Flogging the Quill

Flogometer—good stuff compelled me forward

Schedule note: I've about 16 writers lined up for flogging (that really sounds weird, doesn't it?), so next week I'm going to crank up the rate of pummeling to twice a week. I'm aiming for posting on Tuesdays and Fridays. We'll see.

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The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective. Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

This is for Jessica. I think you're going to like this one. Here are the first 16 lines:

The last sound I remember before the footsteps was my pick-locks tinkling to the bottom of the pocket of the ridiculous overcoat James had made me wear. As I nudged the door shut behind me, the nighttime sounds of Miller's Court faded, leaving me in silence and the dirty glow of gaslight through curtains. I gathered the billows of tweed around me, marveling, as I tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, that I hadn't knocked anything over. James had said the coat would make me look like Sherlock Holmes, but Holmes had never had to roll up his sleeves to pick a front door lock, or hike up his coat-hems to keep from tripping into precarious towers of candles. I had come for a dog.

"Not just any dog, Ira," James had said. "What you seek is a black porcelain hound of such repugnancy that even Hugo Baskerville would have shrunk from it."

I'd agreed to fetch the thing, despite my condition, because of all he had done for me. But what the dog had to do with our blackmailer, or why I was to find it in the back room of a Whitechapel chandler's shop were questions Professor James Moriarty had yet to answer.

Instead of the candles one might have expected, the chandler's storeroom was lined with shelves, and the shelves with figurines -- hundreds of them, two and three deep in some places, each more loathsome than the last. Damnation! How was I supposed to find some misshapen porcelain cur --

What fun this opening promises, right from that enticing opening line. In just that one line Jessica has managed to raise a couple of story questions: "last sound I remember" make you wonder what happened next; pick-locks suggests thievery, but of what: and I even wondered why the ridiculous overcoat.

Jessica has managed, and managed well, to capture the six primary ingredients of a strong opening in just these 16 lines:

• Tension
• Story Questions
• Voice
• Clarity
• Scene setting
• Characterization
  

There's tension set up by the first line, as well as story questions. More story questions are raised along the way. There's mention of a blackmailer to pique my curiosity. And, for anyone familiar with the Sherlock Holmes stories, the mere mention of Professor Moriarty raises even more story questions. Excellent.

Voice is quite clear (easier in first person, I think, but still not easy). I felt I was in professional storytelling hands.

It's all clear -- well, there's one sentence I want to look at -- and flows easily. The scene is included, and characterization is happening, including one "character question:" what is Ira's "condition?"

The next page didn't disappoint: the footsteps were made by none other than Watson. The promise of a fine adventure has been made and cemented.

But this wouldn't be FtQ if there weren't a couple of nits to pick.

"ridiculous coat" While I liked the flavor of this, and it does contribute to characterization, it does nothing at all for adding to the picture. I suggest swapping the adjective or perhaps plucking something from the description that follows to suggest what we are seeing, i.e.

"the billowing, gargantuan overcoat James had made me wear."

The other primary nit is this sentence:

I gathered the billows of tweed around me, marveling, as I tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, that I hadn't knocked anything over.

I felt it was unnecessarily convoluted. Consider:

I gathered the billows of tweed around me and tiptoed toward the back room of McCarthy's shop, marveling that I didn't knock anything over.

This opening illustrates how, in the hands of a strong writer, you can open a novel with an action scene and yet sprinkle in bits and pieces of necessary backstory and exposition while still building tension. I felt no speed bumps in this narrative, yet immediately knew a lot about what was going on.

Nice, Jessica. Have you submitted this? Best of luck.

Comments, please?

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain that I refuse to do) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Book review: “The Monk’s Son”

From time to time, publishers send me books to review. When they ask first, which I prefer, I always tell them that the review will be from a storytelling and writing craft point of view, although if I like a novel I'm glad to say so.

The most recent novel I received is The Monk's Son, by W. R. Wilkerson III. The cover is beautiful, the premise -- an infant being raised in a monastery around the start of World War II -- is interesting. However, even though I've had the book for a few weeks now, I don't think I'll ever finish it. I've made myself read the first 30 pages, which is the first 3 chapters, and there is nothing to compel me forward.

