What are some ways to be a good critique partner? @Ava_Jae breaks it down in today's vlog. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: gwen on Flickr |
"The veil between the living and the dead has always fascinated me and is much thinner than you might think. My mother spoke often of this doorway, especially at the end of October during Dia de Muertos, the time of year when our deceased loved ones return to the world of the living for a short time. We welcome them back with altars filled with photos, marigolds, incense and their favorite foods and drink.
I always imagined the veil to be something I could feel, like fine silk slipping through my fingers. One day I told her this, and she laughed kindly.
'No, Lana, it isn’t an actual curtain. No one can see it or feel it.'
'Then how do we know it exists?'
'Faith,' was all she said.
But she turned out to be wrong because the time came when I could see the veil. Eventually I could also touch it with enough concentration. Far more beautiful than I had imagined, it was silvery, gossamer and soft with a pattern so intricate I don’t possess the words to describe it properly. I’ve often wondered what would happen if I tried to cross over. Would I be able to make it back since I’m still alive?
There’s no one to ask.
Neither of my parents know I have this gift. After what my mom told me, I don’t think she’d believe me. Then I might end up no longer believing and fear I’d lose this ability. So for now, it’s my secret."
"The veil between the living and the deadhas always fascinated me andis much thinner than you'dmightthink. Adjusted to cut down on wordiness and condense to the heart of the sentence. My mother spoke often of this doorway, especiallyat the end of Octoberduring Dia de los Muertos,the time of yearwhen our deceased loved ones return to the world of the living for a short time. We welcome them back with altars filled with photos, marigolds, incense and their favorite foods and drink.
I always imagined the veil to be something I could feel, like fine silk slipping through my fingers. One day I told her this, and she laughed kindly.
'No, Lana, it isn’t an actual curtain. No one can see it or feel it.'
'Then how do we know it exists?'
'Faith,' was all she said.
But sheturned out to bewas wrong becausethe time came whenafter a while I could see the veil. Eventually I could also touch it with enough concentration.Far more beautiful thanIthad imagined, itwas silvery, gossamer and soft with a beautifully patternso intricate I don’t possess the words to describe it properly.I’ve often wonderedwWhat would happen if I tried to cross over?.Most of the cuts I've suggested so far have been to decrease wordiness, but this one in particular was to remove filtering (wondered). Would I be able to make it back since I’m still alive?
There’s no one to ask.
Neither of my parents know I have this gift. After whatmymom told me, I don’t think she’d believe me. Then I might end up no longer believing andfear I’dlose this ability. So for now, it’s my secret."
.@Ava_Jae talks wordiness, exposition and more in the 37th Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: clarkmaxwell on Flickr |
How do you know when you're ready for critique? @Ava_Jae shares some thoughts. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: Thomas Hawk on Flickr |
"I don't understand why anyone writes in the present tense," said one person. "It doesn't make sense to me. You're writing a story that already happened, so how can it be happening NOW?"
"Your tone is too conversational," said another. "Like a kid talking."
"I hate the first person," said a third.
Working w/ CPs is important but @wandrlstywriter talks abt why working w/ the *right* CPs is essential. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: mynameisgeebs on Flickr |
"I took deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.
You can do it. You have to do it.
One more breath, two, three…
It was early morning, but I still glanced around to make sure the street was empty. Not that many people lived in the area either way. I was surprised when I was informed I had to wait on that spot. In any case, the roof of an abandoned two-story building was the perfect hiding place.
The air was calm and cool, oblivious to my state of mind. I was glad no one would ever notice this moment of weakness. I wasn’t afraid of a technical failure, but of an emotional one. Failing though was something I never allowed to myself.
A man appeared in the corner of the street, starting me out of my thoughts. I studied him carefully. Around 40, tall and thin with a receding brown hairline. The description fitted. For the last hour, I had half wished he wouldn’t appear, almost hoped he would choose another street or time. But that was not my lucky day and definitely not his.
He looked around him once or twice, but other than that, he looked certain no one was watching him.
No one but me. I tried to swallow my fear and resisted the urge to close my eyes.
Just do it already.
One more breath. And I pulled the trigger of my rifle.
Less than a second later, the man was lying motionless on the pavement."
"I took deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.
You can do it. You have to do it.
One more breath, two, three…
It was early morning, but I still glanced around to make sure the street was empty. Not that many people lived in the area either way. I was surprised when I was informed I had to wait on that spot. A few things about this sentence: first, this would be a good place to give us more information—when who told her to wait there? And why was she surprised? What's different about this particular case? In any case, the roof of an abandoned two-story building was the perfect hiding place.
