Edit: tight writing, but is this the right opening?

Carla sent the opening of her novel for a once-over. Think about what you would tell this writer as you read through it.

"But I need -- no, thank you. Yes, I understand. Okay then. Okay. Yes. Thank you. Good-bye." Phaidra Johnson flipped the phone closed as violently as she could manage. "Sonofabitch insurance companies," she said to the empty room. It wasn't the same as being able to bitch to someone else. "I should get a roommate." Then she remembered her ex-roomie, Michelle, who thought the refrigerator was a microbiologist's wet dream and that little fairies would arrive during the night to wash the dishes. "No, I shouldn't."

Before she could dwell on more of her ex-roommate's many faults her new neighbor, Heather, knocked on the door. Phaidra watched her through the security monitor for a moment. Another neighbor -- Phaidra thought his name was John, but she'd never stopped drooling over him long enough to find out -- walked past the camera to another apartment, his gaze on Heather until he was out of sight. "Not fair," Phaidra grumbled. John was hers, or would be if he had ever given her more than a cursory glance. And if Heather moved out of the country.

"Did you just get off work?" Phaidra asked as she opened the door.

"Yeah, we had a sick llama, so I was there all night. How'd your doctor's appointment go?" Before she could answer, Heather's face lit up in a smile and she reached out to touch Phaidra's hair. "You got your hair cut. I've always wanted to wear my hair shorter, but I'm too nervous to do it." Her own brown locks reached her waist.

Phaidra touched the straight black hair that now barely reached her shoulders. "Last job I was on, this guy used it to hold my head back so his friend could slit my throat. I thought it might be a good idea to keep it a little shorter." She liked the weight off her back, too. She hadn't had her hair this short since the time she was thirteen and her stepdad drunkenly cut it off with a steak knife.

Heather's eyes grew wide and the smile slid off her face, but all she did was repeat her question about the doctor's appointment.

"My insurance company dropped me, so I had to make another one with a non-corporate doctor for this afternoon." She stepped away from the threshold. "Do you want to come in?"

Now for the editing. Caveat: all any editor can offer is opinion -- my cuts, additions, and comments are suggestions, not facts, to be used or discarded by the writer. Additions are red, comments green, and cuts struck out.

I found very few cuts to make for tightening the narrative; Carla is a good writer and has kept out the fat. But there are other opportunities. Including deleting all of the above. But first…

"But I need -- no, thank you. Yes, I understand. Okay then. Okay. Yes. Thank you. Good-bye." Phaidra Johnson flipped the phone closed as violently as she could manage. (The last phrase doesn't give a picture to the reader. Try for images that we can visualize. For example, as a thought-starter: Phaidra Johnson slammed her cell phone shut hard enough to crack the plastic.) "Sonofabitch insurance companies," she said to the empty room. ("the empty room" doesn't evoke much of a picture. Does "the empty room" mean there's nothing in it, i.e. furniter, people, etc.? I doubt it. You can at lease place us a little better. Thought starter: …she said to her living room. The furniture didn't answer. Well, it wasn't the same as…etc.) It wasn't the same as being able to bitch to someone else. "I should get a roommate." Then she remembered (suggest "thought of" instead because "remembered" so often signals a flashback, and many readers skip them. her ex-roomie, Michelle, who thought the refrigerator was a microbiologist's wet dream and that little fairies would arrive during the night to wash the dishes. (I like the use of her humor right away.) "No, I shouldn't."

Before she could dwell on more of her ex-roommate's many faults her new neighbor, Heather, knocked on the door. Phaidra watched her through the security monitor for a moment. Another neighbor -- Phaidra thought his name was John, but she'd never stopped drooling over him long enough to find out -- walked past the camera to another apartment, his gaze on Heather until he was out of sight. "Not fair," Phaidra grumbled. John was hers, or would be if he had ever gave given her more than a cursory glance. And if Heather moved out of the country. (opportunity to give the reader more about what Heather looks like, i.e. …And if Heather and her big eyes and hot body moved out of the country. However, if Heather is not meant to be a continuing, important character, I wouldn't spend any more time than that on her, and I get the feeling that she isn't.)

