First 500 Critique Series: SHADE by Jae Dansie

This is the third in a series of posts where I will be critiquing the first 500 words of an author's book. You're free to add your notes in the comments (and disagree with mine). Just keep in mind these authors have volunteered their work, so please make sure any comments are constructive!

GIVEAWAY: For each of the first 500 posts, commentors go into the draw for a critique of their first chapter!

The first 500 words are offered here, untouched, for your reading pleasure. The critique begins half-way down.

SHADE

by Jae Dansie (Visit Jae's blog)

Genre: YA Fantasy
Wordcount: 77,000 words

    Emotions are dangerous.

    The prince stared down at his trembling hands.  He thrust them into the warm bath water.  Emotion spread like ants crawling under his skin.  He had to push them away.  Defeat was unacceptable.  He could not lose!

    He flinched when he felt a large, wet tongue lick his face.  His furry dog whined, comforting him.  He leaned his head against the beast, closing his eyes.  The soft, black fur eased his worry.

    The lights in the bathing chamber flickered.  The prince’s body went rigid, his startled gasp echoing against the slate tiles as his dog barked.  The prince watched the lights carefully.  Had he imagined it?  He jerked his head to his right, certain he’d seen movement.  There was nothing.

    Goosebumps raced across his arms as a familiar scent invaded his nostrils.  It wasn’t quite pine—more like pine branches left to rot in a musty old cellar.  He covered his nose and mouth immediately, but it didn’t matter.  The smell wasn’t real.  It was the sensation preceding the darkness.  If it spiraled out of control…

    He needed to calm down. 

    He took a deep breath, then immersed himself completely in the water.  Warmth encompassed him along with calm silence.  The emotion subsided.  He stayed under until his lungs ached before surfacing.  The prince wiped nose-length strands of drenched hair back off his face.  He took a few more cleansing breaths, then climbed out of the bath.

    His father was right.  Despite the strength of his emotions, he was stronger.  He’d pushed them aside.  He dried himself off with one towel, used another for his hair, then tied his robe around him.  He crouched down to pet his dog but as he reached out for the beast’s head, he scrambled back.  Shadow wisped across his arm.  Energy pulsated from his body and shot into the walls, causing them to moan and tremble before the energy dispersed.

    He stared at the wall before him, breathing hard.  He’d lost control.  Completely.  But did anyone else know that?  He listened carefully for any sound outside the chamber.  If his parents or the servants had heard the rumbling, they would burst through the door at any moment.  Maybe it had been small enough.

    He glanced at his dog, who sniffed at the wall across from him.  The prince slowly pushed himself up and joined his pet.  He gaped at the wall, thrusting his fingers against the tiles.  Some of them were damaged.  He traced his finger along the cracks—hairline fractures nearly invisible from afar, but easily seen at this distance.  Emotion resumed crawling under his skin at full strength. 

    He rushed across the hall to his bedroom, his dog trailing behind.  People.  He needed to be around people.  If the servants were waiting there, perhaps their company would drive away whatever was stirring up his emotions.  He threw open his door and faced three surprised women.

**CRITIQUE**

    Emotions are dangerous.

Great lead in!

    The prince stared down at his trembling hands.  He thrust them into the warm bath water.  Emotion spread like ants crawling under his skin.  He had to push them away.  Defeat was unacceptable.  He could not lose!

I love the picture you’re painting, unfortunately I’m not feeling what he’s feeling (which is what would be ideal here). With the opening line, and what you’ve got here, you’re talking about ‘emotion’, but not identifying WHICH emotion is putting him in such a bad place.

Is it fear? Anger? Grief?

    He flinched when he felt a large, wet tongue lick his face.  His furry dog whined, comforting him.  He leaned his head against the beast, closing his eyes.  The soft, black fur eased his worry.

You’ve got a lot of his / he / him, etc, in these opening lines. Enough that it’s becoming noticeable. See if you can change up your sentence openings.

    The lights in the bathing chamber flickered.  The prince’s body went rigid,

This kind of separates him from his body.

his startled gasp echoing against the slate tiles as his dog barked.  The prince watched the lights carefully.  Had he imagined it?  He jerked his head to his right, certain he’d seen movement.  There was nothing.

    Goosebumps raced across his arms as a familiar scent invaded his nostrils.  It wasn’t quite pine—more like pine branches left to rot in a musty old cellar.  He covered his nose and mouth immediately, but it didn’t matter.  The smell wasn’t real.  It was the sensation preceding the darkness.  If it spiraled out of control…

    He needed to calm down. 

