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| Photo credit: ysksmz on Flickr |
It’s nearly September and despite my extra long summer, I’m still not emotionally ready to go back to school. But! End of the month means it’s time for the next fixing the first page critique, so yay!
As per usual, I'll start by posting the full first 250 excerpt, after which I'll share my overall thoughts, then my redline critique. I encourage you guys to share your own thoughts and critiques in the comments (I'm just one person with one opinion!), as long as it's polite, thoughtful, and constructive. Any rude or mean comments will be unceremoniously deleted.
Let’s go!
Title: SWIM
Genre/Category: YA Contemporary
First 250:
"I learned how to swim before I learned how to walk.
That’s what they do, when you’re born a couple of blocks from the beach. They teach you young.
And I swear I still remember it.
My father’s hands, big and warm on my sides, suddenly gone.
That moment of freefall, of panic—I can’t do this—
And then—
Legs kicking, arms flailing, but swimming, really swimming on my own. The tang of the sea on my tongue. Emerging gasping, coughing, into sea spray and sunlight. Grinning so big I thought I’d never stop.
The joy of it all.
I dream about it, sometimes. I smile in my sleep.
And then I remember.
Remember why I don’t swim anymore.
I stop smiling.
I wake up.
Chapter One
The spring of my senior year in high school, my mother brought a kitchen knife into the bathtub with her.
She didn’t cut deep enough, not nearly, they said. But she’d been drinking, and she lost enough blood to pass out. Her head slipped under the water, and if her neighbor hadn’t found her, she would have drowned.
I wasn’t with her. No one was. My parents divorced when I was in the seventh grade, and I moved away with my dad.
We sat in the hospital waiting room, my dad and I, not speaking.
The doctor suggested that after she was released from the psychiatric ward, it might be a good idea for someone to live with her for a little while."
Okay! So, very first thought: we don't need the prologue. I'm guessing it's there to try to be a little foreboding with the protagonist (who...reads as a girl to me? But it's not specified) remembering why they don't swim anymore. But honestly, I don't feel like we're getting information that's vital to know on page one—I'm assuming the swim thing is going to come up again, considering the title, and I think the same information could probably be conveyed later on throughout the prose. On a smaller note, there are also
way too many single-sentence paragraphs in the prologue bit—remember, the more you use a stylistic writing effect (like a single sentence/word paragraph), the less impact it has.
As far as the opening for the first chapter goes, starting with so much exposition is a little risky. The first line I think could work—it's definitely attention grabbing—but I don't really feel like I'm
there with the protagonist because the whole opening of the chapter is being summarized. I think it'd be more effective if we slipped into the protagonist's POV and saw the scene start to play out sooner.
Now for the in-line notes:
"I learned how to swim before I learned how to walk. That’s what they do, After all, when you’re born a couple of blocks from the beach,. T they teach you young.
And I swear I still remember it. Any way you could transition into the next paragraph without using the filter ("remember")?
My father’s hands, big and warm on my sides, suddenly gone.
That moment of freefall, of panic—I can’t do this— Aand then—
Legs kicking, arms flailing, but swimming, really swimming on my own. The tang of the sea on my tongue. Emerging gasping, coughing, into sea spray and sunlight. Grinning so big I thought I’d never stop.
The joy of it all.
I dream about it, sometimes. I smile in my sleep.
And then I remember. Remember why I don’t swim anymore.
I stop smiling.
I wake up.
Reading this a second time now, I'm about 99% sure I'd cut this if I were editing.
Chapter One
The spring of my senior year in high school, my mother brought a kitchen knife into the bathtub with her. Nice first line.
She didn’t cut deep enough, not nearly, they said. But she’d been drinking, and she lost enough blood to pass out. Her head slipped under the water, and if her neighbor hadn’t found her, she would have drowned.
I wasn’t with her. No one was. My parents divorced when I was in the seventh grade, and I moved away with my dad.
We sat in the hospital waiting room, my dad and I, not speaking.
The doctor suggested that after she was released from the psychiatric ward, it might be a good idea for someone to live with her for a little while. This could be a good spot to transition to playing the scene out—with an actual line of dialogue of the doctor saying exactly that. Or you could transition right before this by getting into your protagonist's head as they sit next to their dad in the silent room. How do they feel? What thoughts are running through their head? Is the awkward silence something normal for them and their dad? How long has it been since they've seen their mom? This is all stuff you could give us in your protagonist's POV that could help us connect to your MC."
Okay, so you'll notice there aren't a whole lot of line edits here, and that's because the writing itself works for the most part—I'd just recommend being careful to vary your paragraph and sentence length, because I'm seeing a lot of short paragraphs and sentences right from the start. The main issue I'm seeing here, however, is what I mentioned above—the prologue feels unnecessary to me (and, to be honest, I don't think it's as good a hook as the first sentence of chapter one anyway) and I'm not connecting to the protagonist because all I'm getting here is exposition.
I think if those adjustments are made, this could be a really powerful opening with some very emotional content right up front. But as is, if I saw this in the slush, I'd pass.
I hope this helps! Thanks for sharing your first 250 with us, Mary Kate!
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Twitter-sized bite:
.@Ava_Jae talks exposition and varying sentence/paragraph length in the 14th Fixing the First Page critique. (Click to tweet)
