into it! We be ridin' out this blasted storm!" (The first two commands make it seem like no one was manning the tiller, and that no one was keeping an eye on the enemy. But I'm sure they were or the situation would be very different. The last command seems like one she'd shout at this moment. Perhaps scale it down to that and have her direct the order at Rags, Scrat, and Jory. Or, Introduce them at a later time)

Raven struggled against the wheel as it tried its hardest to turn the opposite of the way she wanted. The rain beat down harder and faster than before, a feat she had considered impossible. It seemed that God had decided to turn the water on full blast, icy sheets pouring down with heartless abandon. Colorful curses flew from her mouth as she heard the dreaded cry of "Wave!", and she braced herself for impact. 

A wall of liquid ice slammed into her, the rain seeming almost warm in comparison, and she tightened her grip on the wheel to keep from losing her footing. Just when she was sure that she would have to open her lips and inhale a mouthful of cold water, the wave passed, leaving her rasping for breath and shuddering with cold in its wake. (nice description)

Running her eyes across her ship, she scanned the occupants to ensure that none had become at mercy of the sea. Satisfied that everyone had made it, she returned her attention to the task at hand––steering her ship.

"Captain!" one of her crew called. "She's sprung a leak! Water's leakin' in fast in the hull!" (How did it spring a leak? Waves on their own can't puncture a ship, but if the person chasing them managed to nick them with a cannon or something, that would do it)

A few choice words flew out of her mouth. "Take Blarn and a few men to patch it up. Hurry! We've no' go' much time!" 

She would've gone herself, but she had to evade the cutlass flapping Navy dogs that were on her tail and steer in this blasted storm. 

"Aye aye!" he said, and then clambered toward the carpenter, Blarn.

Wave after wave of sloshing seawater slammed into the side of the ship. Sheet after sheet of icy rain rammed into her. Burst after burst of howling wind made her fingers, her face, her body go numb.

But none of that compared to what she heard next––cannon fire. Nearby. Her heart jumped into her throat and her eyes widened. (We are in Raven's head for the first part of this sentence, but this last bit takes us out and puts us outside. Things that describe what she looks like go from in to out and removes the closeness that the reader feels, and they're often not necessary. Keep an eye out for these)

"They're here! They're near! Cap'n, they sneaked on us!" (Not sure how you sneak up on someone in a storm. It might be possible, but I'm having a hard time picturing it. Is it necessary that they sneak up on Raven's ship? Or can they just gradually get closer while Raven's ship tries and fails to lose them?)

"Rags! Weren't you keepin' an eye on 'em?!" she asked, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisting into a frown, annoyed with the fact that he hadn't done his job. She was almost thrown off her feet as a succession of cannonballs collided with the larboard side of the ship. 

"Cap'n, they've hi' us with cannonballs! They've started firin'!" Rags replied, rather than answering her question.

"Oh, really? Couldn't have figured tha' one ou'!" she snapped, her temper sparked. "Rags, make yourself useful 'n' tell me how many they've go' onboard!"

"They've got...two dozen a' least! No, add another dozen to tha'! The ship's huge!" he shouted back, shocked, and then added with a touch of fright, "Cap'n, if they get us, we're doomed!"

General Thoughts: This sounds like the start of a great adventure. I like Raven. She feels real, and we are solidly inside her head. There are a few moments where we're brought outside of her, which was a bit jarring, but that's easily fixed. I would have liked to know why they were being chased--I'm guessing Raven is a pirate and 'the law' is chasing her to bring her to justice. But why? What did she do? And why is it so important that she get away? I'd rather have this info up front, and then show insights or the incompetence of some of her crew later on. 

But, overall, this is well written and sounds like a lot of fun. Keep going!!

500 Word Critique: MG Fantasy

It's been a while since someone has sent me a critique with permission to post it here, and a fourteen year old girl has stepped up to the plate!

I've included her story without my comments first, so as not to sway anyone's reactions, and then pasted  my feedback below. If you have a moment, I'm sure she'd love it if you could share some thoughts.

MG Fantasy

~Prologue~

Twelve years ago, on the night of December 31st, six newborn baby girls were sat on the steps of Creek Academy. All were wrapped in a separate blanket, and each one had a different colored necklace on. A young girl of twelve years old found the babies that night and quickly brought them inside to get warm.

“What will we do with Mrs. Martin?” The young girl asked the headmaster.

“We will raise them here, of course,” Mrs. Martin said, “They will be kept in the nursery until they are old enough to go to school. Creek Academy will turn away no one, especially an innocent baby. Isn’t that the right thing to do, Annie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Mrs. Martin sighed and stroked the cheek of one of the babies.

“Annie, are you positive that there was no note on the steps when you found the children? Nothing explaining why they were left here?”

“I am sure.” Annie replied.

“Alright. Thank you for all you have done. Why don’t you head back to the dormitories and get some rest. Goodnight, dear.”

Annie took one last look at all the sweet baby girls and left the headmaster’s office. Once she was safely upstairs in her bed, she pulled a piece of paper out of her robes pockets.

“Alright, babies,” She said while unfolding the note, “Where did you come from?”