Yet a blurb from the back of the book by Kirkus Reviews says things such as "the provocative descriptions anchor the tale firmly" (so far, they're turgid and overwritten) "serene prose, charged action" (in 30 pages, no action to amount to anything) "entertaining and emotionally raw" (but not in the first 3 chapters).

Update I was incorrect in citing Kirkus Reviews above. Actually, the review was from Kirkus Discoveries, a paid-review service from Kirkus Reviews. For $350, they provide "an honest, caveat-emptor evaluation, under the same impartial rubric as Kirkus Reviews." They will review self-published books, which are not accepted by Kirkus Reviews.

Is it appropriate to review a book that you haven't completely read? Well, FtQ focuses on storytelling, and my point of view is that it is an author's job to compel me to read more, to give me no excuse for putting the book down. If, in my naturally subjective view, a novel fails to do that, I figure it's fair to report on the experience.

A cautionary tale for self-publishers This review is also a caution for anyone considering self-publishing a novel, and that includes me. More on this later.

The Flogometer Test You're familiar with the Flogometer challenge: can your manuscript's first 16 lines make me turn the page? Let's give The Monk's Son the test. As it turns out, the typeset first page is pretty much the equivalent of the first 16 lines (calculated by word count) of a manuscript, plus a few. Here 'tis:

Before dawn, before the kitchen staff rose, Brother Dominic was awake. He clambered out of bed and shuffled over the cold stone floor to a plain wooden cabinet. Taking a white porcelain pitcher from a bowl on top of the cabinet, he carefully poured water into the bowl. Drowsily he splashed cold water onto his face. It was not meant to be warm but merely part of his ritual of rousing himself first thing in the morning.

Dominic toweled his face dry and brushed his teeth. Then he replaced the pitcher on top of the cabinet. The water he would dispose of later.

He opened a drawer in another part of the cabinet and extracted a clean robe. Slowly and meticulously he dressed, putting on his underwear, then his socks, and finally the brown habit that had been like a second skin for virtually most of his adult life. It was belted by a white rope studded with knots -- twelve in all -- signifying the Stations of the Cross. He lowered himself onto the pine kneeler at the foot of his bed and softly mumbled his prayers. Eyes closed in reverence, Dominic slid his rosary through practiced fingers. After more than two decades of repetition, the prayers had become more of a drone than a recitation. He made the sign of the cross neatly across his chest, then scooped up the wicker basket from the floor next to his bed and left the room.

Where do I begin? The action presented here raised no story questions whatsoever. It created no tension. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?

Signs of writing craft problems abounded:

• the use of adverbs to tell what's happening instead of showing -- he carefully poured water; he drowsily splashed; he slowly and meticulously dressed; he softly mumbled (by definition, a mumble is soft); he neatly made the sign of the cross.
• overwriting: did we have to go through putting on his underwear, and then his socks? Why a "rope studded with knots -- twelve in all -- signifying the Stations of the Cross" instead of "rope studded with twelve knots signifying the Stations of the Cross?" Why scoop up a basket "from the floor next to his bed?" Of course there was a floor next to his bed. Hopefully, under it as well.

Because I felt obligated -- after all, someone gave me this book, I read on anyway. The adverbing continued (he padded quietly down a corridor: "padding" is by its nature quiet).

There was telling rather than showing: the abbot is "clearly taken aback" at a statement. But I never saw it.

Clichés: "the silence grew more deafening."

There were problems with continuity: at one point the monk carefully lifted the sleeping baby, who was wrapped in a blanket. In the next sentence, the baby holds out his arms to the monk. As the dear departed Miss Snark would say, WTF?

At one point, the abbot scratches "the top of his bald head." Later, he rearranges "the few thin strands of hair left on his head." Is he bald, or is he not?

And there was point-of-view head-hopping, and there was . . .

Wondering why there were so many craft and storytelling flaws, many more than I'm accustomed to seeing in published novels, I researched the publisher, Ciro's Books. Turns out it's a company formed by the author, Mr. Wilkerson. He has published 2 other books, both non-fiction.

