Seeing the Trees and the Forest - Good Beginnings

How often have you read and re-read your words until, like the cliché says, you can’t see the forest for the trees? We writers tend to get lost in our own writing. We’re thrilled at the words as they “smile” at us from the computer screen.  God, this is great writing, we secretly say to ourselves.

Unfortunately, our poor brains glance through and overlook all the was’s, saids, shes and hes.  We’re not even aware of the repeated sentences, the repetitious patterns, the over use of simple words such as “all” or “just” or even “always” and of course we don’t see any of the contractions because they aren’t there. There is something in our brains that when we are writing, we think “He’ll” or “couldn’t” but when those fingers are on the keyboard the words come out “he will” or “could not”...

But one of the biggest problems we face is the overwhelming desire to let the reader know the background of our main characters.  We have a tendency to put way to much information in the first few pages...we call it an “info dump” where in the writer feels compelled to fill in  the reader  on all sorts of things that happened in the character’s past

These info dumps are somewhat like garbage dumps, they contain all sorts of stuff that is not really needed.  In this month’s critique the writer, who really wants us to know about the main character’s family has tossed in all sorts of unnecessary names and facts.  And way too many names... for in these few paragraphs the writer has introduced seven people. 

We strongly believe that the first few chapters of any story should get the plot moving even as it introduces  the main character. Seasoned writers know that it takes a chapter or two for the reader to get acquainted with the protagonist and learn to come to grips with the story line.  The reader has to be able to get into the character’s shoes so to speak, to have empathy with him or her, to feel their pain, their desire to solve the mystery or to fix whatever problem the character faces. Readers don’t want to go along for the story-ride with a character they don’t care about or like.

This is where a good critique group or partner can help you out.  Having your precious words seen by a fresh pair of eyes so these problems can be caught and either changed or corrected or even edited out can tremendously help your work and get it ready for publication. Having a critique partner you can trust is important. The longer you work with a person, the more likely it is that your partner or group will get to know your problem areas and look for them. They’ll know how you often you might overuse a word or misspell something. They’ll recognize when you get into a certain pattern that needs to be fixed. And just by giving you that feedback they can help you prepare for next time. If they see the forest as well as the trees, maybe they can help you see them both next time too.

The following scene was sent in to us with the following information.

            This is a total rewrite of a mystery story about a kidnapped I finished several months ago.   I need someone to look it over with “fresh eyes” and give me their professional thoughts.

Chapter ONE

Amy struggled to keep her foot from tapping the gas harder. Today’s weather rocked. Blue sky the type of blue that hurt your eyes it was so bright. The air was fresh and the temperature hovered in the low eighties. 

One of the weather forecasters predicted rain tonight into the early morning. Amy hoped it didn’t affect her flight. The trees and flowers of Hawaii absorbed the gentle rains and grew everywhere with ease. But this evening she needed the rain to hold off until she lifted off for the Mainland.

Excitement bounced through her veins. If she were a kid, it would be like summer vacation at the end of the school year for children. She headed for her daughter’s daycare center. A five day weekend and she would meet it straight ahead.

Plane reservations were set. They would spend her five day weekend with her in-laws. Two fun people who didn’t get to see their granddaughter often enough. Her in-laws Lisa and Mike Raines didn’t manage to visit often. Since the death of their son Justin, they’d only flown to the islands twice. The pain of losing Justin hurt all of them. That pain still hung on like a bad back.

She’d offered to bring them to Hawaii to celebrate but their remaining children vetoed the idea. Amy’s shock had diminished with a phone call from Belle, her sister-in-law. Belle wanted to let Amy know they were hosting a surprise anniversary party for Justin’s parents. She knew everyone would love for Amy and Chloe to come. Amy’s enthusiasm for the plan increased when she arranged for two days of leave to coincide with the Monday holiday and the Friday training holiday. This allowed her time to relax. Now she and Chloe had a flight scheduled out tonight.

Wheeling into the daycare’s parking lot, she slammed out of the car and headed for the entrance. The mental list of items to do ticked off as she hurried up the sidewalk. Her soft-soled combat boots made no noise as she double-timed it to the door.

Removing her hat and sunglasses as she entered she searched for Chloe. They’re supposed to have her ready and waiting. The time between now and departure limited to what she’d worked out earlier. She planned to rush home ditch the ACU uniform, grab their suitcases and head for Honolulu International.

 Amy craned her neck to see if Chloe was in the open room down the hallway. She knew Noelani, the director, as the spouse of one of her fellow officers. 

“Hey Noelani,” she stepped behind the screened print divider, creating Noelani’s office, greeting the director.

“Hi Amy,” the woman seated at her desk had short blond hair that gave her the look of a pixie. Right now she ran her hands over the top her head. Searching for her glasses Amy smiled and pointed.

 Following are our comments.  Sue’s are in RED and Becky’s are in BLUE

My first overall comment is confusion...in these 481 words the writer has introduced seven (7) different people... and they all have names.  So the reader, at least me, is struggling to keep track of who all these people are...for if they have names, they must be important to the story.

Although I assume it is late afternoon, as Amy is picking up her daughter, it could be noon, as I don’t know the age of the child I don’t know if it’s a pre-school or a regular school

Finally, most of this is background info and not needed... I really don’t care who her in-laws are, who her sister-in-law is... the only names and people I need to know are Amy, the daughter Chloe and possibly the director of the school Noelani... 

Save all this other info for later in the story, let’s get into the action as soon as possible...

Now we were told by the author that this is a story about a kidnapping...so I’m going to assume it it the child... and that this is a mystery...so let’s get into it right away.

So I am NOT going to make any changes/corrections/edits in the scene, I’m just going to show you how I would have started the story.

**************************************************************

Amy pulled up to the pre-school late, as she had to stop at the apartment and grab both suitcases and the plane tickets. (we know right away that they are going on a trip and it is a mother and child) Running into the building she noticed there were no other cars in the small parking lot. (give the reader a hint of the problem to come)

“Hey Noelani,” Amy found the director in the hall and greeted her warmly. “Sorry I’m late, where’s Chloe? We don’t want to miss the plane.”

“Chloe’s not here.”

“What?” Amy heart did a triple beat. “Where is she?”

“Her uncle picked her up.”

“Noelani,” Amy struggled to speak, “Chloe doesn’t have an uncle.”