~1~

THE NOTE THAT ANNIE READ

~

I thought that it was going to be a normal Monday at Creek Academy.

I would wake up, get dressed, go to my classes, and do my homework with my five best friends in the evening.

Boy, was I wrong.

The day started out pretty normal. I ate breakfast with Tacie, Charlotte, Avery, Gabriella, and Carol. We laughed about the oatmeal that Avery got on her nose, and then we headed off to class.

First, I had math with Mr. Gee. While he was teaching, I passed notes with Avery and Carol.

The next class kept me and all of my friends very interested. It was English with Ms. Allen.

My friends and I all shared the same dream: we all wanted to be writers. Ms. Allen supported us in our hopes and she taught us all that a writer would need to know.

“Morning Annie.” I said when we arrived.

“Good morning, Ms. Allen. Just because I am the favorite teacher does not mean I have to get casual with my students.”

I apologized and took a seat.

English was wonderful as usual, but something strange happened at the end of the class. Right as we were leaving, a piece of paper hit me in the back. On the front, my name was printed on it in simple handwriting. As I picked it up and began to unfold it, Ms. Allen ran over and snatched it out of my hands.

“Sorry Aubrey,” She said to me, “This must have slipped out of my hands.”

I was sure it was mine.

“But, Ms. Allen, it has my name on it.”

Ms. Allen glanced down at the note and read my name.

“Oh, would you look at that, it does! Well, I’m sorry Aubrey, it may have your name on it, but I assure that it is not for you. Hurry along to French, dear. I’ll see you at assembly.”

I hesitated before turning and leaving the classroom.

Avery was waiting outside for me. “There you are! The rest of the girls wanted to wait for you, but I told them to go on. What were you doing in there?”

I must have looked pretty confused, because Avery was looking at me like I was a pickle.

“Oh, nothing, I was just, um, talking to Ms. Allen about my novel. That’s all.”

Avery relaxed. “Oh, well okay. Come on, if we’re late to French, Mademoiselle Cheri will be de colere. That means angry, right? Oh who cares, come on let’s go!”

We arrived at French class just in time to watch a video about Paris. Even though I normally loved French, my mind was wandering.

Why did Ms. Allen act so worried about the note? Why would she not let me read it, even though it clearly had my name on it? And most importantly, what did the note say?

What I didn’t know then was that I was going to find out very soon.

~~

My Comments:

~Prologue~

Twelve years ago, on the night of December 31st, six newborn baby girls were sat (placed?) on the steps of Creek Academy. All were wrapped in a separate blanket, and each one had (wore) a different colored necklace on (to avoid ending the sentence in a preposition). A young girl of twelve years old found the babies that night and quickly brought them inside to get warm.

“What will we do with (them), Mrs. Martin?” The young girl asked the headmaster.

“We will raise them here, of course,” Mrs. Martin said, “They will be kept in the nursery until they are old enough to go to school. Creek Academy will turn away no one, especially an innocent baby. Isn’t that the right thing to do, Annie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Mrs. Martin sighed and stroked the cheek of one of the babies.

“Annie, are you positive that there was no note on the steps when you found the children? Nothing explaining why they were left here?”

“I am sure.” Annie replied.

“Alright. Thank you for all you have done. Why don’t you head back to the dormitories and get some rest. Goodnight, dear.”

Annie took one last look at all the sweet baby girls and left the headmaster’s office. Once she was safely upstairs in her bed, she pulled a piece of paper out of her robes pockets.

“Alright, babies,” She said while unfolding the note, “Where did you come from?"

~~

Interesting! I’m curious to see why Annie would hide the note, especially before reading it. If there was something disturbing or scary in it, then I can see her being worried for the baby girls and wanting to make sure Mrs. Martin doesn’t turn them away. But why would she hide the note before reading it?

~1~

THE NOTE THAT ANNIE READ

~

I thought that it was going to be a normal Monday at Creek Academy.

I would wake up, get dressed, go to my classes, and do my homework with my five best friends in the evening.

Boy, was I wrong.

The day started out pretty normal. I ate breakfast with Tacie, Charlotte, Avery, Gabriella, and Carol. We laughed about the oatmeal that Avery got on her nose, and then we headed off to class.

First, I had math with Mr. Gee. While he was teaching, I passed notes with Avery and Carol.

The next class kept me and all of my friends very interested. It was English with Ms. Allen.

My friends and I all shared the same dream: we all wanted to be writers. Ms. Allen supported us in our hopes and she taught us all that a writer would need to know.

“Morning Annie.” I said when we arrived. (Interesting twist)

“Good morning, Ms. Allen. Just because I am the favorite teacher does not mean I have to get casual with my students.”

I apologized and took a seat.

English was wonderful as usual, but something strange happened at the end of the class. Right as we were leaving, a piece of paper hit me in the back (this is the note, right? The one Annie hid? I’m wondering if it’s enchanted). On the front, my name was printed on it in simple handwriting. As I picked it up and began to unfold it, Ms. Allen ran over and snatched it out of my hands.

“Sorry Aubrey,” She said to me, “This must have slipped out of my hands.”