    He took a deep breath, then immersed himself completely in the water.  Warmth encompassed him along with calm silence.  The emotion subsided.  He stayed under until his lungs ached before surfacing.  The prince wiped nose-length strands of drenched hair back off his face.  He took a few more cleansing breaths, then climbed out of the bath.

    His father was right.  Despite the strength of his emotions, he was stronger. 

Given the angst at the beginning, this feels like it was a little too easy. He submerged for a minute and it was gone? It would be perfect if you identified the emotion, then showed it easing off. Let us feel it backing away – or being pushed away – because of his efforts.

One note: The cutting off of oxygen would normally heighten emotion. The body perceives it as a threat and it causes an adrenaline rush. If he doesn’t react normally to this situation, it’s even more necessary to show what’s going on in his body, I think. I was confused by the conflict of my instincts and the Prince’s experience.

He’d pushed them aside.  He dried himself off with one towel, used another for his hair, then tied his robe around him.  He crouched down to pet his dog but as he reached out for the beast’s head, he scrambled back.  Shadow wisped across his arm.  Energy pulsated from his body and shot into the walls, causing them to moan and tremble before the energy dispersed.

You need to show what this energy looks like, and how it feels to him. Right now it’s an action in a vaccum.

    He stared at the wall before him, breathing hard.  He’d lost control.  Completely.  But did anyone else know that?  He listened carefully for any sound outside the chamber.  If his parents or the servants had heard the rumbling, they would burst through the door at any moment.  Maybe it had been small enough.

    He glanced at his dog, who sniffed at the wall across from him.  The prince slowly pushed himself up and joined his pet.  He gaped at the wall, thrusting his fingers against the tiles.  Some of them were damaged.  He traced his finger along the cracks—hairline fractures nearly invisible from afar, but easily seen at this distance.  Emotion resumed crawling under his skin at full strength. 

Which emotion?

    He rushed across the hall to his bedroom, his dog trailing behind.  People.  He needed to be around people.  If the servants were waiting there, perhaps their company would drive away whatever was stirring up his emotions.  He threw open his door and faced three surprised women.

Nice! I want to know what’s going to happen here!

OVERVIEW

Who? A Prince, though I have no idea what he looks like.

What? Something to do with emotions creating physical power.
When?
Where? In a castle.
Why?

Okay, so here it is from a bird’s-eye-view: I’m intrigued by a Prince who turns emotion in potentially deadly energy. That’s fraught with conflict, not to mention if there’s any romance, the danger of his ‘feelings’ will create excellent tension. So, premise-wise I think you’re onto something here.Right now, it feels like your delivery is letting you down.

Keep in mind, when you’re writing in third person limited the reader experiences whatever the character experiences. The closer you bring us behind the Prince’s eyes, the less you have to tell us it’s the Prince who is thinking / feeling / acting. You don’t want to tell us what’s happening to him, you want us to feel it ourselves.

I’m going to do a rewrite of your first few paragraphs because I want to show you how close you are to hitting it. But I fully recognize this passage is in my voice, not yours. So don’t take it as a direct suggestion. Just an attempt to show you how simple changes can deepen the impression for the reader. I’m calling the Prince “Anton” and attributing emotion to him just for the ease of the read. Forgive me for taking any liberties!

    Prince Anton stared at his hands, trembling despite the warm bath water.  Fear spread like ants crawling under his skin.  No. Defeat was unacceptable. He could not give in!

    He flinched as a large, wet tongue tasted his cheek. Bailey, his loyal dog, whined, pawing the cold porcelain of the bath. Anton smiled and, closing his eyes, leaned into the beast’s ear. The soft, black fur against his cheek soothed the worry burning in his veins.

    Behind his closed lids the lights in the bathing chamber flickered. Bailey barked. Anton jerked upright. Displaced water slapped the tiled floor as he froze, listening. Had he imagined it?  Movement flickered to his right. He whirled to look, but there was nothing.

    Goosebumps raced across his arms as a familiar scent filled the room -- pine branches left to rot in a musty cellar. Pinching his nose was pointless.  The smell wasn’t real. It always came before the darkness.

    He needed to calm down. If he lost control… 

    Taking a deep breath, Anton immersed himself in the water. Warmth slid over him, soothing tense muscles, whispering calm to his heart. In the silence his fear subsided.