And thus the cautionary part of this post, especially for me. You see, I'm seriously thinking about self-publishing my first novel. It just doesn't seem to fit a genre or category well enough for an agent to want to take it on. Will I be publishing a narrative filled with similar flaws? Will you?

Well, my manuscript has gone through at least a dozen beta readers, good ones, and through a critique group. In addition, even though I do editing, I'm paying a copyeditor to review the manuscript. Mr. Wilkerson could have used a good copyeditor to have at least avoided the continuity glitches I kept encountering.

As for The Monk's Son, I don't think I'm going to be able to finish it. For two full pages after the opening, probably a good 750 words, we follow the good monk as he leaves the abbey to search the meadows and woods for herbs. Finally he hears a baby cry near a creek, and there's a story question raised.

Then there's a little conflict when the monk's boss, the abbot, is enraged by the intrusion of the infant (not very Christian of him, in my view). But that's quickly resolved, and we launch into pages of learning to care for a baby. Finally, after 30 or so pages, German bombers fly overhead and attack a nearby city. But by then I was so disengaged by the adverbs and telling and staging and other craft problems that I simply have no urge to carry on.

I have great sympathy for Mr. Wilkerson. His writing is sound enough, and there was an occasional descriptive passage that was quite nice. I know how much he put into writing his novel -- I've done it five times so far. He may never read this "review," but I'll urge him to find both a good developmental editor (like me) and a strong copyeditor to go through his next work before he publishes it. The same advice goes for you if you're considering self-publishing.

And I'm going to look at mine a lot harder before doing anything more with it.

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer—I turned the page, but with trepidation

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective. Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

This is for Belea. Here are the first 16 lines:

Bay Area Exotic Feline Refuge
October 21, 10:17 a.m.

Jared Montaine was used to hearing screams.

A cougar's piercing shriek, a leopard's mournful call, the ratchet and spit of a bobcat. But a human scream in his wildlife refuge only meant trouble and more trouble, he didn't need.

His stomach clenched as he jogged past a cougar cage, arms swinging. Running always stirred up the cats. The cougars, Rasputin and Rhiannon, padded along with him as he went past, then they sat and pressed their faces to the wire. One of them trilled.

"Later, kids." Jared's fingers trailed against the cold chain link. His walkie-talkie buzzed again on his belt.

Peter Alston, his assistant, voice shaky. "Uh, Jared, you coming?"

"On my way, at the lions now." The scream again, this time doubled through the little microphone. He lengthened his stride and the agitated lions jogged with him from inside their habitat.

Wild cats rushed to their cage fronts, excited, as he moved past them: tawny lions and cougars, the grey-tufted lynxes, spotted leopards, a jaguar.

The tour was at the rear of the compound, a half-dozen people huddled in front of Tasha's cage. The black leopard snarled, her beaten jaw permanently askew. She paced behind

Actually this was 18 lines, but I didn't count the first two place/time notations. BTW, I think the place should have been worked into the narrative rather than called out, and that the time notation is probably not going to contribute -- when the readers starts, she has no reason to see any significance to the time, so I doubt it will be noted or remembered until the next time notation comes up. If it's important, then make it so in the narrative, IMO.

I turned the page for a couple of reasons -- someone screaming in the midst of a bunch of lions and tigers was a great hook, and the world of big cats the narrative promised was interesting. Mostly I wanted to find out about that scream.

Belea has done a lot of things right -- opened with action, and introduces her protagonist in a scene with good tension. But I did feel trepidation from signs of overwriting, and there was a comma fault. On the second page, the overwriting continued. Belea sent several pages, and I skimmed ahead. The pace slowed a great deal, too much for my interest, as she gave me exposition. I think this is a romance, but in seven pages no real core story question was raised. So I wouldn't have continued. There's solid writing here, but too much of it in places for my taste. Some notes on the sample:

Jared Montaine was used to hearing screams. (Terrific opening line.)