The air was calm and cool, oblivious to my state of mind. As a reader, right now I'm also oblivious to her state of mind. :) Which is to say, this would be a good spot to give us a glimpse! What is she feeling right now? It'd be good to show those emotions before she comments on her weakness, because otherwise we're not really seeing much of anything that could qualify as "weakness." I was glad no one would ever notice this moment of weakness. I wasn’t afraid of a technical failure, butofan emotional one. What would qualify as an "emotional failure"? And what are the consequences if she has one? We need to know the stakes to really understand why this matters to her—and why it should matter to us.Failing though was somethingI never allowedtomyself to fail.
A man appeared in the corner of the street, starting me out of my thoughts. I studied him carefully. Around40forty, tall and thin with a receding brown hairline. The description fitted. For the last hour, I'dhadhalf wished he wouldn’t appear, almost hoped he'dwouldchoose another street or time. Why does she wish that? If she has to do this, why would she want him not to show? Butthatit wasn'tnotmy lucky day and definitely wasn'tnothis.
He looked aroundhimonce or twice, probably making surecertainno one was watchinghim. A couple reasons for this adjustment: firstly, I'm trying to make her sound more like a teen (sure versus certain, for example). Secondly this is her perspective, so I'm clarifying that this is what she thinks he's thinking. And third, rather than telling you to try to describe what "sure no one is looking" looks like, I think it's easier (and more effective) to adjust the sentiment a bit and say he's looking around for this reason rather than he looks like he's sure no one is looking. But if you prefer the latter, feel free—just describe what that looks like, rather than stating that's how he looks.
No one but me. I tried to swallow my fear and resisted the urge to close my eyes. Okay, so rather than stating she's scared, it'd be much more effective to describe how that fear physically affects her and show it reflected in her thoughts. I wrote a post a while back on writing emotion effectively that you might find helpful with this.
Just do it already.
One more breath. And I pulled the triggerof my rifle.
Less than a second later, the manwaslayingmotionless on the pavement."
.@Ava_Jae talks stakes, showing emotion, and more in the 33rd Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: AnToonz on Flickr |
"It’s not the moment your life collapses that’s the worst part.
It’s what comes after.
When you wake up from the nightmare to find out that it wasn’t, unfortunately, a nightmare, but your life, and you have to go on living it.
So this is me, approximately three months after my life ends and I have to start it all over again:
Sitting like a taut wire at the edge of one of those red velvet, deceptively uncomfortable auditorium seats, while on the stage a tiny Asian boy with skin issues is eking out Hamlet’s soliloquy.
“What dreams may come,” he squeaks, “When we have shuffled off this mortal coil—”
Which sounds exactly what I’d like to be doing right about now.
My knuckles are white. My intestines have tied themselves up into a knot and are currently trying to escape through my throat. I’m two people away from my audition. Some people have sucked, like this kid, but most have been pretty good.
And me? I’ve never done this before. But if we’re going to base this on my high school endeavors to date, I’m placing my bets on the “suck” end of the spectrum.
I could just get up and leave. I should just get up and leave.
But that would be admitting defeat. To Mom. To Vicky. To myself.
This was my last great idea. I’m out of options.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I love plays. Especially Shakespeare. Especially Hamlet."
"It’s not the moment your life collapses that’s the worst part. It’s what comes after. When you wake up from the nightmare to find out that it wasn’t, unfortunately, a nightmare, but your life, and you have to go on living it. Suggest making this one paragraph because I can already see you use short paragraphs a lot and "It's what comes after" doesn't really stand well on its own, and as a whole it makes more sense with all three together.
So this is me, approximately three months after my life ends and I have to start it all over again:
Sitting like a taut wire at the edge of one of those red velvet, deceptively uncomfortable auditorium seats, while on the stage a tiny Asian boy withskin issuespimples is eking out Hamlet’s soliloquy. Love the imagery in the bolded. I'd squeeze more in this first page if you could—not in this paragraph, but overall.
“What dreams may come,” he squeaks, “When we have shuffled off this mortal coil—”
Which sounds exactly what I’d like to be doing right about now. Heh, this is a line that sounds very teenagery and snarky and I like it.
My knuckles are white. My intestineshaveare tiedthemselves upinto a knot andare currentlytrying to escape through my throat. I’m two people away from my audition. Some people have sucked, like this kid, but most have been pretty good.
And me? I’ve never done this before. But if we’re going to base this on my high school endeavors to date, "Endeavors" isn't really a word teens (or even most adults to be honest) use casually. Switch this out with something more casual. I’mplacing mybettingson the “suck” end of the spectrum.