(What is Annie’s expression here? Is she surprised? Exasperated? Has this note been trying to get to Aubrey or the other girls, and has she been having a hard time keeping it secured? If we can get more of Annie’s body language, then we’ll have a stronger handle on her emotions. Then, this scene will have a stronger tie to the prologue)

I was sure it was mine. (How is she sure? Does she feel drawn to the note?)

“But, Ms. Allen, it has my name on it.”

Ms. Allen glanced down at the note and read my name.

“Oh, would you look at that, it does! Well, I’m sorry Aubrey, it may have your name on it, but I assure that it is not for you. Hurry along to French, dear. I’ll see you at assembly.”

I hesitated before turning and leaving the classroom.

Avery was waiting outside for me. “There you are! The rest of the girls wanted to wait for you, but I told them to go on. What were you doing in there?”

I must have looked pretty confused, because Avery was looking at me like I was a pickle. (funny)

“Oh, nothing, I was just, um, talking to Ms. Allen about my novel. That’s all.”

Avery relaxed. “Oh, well okay. Come on, if we’re late to French, Mademoiselle Cheri will be de colere. That means angry, right? Oh who cares, come on let’s go!”

We arrived at French class just in time to watch a video about Paris. Even though I normally loved French, my mind was wandering.

Why did Ms. Allen act so worried about the note? Why would she not let me read it, even though it clearly had my name on it? And most importantly, what did the note say?

What I didn’t know then was that I was going to find out very soon.

~~

This is a very interesting start to your story. You’ve got intrigue, some possible magic, a mystery, and a tangible item to answer some questions, as well as introduce others. I think that if you clear up Annie’s motivations for keeping the note a secret, then you’ll have an incredible hook!

Something to think about: these girls feel older than twelve. In the prologue, it says they arrived at the school as newborns twelve years ago, so they're twelve, right? They feel more like fourteen to me.

What did the rest of you think? Anyone have any words of advice for this fabulous young lady?

500 Word Critique: YA Paranormal

And, here's yet another request for critique! Please welcome Mflick1 and an exerpt from her YA paranormal novel. Like the last few times, I'm pasting the full story without my comments first, so as not to influence anyone with my opinions.

YA Paranormal
Calm down Ryder!

No! This is freaky!

Ryder you are making NO sense. Who’s there? Why are you so freaked?

Piper, someone was behind me and then they hid. Someone is following me! It’s like in a scary movie, ya know when the actress has that sinking feeling and keeps turning around to catch him, but secretly hopes she is paranoid. Well, I want to be paranoid.

She remembered what had happened so I could see the memory, but I saw no one. She wasn’t afraid, but creeped out, and I chalked it up to the scary movie we had watched last night, in which a pretty blonde girl was followed. Countless times Ryder had on edge feelings in which she was sure she wasn’t alone or was being watched and it never had turned out to be anything. Mom had allowed us to watch scary movies like Friday the Thirteenth and Dracula, when we were tots. Not the best move on Mom’s part for Ryder.

Another difference between us, an over-active imagination went to Ryder.

That’s ridiculous, Ryder, I tried to soothe. You always feel that way and it has always turned out to be nothing.

It was then I realized a boy from my Medieval Literature class was staring at me from where he sat in the library. He was sitting at a table by himself, looking over his book and smiling at me, with a familiar air about him, as if he knew me and more than just as a new classmate.

Piper, pay attention to me!

Relax, Ryder!

He laughed. He laughed as if on cue. I roughed up my hair in frustration, as if trying to shake him and the feeling away. Still he was sitting there, laughing in my direction over his book. I looked over my shoulder to see if there was something going on behind me. No, nothing. He was staring and laughing at me continuously.

Damn it Piper! I need you!

She startled me with her force of voice to the point where I visibly jumped and he chuckled harder. I was hit with this overwhelming feeling that my private conversation was anything but private. He stopped laughing and was deliberately staring at me.

Inquisitive?

He can hear me. He can hear us.

What? What are you talking about?

Nothing. Nothing. Meet me at our room.

I have class. I can’t.

You think someone is following you but you won’t skip class? Yes, yes you can.

He smirked at me.

I picked up my books and lit out of the library quickly. I didn’t dare look at him and I certainly didn’t dare think of anything again. Blank. Could it be? Could someone hear us? No. With everywhere we had been and the people we had met, no, it couldn’t happen.

But, what if?

Hadn’t we wondered as little girls if we were the only ones with the ability? Were we the only freaks?

Were we the abnormal among the normal looking for the abnormal to become the normal?

My Comments
I’m guessing that this isn’t the opening, and that Ryder and Piper’s abilities have already been established and introduced. Working from that assumption, this is an interesting excerpt. It feels like a transition from one conflict to another—someone spying on Ryder to someone listening in on Piper’s telepathic conversation. Even though I haven’t seen what happened before, I can still feel the tension rising. So good job with that. I’m definitely intrigued and want to read more!

Calm down Ryder!

No! This is freaky!

Ryder you are making NO sense. Who’s there? Why are you so freaked?

Piper, someone was behind me and then they hid. Someone is following me! It’s like in a scary movie, ya know when the actress has that sinking feeling and keeps turning around to catch him, but secretly hopes she is paranoid. Well, I want to be paranoid.