   He stayed under until his lungs ached, until he was forced to break the surface or grow gills.

   Reluctantly, he sat up dragging the steamy air into his lungs, pulling drenched strands off his face.

   No more lights. No more movement. Just Bailey, staring at him, ears perked.

   His father was right. He was stronger than the emotions that drove him.

Now, to be fair, my rewrite is one word longer than your original. But I think you’ll see that it provides a richer experience for the reader because it puts us behind the Prince’s eyes – knowing what he knows, feeling what he feels – rather than just being told what is happening in the room.

When I talk about ‘showing’, that’s roughly what I mean.

All of this being said, I meant my initial comment: I’m genuinely intrigued by the premise you’ve introduced here. I want to know who this guy is, what he does, and what happens to him. I also suspect he might be a little bit delicious. And I’d like to get to know him – ha!

So keep going. You’re onto something here.

I hope this is helpful.

Your Turn: Do you have any suggestions for the author to help improve the opening? Were you hooked by the writing sample provided? If you want to contact Jae, you can tweet her at @JaeDansie or click on her blog link at the top of the post.

Why I Love Fictional Heroes (Part I)

This post is written from the heroine's point of view, hence the first person POV. *Cough*

Top Ten Reasons I Love Fictional Heroes

10. He's hot - even if it's in that quirky, or needed-to-get-to-know-him-to-see-it way. Whatever. He bakes my cookies.

9. He's smart. He's got answers. And he usually has a side-kick (or mentor) that can help a lot too.

8. Dude's got skillz. Doesn't hurt if he's a MacGyver-cum-Bond-esque para-military-slash-superhero hero, either. Just sayin'. (And if you're too young to understand those references, don't tell me. It makes me feel old).

7. That raw, manly strength that can beat down doors to run to my aid, can also be tenderly restrained when touching me. Momma likes self-control. Yes, she does.

6. He has resources at his disposal. It may be supreme wealth, supreme power, supreme ability-no-one-else-has, or the power to pin me with his eyes. Whatever. He has the goods.

5. Speaking of Eyes... Honey looks me in the eye. A lot. He's not afraid to let me in the windows to his soul. And while I'm there, he may occasionally smolder...

4. He's affectionate. Even if he's never let himself be caught holding hands in public before, he loves me so much he can't keep his hands off me - even in the G-rated pages. I'm that special.

3. He loves me more than he's ever loved any woman he's ever met. Ever. And when he get confused by the jealous flash of a thigh from an ex, or other such trivialities, all he has to do is look into my eyes to remember where he really wants to be...

2. Hero is a good kisser. Just the right kind: No helicopter tongues. No slobbering messes so I have to wash my face after we make out. No engulfing half my face so I'm breathing in his asophagus. Hero has mastered the mouth-dance. And we can get jiggy for a long time.

1. He wants me - but he loves me enough to wait until I'm ready. Oh, yes, does he want me.  And when he's implementing point number two, sometimes he trembles because his unquenched desire is almost overwhelming in the rush of touching my G-rated skin.


Sigh....

Your Turn: What is it about fictional heroes / heroines that works? What makes reading them a delicious experience?

First 500 Critique Series - THE REFUGEE by Samathan Farkas

Here's the second in our First 500 Critiques Series for 2012. Remember, all commentors go into the draw for a critique of their first chapter!

As usual, the first 500 words are left untouched here. The critique begins halfway down.

THE REFUGEE
by Samathan Farkas
(Visit Samantha's blog)

GENRE: Sci-Fi Thriller, 100,000 words

The year was 1849 and the whole country was in a rush, except for the man on the motorcycle.

The wheels churned up clouds of dust as the vehicle sped through the desert night, sending unnatural shivers into the evening silence. The headlights cast an eerie glow upon the rock and an illuminated screen tossed a wavering beam toward the stars.  The bike's rider, a rugged man with dark hair and darker eyes, repeatedly glanced at the GPS.  It flashed him the date, which he ignored, for it was the right date but not the one he wanted; instead, he focused on the two blinking dots that rested side by side, a few miles off.

He came to a sudden halt at the brink of a large canyon, killed the engine and climbed off the bike.  The first foreign lights he had seen in over an hour sprung up from below, as if between its walls flowed a fiery river.  But when he stepped to the edge and glanced down, he saw nothing but a small cluster of buildings, each with a candle in every window.  A mining town, nestled between the cliffs.  That's where they wanted him to go.