A cougar's piercing shriek, a leopard's mournful call, the ratchet and spit of a bobcat. But a human scream in his wildlife refuge only meant trouble and more trouble, he didn't need. comma problem: I think the last bit should be only meant trouble, and more trouble he didn't need.)

His stomach clenched as he jogged past a cougar cage, arms swinging. Running always stirred up the cats. The cougars, Rasputin and Rhiannon, padded along with him as he went past, then they sat and pressed their faces to the wire. One of them trilled. (I liked the cougar part, but there's a staging problem -- how can he know the cats press their faces to the wire? They're behind him, and he can't see them. I'm not sure about the stomach clenching -- the intent is good, but the phrase feels tired. I'd look for a fresher way to show his tension. And the arms swinging didn't add anything -- we've already visualized him jogging, which includes arm movement, so it contributes nothing, in my view. And would he just jog? I'd think he'd run hard because this could be bad trouble. Feels like the response is too casual to me. Also, running hard would crank up the tension -- his jogging lets the reader relax; if he's not in a hurry to find out what's happening, why should the reader care?)

"Later, kids." Jared's fingers trailed against the cold chain link. His walkie-talkie buzzed again on his belt. (I deleted the fingers trailing because: a. it didn't contribute to moving the story forward; b. it seemed an odd thing to do when jogging toward a human screaming in a park full of big cats; c. if I were to keep it, I wouldn't have his fingers leave his body to play with the fence, I'd say that Jared trailed his fingers etc. Keep an eye out for tightening through the deletion of narrative that's not working to deliver story, especially in the first 16 lines.)

Peter Alston, his assistant, voice shaky. "Uh, Jared, you coming?"

"On my way, at the lions now." The scream again, this time doubled through the little microphone. (Nice touch of detail.) He lengthened his stride and the agitated lions jogged with him from inside their habitat.

Wild cats rushed to their cage fronts, excited, aswhen he moved past them: tawny lions and cougars, the grey-tufted lynxes, spotted leopards, a jaguar.

The tour was at the rear of the compound, He came to a half-dozen people huddled in front of Tasha's cage. The black leopard snarled, her beaten jaw permanently askew. She paced behind (The location of the group at the rear of the compound isn't necessary information, and feels passive. Better, I think, to stay in his point of view and just get him there.)

There was a little bit of a disappointment when I got to the cage on the next page because the screams were coming from a child throwing a tantrum. It was eased a little when we learned that she suffered from Down Syndrome (in the U.S., it's "Down Syndrome, not Downs's).

The story at that point became pleasant but not compelling, and the narrative continued to need tightening. It's a good start, Belea, just focus on forcing readers to keep turning that page. Thanks for sending your work.

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer—I waffled, then declined

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective. Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

This is for Colleen. Here are the first 16 lines:

The girl enters the dressing room and places three coats on a large hook. The first is the one she wants, the other two are decoys. She closes the door behind her and slides the latch into place. Setting her backpack on the bench, she removes her tools: a pair of dressmaker's scissors, wire cutters and a safety razor blade. If she is caught, she doesn't think pre-meditation will enter into the charge. Shoplifting In The First Degree. The thought brings forth a smile twisted with bitterness. She lifts her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. It is the first sign of mirth she has shown in weeks.

The object of her desire is removed from its hanger, its security device examined. The mechanism is attached through the side seam right below the underarm. She has two options as she sees it. She can cut away the leather around the seam, remove the tag then pay a seamstress to repair the damaged coat, or she can attempt to cut away the three wire prongs that hold the plastic-and-metal tag into place.

The prongs don't look too challenging. Her wire cutters are sturdy. Plus she knows she will never get to a tailor to fix the coat. She opts to cut the prongs. She is proud of the planning she has put into this; it makes her feel like a professional. Like a grown-up.

I'll admit it, I waffled. Turn the page? Not turn the page? I was curious…but was I compelled? In the end, I decided I wasn't compelled. To be honest, because I had the second page, I looked anyway.