She remembered what had happened so I could see the memory, but I saw no one (do we see the memory in an earlier chapter? If not, why not show it to us here?). She wasn’t afraid, but creeped out, and I chalked it up to the scary movie we had watched last night, in which a pretty blonde girl was followed. Countless times Ryder had on edge feelings in which she was sure she wasn’t alone or was being watched and it never had turned out to be anything. Mom had allowed us to watch scary movies like Friday the Thirteenth and Dracula, when we were tots (not really tots, right? That paints a very specific image of a two year old, or something :). Perhaps stating their ages might work better here?). Not the best move on Mom’s part for Ryder.

Another difference between us, an over-active imagination went to Ryder.

That’s ridiculous, Ryder, I tried to soothe. You always feel that way and it has always turned out to be nothing.

It was then I realized a boy from my Medieval Literature class was staring at me from where he sat in the library (all of this tells us what you show us in the next sentence; hence, not necessary). He was sitting at a table by himself, looking over his book and smiling at me, with a familiar air about him, as if he knew me and more than just as a new classmate.

Piper, pay attention to me!

Relax, Ryder!

He laughed. He laughed as if on cue. I roughed up my hair in frustration (in this context, this is definitely a boy-action since most teen girls don’t mess up their hair. Unless, of course, this precedence has already been set in a previous chapter), as if trying to shake him and the feeling away. Still he was sitting there, laughing in my direction over his book. I looked over my shoulder to see if there was something going on behind me. No, nothing. He was staring and laughing at me continuously.

Damn it Piper! I need you!

She startled me with her force of voice to the point where I visibly jumped and he chuckled harder. I was hit with this overwhelming feeling (how does this feel? How would Piper come to this realization in her head? You show us her thoughts later on, which the mysterious boy hears, but we need a way to feel what she’s feeling right here, and also question whether or not this boy could hear her at the same time she’s questioning it) that my private conversation was anything but private. He stopped laughing and was deliberately staring at me.

Inquisitive? (is this the boy speaking, or is it Piper’s prose?)

He can hear me. He can hear us.

What? What are you talking about?

Nothing. Nothing. Meet me at our room.

I have class. I can’t.

You think someone is following you but you won’t skip class? Yes, yes you can.

He smirked at me.

I picked up my books and lit out of the library quickly. I didn’t dare look at him and I certainly didn’t dare think of anything again. Blank. Could it be? Could someone hear us? No. With everywhere we had been and the people we had met, no, it couldn’t happen.

But, what if? (the situation seems to have a bit more to it than ‘what if.’ There appears to be some evidence that he could hear her, so wouldn’t she be thinking about that? Also, this is huge! I’m guessing she’d be having a much stronger reaction, and be struggling pretty heavily with going blank vs. freaking out over this boy. We need to see this)

Hadn’t we wondered as little girls if we were the only ones with the ability? Were we the only freaks?

Were we the abnormal among the normal looking for the abnormal to become the normal? (funny :) )
***

So, what did you all think? Thoughts, questions, comments, gushing? Please do share.

500 Word Critique: YA Paranormal

I got another request for critique, and again the author has decided to identify herself! So, please welcome Christine Danek, and the first 500 words of her YA paranormal. Like last time, I'm pasting the full story without my comments first, so as not to influence anyone with my opinions.

YA Paranormal
3:00 am. Those numbers glowed green, staring at me, letting me know I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't. If I did, who knows what injury I would wake up with. Every night a dream would consume me, and when I woke, something on my body was cut, bruised, or almost broken.

I started at the ceiling. The fan squeaked and wobbled, trying to produce air flow. It wasn't succeeding. I turned over, hugging my pillow. What was happening? Maybe I should see someone, but who? A doctor? Padded room for sure. Is there such a thing as a dream specialist?

A branch scratched the window. I turned over again. 5:00 am. Where did the last two hours go? Adrenaline pumped through my veins, accelerating my heart. My T-shirt was damp and clinging to my back. What happened? Did I dream, again?

Bang. Bang. Bang. I jumped up. Someone was at the front door.

Who could be here? My parents are out of town. As I crept down the steps, I grabbed a brass candlestick from the small glass table in the hall. How I would use it, I don’t know, but I felt I needed something. The shadows of the trees danced behind the sheers.

Bang. Bang. Bang. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears and the candlestick shook in my hands. With my back to the door, I took one deep breath, perched up on my toes, turned, and looked out the peephole. Black bangs with a small purple streak and pale flesh filled my view in a weird distorted peephole way. The tension in my chest lifted. I fumbled with the lock and swung the door open.

“Graham?” I held the candlestick behind my back. He had both his hands on each side of the door frame. His damp hair created points across his forehead and sweat trickled down the sides of his face. “Did you run here?”

His dark, brown eyes searched my face, then behind me. “Sadie? Are you okay?” He stood up straight, his shoulders raised and lowered as he caught his breath.

“Should I be hurt?” I set the candlestick on the bench in the foyer. He walked passed me.

He turned on his heel and faced me. His black T-shirt stuck to his chest, defining every muscle underneath. “You just called me. Frantic. You sounded like you were hurt.” He cupped his hand on the back of his neck.