I could just get up and leave. I should just get up and leave. But that would be admitting defeat. To Mom. To Vicky. To myself. These work better as a paragraph together, IMO.
This was my last great idea. I’m out of options.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I love plays. Especially Shakespeare. Especially Hamlet."
.@Ava_Jae talks voice, stylistic writing effects, and more in the 32nd Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: Javier Vieras on Flickr |
"Three days into June and she was still wearing long sleeves and jeans.
Addy sighed, eying the rain-dampened pavement outside with blatant disdain. Summer was always slow to hit Canada, but this year even spring was taking its sweet time. 'It’s a cruel joke,' she told the little unicorn bobble-head stuck to the dashboard of her beat-up gold Intrepid. He nodded in agreement as she reached up to pull the car’s sun visor down. She had always been a summer girl, through and through, and this weather was crushing her soul.
Oh well. She’d have enough time to complain about it once she was properly made-up and inside the station.
The visor’s mirror only proved that she looked just as exhausted as she felt; not even the extra large coffee she’d purchased was going to save her. It would definitely have been wiser to make the four-hour drive home from the cottage the night before.
Missing sleep was among her least favourite things in the world, but it was worth it. She could live with one day of caffeine jitters and sleep-deprived misery if it meant she got to spend even a few extra hours with Dad and her big sister Alexis. She loved her family more than anything, and living across the border from them was the only genuine complaint she had about her life.
After applying a quick coat of lipstick and mascara, Addy took a moment to evaluate her quickie makeup job. 'Nope,' she sighed. 'Still look like a corpse.'"
"Three days into June and she was still wearing long sleeves and jeans.
Addy sighed,eyingglaring at the rain-dampened pavement outsidewith blatant disdain. You don't have to use that phrasing exactly, of course, but I tweaked the sentence to show her disdain with an action (glaring) rather than saying she's looking with disdain. Summer was always slow to hit Canada, but this year even spring was taking its sweet time. 'It’s a cruel joke,' she told the little unicorn bobble-head stuck to the dashboard of her beat-up gold Intrepid. He noddedin agreementas shereached up topulled thecar’ssun visor down. Condensed that sentence some. She'dhadalways been a summer girl, through and through, and this weather was crushing her soul.
Oh well. She’d have enough time to complain about it once she was properly made-up and inside the station.
The visor’s mirror only provedthatshe looked just as exhausted as she felt; not eventheher extra large coffeeshe’d purchasedwas going to save her. It would definitely have been wiser to make the four-hour drive home from the cottage the night before.
Missing sleep was among her least favourite things in the world, but it was worth it. She could live with one day of caffeine jitters and sleep-deprived misery if it meant she got to spend even a few extra hours with Dad and her big sister Alexis. She loved her family more than anything, and living across the border from them wastheher only genuine life complaintshe had about her life.
After applying aquickcoat of lipstick and mascara, Addy took a moment to evaluate her quickie makeup job. Took out quick because the speed is implied with "quickie makeup job" and you don't need to say quick twice. 'Nope,' she sighed. 'Still look like a corpse.'" I like that last line. :)
.@Ava_Jae talks wordiness, adding early tension, and more in the 29th Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: mine |
"Only one thing could make me leave my house for the first time in two years—the promise of revenge. The vague message I’d received via email had been just a hint, but the opportunity had sounded too sweet to resist.
Hell Here at 10. No more.
Bundled against the driving snow in a wool coat and gloves, I marched down the sidewalk in front of my house. The brutal Iceland wind whipped my collar into my chin and spiked frozen needles through the leather on my hands. My loud, crunchy footsteps through the knee-high snowdrifts beat a laborious rhythm at the back of my skull. I was used to dead silence contained within four walls, not this eternal winter bullshit.
By the time Hell Here’s neon lights strobed behind the falling snow, I quickened my pace. Despite the harsh weather, the arctic air fanned the vengeful fire that burned in my gut into a raging storm.
I grinned, possibly a little too maniacally, because a couple coming up the sidewalk skirted wide. I eased up the shoveled path toward the thick wooden door of Hell Here and mistakenly made a grab at the handle. Pain stabbed into my hand and flared red across my vision. An anguished cry ripped from my mouth and lost itself in the wind. I backed away, gripping my palm to my middle, while tears iced my cheeks. Thankfully, no one stood around to see that nonsense.
A burly man knocked his way out the door, and I slid by him into the crowded bar."
