Make your verbs active (page critique)

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• Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog
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And, of course, if you need help more urgently or privately, I’m available for edits and consultations!

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 BrendaHaas, whose page is below.

Title: Sutton’s Choice
Genre: Women’s Fiction

The cramped window seat offered Charlotte Sutton a partial view of Pittsburgh’s Roberto Clemente Bridge, its girded, straw-colored arches a staple of the city of black and gold. If she pressed her cheek against the glass, she could even glimpse a corner of the baseball stadium.

Ironic, really. She hated baseball. She’d always hated baseball—something she was certain her athletic father would never acknowledge about his only daughter.

Charlotte’s cellphone buzzed.

419 area code. Lakeside, Ohio.

Had she wished it upon herself? With precision, she placed the phone face-down on the windowsill, set aside her laptop, grabbed her coffee cup, and drained the last bitter mouthfuls of lukewarm liquid as she hurried to the kitchen. Plunking the ceramic mug into the sink, she scowled down at the sailboat etched onto its side. Her small-town, Lake Erie roots never failed to haunt her.

It’s nothing.

Just a telemarketer.

Charlotte shrugged at the thought, knowing it to be otherwise. She’d ignored several random calls from her hometown in recent weeks—hang-ups from what she assumed to be her father’s cell number, an unlikely occurrence on any day of any week of any month.

Either Chuck wanted to talk to her or he didn’t.

The previous evening, some kid—some teenager, Charlotte assumed—had also left a cryptic message asking her to call about Chuck. Sounding nervous, he’d hung up without giving his name. Charlotte hadn’t responded. If some star-struck, wannabe baseball player was looking for her esteemed father’s advice, address, autograph, or approval, he was looking in the wrong dugout.

There are some strong elements to this page. We have a clear third person limited perspective, I like the sense of place, and the thoughts flow smoothly from the setting to some good mystery with the cryptic phone calls.

My main concern is that the writing feels a bit needlessly complicated, which kept me from getting into a good flow. There’s repetition and hesitation that doesn’t add much, some smushed in exposition, and some imprecision around the phone calls.

In particular, make those verbs active! I see so many tongue twisting sentences that adopt this structure: “[Verbing], the character [verbed]” when “The character [verbed] and [verbed]” reads more smoothly 99% of the time.

With a bit more smoothness with the writing I think we’ll be able to focus on the mystery and start investing in Charlotte’s complicated relationship with her baseball loving father.

Here’s my redline:

Title: Sutton’s Choice
Genre: Women’s Fiction

The cramped window seat in her (type of house) [I struggled to situate myself here, took me a while to realize it’s in a house as opposed to a bus or train] offered Charlotte Sutton a partial view of Pittsburgh’s Roberto Clemente Bridge, its girded, straw-colored arches an staple icon [“staple” doesn’t feel like the right word choice?] of in the city of black and gold. If she pressed her cheek against the glass, she could even glimpse a corner of the baseball stadium.

Ironic, really. [Why is this ironic?] She hated baseball. She’d always hated baseball [Avoid the repetition]—something she was certain her athletic father would never acknowledge about his only daughter [Awkward way to smush in that she’s an only child].

Charlotte’s cellphone buzzed.

419 area code. Lakeside, Ohio.

Had she wished it upon herself? With precision [Not sure why setting her things down requires “precision?”], sShe placed the phone face-down on the windowsill, set aside her laptop, grabbed her coffee cup, and drained the last bitter, lukewarm mouthfuls of lukewarm liquid as she hurried to the kitchen. Plunking She plunked [Try to keep verbs active] the ceramic mug into the sink, and she scowled down at the sailboat etched onto its side. Her small-town, Lake Erie roots never failed to haunt her.

It’s nothing.

Just a telemarketer. [She plainly doesn’t believe this? Even by the standards of wishful thinking it’s a bit confusing why she’d land on a telemarketer as the thing to tell herself when she already has a clear theory about what’s really happening?]

Charlotte shrugged at the thought, knowing it to be otherwise [Shrugging feels like an empty gesture and this feels over-explained. The voice is already carrying this]. She’d ignored received several random calls from her hometown in recent weeks—hang-ups from what she assumed to be her father’s cell number [I’m confused, how did she “ignore” the calls if she picked them up to hear someone hang up?], an unlikely occurrence on any day of any week of any month. [I’m not tracking what’s meant by this. This paragraph seems like a very convoluted way of saying she thinks her father is calling her and hanging up]

Either Chuck wanted to talk to her or he didn’t.

The previous evening, some kid—some teenager, Charlotte assumed— [this hesitation doesn’t add much, can’t it just be a teenager?] had also left a cryptic message asking her to call him about Chuck. Sounding He sounded nervous, he’d and hung up without giving his name. Charlotte hadn’t responded. If some star-struck, wannabe baseball player was looking for her esteemed father’s advice, address, autograph, or approval, he was looking in the wrong dugout.

Thanks again to BrendaHaas!

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Art: Pittsburgh in 1902 by Thaddeus Mortimer Fowler