What if I just don't show up?  The thought had crossed his mind several times since leaving base, and now, as he inched forward until he toes could have curled around the ledge had he not been wearing those tall leather boots, it thumped against his skull louder than ever.  How easy it would have been to simply trip!  A drunken stumble!  An innocent loss of balance!  Someone would find his broken corpse the next day on his way to the quarry, or while leading the cattle to a field.  No one would think twice about it.  His face was alien, and his gun, too; but his clothes were not.  He would blend in well enough with the locals, and the others would manage to conceal the motorbike before anybody discovered it.  All he needed to do was take one more step, and it would all be over...

A gunshot shattered the stillness.  It ricocheted off the canyon walls until finally fading into the sky.  His trained ear registered the sound as belonging to an old-fashioned harmonica gun, rather than one of the Smith & Wesson semi-automatics they used.  It probably did not mean anything, but the sudden noise knocked him to his senses.  With one last glimpse at the canyon floor, he returned to the bike.  Somehow he would have to get to the town.

That, though, was the easy part.

***

Half an hour later he found two motorcycles identical to his, each bearing a bumper emblazoned with one word:  Eon.  Steel horses, those things--silver and sleek and tucked in the shadows of an empty stable stall.  They were propped up on kickstands, side by side, just as the GPS had depicted.  But their riders were missing.

**CRITIQUE**

The year was 1849 and the whole country was in a rush, except for the man on the motorcycle.

A GREAT opening in my opinion. In that one line you’ve told me that we are either in an alternate history of 1849 OR we’re in the future on a different calendar to the one I’m used to. Either way, it works. I want to see how those two elements combine.

I do want to encourage you to expand just a little on “the whole country was in a rush”.  Mainly because this line had me picturing 1849 London (for some reason) which made the next line a little jarring. Perhaps something along the lines of “The year was 1849 and the faraway city streets bustled. Everyone was in a rush – except the man on the motorcycle. His wheels churned…”

I’m not suggesting that as a replacement, only trying to give you an idea of what I meant.

The wheels churned up clouds of dust as the vehicle sped through the desert night, sending unnatural shivers into the evening silence. The headlights cast an eerie glow upon the rock and an illuminated screen tossed a wavering beam toward the stars. 

Right here is where I wondered what POV we were in. Is it omniscient? The grand language would imply so. I’m a hard sell on the omniscient POV, but that’s subjective.

The problem is, being this distant from the focal character, I’m not getting the who or what. What does he look like? How old is he? What kind of road is he on? Is it a dirt path? Is it just plain sand? A couple of sprinkled details could cement the mental image and let me focus on the story itself.

The bike's rider, a rugged man with dark hair and darker eyes, repeatedly glanced at the GPS.  It flashed him the date, which he ignored, for it was the right date but not the one he wanted; instead, he focused on the two blinking dots that rested side by side, a few miles off.

He came to a sudden halt at the brink of a large canyon,

Give some sense-imagery here – a stone bouncing down the wall, or the wind pushing up into the rider’s eyes. Something that makes the location tangible.

killed the engine and climbed off the bike.  The first foreign lights he had seen in over an hour sprung up from below, as if between its walls flowed a fiery river. 

I pictured lights as points of light, so couldn’t understand how they’d look like a fiery river. I re-read a couple times and still couldn’t get the mental image.

But when he stepped to the edge and glanced down, he saw nothing but a small cluster of buildings, each with a candle in every window.  A mining town, nestled between the cliffs.  That's where they wanted him to go.

A glance is a short look. Seems like he looked down. Because you’re in the first page, this is another good place to get really tangible – what kind of buildings are clustered? The candles give us a clue, but better if we knew if they were cold brick, rickety shacks, crumbling mud huts, etc.

What if I just don't show up?  The thought had crossed his mind several times since leaving base, and now, as he inched forward until he toes could have curled around the ledge had he not been wearing those tall leather boots, it thumped against his skull louder than ever.

This is good detail, but I think the sense-imagery of his clothing could have come sooner. Let him feel the rub of leather against his leg while he’s still on the bike, or be grateful that it kept the wind from biting his skin, or something along those lines. That way we know what to picture earlier and you can just launch us into the story here.

