Aimee L. Salter: Pitch Wars Early Bird Critique 4 - First 500

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...

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

ONE

No one told me about the addiction—how it eats through the body, biting and burning every nerve until there’s nothing left, except insatiable desire for magic.

Fluorescent lights poured heat and energy throughout our small greenhouse. From my place among the petunias, it seeped into my skin, causing beads of sweat to drip from my brow. The sweet floral perfumes tickled my nose. My anticipation spiked.

I shouldn’t have been there.

Although the greenhouse never failed in calming my nerves, it did nothing to expel my appetite. If anything, the small conservatory of earth amplified the cravings.

My calico cat, Magnus, wound his plump body around my legs and greeted me with a blend of purr and meow. Magnus enjoyed the greenhouse almost as much as I did. But he wouldn’t in a few seconds.

“Go on, Mag Pie,” I said, nudging him away with one bare foot, “or you’ll be sorry.”

As if he understood my warning, Magnus waddled toward the exit, flicking his tail. He stumbled over a loose stone, tripping out the door just before the misting system hummed to life.

I smiled, not at him, but at the object of my anticipation.

All around me, the air began to glisten with tiny specks of water. I relished in the cool humidity. The mist thickened. Finally, hidden by blurry plastic walls and fog, I could use.

My hands sunk into the soil. As vitality seeped through my skin, my fingertips went numb. White violets to my left, a bright red chenille bush to my right, popped up and sprung to life. What took Mother Nature months to achieve, I’d conquered in seconds, and I couldn’t stop there.

Dirt tumbled to the ground as I lifted my hands from the planter’s box to cup the falling mist, like snatching fireflies from the sky. As the fresh water pooled in my palms, the numbness spread. Anesthetic made its way through my hands and up my arms. By the time the orb of water was created, magic had tranquilized most of my upper body.

A thick breath trembled through my chest. I savored the feeling. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, but most of all, it was dangerous.

I sighed.

Stop now, before you go too far.

My hands returned to their place at my sides, but the liquid orb held its position in front of my face. I sighed again before returning the water to its evaporated state.

The breath chafed my lungs. It felt unnatural to breathe—as if the only thing necessary was to be and let the anesthesia that was my magic consume me. I wanted to keep going. The power pushed through my veins, begging to be released. It spoke to me—whispered options into my mind.

Spin the air like a gentle tornado. Let it fill the room with you as the eye.

Pull the heat from the lights. Let it warm your chilled skin.

I pinched my eyes shut and pleaded for the craving to pass.

CRITIQUE (My words in red font)

No one told me about the addiction—how it eats through the body, biting and burning every nerve until there’s nothing left, except insatiable desire for magic.

In concept this is a great hook, however it’s bordering on over-written. I think you want to simplify it, make it a little starker: No one told me about the addiction—how it bites, burning through every nerve until there’s nothing left but the desire for magic.

I’m naturally a wordy writer. A craft book once gave me very good advice: Use specific nouns and verbs, rather than using descriptors (i.e. Use “Lazy boy” instead of “plush recliner”, or in this case, using “bites” instead of “eats through the body” which is really the same metaphor in context).

Two small details, then a larger note:

1. Fluorescent lights are the opposite of pouring heat and energy, so maybe describe the atmosphere, rather than the source of it.

2. “Causing” is a personal pet peeve—one I know a lot of agents and editors share (because they taught me about it). It’s an overly dramatic word that, at worst, can be replaced by something much simpler (i.e. “making”), and at best, isn’t necessary at all. We don’t have to have “cause” stated to see the link between the atmosphere and sweat. My advice, do a word search on your manuscript, and any time you see “causing” used to link environment or action to consequence, like this, cut it. Instead give the environment or action in one sentence, then the consequence/effect in the other (i.e. “The greenhouse was so hot, the air had weight. Sweat trickled from my temple and curled my hair.”)

This second paragraph as a whole is tipping into purple prose, which is certain death with an agent. Don’t worry, you have the right idea—you want to set a scene and make it tangible to the reader. But adding modifiers and descriptors in these early pages doesn’t make writing sing, it puts more words between you and the reader’s brain trying to stop forgetting that it’s reading.

What you want here is, in as few words as possible, to describe the atmosphere (hot) and place the narrator in it (among the petunias—but where? How? Walking? Standing? Peering?). Then give sensory detail that makes the place feel real—soil under her fingernails, or the sweat making her shirt stick to her back—something the reader can actually experience. Scents are good, but they have be specific to work really well, and I couldn’t tell you how a petunia smells. If I were you, I’d go with the sweat sensation, and just make it stark.

I won’t rewrite every paragraph (promise!) so use the techniques I’m giving you early on to apply to later material.

I shouldn’t have been there.

Although the greenhouse never failed in calming my nerves, it did nothing to expel my appetite. If anything, the small conservatory of earth amplified the cravings.

To say “never failed in calming my nerves” is passive. To say “Never failed to calm my nerves” is active. If you can’t see the difference yet, don’t worry. You can google “active versus passive writing” as there’s lots of in-depth information out there from publishing professionals. It’s something that takes a little practice to hone, but as soon as you’re aware of it, you’ll start to see it—and pretty soon it’ll become second nature to write them actively the first time.