*************************************************************

Becky  - I am going a different direction. I like to keep the author’s voice present as much as possible.

Amy struggled to keep her foot from tapping the gas harder. Today’s weather rocked. Blue sky the type of blue that was so bright it hurt your eyes.  The air was fresh (be specific – did it smell a certain way? Was it crisp or smooth on your skin?) and the temperature hovered in the low eighties. 

One of the weather forecasters predicted rain tonight. (Delete- into the early morning. Amy hoped it didn’t affect her flight to the Mainland. (Delete this next part – not necessary) The trees and flowers of Hawaii absorbed the gentle rains and grew everywhere with ease. But this evening she needed the rain to hold off until she lifted off for the Mainland.

Excitement bounced through her veins. If she were a kid, it would be like summer vacation at the end of the school year for children. (hold off till later)She headed for her daughter’s daycare center. A five day weekend and she would meet it straight on. (delete ahead.

Plane reservations were set. She and her daughter Chloe would spend her five day weekend with her in-laws, Lisa and Mike Raines, two fun people who didn’t get to see their granddaughter often enough. Since the death of their son, they’d only flown to the islands twice. The pain of losing Justin hurt all of them. (Delete -That pain still hung on like a bad back.

(Delete the next paragraph  – too much information. It can be handled with just a couple of simple sentences).

Now this long weekend promised some joy—a surprise anniversary party for Lisa and Mike. She and Chloe had a flight scheduled out tonight.

Wheeling into the daycare’s parking lot, she slammed out of the car and headed for the entrance. The mental list of items to do ticked off as she hurried up the sidewalk. Her soft-soled combat boots made no noise as she double-timed it to the door. (I like all these little details, they are telling us about her)

Removing her hat and sunglasses as she entered, she searched for Chloe. They were supposed to have her ready and waiting. Their time was limited and she still needed to rush home, ditch the ACU uniform, grab their suitcases and head for Honolulu International  (delete - time between now and departure limited to what she’d worked out earlier. 

 Amy craned her neck to see if Chloe was in the open room down the hallway. She knew Noelani, the director, as the spouse of one of her fellow officers. 

“Hey Noelani.” She stepped behind the screened print divider, creating Noelani’s office, greeting the director. (if you’re using an action tag, it must be a new sentence.)

“Hi, Amy.” The woman seated at her desk had short blond hair that gave her the look of a pixie. Right now she ran her hands over the top her head.

Searching for her glasses, Amy smiled and pointed.

My advice would be for the writer to tighten up the writing by watching for extra words she can delete, but I do like all the little details she is giving us. This is the beginning of the story so we want the story set up and since it is starting in Hawaii, I like the way she throws in information about the warmth, the blueness of the sky and I like that she paints a picture of what Amy is wearing. It gives us a better understanding of who Amy is. And while we don't need an overabundance of information, I'd like to know why she's taking a trip and where she's going.

Guest Blogger - Brenna Ash - To Critique or Not to Critique

Hey guys... we are always looking around for new ideas on critiquing or for other blogs on critiquing. Recently we found this great blog on Brenna Ash’s site.  She was kind enough to let us “borrow” it... so we are presenting it for you. It got us to wondering if any of you out there in writing land, also have some thoughts on critiquing you’d like to share. If so, let us know.  Now enjoy Brenna thoughts on critiquing:

To critique or not to critique...that is the question
by Brenna Ash

There are so many different opinions when it comes to critiquing. Should I have a critique partner? Should it be someone published? Should it be someone that I know? Someone that writes the same thing I do? Same voice, style? The list goes on and on.
Do I have the answers? No, not at all. But since I've been writing I've been in several different types of critique groups.

Way back when I started doing this writing thing, I took a romance writing course. The course was great, contained lots of information that I was totally clueless about and had a lot of attendees. A group of us, about 4 or 5, decided that once the class ended, we would remain in touch and create a critique group amongst ourselves. Well, this worked out okay, we swapped ideas back and forth, offered suggestions, little fixes here and there. It worked since we were all at the beginning of our writing dream. As time went on, we grew apart and for the most part, the group disbanded.

A couple of us from that group went on to another critique group. This one had a mixture of people from various levels of experience but still no one that had been published. These critiques were brutal. Unfortunately, the problem with this group was that everyone had such varying degrees of how things should be written and sort of a my way or the highway mentality. Needless to say, this didn't last long.

I then went on to single critique partners. I matched up with someone I had met in another class. This worked for a while, but we drifted apart as our writing took on different sub-genres that the other wasn't interested in.

Then one of the loops I belong to had a critique partner matching service. So, I said why not and signed up for that, glutton for punishment that I am. This was short-lived. While the critiques were helpful, life got in the way for both of us and our partnership soon fell apart.

Now, all through these critique-dabbling I was doing, I stayed in contact with someone I'd met through the first ever class I'd taken (we're best friends now) and she's always willing to read my work and offer suggestions. She's great and has offered some fantastic ideas and brainstorming moments over the years. I'd be lost without her.

Which brings me to the present. In the last two months or so I really got to think about how I could really use a mentor/critique partner that knows the business. Someone who's been published and would be willing to work with me and be honest and not hold back. I don't have any problems taking criticism. I know my work needs help. Hell, we all have to start somewhere, right?

So, I managed to hook up with a multi-published author to critique with.

This has been the best thing that has happened to my writing in a long, long time.

She is fantastic. I think I had her worried the first time she critiqued my work. She wasn't sure I'd be okay with the in-depth critque she did. She wanted to talk to me before she sent it over.

My thoughts? Hell yeah, I was ready, send it on over.

Believe it or not, my mind didn't change when I saw all of the things I'd done wrong, the grammatical mistakes, the overtalking, the redundancy. So many things, but yet she explained them in a way that made me understand the why of it all.

I'm writing again. Actually, I'm rewriting a manuscript that I finished a while ago and got a request for, but didn't dare send in because I knew how much work it needed and had no idea how to go about starting the transitions. Now I do, and I'm excited about it.

For me, the answer to the question is; yes, to critique. But just be warned, you may have to weed through a lot of partners and groups and it may even take years before you finally find the one that will work. But once you do, it will all have been worth it.

So, what are your thoughts? Do you have a critique partner/group? Why or why not?