“I was sleeping. So, no, I didn’t call you.”

“Yes, you did. I was watching a movie with…” He paused. He knew I would be pissed. “Avery, and you called me, crying, hysterically. Saying someone was in the house.”

I crossed my arms. “Avery?” Did he have to say her name? He certainly didn’t wait long to start dating after we broke up.

He cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes. “Is that why you called me? So you could ruin my night.”

“No. I didn’t call you. You ruined your own night as well as mine.” I fiddled with the tie on my pajama bottoms. Nothing like scaring the crap out of me and rubbing the new girlfriend in my face.

My Comments
A very intriguing beginning!! I’m totally hooked, and want to read more. You’ve introduced a couple really big questions and I’m dying to find out the answers. The prose reads quick and easy, and I settled into this piece with very little effort. Nice job!

3:00 am. Those numbers glowed green, staring at me, letting me know I wasn't sleeping. I couldn't. If I did, who knows what injury I would wake up with. Every night a dream would consume me, and when I woke, something on my body was cut, bruised, or almost broken. (Interesting!)

I started (stared) at the ceiling. The fan squeaked and wobbled, trying to produce air flow. It wasn't succeeding (why? Because it’s broken or because it was so stifling hot? A little bit more here would paint a vivid picture of the setting). I turned over, hugging my pillow. What was happening? Maybe I should see someone, but who? A doctor? Padded room for sure. Is there such a thing as a dream specialist? (these thoughts are fantastic and really raise the tension—now *I* want to know the answers to these questions :) )

A branch scratched the window (I really like this detail, but I think we need a bit more to make it work. Earlier, the fan wasn’t able to create air flow, and now there’s wind blowing branches. I know that two hours have just passed, but if you give us a bit more detail with the setting, like the gust of wind along with the branch, then maybe this will be more seamless). I turned over again. 5:00 am. Where did the last two hours go? Adrenaline pumped through my veins, accelerating my heart (if she was really pumped full of adrenaline, she’d be thinking about whatever had caused it and not so much about the adrenaline itself. I think the focus should stay internal here rather than external). My T-shirt was damp and clinging to my back. What happened? Did I dream, again? (A bit more. If she had dreamed, was she injured? Does she look for an injury?)

Bang. Bang. Bang. I jumped up. Someone was at the front door.

Who could be here? My parents are (were—the rest is written in past tense) out of town (quick note: there may have been some accidental loss in formatting and this looks like it could have been in italics as thoughts. You could put it back that way, or you could just change ‘are’ to ‘were’ and you still have her thoughts. Personally, I prefer that method because it feels more seamless to the story. But other people feel differently and you should do what feels best for you). As I crept down the steps, I grabbed a brass candlestick from the small glass table in the hall. How I would use it, I don’t (didn’t) know, but I felt (not needed—less is more here) I needed something. The shadows of the trees danced behind the sheers.

Bang. Bang. Bang. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears and the candlestick shook in my hands. With my back to the door, I took one deep breath, perched up on my toes, turned, and looked out the peephole. Black bangs with a small purple streak and pale flesh filled my view in a weird distorted peephole way. (awesome! Great voice here) The tension in my chest lifted (why? Let us know who he is so we can feel relief along with her. Wouldn’t she wonder why he was here before she opened the door? Would she wonder if something had happened to him since he looks like he ran there? And, wouldn’t that decrease and increase her tension at the same time?). I fumbled with the lock and swung the door open.

“Graham?” I held the candlestick behind my back. He had both his hands on each side of the door frame. His damp hair created points across his forehead and sweat trickled down the sides of his face. “Did you run here?”

His dark, brown eyes searched my face, then behind me. “Sadie? Are you okay?” He stood up straight, his shoulders raised and lowered as he caught his breath.

“Should I be hurt?” I set the candlestick on the bench in the foyer. He walked passed me.

He turned on his heel and faced me. His black T-shirt stuck to his chest, defining every muscle underneath. “You just called me. Frantic. You sounded like you were hurt.” He cupped his hand on the back of his neck.

“I was sleeping. So, no, I didn’t call you.”

“Yes, you did. I was watching a movie (not sure I buy this, not at 3 to 5 am. Most parents would make their kids’ friends go home, and it’s too convenient for both Sadie’s and Graham’s parents to be gone this particular weekend. So, is it necessary for Sadie to have blacked out between 3 and 5 am, or is it enough to move it up to maybe 11 to 1 am? What’s the most important piece here? The fact that she can’t sleep, or the fact that she blacked out?) with…” He paused. He knew I would be pissed (then would he really say her name here? Or is it enough for Sadie to figure out who he meant?). “Avery, and you called me, crying, hysterically. Saying someone was in the house.”

I crossed my arms. “Avery?” Did he have to say her name? He certainly didn’t wait long to start dating after we broke up. (great way to introduce this info!)

He cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes. “Is that why you called me? So you could ruin my night.”

“No. I didn’t call you. You ruined your own night as well as mine.” I fiddled with the tie on my pajama bottoms. Nothing like scaring the crap out of me and rubbing the new girlfriend in my face.
***

So? What did you all think? Thoughts, questions, comments? Or, feel free to gush if you loved it. :) If you want to read the full first chapter, go here.