How easy it would have been to simply trip!  A drunken stumble!  An innocent loss of balance!  Someone would find his broken corpse the next day on his way to the quarry, or while leading the cattle to a field.  No one would think twice about it.  His face was alien, and his gun, too; but his clothes were not.  He would blend in well enough with the locals, and the others would manage to conceal the motorbike before anybody discovered it.  All he needed to do was take one more step, and it would all be over...

A gunshot shattered the stillness.  It ricocheted off the canyon walls until finally fading into the sky. 

You’ve got fast-paced action followed by slow-receding imagery. I think if you remove ‘finally’ it will solve the problem.

His trained ear registered the sound as belonging to an old-fashioned harmonica gun, rather than one of the Smith & Wesson semi-automatics they used. 

We would realize his ear was trained simply by seeing that he can tell the difference between the sounds. Just have him observe it.

It probably did not mean anything,

Since when does a gunshot not mean anything?

but the sudden noise knocked him to his senses.  With one last glimpse at the canyon floor, he returned to the bike.  Somehow he would have to get to the town.

That, though, was the easy part.

“Somehow” implies it isn’t easy. I’d just state he has to get down there – or it was time to get down there.  I do like the last line. It implies there’s tricky stuff coming and I want to know what he’s here to do.

***

Half an hour later he found two motorcycles identical to his, each bearing a bumper emblazoned with one word:  Eon.  Steel horses, those things--silver and sleek and tucked in the shadows of an empty stable stall.  They were propped up on kickstands, side by side, just as the GPS had depicted.  But their riders were missing.

Personally, I’d give just one paragraph before this that gives the reader a clear view of what it’s like to be in the village – i.e. “He crept along the dirt road between buildings until he found the stable. A crumbling, thatched affair, he had to hunt to find a half-door he could open quietly…”

Again, I’m not suggesting you use those words, just giving you an idea of what I meant by giving a visual of the environs.

 

OVERVIEW

Who? A dark haired, darker-eyed man wearing leather.

What?
When? 1849. But it’s not yet clear if it’s the 1849 I automatically associate with the date.
Where? In the desert.
Why? Someone’s told him to be there.

So the only detail I’m really lacking at this point is the what. What is this guy here to do? I think you’ve done a good job of making it clear the guy has a goal, so a lot of readers would probably keep going to see what is happening. But personally, while I enjoyed the taste of your writing, I wasn’t hooked.

To be fair, Sci-fi isn’t really my thing, so you’ve got a hard sell on me anyway. But I wonder if I knew whether this man was friend or foe (or foe who wanted to be friend) if I might want to read further? Right now I don’t know if he’s there to do murder, or just get a coffee with a controller. Some idea of why he would consider killing himself rather than undertaking this task would be good. Not a full explanation, not yet. Just enough to give me a taste of what’s coming.

In my opinion, your writing is fairly strong here. But as I mentioned, omniscient is a hard POV. I felt distant from the man, so not yet invested in what was happening. Because of this distance, I also had the feeling that this man might not be the main character of the book overall – so I was kind of wanting to skip ahead and see what relationship he had to the protagonist.

Since you’re a sci-fi writer, you’ll know more than me about the norms for this genre. So take any of my advice with a grain of salt. But personally, I’d get closer. Give more information on the man himself, than what he’s doing. The most compelling paragraph (for me) was when he stood at the cliff and thought about whether or not to do what he was planning. More of that close POV would make this entire piece more compelling for me.

All in all though, well done. No real reading hiccups. No useless words. The images flow from one to the next. Just try to find a way to bring the reader closer to the heart of what’s going on.

Your Turn: Do you have any advice for the author? Anything you think could improve the opening of her novel? You can visit Samantha's blog here.

First 500 Critique Series - EXIT STAGE LEFT by Randy Lindsay

This is the first in a series of posts where I will be critiquing the first 500 words of an author's book. You're free to add your notes in the comments (and disagree with mine). Just keep in mind these authors have volunteered their work, so please make sure any comments are constructive!

GIVEAWAY: For each of the first 500 posts, commenters go into the draw for a critique of their first chapter!

The first 500 words are offered here, untouched, for your reading pleasure. The critique begins half-way down.

EXIT STAGE LEFT

By Randy Lindsay

GENRE: Mystery/Comedy

“I got us a job.”           

The words were like fingernails dragged along a chalk board. Not because I dislike working. And not because I dislike working with someone else. But these words, spoken in that slightly nasal surfer accent, meant that Dave had found another bizarre event to investigate.