Thank you Brenna!
How about all of you out there? Any thoughts on critiquing? We'd love to hear from you. If you would like to do a guest blog for us or if you would like us to critique 200-500 words, please send us your pages to writethatnovel@gmail.com.

SUE and BECKY

Critiquing Techniques: Helping the New Writer

Sometimes in critiquing, we have to walk a very thin line between helping or hindering the writer. Knowing exactly how to “talk” to a fellow writer, can be a problem, especially when dealing with a student writer who still has a fragile ego about their creations. Knowing just the right words to say takes time to learn and master. 

We have also found that it makes a difference if you are critiquing eye-ball to eye-ball as opposed to online critiquing where all one sees is the words.  When critiquing in person you get to see how the writer is reacting, and hear their reasons for what they’re writing so you can better judge what you need to say and how to say it.

Unfortunately beginning writers often have this false belief that all their words are golden and truly creative, and should never, ever be disturbed or changed. They’re spent months or years coming up with this idea and forming these sentences. They are fixed in stone!

One thing we have learned over the years, editing and critiquing can make for a better book. Beginning writers will eventually find what the rest of us have discovered--they are going to have to work with an editor. If the editor wants changes, and they are reasonable, you need to work on those changes. As a journalist, Becky learned from the first story she wrote in a newsroom—nothing is carved in stone. Things are going to be changed. That’s what editors do. Most writers we’ve talked to say that they learned a lot about fixing problems with their writing once they began working with their editors at a publishing house.

However it is also true that editors in today’s publishing world don’t have the time to work as much individually with authors. They expect the work they get to be as publishable as possible and they’re going to reject your manuscript if they think it needs too much work.

And that is where the critique partner and group can be so helpful. Journalists say they find it easier to work with an editor because, like Becky, they’ve been doing it for years in TV and newspaper newsroom. They got their work tossed back if it didn’t shine. Your critique partners and group are like that first editor. We’ve heard writers say time and time again, critiquing helped them learn to get away from thinking their first written words were perfect.

As teachers, it is our job to “gently” lead these beginning writers out of dream land and into reality ... at least the reality of how to write a great scene. The following is a scene written from a writing student from one of our on-line writing workshops and it needed help.

He had a great idea for the scene but the Point of View or POV was all over the place. Knowing that this particular student was a quick learner and that he thrived on suggestions as he was actively working on a long novel, we decided to give him a push.

Okay, a kick in the pants so to speak.

We told him the problem, made a POV suggestion and even went so far as to start him in the right direction.  He did all the rest.

Here is the first draft with the problems in RED CAPS and what he sent in later.

****

            The next Friday, after dinner, Stump was watching TV when the mutt, Oscar, raised his ears, and instantly bolted for the door. Then he yapped, “Hey Stump, somebody’s out there,” but Stump didn’t seem to understand. HERE WE HAVE A PROBLEM. IT SEEMS LIKE THE POV FIRST IS IN STUMP’S POV BECAUSE HE IDENTIFIES OSCAR AS A MUTT, BUT THEN WHEN “STUMP DIDN’T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND” WE SWITCH OVER TO THE DOG’S POV.

            All of a sudden, a quadruple knock confirmed the canine’s observation. THIS SEEMS LIKE OMNISCIENT POV.

            “See,” Oscar persisted, “I told you so. Don’t worry. I’ll tell him to go away.”            

        Oscar barely began to warn the outsider that he was asking for trouble when Stump undermined him, “Come in.”

            The door knob jiggled.

            Oscar screamed, “Holly Lassie crap, we’re being invaded.”

            Then it happened, the intruder opened the door and stepped into their space. That was the final straw. NOT SURE WHOSE POV THIS IS. COULD GO EITHER WAY

            Oscar vociferously yapped his disapproval, “Hey, this is our house. Get the hell out of here before we kick your ass.”

            Suddenly Stump stood up, grabbed the dog’s collar, tugged him back a couple feet and advised, “Oscar. Get back, boy. It’s okay.” AND NOW IT SEEMS LIKE WE ARE IN STUMP’S POV…ETC, ETC... ALTERNATING BETWEEN THESE POV’S... not good...A SCENE IS MUCH STRONGER IF ONLY ONE POV IS USED...

            Oscar lowered his voice slightly, but he wasn’t sure if the young human knew what he was doing. DOG’S POV Oscar sniffed the air, and watched cautiously as the intruder extended his hand toward Stump and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Myles”.

            Stump shook the man’s hand, “Hello.”

  “Can I pet the dog?” the stranger asked.

            “Sure,” said Stump.                

            Myles squatted and extend his hand toward Oscar’s head. Oscar decided to take a chance.  He let it happen. It felt pretty good. Then the stranger addressed him. “Hi there, Oscar. How you doin’, huhboy?” he asked.

            The four-legged one cautiously relaxed THIS IS CONFUSING—THE FOUR LEGGED ONE SEEMS TO BE OMNISCIENT POV AGAIN AND THEN WE GO BACK TO OSCAR’S POV and enjoyed the attention. It seemed safe. There was only one thing left to do, one final test.

            Oscar waited for the big fella to stand up, then, it was time for the canine to make his move, to trade good sniffs of each other’s crotches. Oscar leaned in to do his part, but the taller one failed to seize the opportunity. Too bad for him.  

            A moment later it was all over. Oscar was satisfied with the introductions. He wagged his tail and welcomed the newcomer to the pack.

****

We sent the scene back to the student and suggested that he try it again, only this time in first person with the note that once you are in first person, you can ONLY write about what that person sees, hears, thinks, etc...

Here is his response... Hey guys, this was a fun and educational exercise. It was difficult at first, but I started to get the hang of it. I think I’m going to try it again, this time from the perspective of a cemetery plot.

Here is the same scene done in first person. But to give him a “heads-up” we did the first paragraph for him (the section in red) and then he did the rest.

****

            Thump. Thump. Creak.

            Something was on the front porch. I looked over at the boy. Nope. He hadn’t heard anything. He was still watching the TV.

            But someone or something was out there. I could tell. I stood up and yelled my loudest.

            “Oscar,” the boy shouted, “shut up. Your barking is...”

            I yelled even louder as the thumps came closer. Stupid humans. They’re so dumb. They can’t hear anything.

            The doorbell rang.

            I knew it. A stranger.

            I jumped up and ran to the door sliding the last few feet on the polished wooden floor.

