Aimee L. Salter: Pitch Wars Early Bird Mentor Critique 20 - 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...

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ORIGINAL MATERIAL

Before I open my eyes, I know I’m not in my bedroom anymore.

The air reeks of mildew, and it’s cold. Much colder than I normally keep my apartment. Goose bumps cover my skin, and my usual five layers of blankets are gone. There’s a steady ping of dripping water echoing across the room, one by one. Drip by drip. Something’s very wrong. I don’t have a sink in my bedroom.

I moan and cover my sleepy eyes from the assaulting light, much too bright for what my windows will let in. What day is it? Where am? I shift to the left, trying to get my legs over the edge of the bed, and the springs under me creak in protest. That’s wrong, too. My bed only creaks when I roll over.

My wrists itch, but when I scratch I don’t get skin. It’s grainy and hard material. I blink once at the black leather cuffed over them, chains hanging down. I understand some people have their preferences. But I’m not one to sleep with chains.

I pull myself up to sitting, and my head spins in response. Concrete walls surround me, except for the cell gate on the other side of the room. This isn’t my room. This isn’t my home.

It’s a prison cell.

It’s much quieter than I imagined. The leaky faucet is the only noise in the bright hallway that makes my head pound. I sway back and forth, stomping a foot on the ground to make it stop. It’s eerie. And I need to figure out where I am.

“Hello?” My voice squeaks out dry and raspy. The effort makes me nauseous. I clear my throat and try again. It comes out louder this time, but still hoarse.

In the cell across the hall there’s movement, the creaking of a bed and the clink of chains. I’m not alone. That’s a good thing, I think. A bald man limps to the iron cell gate, blood shot eyes peeking out against flaky skin. He stares without blinking.

“Hi, can you yell me where we are?” I shift on the bed in slow, concentrated movements. Any faster and I’ll lose my balance. I need water. Something to make my head stop spinning. I swear there are colors swirling around me, the yellows and reds floating together. I must have hit my head very hard.

The man blinks twice, tilting his head. I stand, the cold floor helping my find my balance before I swallow my fear and walk closer to the gate. He’s only human. He won’t bite. But he’s silent. The man’s cheeks are sunken, and his bony legs are shaking. Rather, all of him is.

“Sir, are you okay?” I ask, shaking my head to bring him into focus. He bares his teeth and growls before convulsing to the floor. He’s seizing, and there’s no one here.

“Help, someone, we need help,” I scream down the empty halls, the effort making another dizzy spell come on. I grip the cold bars, pressing my forehead to it to help me focus. The man isn’t moving anymore. But there are pounding feet above us. Someone’s coming to help. Someone’s coming to tell me where I am.

CRITIQUE (My words in red font):

Before I open my eyes, I know I’m not in my bedroom anymore.

Excellent succinct opening, with a hint of doom or curiosity. Good!

Definitely doom. Also great. I hope we’ll move into seeing the surroundings next.

“What my windows will let in” is clunky. I’d cut it back to “My room” or something simple like that.

It also feels like her natural first question would be “where am I?” then as she got her bearings she’d realize she’s lost time and start asking herself how she got there, and how long she’s been there.

A hint of humor without overpowering the doom. Well delivered!

I pull myself up to sitting, and my head spins in response. Concrete walls surround me, except for the cell gate on the other side of the room. This isn’t my room. This isn’t my home.

It’s a prison cell.

Dun! Dun! Duuuuuuuuuuuuun! (That’s code for, this is great).

It’s much quieter than I imagined.

She’s imagined a prison cell? Seems odd. Unless your next statement tells us why she would have imagined ending up here, it might be better for her just to observe that it’s quiet.

The leaky faucet is the only noise in the bright hallway that makes my head pound. I sway back and forth, stomping a foot on the ground to make it stop. It’s eerie. And I need to figure out where I am.

We’ve had the faucet too many times, it’s lost it’s impact. Preferably give another sensory detail. Or, if that’s the only one you can reveal yet, change it up with onomatopoeia or by describing the sound itself, rather than its source.

“Hello?” My voice squeaks out dry and raspy. The effort makes me nauseous. I clear my throat and try again. It comes out louder this time, but still hoarse.

In the cell across the hall there’s movement, the creaking of a bed and the clink of chains. I’m not alone. That’s a good thing, I think.

Seems like the natural response would be a shot of fear, underlined by hope. She’s just woken in a strange place and doesn’t know how she got there. Any new unknown is going to cause heartrate to increase, or skin to prickle, or adrenalin to flow—whatever you choose, give that sensory detail, along with her hope that it’s a good thing.

A bald man limps to the iron cell gate, blood shot eyes peeking out against flaky skin. He stares without blinking.

“Hi, can you yell me where we are?”

Typo. Not the end of the world, but better if you can cut them all out.

I shift on the bed in slow, concentrated movements. Any faster and I’ll lose my balance. I need water. Something to make my head stop spinning. I swear there are colors swirling around me, the yellows and reds floating together. I must have hit my head very hard.

Why isn’t she asking how she got here? If she already knows, the reader at minimum needs to know she knew this was possible, even if you don’t tell them the specifics of why, yet. And if she was clueless, you need to have her ask the question. It’s noticeably missing.

“Sir, are you okay?” I ask, shaking my head to bring him into focus. He bares his teeth and growls before convulsing to the floor. He’s seizing, and there’s no one here.

Excellent! I want to keep reading!

SUMMARY:

Your first 500 words are very well-woven and definitely have the intrigue and sense of danger that will keep readers turning pages. Just make sure you have your character asking the questions the reader would ask themselves in that situation, or, if there’s stuff the reader needs to learn about this situation (i.e. that our protagonist is a rebel and it was only a matter of time until she was found out and arrested) then have her give the reader the assurance that there’s a good reason she’s not asking that—it will actually add to your sense of mystery, because it adds a question: What kind of life does he/she lead that that’s something they have to imagine?

The ending of these first 500 words also makes me want to keep turning pages and learn where we are and what’s going on, so well done.

In short, your premise is intriguing, and while there's work to do on your dialogue, etc, you're definitely onto something special here. Keep going!

All in all, a very strong opening!