I froze. We hadn’t made eye contact and with any luck he might think me sleeping, or even dead. To reinforce the illusion I closed my eyes and chanted in my mind ‘This is not the man you are looking for. This is not the office you seek.’

“Come on man.” Dave guffawed. “That trick didn’t work in high school and it isn’t going to work on me now.”

For a moment the office remained quiet, except for the sound of the air condition run successfully trying to reduce the miserable heat. Seconds ticked by.

“Sherlock? You awake?” Dave sounded less amused.

He nudged my shoulder.

“Bill? You dead?”

When a finger jabbed me in the chest hard enough to bruise, I gave up the ruse.

“Alright Dave, what do you want?” I rubbed my chest.

Dave gave one of his machine-gun chuckles. “Dude! You had me going there. Nice one.”

“At least you didn’t try to resuscitate me this time.”

“Anyways, I got us a job.”

“You said that before.” I spun around in my chair and tried to look busy by shuffling through the papers on my desk. Most were bills. I quickly relocated them to the bottom of the stack and busied myself with the one open case I had. A jealous husband had hired me to follow his wife and make sure she hadn’t been cheating on him.

“Hey!” Dave pointed at the pictures I had gathered for the case. “Isn’t that Jenny Parker?”

“Maybe. Do you know her?”

“Yeah. Well sort of. She’s married to an uptight lawyer in Bel air, but dating the guy who played Tyler’s brother on “Here’s Tyler”.

“And how do you know this?”

“Because she’s hot.”

“That isn’t a reason.” I rolled my eyes.

“Also, because they came in to the lot the other day. He obviously wanted to impress her with the purchase of a car.”

“So, this former celebrity is hoping to impress a rich, lawyer’s wife by buying her a used Honda?”

“You say that like it’s a negative thing. Hondas rock. Not only that, Hollywood Honda is the dealership of the stars.”

“I thought that was the logo for Hollywood Saturn?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

“No. H S is the dealership to the stars. Not that it matters, we’re thinking of changing ours. Like, Hollywood Honda – used cars for used stars.”

I nodded. “I’m sure that’ll go over big.”

“Right. That’s what I was thinking too.”

“How sure are you that Mrs. Parker is going out with Tyler’s brother?”

“Real sure. They come over to the lot almost every day to check out our fine fleet of pre-loved vehicles and then walk across the street to the Motel 6.” 
 

**CRITIQUE**

“I got us a job.”           

The words were like fingernails dragged along a chalk board.

This seems like a really strong reaction to a simple statement. Because of what follows I understand what you’re going for. But I think you’re risking overstating. Maybe, rather than fingers on a chalkboard, his stomach dropped (except less cliché than that), or he tensed (except more detailed)?

Not because I dislike working. And not because I dislike working with someone else. But these words, spoken in that slightly nasal surfer accent, meant that Dave had found another bizarre event to investigate.

That’s more strong language. I won’t comment further until I’ve read the whole portion so I know if it fits.

I froze.

I think you could have gotten away with just this reaction.
 

We hadn’t made eye contact and with any luck he might think me sleeping, or even dead. To reinforce the illusion I closed my eyes and chanted in my mind ‘This is not the man you are looking for. This is not the office you seek.’

I’d cut “and chanted in my mind” and simply put the words in italics. It would speed up the pace and reinforce the humor.

“Come on man.” Dave guffawed.

Correct punctuation of attributed speech would be: “Come on, man,” Dave guffawed. Though I think you could do away with ‘guffawed’ and just use ‘said’. It’s an invisible word and won’t distract from the dialogue.

“That trick didn’t work in high school and it isn’t going to work on me now.”

Good, organic way to inform the reader these men have been friends since high school!



For a moment the office remained quiet,

I thought they were in a bedroom? Isn’t the protagonist lying down? It isn’t a problem for him to be asleep on a couch, or whatever, but you  need to inform the reader’s mental image. It’s jarring to have to reset it this far in.





except for the sound of the air condition run successfully trying to reduce the miserable heat. Seconds ticked by.

There’s words or portions of words missing in that first sentence.

“Sherlock? You awake?” Dave sounded less amused.  He nudged my shoulder. “Bill? You dead?”

When a finger jabbed me in the chest hard enough to bruise, I gave up the ruse.

“Alright Dave, what do you want?” I rubbed my chest.

Comma before and after “Dave”.

Dave gave one of his machine-gun chuckles. “Dude! You had me going there. Nice one.”