"Did you just get off work?" Phaidra asked as she opened the door.

"Yeah, we (could help the reader a little if this was "the zoo" instead of we. Where I live, there are people who raise llamas, and did not associate this with a zoo. "Zebra," however, would have immediately said zoo.) had a sick llama, so I was there all night. How'd your doctor's appointment go?" Before she could answer, Heather's face lit up in a smile and she reached out to touch Phaidra's hair. "You got your hair cut. I've always wanted to wear my hair shorter, but I'm too nervous (not sure "nervous" is the right word here. this means that she hasn't done it because she's nervous. what your meaning is is that she's scared to have it cut, right?) to do it." Her own brown locks reached her waist.

Phaidra touched the straight black hair that now barely reached her shoulders. "Last job I was on, this guy used it to hold my head back so his friend could slit my throat. I thought it might be a good idea to keep it a little shorter." (while I like the "last job...slit my throat" part a lot as a way to introduce what Phaidra does, a bad guy could use shoulder-length hair in exactly the same way, so the reason she gives doesn't logically support the hair cut she got. If she doesn't want her hair grabbed in that way, it would take a much shorter cut. You could change the reason -- a thought-starter: The last job I was on a bad guy was able to catch me by my ponytail and throw me down. Had cutting my throat in mind, as I recall.) She liked the weight off her back, too. She hadn't had her hair this short since the time she was thirteen and her stepdad drunkenly cut it off with a steak knife. (nice way to slip in backstory without a flashback -- good job.)

Heather's eyes grew wide and the smile slid off her face, (not quite a cliché, but I feel sure I've seen this before. Her smile collapsed?) but all she did was repeat her question about the doctor's appointment.

"My insurance company dropped me, so I had to make another one with a non-corporate doctor ("non-corporate doctor" has no meaning for the reader, certainly not the significance you later reveal in this future world. Maybe something could be added to help it mean something. A thought starter: Phaidra wondered if the stories about the old days were true, where all doctors were pretty good, not like now where the mega-corps gobbled up all the talent.)for this afternoon." She stepped away from the threshold. "Do you want to come in?"

This opening does many things right -- some is happening, and an interesting character is introduced right away through a scene, not exposition. But, for me, what happens was not gripping. Later in the sample, the women go to a burger place and we see what the novel is really about. I used Carla's later narrative and added just a little to it to suggest the following opening. Which do you prefer?

A pleasant-looking man entered the Chesapeake Burger and edged his way through the crowd, pausing only to pat the head of a child who charged into his legs. His gaze swept the room and then paused when it hit Phaidra Johnson.

She returned the man's quiet smile, but his eyes bothered her. The guy looked wired like…like…she couldn't remember. He moved on to the counter. What the hell. She popped a French fry in her mouth and chased it with the last of her chocolate shake.

Across from her in their booth, her neighbor and new friend Heather said, "I love your haircut. I've always wanted to wear my hair shorter, but I'm scared to do it." Her brown locks reached her waist.

Phaidra touched the straight black hair that now barely reached her shoulders. "Last job I was on, a bad guy caught me by my ponytail and threw me down. Had cutting my throat in mind, as I recall. I thought it might be a good idea to keep it a little shorter." She liked the weight off her back, too. She hadn't had her hair this short since the time she was thirteen and her stepdad drunkenly cut it off with a steak knife.

Damn, that was it. The wired guy's eyes were just like the perp who'd wanted to cut her throat. She searched for him. He stood at the cashier's station.

What happens next is that Phaidra pulls a gun, stops the robbery by killing the robber. This is what she does for a living. And it's what the novel is about. That's where I'd start.

For what it's worth.

RR

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© 2005 Ray Rhamey