THEN THE STUDENT DID THE REST...

            Fortunately, Butch, my friend from next door had also heard the noise and he joined in. He must have been at his fence, probably on his hind legs trying to see who it was.

            The kid stood up, headed my way. Finally. Our pack was united. Determined to do my part, I screamed so hard I almost lost my voice.     

            Then, all of a sudden, the stupid boy grabbed my collar, yanked me backwards, as if I was the one causing all the trouble, “Damn it Oscar, get back.”

            Why the hell was he choking me? We’re supposed to be on the same team.

            I had to overcome his stupidity. I tugged and yapped with all my might.

            “Come in.”

            The door knob jiggled.

            Holly Lassie crap, we were being invaded.

            Then it happened, the intruder opened the door and seized some of our space. That was the final straw. I went for him.

             “Oscar. Get back, boy. It’s okay.”

            The trespasser held steady. He must have sensed I meant business. I sniffed the air. Nothing unusual. My throat was throbbing.

            “Oscar, GET BACK!”           

             I let the kid think he was the boss. I sat. I sniffed. I watched. I let my neighbor know I had it under control.

            Then the intruder extended his hand toward the kid, “Hi, I’m Myles”.

            “Hello.”

            “Can I pet the dog?”

            “Sure. He’s really a good dog. He won’t bite.”

            The hell I won’t. But first I had to check this human out.

            The stranger squatted to my level. I got a good look at him. Seemed friendly enough. His hand came slowly at me. A good sign.

            Then it happened, he scratched that spot right behind my left ear that I can never quite get. He was off to a great start.

            “Hi there, Oscar. How you doin’, huhboy?”

            I like it when they talk to me, but that’s not enough. I flopped on my side, spread my legs, to see if he knew what I really wanted. He did. He scratched my belly. I had him right where I wanted him. I wagged my tail to let him know he was on the right track. There was one final test, the big one.

            I waited for the big fella to stand up, then, I wanted to find out if he would go “all the way,” sniff each other’s crotches? I leaned in. Took a good whiff. Humans smell so weird. Kinda like flowers.

            It was his turn. I was proud of how I smelled down there. I waited. I waited. I waited. But he took too long. Must have been playing “hard to get”. Too bad for him. Maybe next time.

            I decided not to hold his apprehension against him. I was satisfied. Wagged my tail. Welcomed him into the pack. 

            I wondered if he knows how to play catch.

****

This is written quite well, this time around. And it provides a good lesson for all of us. Sometimes turning a scene in a new direction can liven things up.

So, bottom line, sometimes we just need, all of us, a change of direction ... a kick in the pants that says, if that didn’t work, try this idea. And if you're a new writer, don't be afraid of trying something new and changing your words or work. Listening to criticism from your critique partner or group can only help when the time comes to work with an editor.

Critiquing in the Summer

Hi everyone, this month we’re looking at how we make it through the summer to get our writing done and our critiquing. It can be tough to  find time to critique when the kids are home for the summer. Here is how we both handle those lazy, crazy, wonderful days of summer.

Sue’s Comments

Ah, summer time. The kids are out of school, family visits, vacations are being planned and time to write and critique not only your own work but the people in your critique group has gone out the window.

So what to do.  Well, in one of our critique groups we simply stopped meeting for our regular breakfast once a week and decided to critique on-line.  But that hasn’t really worked out too well, as there is no “deadline” of when to send our stuff to the group.

We could critique and edit our own work either early in the morning or late at night when the family is sleeping and the house quiet...but that doesn’t work too well either, as by nighttime, we’re usually too tired and early morning work requires a lot of discipline...

Discipline to set the darn alarm, get up without waking anyone up, make the coffee and actually settle down at the computer.

So here is our list of how to critique and survive the summer:

1 - Don’t give up your group. Go on line if you have to or exchange morning meetings at different members’ homes and all pitch in for a baby sitter if needed.

2 - At the “last” meeting before the summer starts, have everyone bring their calendars... we don’t mean those little ones in your check book or small notebook… but the big ones you live and die by.  Map out the meetings and get everyone to agree on the dates.  If you plan the whole summer you can then work around your meetings instead of the other way around.

3 - Learn to critique in other places.  Several of my favorite places are the doctor’s or dentist’s offices, the dog park, before dinner when the cooking is under control, or even at the pool while watching the kids’ swimming meet.

It’s important to think of yourself as a writer and be disciplined. It’s the discipline that will get you published. Long ago when I was an editor of a national magazine and worked with beginning writers, I learned that to get published it is better to work with a writer who can get their work in on time and is disciplined to understand edits and editorial comments than to work with a supremely talented writer who wanted to do it only her way.  Grin.  Slow and steady is the name of the game or so said the tortoise.

Becky’s Comments

            For me, summer is actually a good time to get caught up. It’s fun to get out of the house, but I always take a notebook or laptop with me, even if it’s just to eat lunch out or have coffee. I’ve heard best selling mystery writers Harlan Coben and John Sandford talk about how they regularly write over dinners out or at coffee shops and I’ve been doing the same thing for years. Those outside venues can be a good way to break up the normal sit-at-the-office-desk routine.

Yes, there can be a problem with discipline in the summer. For instance, things seem to move slower, whether you’re waiting to hear from publishers or trying to get your own work done. It’s harder to concentrate when there is the daily lure of getting outside to do all the things you can’t do during the winter.

            When it comes to the critique process, I regularly work with an online critique group and the way we handle the summer months is by giving members a pass during the weeks when they are on vacation. If they want to critique while they’re out of town—which I normally do—they can, but they can also skip sending material or skip critiquing for that one go-round.

            We have five people in our group and we have set up certain days every month to send in our material—the 15^th and the 30^th. On those dates we email 10-15 pages of our work and then everyone has one week to finish the critique and send it back. This way we have a definite deadline that everyone needs to meet on a regular basis. Keeping that sort of schedule and a fixed deadline can keep the critique group working, even during the summer. 

            Deadlines are an important part of critiquing. Knowing that you have a certain number of pages to finish by the next week or in two weeks can help keep your productivity up. If you’re too busy to get your group or partner’s pages read, then let the group know you need to skip a round. It’s usually easier to work that out than to stress over the pages or drop the group all together.

