Monday, May 22, 2017

Pitch Wars Early Bird Critique 12 - First 500 - YA Fantasy


To skip directly to the material and critique, scroll down to the star divider line. If you'd like to know how I break down a critique, and what I'm looking for, keep reading:

To help the authors as much as possible, I've critiqued their full first chapter, however I'm only sharing the first 500 words as these can get quite long.
When critiquing a first chapter, (especially the first 500 words), I'm always searching for these pieces of information. A great book can include all of them right up front. Sometimes one or two need to take longer. But in the first page, or two at most, I should see at least three of these:

Who is the focus of the story?
Where are they?
When is it (i.e. what era--is it today? two hundred years ago? not sure?)
What are they doing?
Why are they doing it

And in the first chapter, if not the first 500 words, I want to know what the character's initial goal is. That goal will likely change as they learn more about the situation they're falling into. However, right up front, the character always needs to want something--desperately. And the author needs to communicate to me what that is, and why they might not get it, as quickly as possible. Because that's what tells me why I should care about this story.

I'm looking for technical expertise--does the author know how to set up a scene? Do they understand backstory and when to include it (and perhaps more importantly, when not to). Is their writing tight and polished, or are there a lot of unnecessary words? Is the author falling into purple prose (over-writing in an attempt to sound good, but actually creating a sense of melodrama which will turn many readers off).

Beyond that, I'm looking at how I respond as a reader. Am I intrigued? Do I care? Do I want to keep reading?
So, with all those elements in mind, here we go...


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

ORIGINAL MATERIAL:


My blood raged.
My heart threatened to burst.
Every ragged breath clawed its way down my throat.
But the horrible roar of chasing wings thundered behind me, and so I ran on.
The twilight sky above was tinged with blood red streaks as the sun descended over the spectral wilderness. A vast and devastating darkness hovered over the forest here. It was black, limitless. Terrible. The kind of infinite peril that prowled and watched, waiting to sink its teeth into me and devour my flesh as my very heart still beat.
Snarled tree branches resisted my magic, then unfurled and moved with reluctance at my command, parting the way as my racing footsteps fell silent as shadows on the forest floor. I called down a hazy, smothering fog. That should help conceal me from whatever winged monster had scented me out.
I shouldn’t be here. This forest was dark, dangerous. Haunted. But it was the only path from the kingdom of Nezaria to the North Sea. And I had to get there.
My life depended on it.
I’d never given much thought to leaving my father’s kingdom. My kingdom. It was a far-away impossibility. Less than a dream. My life in Nezaria had been fated long before I was even born. And the few times that I had given such delusions space in my mind…well, in those fantasies my departure certainly had not been under circumstances like these.
I had never once in all of my near twenty years considered that I would become the kingdom’s most wanted fugitive. And yet here I was. About to die not at the hands of my father’s royal guards, but in the roaring clutches of some rogue beast who’d stumbled upon my trail in the darkness of this primordial forest.
No one would ever find my body. I would not be remembered; oh no. There would be no fond memories of me, the daughter who betrayed her kingdom. No songs of my life would be sung in the temple chambers.
My father and his advisors would be all too eager to have the kingdom forget me – a garish blemish on the pristine annals of the royal Aphaterrin family history. Word had likely spread throughout the entire kingdom by now; I was twenty-three days gone. Everyone in the capitol would have seen the King’s guards scouring the city streets for the runaway princess, the lost heir of Nezaria.
The scent of violet blossoms and wild mushrooms strangled the air, and sinister whispers from everywhere and nowhere tormented my ears as I ran. The very earth underfoot railed against the power coursing through my veins – a grotesque and silent rebellion. These cursed woods would see me dead; fantastic monsters of nightmares and dangerous inhabitants better left undiscovered both prowled this desolate woodland.
No, this land wanted nothing less than to obey my magic, to render me as weak as I’d been in those last terrible moments in my father’s castle. When no one had a shred of compassion to offer me; when I’d been defenseless against the High Priestess’ curse.


CRITIQUE (My words in red font):


My blood raged.
My heart threatened to burst.
Every ragged breath clawed its way down my throat.
But the horrible roar of chasing wings thundered behind me, and so I ran on.

Good opening, but because we don’t have an image to frame the stimulus until line four, it loses some of it’s impact. I’d lead with “The horrible roar of chasing wings…” line, then let the other three—which are responses to that, follow.


The twilight sky above was tinged with blood red streaks as the sun descended over the spectral wilderness. A vast and devastating darkness hovered over the forest here. It was black, limitless. Terrible. The kind of infinite peril that prowled and watched, waiting to sink its teeth into me and devour my flesh as my very heart still beat.

Your prose is good, but you’re over-writing in an attempt to create drama. The problem is, we aren’t getting enough sensory details (sight, sound, smell, touch) to make the larger images feel real. Later in a story this might work, when the reader’s deep in the movie in their mind. But right now you’re trying to ground them in this reality, not sweep their emotions away on your tantalizing prose. Pare this back to actual sensations—the bark on the tree, the clap of wings, the air rushing past the character’s face, that kind of thing, then pull out to show us the bigger landscape.


Snarled tree branches resisted my magic, then unfurled and moved with reluctance at my command, parting the way as my racing footsteps fell silent as shadows on the forest floor. I called down a hazy, smothering fog. That should help conceal me from whatever winged monster had scented me out.

Great action. Just pull it back a hair to the senses. And, honestly, “dragon” (if that’s what it is) is way more evocative than “winged monster”. Single word, specific nouns will always have more impact than adjectives/modifiers on generic nouns when you’re establishing your reality.



I shouldn’t be here.