500 Word Critique: YA Paranormal

In case you were wondering, I'm still doing 500 word critiques. Most of you have asked me not to post your work to my blog, which is fine. But there are still some folks out there who are willing to share this with others, and this is the first person who's shared her identity! So, here's Sherry from Dark Angel's Blog, and her first 500 words. If you want to read more, here's a link to the entire first chapter.

In the past, I've just posted the story with my comments inline, but I'm going to do this one a little differently. I'm going to post the excerpt first, then put a second excerpt with my comments after that. This way you all can read without being influenced by my opinions. :)

YA Paranormal Excerpt:
For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard whispers in the shadows—dark, twisting shapes that chilled my blood. Evil things that gave me nightmares and made me fear the dark. During the day, I normally felt safe with the heat of the sun brushing my skin, but nightfall roused a trembling that traveled from my legs and vibrated up my neck.


When they showed up this morning, I immediately recognized the trace of chilling menace that limped up my spine, congealing my blood into ice. This primitive instinct, like a sixth sense, always hit me whenever the shadows appeared.

I’d been writing an essay for my English class on my deepest fears. On the floor near the desk lay my other crumbled attempts. I wasn’t thrilled by the assignment. Most of my friends were writing about their fear of not getting into a good college or asked to the prom. Me? I wrote about Nyctophobia, an irrational fear of the dark.

I stood up, scanning all the dim corners of the room. My gut clenched tight. Then I got on my hands and knees to check under the bed. Nothing. The closet door stood open a crack. I wavered, shoulders hitching.

Dragging myself toward the closet, I pushed the door open with my foot. The overhead light revealed nothing unusual. Why was I feeling so freaked?

Chill out, Serenity. I told myself it was just a case of overactive imagination when a rush on the edge of my skin made me shiver. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I’d forgotten to keep my telekinetic shield up. Again.

A maelstrom of shadows caught my peripheral vision. They murmured in an ancient language, covering the white carpet like an opaque stain. Within the inky blobs were glittering dots. Crimson eyes. Open and staring. Spiny obsidian fingers reached out to grab my ankles--anthracite things with darkling eyes, feeding off my fear, doled out like so much bitter candy.

Behind me, the floorboards creaked beneath the worn carpet.

I glanced over my shoulder--and froze.

An amorphous darkness crept along the wall, different from the others. The malevolent shape slithered closer, swirling in front of my wide eyes. As though the dark had come alive and coalesced while I watched, taking on form--human form. The figure pulsated like a nimbus of crude oil, growing until it nearly reached the ceiling. Muscles stretching over bones, skin twitching, a resurrection of glittering obsidian, smooth and razor-sharp, created out of darkness, out of shadows. It throbbed, altered, trickled into limbs, and flesh and...

Oh, God, the thing was almost touching me. I yelped and stumbled back, bumping into a chair. My heartbeat roared in my ears. He wasn’t a shadow. He wasn’t a ghost. Darkness Incarnate. A big bad evil. Whatever.

I shook my head hoping the image would fade away. The headshake didn’t make a difference. Only confirmed my worst nightmare…

Darkness had become corporal and was standing in my purple bedroom.
 
My Comments:

This is very intriguing! You’ve done a good job of introducing new elements, providing a little explanation so the reader isn’t confused, and also given a few new elements that prompt more questions—such as the telekinetic shield. My comments are in green below.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard whispers in the shadows—dark, twisting shapes that chilled my blood. [Evil things that gave me nightmares and made me fear the dark. During the day, I normally felt safe with the heat of the sun brushing my skin, but nightfall roused a trembling that traveled from my legs and vibrated up my neck.] These two sentences paint a picture that I’m not sure you want. It makes the main character seem fearful, crippled by the dark and by these shadow things that keep hounding her. It’s one thing to show a horrible enemy that hounds your character, but you also don’t want her to seem like a complete coward who’s afraid of her own shadow. I get the feeling that she’s not, based on later descriptions, but saying that she’s afraid of the dark can come across as cowardly. I think the reference to nightmares says it all, and implies the fear that would come with the dark without actually saying that she’s afraid of the dark. I hope that made sense. :)

When they showed up this morning, I immediately recognized (be careful with statements like ‘I recognized/saw/heard/noticed/realized/etc. These are classic telling phrases, and are implied because the story is being told from one person’s perspective. So, instead of telling us that she recognized something, show us how the thing appeared familiar to her) the trace of chilling menace that limped up my spine, congealing my blood into ice. This primitive instinct, like a sixth sense, always hit me whenever the shadows appeared. (The last sentence repeats a lot of the sentiments from the first. Is it possible to combine the two? For example: When they showed up this morning, the chilling menace limped up my spine and congealed my blood into ice. Just like they’ve always done.)