            As I mentioned, when I go on vacation, I still continue to critique. Since I got my first laptop 14 years ago, I have never traveled without my laptop, even if it’s for a couple of days only. Sitting in airports is a good time to work on edits or critiques, and there is all that time while you’re in the air with nothing to do.

            There are always times and places to critique, so enjoy the summer, but don’t lose sight of your writing goals!

We would love to hear from all of you as to how you manage editing and critiquing in the summer months.  Drop us a note at writethatnovel@gmail.com and let us know how you do it...

This month’s critique

Red CAPS are from Sue... while blue CAPS are from Becky

Here is the scene.

Grace strolled out of the bathroom into the bedroom clothed in a drift of L’air du Temps and nothing else.  Anointed between her thighs, her breasts and at the pulse in her throat, she went up to the bed and leaned over Simon.

He lay on his back, asleep, his spiky black eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks.  They could have a daughter with those same astonishing eyelashes.  She stood quietly waiting for her perfume to reach out to him.  He stirred.  She bent closer and whispered, “Simon, wake up.”

His eyes, slitted against the light, widened at the sight of her breasts swaying above his face.  He raised a hand and caressed her.

“What’s that perfume?” he asked.  “Something new?  I don’t remember--”

“Shh.”  She tossed the sheet aside and straddled him.  Ignoring the stubble on his chin, she kissed his lips, and when he was ready, eased her way slowly into the connection they both loved.

Later, spread-eagled on his back with Grace lying curled against him, he glanced over at her and grinned.  “That was quite an eye opener.  Better than coffee.”

“Speaking of which.”

“Not so soon.  I’m ready for an encore.”

Good, she thought.  Good.  Today’s the day.  As he lifted himself over her and began anew, a question leapt into her mind.  What would he say when she told him she’d stopped taking the pill?

#   #   #

            Afterward, in the townhouse kitchen with its stainless steel countertops and the high-tech appliances Simon had chosen, she measured out coffee grounds, sprinkled them into the basket and carefully poured four cups of water into the Cuisinart.  She hated wasting water, and they rarely drank more than two cups apiece.

            From the refrigerator, she took out orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese for a quick breakfast.  Even so, they’d be late getting to the office.  But she didn’t regret a minute, and as she worked, a robe sashed loosely around her waist, her copper hair held high with a clip, she let her mind replay the morning.

Simon knew how to make love to a woman.  He knew all the right buttons to press, all the secret places that made her want to scream.  He brought out everything she had to give—every time.  What more could she ask of him?

A child. 

They both agreed to wait before starting a family—to get to know each other better, enjoy a carefree life for a while, ski, sail, work on their careers, honeymoon.  But playtime was over.  Her biological clock was ticking.  Not fast, maybe, but ticking nonetheless. 

The bagel popped up.  She rescued it from the toaster and slathered it with cream cheese.  But whenever she started talking of babies and her longing for one, Simon changed the subject.  And he wouldn’t tell her why.  Lord knows, she’d asked why often enough.  Too often.

SUE’S COMMENTS

A FAIRLY WELL-DONE SCENE...BUT IT NEEDS MUCH MORE EMOTION...THIS IS A BIGGIE...BEING OFF THE PILL...SO I NEED MORE EMOTIONAL REACTIONS AND INTERNAL REACTIONS FROM HER.

A FEW WORD CHOICES... DELETE A FEW TAGS AND WATCH THE TENSES... BE CAREFUL WITH THE CHOREOGRAPHY.. AND NEED ANSWERS TO SEVERAL QUESTIONS...

OTHER WISE, A NICE SCENE.  SUE

Grace strolled out of the bathroom into the bedroom clothed in a  NOT SURE THIS WORD WORKS... I KNOW YOU MEAN SURROUNDING HER, BUT DRIFT DOESN’T DO IT.. of L’air du Temps and nothing else.   ALSO DOESN’T WORK, AT LEAST FOR ME.... HOW ABOUT  “A DAB” between her thighs, her breasts and at the pulse in her throat, she went up to the bed and leaned over Simon. NEED A DESCRIPTION HERE... SATIN SHEETS, CALIFORNIA SIZE BED, ETC.

He lay on his back, asleep, his spiky black eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks.  They could have a daughter with those same astonishing eyelashes. AND WHAT... SHE WOULD BE GORGEOUS   She stood I THOUGHT SHE WAS LEANING OVER HIM??? quietly waiting for her perfume to reach out  AND SURROUND HIM.  He stirred.  She bent closer and whispered, “Simon, wake up.”

His eyes, slitted against the light, widened at the sight of her breasts swaying above his face. SO NOW SHE’S BACK TO LEANING He raised a hand and caressed her. WHAT PART OF HER???? GRIN...

“What’s that perfume?”   YOU DON’T NEED THE TAG AS WE KNOW IT HAS TO BE SIMON THAT IS TALKING...“Something new?  I don’t remember--”

“Shh.”  She tossed the sheet aside OKAY...IF THE SHEET IS THERE, WHERE IS IT??? and straddled him.  Ignoring the stubble on his chin, she kissed his lips, and when he was ready, eased her way slowly into the connection they both loved. NICE

Later, spread-eagled on his back with Grace lying curled against  HIS SIDE, he grinned.  “That was quite an eye opener.  Better than coffee.”

“Speaking of which.”

“Not so soon.  I’m ready for an encore.”

Good, she thought.  Good. NEED A MORE EXCITING WORD...GOOD IS A BIT MILD FOR WHAT SHE IS DOING... Today’s the day.

(NEW PARAGRAPH) As he TURNED AND lifted himself over her and began anew, a question leapt into her mind.  What would he say when she told him she’d stopped taking the pill?

#   #   # THESE NEED TO GO IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LINE

#   #   #

            Afterward, in the townhouse kitchen with its stainless steel countertops and the high-tech appliances Simon had chosen, she measured out coffee grounds,(DELETE-sprinkled them) into the basket and carefully poured four cups of water into the Cuisinart.  She hated wasting water, and they rarely drank more than two cups apiece. SO WHY DID SHE MAKE FOUR CUPS????

            From the refrigerator, she took out orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese for a quick breakfast.  Even so, they’d be late getting to the office.  But she didn’t regret a minute, and as she worked, a robe sashed loosely around her waist, her copper hair held high with a clip, she let her mind replay the morning.