That’s a given, what with the danger. Either cut it, or change to a character or story specific reason why they shouldn’t be there. “Jonas told me if I tried to steal the egg, the dragon females would hunt me . . .” (except, better than that. I’m just letting you see what I mean).


This forest was dark, dangerous. Haunted. But it was the only path from the kingdom of Nezaria to the North Sea. And I had to get there.
My life depended on it.

Ah. That’s what we needed. You could cut the “I shouldn’t be here” line and replace this paragraph with something more active to the plot. Show him/her cursing the dragons for standing between them and whatever reason it is they need to get to the North Sea, or whatever. Weave that motive into the action, rather than pausing the action to state the motive—does that make sense?


I’d never given much thought to leaving my father’s kingdom. My kingdom. It was a far-away impossibility. Less than a dream. My life in Nezaria had been fated long before I was even born. And the few times that I had given such delusions space in my mind…well, in those fantasies my departure certainly had not been under circumstances like these.

You started with a bang, now we’re slowing the pace and not actually learning much of great importance. I’d cut this. Keep the action moving and, until the action slows or shifts, only give internal narration specific to the readers need to understand. I.e. we do need to understand why this character has to be here, in this specific spot. We don’t need to understand that they’d never thought about leaving before—that can come later as we get to know them and understand what they’re dealing with more urgently.



I had never once in all of my near twenty years considered that I would become the kingdom’s most wanted fugitive. And yet here I was. About to die not at the hands of my father’s royal guards, but in the roaring clutches of some rogue beast who’d stumbled upon my trail in the darkness of this primordial forest.

Again, rather than telling us he/she never expected to be a fugitive, have them observe the irony of being a fugitive, yet potentially dying at the business ends of those talons, or whatever suits their personality. This moment is about moving the action forward, and us getting to know the character—not musings on their life. Right now, they’re facing death—that creates urgency. So match that urgency with your storytelling.


No one would ever find my body. I would not be remembered; oh no. There would be no fond memories of me, the daughter who betrayed her kingdom. No songs of my life would be sung in the temple chambers.

A good, organic way to tell us we’re listening to a her. But cut the second sentence and “of my life” in the last one—get us to the intent with as few words as possible, so as to keep the action moving.



My father and his advisors would be all too eager to have the kingdom forget me – a garish blemish on the pristine annals of the royal Aphaterrin family history. Word had likely spread throughout the entire kingdom by now; I was twenty-three days gone. Everyone in the capitol would have seen the King’s guards scouring the city streets for the runaway princess, the lost heir of Nezaria.


All of this is backstory, and it’s the wrong place for it. This is all important information, but we need action and character first. Get the reader in engaged, then explain to them in bits and pieces—only as they’re relevant to the current action—how the character got to this point. Otherwise we don’t have a reason to care about all of this.


The scent of violet blossoms and wild mushrooms strangled the air,

This is a pastoral image. Given that she’s being chased by a dragon, you want to go be going for sensory details that increase the stakes and sense of doom—the sulphuric stench of its hot breath, maybe the skritch of talons on a boulder as it tries to grab her, than kind of thing. Maybe she sees the heads of the blossoms cut through by her pounding feet as she runs through them if you want to give the sense of the landscape, but increase the tension instead of descreasing it.


and sinister whispers from everywhere and nowhere tormented my ears as I ran.

This kind of line sounds great, but doesn’t actually tell the reader anything. Keep them grounded in reality. Leave the lyricism for emotional passages later.



The very earth underfoot railed against the power coursing through my veins – a grotesque and silent rebellion. These cursed woods would see me dead; fantastic monsters of nightmares and dangerous inhabitants better left undiscovered both prowled this desolate woodland.

Again, you’re using great words, but there’s no new information here. We know she’s in danger. Show us what’s happening.



No, this land wanted nothing less than to obey my magic, to render me as weak as I’d been in those last terrible moments in my father’s castle. When no one had a shred of compassion to offer me; when I’d been defenseless against the High Priestess’ curse.

So, the fact that her magic doesn’t want to work out here is an important detail. But instead of just telling us (this is the second time), show us—show her trying to make something happen, and it fizzling. Or show her weaving a spell to create a flash that bursts in her own face instead of the dragons—describe the action and use the action to show the reader what’s happening, instead of using pretty words to tell the reader something they’d rather watch, than learn.



SUMMARY:

So, your opening is well written from a grammar/word-usage point of view, which tells me you have talent. You don’t use a lot of extra words to get your point across, which is great. You know what words dredge up emotion, and you know how to put them together.
Unfortunately, that skill’s getting lost in focusing on the wrong details and information.
In the first chapter—especially in the first 500 words—you want a paragraph of backstory at the most. (None works. A sentence or two is enough). Because your job at this early stage is twofold:
1.      Make the world feel real so the reader falls into it.
2.      Make the reader care about the character by putting them in a situation that makes the reader feel anything that will resonate—anger, fear, hurt, excitement . . .
Whatever it is (here it would be fear) carry the character through that scene, building up the reader’s tension, and only offering backstory where it’s required to understand the action.
Do give the character an intent (getting to the North Sea).
Don’t drop the character deep into internal narration, except in response to action—and even then, only in small pieces.
Always keep the action rolling.
As a mentor, if I received this in Pitch Wars and the moments of this chapter that were forward-moving were all the content, I would probably ask for a few more chapters to see if it engaged me. As currently written, I wouldn't request.
That said, it’s obvious to me, because I’ve read further, that you are a solid writer and you have a well-imagined world. All you need help with is understanding what information is important, and which details ground your reader--what words are unnecessary. The actual pen-to-paper skill is fine.
Don’t be discouraged! Structure and word-cutting can be learned. How to put words together for maximum effect can’t. You’re going to go far.
Good luck!
  

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