I’d been writing an essay for my English class on my deepest fears. On the floor near the desk lay my other crumbled (crumpled? Crumbled implies her other attempts are disintegrating into crumbs) attempts. I wasn’t thrilled by the assignment (this is implied by the other attempts littering her floor :) ). Most of my friends were writing about their fear of not getting into a good college or asked to the prom. Me? I wrote about Nyctophobia, an irrational fear of the dark. (it takes a good amount of bravery to discuss the things we fear deeply, so this is a bit conflicting. Unless she’s ready to deal with that fear, facing it head on and moving past it, I can’t see her choosing this topic. A more realistic response might be that she feels she ought to write about it, but is too afraid to.)

I stood up, scanning all the dim corners of the room. My gut clenched tight. Then I got on my hands and knees to check under the bed. Nothing. The closet door stood open a crack. I wavered, shoulders hitching.

Dragging myself toward the closet, I pushed the door open with my foot. The overhead light revealed nothing unusual. Why was I feeling so freaked? (little bit of conflicting info here—above, she’s telling us that she recognized the chilling menace as what happens whenever the shadows appeared, but here she’s not sure. This act of her questioning herself and searching the room has more tension than the earlier statement of the chilling menace and congealing blood, so perhaps keep this one instead?)

Chill out, Serenity. I told myself it was just a case of overactive imagination when a rush on the edge of my skin made me shiver.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I’d forgotten to keep my telekinetic shield up. Again. (interesting twist...)

A maelstrom of shadows caught my peripheral vision (this is implied since the story is told through her eyes, so we know everything is going to come through her senses—it’s also telling. Instead of telling us that she caught something in her peripheral vision, show us how they caught her attention). They murmured in an ancient language, covering the white carpet like an opaque stain. Within the inky blobs were glittering dots. Crimson eyes. Open and staring. Spiny obsidian fingers reached out to grab my ankles--anthracite things with darkling eyes, feeding off my fear, doled out like so much bitter candy. (this is a perfect opportunity to show us her fear. How does it grasp her? How does it affect her? The focus of this scene is external—the way the shadows look and move. But, since she’s got an irrational fear of the dark, we need to feel her fear here. It should be thick and palpable, and the reader needs to feel his own heart beating and throat closing right along with her. Show those feelings to us)

Behind me, the floorboards creaked beneath the worn carpet.

I glanced over my shoulder--and froze.

An amorphous darkness crept along the wall, different from the others (how is it different? I know it’s has no form, but how does it move? What differentiates it from the others?). The malevolent shape slithered closer, swirling in front of my wide eyes. As though the dark had come alive and coalesced while I watched, taking on form--human form (seems like this description would come after the next few sentences?). The figure pulsated like a nimbus of crude oil, growing until it nearly reached the ceiling. Muscles stretching over bones, skin twitching, a resurrection of glittering obsidian, smooth and razor-sharp, created out of darkness, out of shadows. It throbbed, altered, trickled into limbs, and flesh and...

Oh, God, the thing was almost touching me. I yelped and stumbled back, bumping into a chair. My heartbeat roared in my ears. He wasn’t a shadow. He wasn’t a ghost. Darkness Incarnate. A big bad evil. Whatever. (this is good—it gives us her thoughts and some of her reaction to this shadow taking a human shape in her bedroom. We need more. Someone who has a phobia would have a violently emotional reaction to this. Heck, even a normal person would have a violently emotional reaction to this. :) Especially if it’s the first time she’s seeing it. If you took this much deeper, your story will grab your readers by the throat and demand that they keep reading. And they will, because they won’t be able to help themselves. :) )

I shook my head hoping the image would fade away. The headshake didn’t make a difference. Only confirmed my worst nightmare…

Darkness had become corporal and was standing in my purple bedroom. (be careful with these last two paragraphs because statements like these can sometimes come across as cliché. This kind of sounds like a chapter ending, except we’re still in the middle of a scene and at the start of some pretty serious excitement. So I’m not sure this works here. Perhaps take us directly into the confrontation instead? I’m guessing there will be a confrontation, seeing as there’s no clear escape for Serenity. Which is a very good thing. :) )
***

So? What did you all think? I thought this was great. With a little more depth, it could be amazing...

500 Word Critique: MG ghost story

It's been a while, but someone else has decided they'd like to offer up 500 words for critique.  It's the beginning of a middle grade ghost story, a prologue and part of the first chapter.

I have kept the author anonymous, and given my reactions to the story. The green text in parentheses are my comments.


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Prologue
The smell of death encompassed the room (What does death smell like? I know this is a hard thing to pin down, but it has to smell like something to this character, and if he/she can convey it to the reader, then we'll feel that much closer to the story). My legs felt like cement. Fear was stopping my every move (these two sentences actually say the same thing--perhaps combine?). My first thought was to run towards the door. I know the threatening one (this reads like a name or title; if so, it needs to be capitalized) is here, I just don’t see it. The smell lets me know as it looms closer (how does the smell change as the entity gets closer? Does it get stronger? Does it smell like something else? These details will heighten the tension and bring the reader closer to the story). Darkness surrounds the threatening one.

Terror gripped my senses and felt like it would never release me (instead of telling us that terror has an unrelenting grip on the character, show us how terror feels to this person--people experience it differently, so we need to know how it feels to this particular person). I tried to raise my hand in front of me to feel through the darkness, but I was concerned that I would run into the threatening one.