Simon knew how to make love to a woman.  He knew all the right buttons to press, all the secret places that made her want to scream.  He brought out everything she had to give—every time.  What more could she ask of him?

A child.

YES, A CHILD...   THIS IS QUITE AN EMOTIONAL MOMENT... NEED TO PLAY IT UP MORE...

They’D both agreed to wait before starting a family—to get to know each other better, enjoy a carefree life for a while, ski, sail, work on their careers, honeymoon.  But playtime was over.  Her biological clock was ticking.  Not fast, maybe, but ticking nonetheless. MAYBE A BIT MORE HERE... DO WE KNOW HER AGE AT THIS POINT IN THE STORY??? 

The bagel popped.  She rescued it from the toaster and slathered it with cream cheese.  But whenever she  TALKED of babies and her longing for one, Simon changed the subject.  And he wouldn’t tell her why.  Lord knows, she’d asked why often enough.  Too often.

BECKY’S COMMENTS

            THIS IS A GOOD PASSAGE THAT PROVIDES SOME GOOD INSIGHT INTO THE HEROINE. IT SHOWS WONDERFUL FLASHES OF EMOTION, BUT WE DEFINITELY NEED MORE. SHE IS MAKING SOME BIG INTERNAL DECISIONS HERE AND THEY SHOULD BE SHARED WITH THE READER.

Grace strolled out of the bathroom into the bedroom clothed ONLY in a CLOUD (DELETE drift ) of L’air du Temps and nothing else.  Anointed between her thighs, her breasts and at the pulse in her throat, (THIS READS LIKE A DANGLING MODIFIER AND SOUNDS CONFUSING SO IT SHOULD PROBABLY BE CHANGED OR CLARIFIED.—PERHAPS SAY ANOINTED WITH THE PERFUME BETWEEN…ETC) she went up to the bed and leaned over Simon.

He lay on his back, asleep, his spiky black eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks. 

(NEW PARAGRAPH BECAUSE WE ARE GETTING HER REACTION TO HIM.) They could have a daughter with those same astonishing eyelashes.  She stood quietly waiting for her perfume to reach out to him. (HOW LONG? SECONDS? MINUTES?)  He stirred.  She bent closer and whispered, “Simon, wake up.”

His eyes, slitted against the light, widened at the sight of her breasts swaying above his face.  He raised a hand and caressed her. (WHERE? WHAT PART OF HER DOES HE TOUCH?)

HE INHALED. “What’s that perfume? (DELETE ” He asked.) Something new?  I don’t remember--”

“Shh.”  She tossed the sheet aside and straddled him.  Ignoring the stubble on his chin, she kissed his lips, and when he was ready, eased her way slowly into the connection they both loved.

Later, spread-eagled on his back with Grace lying curled against him, he glanced over at her and grinned.  “That was quite an eye opener.  Better than coffee.”

“Speaking of which.” (DOES SHE MOVE HERE? PERHAPS START TO SIT UP?)

“Not so soon.  I’m ready for an encore.” (ANY PHYSICAL REACTION FROM HIM?)

Good, she thought.  Good.  Today’s the day. (ITALICIZE HER DIRECT THOUGHTS) As he lifted himself over her and began anew, a question leapt into her mind.  What would he say when she told him she’d stopped taking the pill?

#   #   #

            Afterward, in the townhouse kitchen with its stainless steel countertops and the high-tech appliances Simon had chosen, she measured (DELETE-out) coffee grounds, sprinkled them into the basket and carefully poured four cups of water into the Cuisinart.  She hated wasting water, and they rarely drank more than two cups apiece.

            From the refrigerator, she took out orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese for a quick breakfast. (DELETE Even so)  They’d be late getting to the office, but she didn’t regret a minute. (DELETE- and) As she worked, a robe TIED (DELETE-sashed) loosely around her waist, her copper hair held high with a clip, she let her mind replay the morning.

Simon knew how to make love to a woman.  He knew all the right buttons to press, all the secret places that made her want to scream.  (MADE HER WANT TO SCREAM? OR DID HE MAKE HER SCREAM?) He brought out everything she had to give—every time.  What more could she ask of him?

A child. 

They both agreed to wait before starting a family—to get to know each other better, enjoy a carefree life for a while, ski, sail, work on their careers, honeymoon.  But playtime was over.  Her biological clock was ticking.  Not fast, maybe, but ticking nonetheless.  (MAYBE ADD SOMETHING HERE ABOUT SHE FELT SHE NEEDED TO GET MOVING ON THE BABY NOW – ADD SOME OF HER FEELINGS TOO SINCE SHE IS IN ESSENCE BETRAYING THEIR AGREEMENT)

The bagel popped up.  She rescued it from the toaster and slathered it with cream cheese.  (DELETE-But) Whenever she started talking of babies and her longing for one, Simon changed the subject.  And he wouldn’t tell her why.  Lord knows, she’d asked why often enough.  Too often.  (AGAIN, WE NEED MORE OF HER FEELINGS)

Thanks to this month's writer. We'll be sending you a story board chart. If you would like to have a few paragraphs critiqued on our blog, or if there is work you'd like us to look over, please email us at writethatnovel@gmail.com and if your piece is used on our blog we'll send you a storyboard to use in your plotting.

We'd also like to hear more on how you critique in the summer or during busy times, so please leave a comment.

The Benefits of Brainstorming

In our initial blog on critiquing, we mentioned some of the benefits of having critique partners or being in a critique group. One of them was having someone to use as a sounding board when you are having trouble with your work. That can also work in other ways.

 One of the great benefits of having a critique relationship is that you should be working with someone who knows your work and understands what you write and what you’re trying to accomplish. That’s why when you come up with a new idea, that person or that group can help you think things through even before you start to write.

Yes, we’re talking about brainstorming.

At lunch with several other Heart of Denver writers, the subject of brainstorming came up and one writer lamented the lack of having someone with whom they could discuss their stories. Writing is a lonely occupation and it’s good to have that sounding board every so often.

Is this idea too daring?

Would this plot device work?

Why isn’t this scene working?

What if I want to try something totally different?

That is where the critique partner or group can help. In our own critique group, we came up with an idea of having a plotting and brainstorming day where everyone comes armed with ideas for their stories and then the group sits down and tosses everything around. Hopefully by the end of the day, everyone goes away with something new to work on.