There are definitely good things about this sample. Clean, professional writing -- but the writing is also a negative factor, IMO. The narrative lets us know that this girl is not an adult, but the narrative that's supposed to involve us in her experience is at several levels above what I'd expect from a teen. A few of the phrases that I think don't fit:

• The object of her desire
• First sign of mirth
• The mechanism is attached
• The prongs don't look too challenging. (Wouldn't a teen think: The prongs look easy.)

There's passive voice, too. For example, this sentence:

The object of her desire is removed from its hanger, its security device examined.

Why not something more active that involves the character?

She takes the coat from the hanger and studies the security tag.

The tone of the language also served to distance me from this character -- as did the reference to "the girl" instead of a name. She's an object, not a human being. Since the language suggests that the narrator is not the girl, then who is it? The arms-length quality of the narrative keeps it from engaging me emotionally with this character.

Overwriting makes an appearance early on, too, which is another indicator that there's more to follow, and overwriting never helps a story. For example:

She lifts her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

In my view, "lifts her hand" is not needed. I believe a reader will easily fill in the blanks if the sentence was something like this:

She stifles a laugh with her hand.

Here's another example, and how it could be tightened:

She closes the door behind her and slides the latch into place. Setting her backpack on the bench, she removes her tools: a pair of dressmaker's scissors, wire cutters and a safety razor blade.

Is all that about closing the door behind her and sliding the latch needed, or even helpful? We know that she enters the dressing room from the first sentence, so why not cut to the chase?

She locks the door, sets her backpack on the bench, and removes her tools: a pair of dressmaker's scissors, wire cutters and a safety razor blade.

And then there's this sentence, which is also telling:

She has two options as she sees it.

The sentence that follows this illustrates her options, so this isn't needed at all. I also think "has two options" is another example of language that doesn't reflect a teen narrator.

Lastly, while there is some tension here -- the anonymous girl is clearly intent on stealing a coat -- I think it could be stronger.

For example: on the next page (BTW, it takes a whole page for "the girl" to cut off the security device) a store clerk knocks on the door. The girl diverts the clerk's attention and carries on. But what if, right here on the first page, the girl is already in the process of cutting the tag off when. . .

A knock on the door startles her and she drops the wire cutters. A woman's voice says, "Are you all right? Would you please open the door?" The door shakes as the woman tugs on it.

The above sounds so negative as I reread it, but I sure don't intend it that way. This could be a dramatic scene, but (for me -- remember, this is all subjective) the tone and the excesses of description keep throwing up speed bumps and keeping me from being sucked in.

I think Colleen has all the writing chops she needs in terms of being able to handle the language. And I suspect she has an interesting character with an interesting story to tell. I suggest, Colleen, that you set this draft of the chapter aside, then replay the scene as seen through a tense, anxious teenager's mind and show us what happens and how she feels.

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey

Flogometer—I turned the page because of character

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective. Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, etc.) there should be about 16 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page).

This is for Erin. Here are the first 16 lines:

The nameless slave girl leaned on her shepherd's staff and peered through the misty gloom where brighter lumps indicated the presence of her masters' sheep.

"My name is Maira," she whispered to the empty air. "No matter what they say. Maira; daughter of Riane, citizen… former citizen of Ethelelos." Her throat grew tight, and she concentrated again on the sheep.

She was naked, but a few weeks in that constant state had rid her of the reflexive impulse to hide herself. The sheep didn't care and neither did her masters. In fact, as soon as she'd stopped sniveling about her lack of clothing, they'd become much nicer. At least, they'd stopped hitting her as often. The summer nights were warm, but she wondered if slaves were given clothing for winter.

Maira finished counting. Forty. With the sharp end of her staff, she poked at the moist ground beneath her dirty feet and made a series of jerky lines in the numeral indicating forty. She remembered how in her childhood her tutor taught her the numbers and how easy they were to write with her little, chubby fingers.

If her tutor were with her now, perhaps he could tell her how to speak the barbaric language her masters were always screaming at her. She was forbidden to speak the sweet language of her homeland around her masters.

Because this author immediately engaged me with a sympathetic character who is in fairly terrible trouble, I wanted to know how the girl handles it, so I turned the page. This narrative goes directly to that foundation of meaning in all good fiction -- an exploration of what it is to be a human being, and how. Nice work, Erin.