"Only one thing could make me leave my house for the first time in two years—the promise of revenge. Interesting opening. I'm curious. The vague message I’d received via email had been just a hint, but the opportunity had sounded too sweet to resist. Here's my second issue with the e-mail: your protagonist mentions the opportunity sounds too good to resist, but the e-mail is so vague that no opportunity is mentioned. So if your protagonist knows what opportunity this is referring to, the readers should know too.
Hell Here at 10. No more.
Bundled against the driving snow in a wool coat and gloves, I marched down the sidewalk in front of my house. The brutal Iceland wind whipped my collar into my chin and spiked frozen needles through the leather on my hands. Great imagery here. My loud, crunchy footsteps through the knee-high snowdrifts beat a laborious rhythm at the back of my skull. "Laborious rhythm" doesn't sound to me like something anyone would say casually—and it throws off the flow to me (which is ironic, because it's talking about rhythm). I was used to dead silencecontainedwithin four walls, not this eternal winter bullshit. Nice voice.
By the timeHell Here’s neon lights strobed behind the falling snow,; I quickened my pace. Adjusted because "by the time" indicates something happened by the time they reach the place. Right now it sounds like you're saying when they see the lights they speed up. Despite the harsh weather, the arctic air fanned the vengeful fire that burned in my gut into a raging storm. See note on this below.
I grinned, possibly a little too maniacally, because a couple coming up the sidewalk skirted wide. I eased up the shoveled path toward the thick wooden door of Hell Here and mistakenly made a grab at the handle. Pain stabbed into my hand and flared red across my vision. An anguishedcry ripped from my mouth and lost itself in the wind. I backed away, gripping my palm to my middle, while tears iced my cheeks. Lovely detail. I've had this happen IRL and it is a bizarre thing to experience. Thankfully, no one stood around to see that nonsense.
A burly man knocked his way out the door, and I slid by him into the crowded bar."
.@Ava_Jae talks deepening POV, great imagery and more in the 28th Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: acevvedo on Flickr |
Struggling after getting a tough manuscript critique? @Ava_Jae shares some steps for taking critique. (Click to tweet)
How do you digest a tough critique? Author @Ava_Jae shares some steps. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: archer10 (Dennis) OFF on Flickr |
"The entire throne room was filled to bursting, elves in every row, some even filling the spaces between seats and walls. The day the king banished his own daughter was not a day to miss.
But Eriia didn’t see the elves in the seats, high above her and behind. She saw only the two thrones before her, one empty and the other with the tall, imposing figure of her father. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, she really didn’t. She had just wanted to prove to her father that she was good enough, so she wove a spell to light a candle, something Ileon had been doing since he was five. Now he was eleven and could make fire into shapes, dancing dragons and flowers and things Eriia couldn’t even name, and she was nine and set the Hanging Castle on fire, because she had no control.
'Eriia,' her father’s voice boomed. He wouldn’t even call her a princess anymore. 'You’ve become quite the spectacle to this family.'
'Father, I—' she tried to say, but King Cepheus held up a hand and a frown.
'You destroyed part of the castle. You’re lucky no one was hurt, but our poor Queen is sick in bed from the smoke. Do you realize what you’ve done?'
'Father, I’m—'
'You’ve always been a menace, causing trouble since you were young.'
Hot tears welled up in Eriia’s eyes. She hadn’t meant to make trouble. Trouble just always found her.
'Where’s mother?' Eriia looked up at her father, 'Where’s mama? Does she know?'"
"The entire throne room was filled to bursting, elves in every row, some even filling the spaces between seats and walls. The day the king banished his own daughter was not a day to miss. Nice.
But Eriia didn’t see the elves in the seats, high above her and behind. She saw only the two thrones before her, one empty and the other with the tall, imposing figure of her father. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, she really didn’t. She had just wanted to prove to her father that she was good enough, so she wove a spell to light a candle, something Ileon had been doing since he was five. This is a great detail and gives us some nice, subtle world building and tells us she has a brother (or I'm assuming, anyway). Now he was eleven and could make fire into shapes, dancing dragons and flowers and things Eriia couldn’t even name,.
andsShe was nine and set the Hanging Castle on fire, because she had no control. Moved this down a line to give it more punch. :)
'Eriia,' her father’s voice boomed. He wouldn’t even call her a princess anymore. This is also a great detail to bring attention to. 'You’ve become quite the spectacle to this family.'
'Father, I—'she tried to say, butKing Cepheus held up a hand andafrowned. Adjusted both because we don't need the dialogue tag (we know she's speaking because "Father") and also "a frown" sounds like "he held up a frown" which is not what you meant. :)
'You destroyed part of the castle. You’re lucky no one was hurt, but our poor Queen is sick in bed from the smoke. Do you realize what you’ve done?'