There were four of us, and we decided each person would get a little over an hour in which all of us would work on one writer’s idea. 

We put aside our normal meeting place and got together in one of the gal’s home—her  her dining room to be exact ( though we’ve also done it in a library study room)—where we could all sit in comfort, have drinks and perhaps a sandwich, and spent several hours going through each other’s plots and characters.

The only tools necessary were a big dry erase board, sticky notes and a clear head filled with creative ideas.

One person would start with an opening idea of what she wanted to write about and then everyone could toss out their ideas. The person whose book it was would write them down and we would put them up on the board. Nothing was off the table and we came up with a variety of ideas.  We put the ideas up on the board with the sticky notes, so they could be moved around.  Soon we had the notes arranged into a workable/suitable plot.  We even went so far as to create specific scenes. When the hour was up the plot had come to life.

Now you might think that it would make more sense to put them into your computer as the ideas come up. That would allow for moving them around or making quick changes. The benefit of putting them up on the board was that everyone could easily see them all at once. And using sticky notes was good because they were easy to move around or to tear down if you thought something wasn’t going to work.

Having the meeting at a house worked well because we could get up, walk around and then come back and take another look at the board. The same is true for a library study room. The idea is to have it in an area where you can move around, take your time and think. Stand for a while, sit for a while, drink coffee, stretch, and stretch your brains with new ideas.

When we were finished with one person, she would take down the sticky notes—in order—and then put them into her computer for use later or to re-arrange later at home. We’d then move on to the next person and begin a new story.

The fun part is this can get you new ideas and totally different suggestions for your story that you, sitting alone at your computer, would never have thought of. But it can also help to get your own creative juices flowing. Later as you write the ideas into your computer or put them down on paper in logical order you might have even more ideas that you can use. You might also come up with some new ideas for your own story as you help out the others.

And that brings us to this month’s piece we are critiquing – we were sent a piece by one of our students who wanted us to take a look at her work. She is trying something a little different and wanted our take on what she is doing. Again, this is a good reason for having a critique partner or group. They can look over what you are writing and not only critique the writing, but see if your intent works.

She is writing this from the villain’s point of view—the intruder and has to be careful not to let the reader know that person’s sex.

*******************************************************************

The thick Aubusson rug muffled all sound as the lone intruder entered the dimly lit main salon of the city’s most exclusive coutourier, Mon Chèrie. Oil paintings depicting nineteenth-century New Orleans hung on cream-colored walls. Delicate spindle-legged tables held Tiffany lamps. Brocaded love seats were arranged for clients to enjoy crystal glasses of champagne while being shown rich fabrics and silks. An archway with tied-back burgundy velvet drapes led into a world of exquisite lace-edged lingerie and Mon Chèrie’s signature Fleur-de-Lis lotions, bath oils and perfume.

The intruder smiled with smug satisfaction. Soon, very very soon, all of this will finally be in the hands of its proper heir.

The ormolu clock on the Adams mantel chimed twice. The intruder hurried to the office in the back of the shop. Turning up the desk lamp, impatient fingers tapped upon the desk’s smooth mahogany surface while waiting for the computer to boot up. When the Quicken icon appeared, triumph gleamed in the intruder’s eyes, but was quickly replaced by fury.

Damn , damn, damn, I should have known those two would have it protected. Okay, think. What would they use for a password? The top of the desk was clear, other than for a small stack of fabric swatches. The desk drawers were neat and orderly. No help.

The intruder began to pace nervously. Okay, neither Caterine nor the old lady would keep valuable information on just the computer. There had to be printouts. The file cabinet was next. Each drawer was yanked open and the folders pawed through. Come on, it has to be somewhere. Having found nothing, the intruder kicked the bottom drawer shut.

Hands balled into fists, the intruder began to shake. I need to see those God damned account files. A safe. There has to be a safe. The intruder began to search the room frantically. When a wall safe was finally discovered behind a painting of a riverboat, the intruder smiled with satisfaction. Seeing the safe had a combination lock, the intruder hissed through gritted teeth, God damn, God damn, God damn, I hate both those bitches.

Spotting a photograph of a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman standing beside a distinguished older woman as they accepted an award, the intruder picked it up intending to smash it against the wall. Startled by the buzz of an incoming fax, the intruder let the photograph slip through trembling fingers to land with a thump on the thick rug.

Okay, okay, I have to calm down and be clear headed. There have to be other ways of getting the information I need. If things go according to plan, everything I want will soon be at my fingertips. A malevolent smile crept across the intruder’s face as the photograph was replaced intact. One of you will be dead and the other getting what she deserves. Yes, soon it would all fall into place. I just have to be very clever and bide my time. As the lamp was switched off, the last flicker of light illuminated the intruder’s cold and deadly eyes.

****************************************************************

Becky’s comments are in blue, Sue’s are in red.

The thick Aubusson rug muffled all sound as the lone intruder crept (delete entered—this verb needs to be more descriptive) the dimly lit main salon of the city’s most exclusive coutourier, Mon Chèrie.

(need a reaction here. Did the intruder catch his/her breath? Think Beautiful, perhaps?)

Oil paintings depicting nineteenth-century New Orleans hung on cream-colored walls. Delicate spindle-legged tables held Tiffany lamps. Brocaded love seats were arranged for clients to enjoy crystal glasses of champagne while being shown rich fabrics and silks. An archway with tied-back burgundy velvet drapes led into a world of exquisite lace-edged lingerie and Mon Chèrie’s signature Fleur-de-Lis lotions, bath oils and perfume.

The intruder smiled with smug satisfaction.

(new paragraph) Soon, very very-delete soon, all of this will finally be in the hands of its proper heir.

The ormolu clock on the Adams mantel chimed twice. The intruder hurried to the office in the back of the shop. Turning up the desk lamp, impatient fingers tapped (upon—delete) the desk’s smooth mahogany surface while waiting for the computer to boot up. When the Quicken icon appeared, triumph gleamed in the intruder’s eyes only to be replaced by fury. (but was quickly replaced by fury.-delete)

Damn , damn, damn, I should have known those two would have it protected. Okay, think. What would they use for a password?

(new paragraph) The top of the desk was clear, other than for a small stack of fabric swatches. The desk drawers were neat and orderly. No help.

The intruder began to pace. (Nervously-delete not necessary – pace denotes being nervous).