Whispers filled the air. It is closer and ready for attack (can s/he feel it coming? Where does s/he feel it? Tingles along the spine? Skin crawling? Paralysis? Show us the clues that let him/her know the entity is closer). A slinking sound behind me made me realize my existence would soon be over (for most people, a survival instinct would kick in—this makes it sound like s/he has given up). My thoughts were paralyzed with fear. I felt somewhat relieved that I couldn’t see its’ (its--no apostrophe) face. Prayer and hope were my only escape. Did anyone know that I was trapped in the prison of bitterness with a vengeful thing? The threatening one is protecting what it feels belongs to it. I want to protect those I love. (this is interesting, but a bit confusing—how does the character know the threatening one is vengeful, yet protecting something at the same time? Those two emotions don’t usually go together, so it’s intriguing. But perhaps make the situation a bit clearer as to how the character knows about them)

I heard the threatening one make a deep breathing sound (how does it sound? Show us so we can experience it with the character) as it crept even closer. Would someone wake me up (oh, I didn’t realize s/he was sleeping...or is s/he?)? I screamed in my head. I can’t continue like this (how old is this person? It sounds like an adult speaking)! My breathing was becoming slower and the room was closing in.

Silence filled the air. I stood motionless knowing this could be the end. Tears wanted to stream down my face as my eyes shut tightly (the POV is first person, but this sounds a bit like third—as in, from the outside looking in, not how the character is feeling on the inside). This is not how my life was supposed to end. “Tell my friends I love them,” was my last thought. (so, how does this person die? And how does it feel? Is it a brutal murder, or does his/her heart just stop? And how does that feel? These details will give us more insight into the character and the situation, and we’ll be able to feel the experience right along with him/her. It also increases tension and keeps the reader on the edge of his seat)

Chapter 1
“Don’t believe what people say about your house, Lauren,” I heard someone whisper. (this is a perfect place to work in the name of the protagonist—we’ll make a quicker connection, and also know she’s a girl)

“What? What about my house?” My eyes stare straight ahead.

“Oh, nothing. You’ll see.” (who spoke? An adult? A kid? A crazy homeless person? Knowing where this information comes from will help us know how much credence to lend to it. And also seeing the character’s reaction to that person will color our judgment, too, in favor of the main character)

I froze in the spot, afraid to move. A chill collected in the middle of my upper spine then shot down my entire back. There in front of me is my new home, looking like it was beckoning me to come inside. Was this house really smiling at me? Seriously, it looked just like the house was smiling (this sentence has a lot of great voice). It was a huge white two story Civil war type antebellum home. I swear it had to have been built in 1800 (that specific year? Or in the 1800’s?). I had a good sense of things about me and I didn’t have a good feeling about this. The smile on the house’s face was not a welcoming one, but one of “I dare you to come in” kind of look. Somehow this house reminded me of the smile on the Cheshire cat. (this is a great reaction to the house, and I think it would have a greater impact on the reader if we got this first—before the general statement that the house seemed to be smiling. The ‘Cheshire cat’ grin paints a specific and vivid image, but a general ‘smile’ can be interpreted in multiple ways. I’d jump right into the Cheshire cat.)

A big balcony with two large French doors looked like it was protecting the 2nd floor. A shadow cascaded across the entrance. I look around (nine times out of ten, sentences like “I looked...” are not necessary. We assume the character is looking around because she then reports what she sees, so it’s not necessary to tell us that she looks around). Wonder who that is, I thought. Must be one of the movers, I hoped. (not sure her thoughts are necessary here—we’re in her head already with the sentence ‘Must be one of the movers,’ and the ‘I hoped’ sounds like you’re trying too hard to create tension. The assumption that the shadow is from one of the movers has already planted the seed of suspicion in the reader’s head)

There were trees surrounding the house, which made its appearance look dark. I did like the balcony though because I couldn’t wait to sit there and read. In front, just like most antebellum homes, there were four huge pillars. I waited to see if Scarlett O’Hara would come walking outside. Maybe, hopefully, with nice landscaping it won’t be so gruesome looking. Where was the new house I thought I was going to have? Oh, there are shade trees, but what were my parents thinking???? (only one question mark is needed)

Overall comments:
This is intriguing! I think this is a great setup to a ghost story, and if we were a bit closer to the main character, it would be even better. We need to know more of what Lauren is thinking. But, what she thinks needs to be sharp and concise. If she’s saying the same thing three different ways, it’s going to frustrate the reader.


Watch out for your verb tenses—there are places where you switch from past to present and back. I’ve highlighted the places where you’ve slipped into present tense.


The prologue above is written in first person, and so is your first chapter. The implication here is that these two are the same characters. I’m guessing they’re not, though, so switching the prologue to third person might differentiate it better. It would also let us know whether the prologue’s character is male or female—and that will help us to better identify with him/her.
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Thanks to the author for stepping up and sending in your work!!

As for all of you reading, what did you think? Do you agree with me? Disagree? Did I miss anything? Please weigh in with your comments!

If you would like your work posted here for critique, then send me 500 words from anywhere in your story. Or, feel free to send a query for critique.
tabwriter at gmail.com