I recommend inserting some of Eriia's emotions and thoughts in here. We have her external responses (dialogue) but until two lines from here we don't really get any internal reactions at all, and I think they'd help. This must be a really emotional scene for her, so where are her emotions? 'Father, I’m—'
'You’ve always been a menace, causing trouble since you were young.'
Hot tears welled up in Eriia’s eyes. She hadn’t meant to make trouble. Trouble just always found her. This is a great paragraph and makes me sad, which is good because I'm connecting emotionally with your protagonist.
'Where’s mother?' Eriia looked up at her father, 'Where’s mama? Does she know?'"
.@Ava_Jae talks prologues, description, internal emotion and more in the 27th Fixing the First Page Feature. (Click to tweet)
Looking for a critique partner? Now you can find one at @Ava_Jae's first Meet Your CP event. (Click to tweet)
Ready to work with CPs but don't know where to find some? @Ava_Jae vlogs about 4 places to find CPs. (Click to tweet)
 |
| Photo credit: University of Central Arkansas on Flickr |
"I need coffee.
The rich smell from the campus coffee stand, across the plaza from my table, drags my mind from my last minute cramming. I set my screen down and lean back in my chair, pulling my coppery hair into a ponytail. The thick strands refuse to cooperate, but finally I wrestle them into a hairband. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back to let the sun warm my face. The golden rays caress my skin, though I know the danger those rays hold.
Yawning, I pick up the screen and scroll back to the beginning of the document to start again. The heading jumps out at me. Midterm Notes - March 17, 2107 - 11AM. I glance at my wrist to check the time on my phone. 10:37 AM. Not long now. The battery blinks red, and I sigh, detaching the phone from my wristlet. I forgot to charge it after classes yesterday, so now I unfold the phone’s panels and spread them to soak up the sunlight. The small solar panels sparkle, sending pinpricks of light scattering across my arms and face.
My eyes follow the familiar words as I reread the study guide, mouthing them silently. This midterm is one of the last hoops I have to jump through at Dasset Prep before I graduate and secure a job at the Environmental Impact Agency, where I’m an intern. I stayed up late last night to cram, even though I’ve been studying for weeks, but my stomach still twists as the test approaches.
Laughter from the table next to mine breaks my concentration, and I look up to see a group of students from my class."
"I need coffee.
The rich smell from the campus coffee stand, across the plaza from my table, drags my mind from my last-minute cramming. I set my screen down and lean back in my chair,pullingwrestling my thick, coppery hair into a ponytail (I'm combining the next sentence with this one to condense a bit).The thick strands refuse to cooperate, but finally I wrestle them into a hairband.Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back to let the sun warm my face. The golden rays caress my skin—dangerous, but [insert reason why she's sunbathing anyway]., though I know the danger those rays hold.I'm suggesting this adjustment to remove the filter phrase of "I know."
Yawning, I pick up the screen and scroll back to the beginning of the documentto startagain:.The heading jumps out at me.Midterm Notes - March 17, 2107 - 11AM. Clever way to get the date in. I glance at my wrist to check the time on my phone. 10:37 AM. Not long now. Okay, so the main thing I'm missing from your protagonist right now is emotion. How does she feel about her upcoming test? Nervous? Excited? Eager to get it over with? Apathetic? Whatever the answer is, I want to feel something from your protagonist to get a better read on what's going on—but right now it's unclear how your protagonist feels about this test. The battery blinks red, and I sigh, detaching the phone from my wristlet. I forgot to charge it after classes yesterday, so now I unfold the phone’s panels and spread them to soak up the sunlight. The small solar panels sparkle, sending pinpricks of light scattering across my arms and face. Cool! But what does this feel like?
Myeyesgaze follow the familiar words as I reread the study guide, mouthing them silently(nitpicky, but her eyes aren't actually going anywhere). This midterm is one of the last hoops I have to jump through at Dasset Prep before I graduate and secure a job at the Environmental Impact Agency, where I’m an intern. Okay, that's fine, but is that what she wants? Again, I'm not really sure how she feels about any of this. I stayed up late last night to cram, even though I’ve been studying for weeks, but my stomach still twists as the test approaches. Good! This is what I'm talking about when I say I want to see hints of emotion from her—now just add a lot more in so we can read her emotions from the start.
Laughter from the table next to mine breaks my concentration, and Ilook up to see aglance at the group of students from my class (made this adjustment to remove the filtering of "see")."
.@Ava_Jae talks deepening character POV, filter phrases, and more in the 24th Fixing the First Page critique. (Click to tweet)