Okay, neither Caterine nor the old lady would keep valuable information on just the computer. There had to be printouts. The file cabinet was next. Each drawer was yanked open and the folders pawed through.

(new paragraph) Come on, it has to be somewhere. Having found nothing, the intruder kicked the bottom drawer shut. (no paragraph) Hands balled into fists, the intruder began to shake.

(new paragraph) I need to see those God damned account files. A safe. There has to be a safe.

(new paragraph) The intruder began to search the room frantically. When a wall safe was finally discovered behind a painting of a riverboat, the intruder smiled. (with satisfaction-delete or change, did that earlier). Seeing the safe had a combination lock, the intruder hissed through gritted teeth.

God damn, God damn, God damn, I hate both those bitches.

Spotting a photograph of a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman standing beside a distinguished older woman as they accepted an award, the intruder picked it up intending to smash it against the wall. Startled by the buzz of an incoming fax, the intruder let the photograph slip through trembling fingers to land with a thump on the thick rug.

Okay, okay, I have to calm down and be clear headed. There have to be other ways of getting the information I need. If things go according to plan, everything I want will soon be at my fingertips.

A malevolent smile crept across the intruder’s face as the photograph was replaced intact.

 One of you will be dead and the other getting what she deserves.

(new paragraph) Yes, soon it would all fall into place.

I just have to be very clever and bide my time.

(new paragraph) As the lamp was switched off, the last flicker of light illuminated the intruder’s cold and deadly eyes.

 (This scene works for what it’s intended to do, but it is a long passage with just one person doing everything and much of it in thought. One way to make it move quicker is to break up some of the action into shorter paragraphs, as though the thoughts are dialogue—which in a way, they are--internal dialogue. )

            ******************************************************************

As I read this scene my first thought was...what is the author trying to tell us?  Right, the intruder wants something so s/he can have his/her revenge, but I think there is more to it, as we are hearing the intruder’s thoughts.  So what can we learn from both the thoughts and the actions... is the guy/gal really that stupid that s/he would leave behind evidence that s/he had been there?

I want the intruder to be smart...very smart... as smart killers are much more interesting... so I have tried to make this person a bit more intelligent....

I also had a lot of questions.. they are marked in yellow ....for the writer to think about...not all need to be answered, but as a reader I was curious...

The thick Aubusson rug muffled all sound as the lone intruder  cautiously entered the dimly lit main salon of the city’s most exclusive coutourier, Mon Chèrie. Now with everyone know what a “coutourier” is...???  Oil paintings depicting nineteenth-century New Orleans hung on cream-colored walls. Delicate spindle-legged tables held Tiffany lamps. Brocaded love seats were strategically arranged so the clients could enjoy crystal glasses of champagne while being shown rich fabrics and silks. An archwaywith tied-back burgundy velvet drapes led into a world of exquisite lace-edged lingerie and Mon Chèrie’s signature Fleur-de-Lis lotions, bath oils and perfume.

The intruder smiled with smug satisfaction. Soon, very soon, all of this will finally be in the hands of its proper heir. (Okay...here’s one of my questions...this implies that this person is not doing it for him/herself. So it this is true, we need a hint as to why this person would do this for someone else...)

The ormolu clock on the Adams mantel chimed twice breaking the deep silence of the rooms

The intruder hurried though the show rooms (this also implies that the person came in the front door...if this is so, how?  did s/he have a key?) to the office in the back of the shop. Turning up the desk lamp, this implies that the lamp is on... no one that I know leaves an office lamp on at night... impatient fingers drummed is a bit more powerful upon the desk’s smooth mahogany surface waiting for the computer to boot up. When the Quicken icon appeared, triumph gleamed in the intruder’s eyes, but was quickly replaced by fury.  this is all telling...show me how s/he feels. 

Damn , damn, damn, pretty luke warm swear words for a nasty person...once again giving me, the reader a hint that this is a woman. I should have known it would be protected.  Okay, think. What would they use for a password?

The top of the desk was clear, what... how could it be clear if the computer was on top of it??? and it also had a light on it... so this doesn’t work...other than for a small stack of fabric swatches.

One by one the drawers were opened. Damn...no cards, no passwords hidden in them.

The intruder paced let’s change the verb from passive to active.  don’t need the adverb as paced implies nervous....Okay, neither Caterine nor the old lady would keep valuable information on just the computer. There had to be printouts.

The tall file cabinet against the far wall was next.

Each drawer was yanked open and the folders pawed through. Come on, it has to be somewhere. (Question... here is where you can give the reader a clue about the intruder... if s/he doesn’t want to be found out, then the papers and files have to be put back carefully so no one will know anyone has gone through them...decide..is the person angry and messy, or angry and cautious???? big difference) Having found nothing, the intruder kicked  once again how s/he closes this implies the sex of the person... so you have me confused...kicked is a male action while tip-toeing is a female action...the bottom drawer shut.

Hands balled into fists, (male) the intruder  shook. I need to see those God damned account files. A safe. There has to be a safe. The intruder  searched the room. telling... When a locked wall safe was discovered behind a painting of a riverboat, the intruder  hissed through gritted teeth, God damn, God damn, God damn,    wouldn’t this person wonder where else they might keep this information...

Spotting a photograph of a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman standing beside a distinguished older woman as they accepted an award, the intruder picked it up intending to smash it against the wall. Startled by the buzz of an incoming fax, would s/he want to see what was on the fax??? the intruder let the photograph slip through trembling fingers to land with a thump on the thick rug.

Okay, okay, I have to calm down. There has to be another way of getting the information  If things go according to plan, everything I want will soon be at my fingertips. A malevolent smile crept across the intruder’s face as the photograph was replaced intact moving it back to its exact original position on the table/desktop. One of you will be dead and the other getting what she deserves. Yes, soon it would all fall into place. I have to bide my time.

Giving the office one last glance to be sure nothing had been moved the intruder switched off the lamp and stepped out into the cold night knowing what had to be done in the morning. 

Conclusions:

•   short paragraphs will give the reader a sense of urgency

•   active verbs work better

•   need to be sure no hints are given as to the gender of the intruder

•   not so much “telling”... more showing

We welcome your thoughts and comments on our blog and on our critique. We’d also be happy to critique your work. Just mail it to writethatnovel@gmail.com.