I see so much of my own early writing in your prose, so trust me when I say not to take this personally: You need to study of the craft of fiction. You can clearly write, but right now, that potential is squashed for an agent by the sheer detail work required to teach you how to cut and refine your words. My first recommendation would be “Techniques of the Selling Writer” by Dwight V. Swain. It gives a masterclass (literally) in how to write effectively and efficiently. You’ll be so inspired early on in the reading, that you’ll want to put it down and put the things you’re learning into practice. But don’t give in to the urge. Make notes for yourself, then keep reading. Because if you get through that entire book and apply it to your manuscript, you’ll win. Promise.

My calico cat, Magnus, wound his plump body around my legs and greeted me with a blend of purr and meow. Magnus enjoyed the greenhouse almost as much as I did. But he wouldn’t in a few seconds.

“Go on, Mag Pie,” I said, nudging him away with one bare foot, “or you’ll be sorry.”

As if he understood my warning, Magnus waddled toward the exit, flicking his tail. He stumbled over a loose stone,

A cat stumbled? Seems unlikely?

tripping out the door just before the misting system hummed to life.

I smiled, not at him, but at the object of my anticipation.

All around me, the air began to glisten with tiny specks of water. I relished in the cool humidity. The mist thickened. Finally, hidden by blurry plastic walls and fog, I could use.

My hands sunk into the soil. As vitality seeped through my skin,

You used “seeped into my skin” just a few paragraphs ago. I’d cut the first occurrence and keep this one.

my fingertips went numb. White violets to my left, a bright red chenille bush to my right, popped up and sprung to life. What took Mother Nature months to achieve, I’d conquered in seconds, and I couldn’t stop there.

Dirt tumbled to the ground as I lifted my hands from the planter’s box to cup the falling mist, like snatching fireflies from the sky.

Great simile! Very visual.

As the fresh water pooled in my palms, the numbness spread. Anesthetic made its way through my hands and up my arms. By the time the orb of water was created, magic had tranquilized most of my upper body.

A thick breath trembled through my chest. I savored the feeling. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, but most of all, it was dangerous.

I sighed.

Stop now, before you go too far.

This is where you need to show the reader what’s at stake: What will happen if she goes too far? It doesn’t have to be detailed, but this is your moment to make the reader care. So have her remember a time she’s seen someone go to far, and give a hint of what happened (Screaming? Burning up? Losing their mind?) Whatever it is, give a single sensory detail – sight, sound, touch, taste, or scent – that hints at it. For example: If someone uses too much magic and they burn up, have her savor the feeling, then have that moment eroded by the whiff of burning flesh, or something—the memory of a sense—that will give the reader a hint about what the consequences of going too far actually are in a tangible way.

My hands returned to their place at my sides, but the liquid orb held its position in front of my face. I sighed again before returning the water to its evaporated state.

Spin the air like a gentle tornado. Let it fill the room with you as the eye.

Pull the heat from the lights. Let it warm your chilled skin.

I pinched my eyes shut and pleaded for the craving to pass.

Grammatically that should be “pleaded with the craving” unless she’s pleading to some kind of power or deity.

SUMMARY

Because I’ve read ahead, I know this just gets better with every passing page. The concept is intriguing, and world has a lot of the right questions to keep me turning pages. And the hook at the end of the chapter is perfect.

There’s definitely something at stake in this story, and that’s exactly what you need to make the reader care about your protagonist and (hopefully) the ongoing conflict they face. The technical writing needs some work, but the good news is, that stuff’s learnable. No one can learn storytelling (in my opinion), so you’ve got what it takes to be an author. What you need to focus on is refining your natural talent with some technical understanding.

I know it can feel like you’re slowing your progress to take time out to learn technical craft. But let me put it to you this way: You can keep stumbling through revisions that you feel uncertain about and maybe get it right and get an agent. Or you can put writing aside for 2-3 weeks after every round of revision, read a book on fiction craft, build knowledge on top of talent, and I’ll guarantee you that your each revision will be not only easier than the last, but that you’ll read back through the material and see that it’s taken a serious jump forward each time.

At those times, it feels like learning slows the creative process, but that’s only true in the short term. I’m not suggesting you learn formula. I’m suggesting you learn technique for word-smithing. And I’m confident when you do, you’ll be forever grateful that you did. (Not to mention, you’ll get published).

So, here’s how it breaks down: When I’m in the submission period as a mentor I’ll have dozens, possibly over a hundred queries and first chapters to read. I already know my limits and if I’ve gotten through the first two pages and all I can see is having to constantly line-edit and teach a writer about efficient writing, I’m probably going to pass them up for someone who’s a little closer, but needs more over-arching help with their characterization, or something.

The rub of it is, having read the whole first chapter, the writing gets substantially better as it goes. The book represented by the second half of this chapter would definitely earn a request of pages from me. But when I’m in a time crunch I don’t think I would have gotten far enough to realize that before moving on to the next submission.

You need to work really, really hard on refining on those first 1,000-1,500 words. Because if you can get those sharp and efficient (and apply that to the rest of the manuscript) I think you’ll have a good chance of being mentored. You’ll certainly be seriously considered.

Good luck. I’m not normally a fantasy reader, but this definitely had me wanting to read on. So well done!