I have trouble imagining a machine-gun chuckle. Chuckles are (in my mind) low and soft, as opposed to laughter or guffaws. Did Dave really think there was something wrong with Bill? It makes him seem less intelligent – which might be intentional. Just noting the impression.

“At least you didn’t try to resuscitate me this time.”

“Anyways, I got us a job.”

“You said that before.” I spun around in my chair and tried to look busy by shuffling through the papers on my desk. Most were bills. I quickly relocated them to the bottom of the stack and busied myself with the one open case I had. A jealous husband had hired me to follow his wife and make sure she hadn’t been cheating on him.

“Hey!” Dave pointed at the pictures I had gathered for the case. “Isn’t that Jenny Parker?”

“Maybe. Do you know her?”

“Yeah. Well sort of. She’s married to an uptight lawyer in Bel air, but dating the guy who played Tyler’s brother on “Here’s Tyler”.

“And how do you know this?”

“Because she’s hot.”

“That isn’t a reason.” I rolled my eyes.

This was flowing well. I’d cut the eye-roll and let the pace keep moving.

“Also, because they came in to the lot the other day. He obviously wanted to impress her with the purchase of a car.”

“So, this former celebrity is hoping to impress a rich, lawyer’s wife by buying her a used Honda?”

“You say that like it’s a negative thing. Hondas rock. Not only that, Hollywood Honda is the dealership of the stars.”

“I thought that was the logo for Hollywood Saturn?” I asked, afraid of his answer.

“No. H S is the dealership to the stars. Not that it matters, we’re thinking of changing ours. Like, Hollywood Honda – used cars for used stars.”

This made me smile.

I nodded. “I’m sure that’ll go over big.”

“Right. That’s what I was thinking too.”

“How sure are you that Mrs. Parker is going out with Tyler’s brother?”

“Real sure. They come over to the lot almost every day to check out our fine fleet of pre-loved vehicles and then walk across the street to the Motel 6.” 

You’ve got great flow going in the second half, but I feel like I have a better feel for the relationship between these two men, than I do for what they’re doing. Their relationship needs to be solid for this kind of book, so that's great, but in these first pages you need a story hook.


Could Dave tell Bill what job he’s got? I feel like I would have kept reading, but not much further before I gave up. Better if I already knew where we were headed (at least a hint) and was eagerly devouring the pages than considering whether or not to keep reading.

OVERVIEW

Who? Bill and Dave. Dave is a ‘surfer type’. I have no idea what Bill looks like or their respective ages (I would guess they are in their 20’s or 30’s).

What? Something to do with private investigation. But I don’t really know.

When? I’m guessing modern-day. But it hasn’t really been established.

Where? Hollywood (that’s a hook for me personally)

Why?

I think the opening lines need some work. If you can get to the banter a little quicker, and let the banter provide a few more nuggets of what’s coming, I think this would be more successful as a ‘hook’. Right now, there’s no real indication of what direction this book is going to take except that we’ve got a great comraderie between the two men in this scene.

I like the setting and, as a woman, the Hollywood environment appeals to me. But I think you need to get to the guts of the problem quicker. Rather than bantering about this hot woman, could they be bantering about the new job Dave has found?

One final note. I think you’re giving too much in the first few lines. Try something like this:

“I got us a job.”           

I froze. Those words, spoken in that slightly nasal surfer accent, meant Dave had stumbled on another bizarre investigation.

I was slouched in my chair. With any luck he might think me sleeping, or even dead. To reinforce the illusion I closed my eyes. This is not the man you are looking for. This is not the office you seek.

“Come on, man. That trick didn’t work in high school and it isn’t going to work on me now.”

For a moment the office remained quiet, except for the sound of the air conditioning unit unsuccessfully trying to reduce the miserable heat.

“Sherlock? You awake?”  He nudged my shoulder. “Bill? You dead?”

When a finger jabbed me in the chest hard enough to bruise, I gave up the ruse.

“Alright, Dave, what do you want?” I rubbed my chest.

Dave laughed. “Dude! You had me going there. Nice one.”

“At least you didn’t try to resuscitate me this time.”

That’s 164 words compared to your 210, and I believe it gets you to the same place. Of course, I’m not suggesting you use my phrasing. You’ve got to work in your own voice. I’m just trying to show you that you can trust your dialogue to move the reader along and give the impressions you’re trying to build.

I hope that helps!

Your Turn: Any advice for the author? Anything you think could improve the opening of this book?