But I think the narrative could be tighter here and there. Here are some notes:

The nameless slave girl leaned on her shepherd's staff and peered through the misty gloom where brighter lumps indicated the presence of her masters' sheep. (This was fine until I got to the next paragraph where the girl says her name in complete contradiction to this. She isn't really nameless, she just isn't addressed by one by her captors. Yes, this sets up her delivery of her name, but this jarred me nonetheless. More than that, this is a fairly distant third-person point of view, and thus has less emotion than something closer. I can't think of a way around this at the moment, but I'd look for one.)

She was naked, but a few weeks in that constant state had rid her of the reflexive impulse to hide herself. (I suggest just one word here, either "impulse" or "reflex.")

With the sharp end of her staff, she poked at the moist ground beneath her dirty feet and made a series of jerky lines in the numeral indicating forty. (Didn't really need to know that there was ground beneath her feet, nor do I think it's important to know that they're dirty. I found the language about the numeral very confusing. It seems to say that the numeral was already in the dirt and she makes lines through it, but that doesn't make sense to me. Isn't she writing the number for forty here? I think this needs to be clarified.)

She remembered how in her childhood her tutor taught her the numbers and how easy they were to write with her little, chubby fingers. (I'd cut this entire paragraph. It's backstory, and clearly not needed to explain anything that's happening here. What does it matter when or how she was taught her numbers, it's enough for the reader to know that she does. At the least I 'd cut the "little, chubby fingers" part. For my money, this is the time to devote as much of the narrative as humanly possible to engaging the reader, and this paragraph doesn't seem to have anything in it to further that ambition. However, it does set up the next paragraph, which does a nice job of letting us know that she doesn't speak the language without direct "telling." But that could be solved with a small addition, i.e. If the tutor who'd taught her numbers were with her now. . .Or something to that effect.)

The other thing I'd encourage Erin to think on is voice. Hers has virtues, for sure -- clear, confident, professional. But it also feels to me like "standard" fantasy speak. We're in a fairly close point of view here, and if the voice were more of that of the girl rather than the storyteller, it might be more distinct and even more engaging.

Here's an example from an early version of one of my novels that was going through critiquing. A critique partner said, "I love the change of vocabulary accompanying the change in POV." She referred to the word choices in the exposition part of the narrative, and had put her finger on the root technique for flavoring narrative in a way that I hadn't thought of. It's the words, stupid.

Here's the material that provoked her remark, an example of one character's narrative followed by one from the other's.

A golden gleam from a glass case catches Ailia's eye. Nestled among other jewelry is a delicate necklace wrought of thin strands of woven gold, designed to adorn a woman of high station. She stands over it, wishing she could know its history, wondering if it once graced the neck of a forebearer. For all she knows, the woman could still be alive, though it is doubtful.

Movement draws her eye. The stocky guard appears at the entrance, her full cheeks flushed. Adopting the regal bearing befitting her disguise, Ailia sidles closer to a woman of about her height who also wears a long coat.

* * *

KB stops at the entrance to the Celtic exhibit, where she can check out the room but won't be too noticeable. She sweeps her gaze across the visitors who study the stuff on display. She notes three women in long coats and dresses-a chubby black woman, her face much darker than the one KB had seen in the hallway; a fiftyish blonde with short hair; and a white-haired, snooty-looking lady. None of them has the nightmare face KB saw. Was that face a mask? Or does she see a mask now? Or maybe the subject of interest is somewhere else. One way to know for sure. She eases her thermal camera up.

My critique partner cited the use of "check out" and "stuff" in the second character's narration as points of difference. You could add "snooty-looking." In this example, exposition contributes to characterization by being deliverfed in the "voice" of the pov character.

Thanks, Erin, and keep going. Good stuff that will only get better.

For what it's worth,

Ray

Public floggings available. If I can post it here, send 1st chapter or prologue as an attachment (cutting and pasting and reformatting from an email is a time-consuming pain) and I'll critique the first couple of pages.

ARCHIVES .

© 2007 Ray Rhamey