Let a scene unfold (page critique)

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Now then. Time for the Page Critique. First I’ll present the page without comment, then I’ll offer my thoughts and a redline. If you choose to offer your own thoughts, please be polite. We aim to be positive and helpful.

Random numbers were generated, and thanks to aldernans, whose page is below.

Most people hear about something tragic and say, “Oh, that’s horrible.” They go on about their business, and live their lives. I’m not most people. I don’t just hear about tragedy. I feel it. My mama says I’m too empathetic, but my dad says I have the feelings of an angel. Empathy, angel, it all boils down to one thing – I’m cursed. I see things before they happen.

When I was six, a terrible thing happened, a swarm of bees attacked the neighborhood know-it-all, Tamara Stevens. My sister, Beauty, told me about the incident two hours after it happened. She said Tamara’s white skin turned tomato red blowing up in pockets all over her face and body. She couldn’t see. Beauty said, “Oh, it was horrible,” but then, she went and stuffed her face with butter pecan ice cream. I knew exactly when it happened and I felt each one of the stings. My vision was blurry for a week after the incident and my skin still itches when I think about it. The details of the memory are as crisp as the lines in a coloring book.

Tamara was reciting a paragraph of Encyclopedia Brown to her four-year-old brother, as if he would remember who wore what during the Civil War. She wore pink and yellow faded almost white to match her skin. She looked deathly. Her mouth moved in o’s and her teeth formed a lot of s’s, but the thing that stayed with me wasn’t her words. It was fear. The kind of fear that stays frozen inside you to keep you all winter on the outside. It’s a second skin that never warms. Tamara lived several blocks down from me. It was her fear that made me see her and him – The Sandman, a vampire demon who took your eyes and soul?

This page has an engaging voice, the prose mostly reads smoothly, and I’m curious to see where this goes. My concern is that I felt a little sledgehammered by the first paragraph and then pulled into some confusing zigs and zags with the others.

I read so many novels that start off with a narrator taking a “here’s what you need to know about me” approach. And, to be clear, this can be made to work, whether it’s a classic novel like Catcher in the Rye or a whole slew of YA contemporaries.

But count me in the camp that thinks it tends to be better to ease the reader into a scene. It’s more fun to discover than to be told.

In this case, the “here’s what you need to know” is then followed by a micro-flashback that has a bit of a confusing progression that bounces around in time, and by the time the vampire demon pops out of nowhere I just can’t help thinking… what if we just started in the moment with a scene where we can see the protagonist’s powers for ourselves? Preferably one where the protagonist is trying to accomplish something of her own, rather than merely being blindsided with someone else’s problems? One where we can see her surroundings and orient ourselves clearly?

There are strong elements here, but I can’t help but think a smoother progression into a scene would make this opening more enticing.

Here’s my redline:

Most people hear about something tragic and say, “Oh, that’s horrible.” They go on about their business, and live their lives. I’m not most people. I don’t just hear about tragedy. I feel it. My mama says I’m too empathetic, but my dad says I have the feelings of an angel. Empathy, angel, it all boils down to one thing –.

I’m cursed [I’d suggest a paragraph break rather than an (improperly used) en dash]. I see things before they happen.

When I was six, a terrible thing happened, a swarm of bees attacked the neighborhood know-it-all, Tamara Stevens. My sister, Beauty, told me about the incident two hours after it happened. She said that Tamara’s white skin turned tomato red blowing and blew up in pockets all over her face and body. She couldn’t see.

¶Beauty said, “Oh, it was horrible,” but then, she went and stuffed her face with butter pecan ice cream. I knew exactly when it happened and I felt each one of the stings. My vision was blurry for a week after the incident and my skin still itches when I think about it. The details of the memory are as crisp as the lines in a coloring book. [I’d move this until after the incident is over for a clearer progression of events]

Tamara lived several blocks down from me and was reciting a paragraph of Encyclopedia Brown to her four-year-old brother, as if he would remember who wore what during the Civil War [Maybe I just don’t remember Encyclopedia Brown but I don’t understand how it relates to clothes in the Civil War]. She wore pink and yellow faded almost white to match her skin. She looked deathly. Her mouth moved in o’s and her teeth formed a lot of s’s [This description makes it seem like the narrator can’t hear Tamara, but then, how would she know she was reciting Encyclopedia Brown?], My vision was blurry for a week after the incident and my skin still itches when I think about it. The details of the memory are as crisp as the lines in a coloring book.

¶But the thing that stayed with me wasn’t her words. It was fear. The kind of fear that stays frozen inside you to keep you all winter on the outside. It’s a second skin that never warms. Tamara lived several blocks down from me [Another confusing progression. Why is this popping up here?]. It was her fear that made me see her and him –. The Sandman, a vampire demon who took your eyes and soul? [Why is this a question? And where is this coming from? I’m confused how and why this vampire demon has popped up, particularly without any physical description to anchor us.]

Thanks again to aldernans!

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Art: The Story of a Picture by J. Ottmann Lithographing Co.