It’s okay to slow down for context in an action scene (page critique)

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• Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog
• Nominate Your Query for a Critique on the Blog

Also, if you’d like to test your editing chops, keep your eye on this area or this area! I’ll post the pages and queries a few days before a critique so you can see how your redline compares to mine.

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 Dugarte, whose page is below.

Title: Flight of the Pirate Witch
Genre: YA SFF
Copyright 2020

I was falling, desperately fighting gravity and doubt.

My flying contraption raced downhill at breakneck speed. I could barely keep course down the hillside. Deviation might end in death, or worse, irreparable damage to my machine.

The dead Slayer bat’s seven meter wingspan combined with a modified velocipede were my only hope of escaping my nightmarish home, to reach someplace where no one knew me, where sky pirates did not take what they wanted with impunity.

The memory from my first and only visit on an airship was a black cloud, threatening to overwhelm me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pedaling harder against the horror chasing after me.

Chiroptera could fly if her pilot could overcome her fear.

The only thing holding me back, is myself!

I blindly lurched up a hillock and hurtled into the air.

Weightlessness. I gasped, keeping my eyes clenched shut in disbelief.

Legs burning at the pedals, wings beating so wildly the bones creaked, the wind rushed through the feathers of my hair band, setting my long locks streaming.

Am I really flying?

I dared to squint down and saw the slope two meters beneath my wheels. I was soaring!

Mouth agape, heart leaping, I savored triumph.

Behind me, the golden sun set over a smoldering volcano. A black knife of smoke cut through the light, dripping a bloody glow of reflected lava.

Ahead, bruise colored nightfall swallowed the ocean’s endless horizon. Clouds dimmed into oblivion over the tide’s eternal susurrus. Cold, quiet solitude beckoned.

I like that this page starts off with a character moving through their world and seemingly headed somewhere new, which can be a good introduction to the setting. I also like the voice and personality that’s woven into the opening (“Deviation might end in death, or worse, irreparable damage to my machine.”), and there’s some evocative imagery (“A black knife of smoke cut through the light, dripping a bloody glow of reflected lava.”)

Unfortunately, that good work is undermined by some extremely convoluted sentences in the middle of the action. For instance: (“The dead Slayer bat’s seven meter wingspan combined with a modified velocipede were my only hope of escaping my nightmarish home, to reach someplace where no one knew me, where sky pirates did not take what they wanted with impunity.”) is quite a mouthful and asks a whole lot of the reader to unpack.

One of the great things about writing novels is that you can play around with time. Sometimes writers feel like you have to cram in a lot of information to keep the action going, but in reality a character could be mid-fall, Wile E. Coyote style, and you can slow down a bit and explain how they got there. The reader will just go with it.

This is a crucial stretch in this opener, because it’s the context we need to understand what’s happening. But rather than engaging very precisely with what this character is fleeing and where she’s going so we can wrap our heads around the story, it comes out in a confusing jumble.

It’s okay to slow down, even mid-action. Don’t overdo it obviously, but the reader is happy to let the action pause so they can understand what’s happening.

Here’s my redline:

Title: Flight of the Pirate Witch
Genre: YA SFF
Copyright 2020

I was falling [This doesn’t feel precise, she’s racing downhill but not “falling”], desperately fighting fought gravity and doubt.

My flying contraption, a dead Slayer bat combined with a modified velocipede, [Be a bit more specific about what kind of flying contraption first so we know what to picture] raced downhill at breakneck speed. I could barely keep course down the hillside [I’d show this in such a way that we can also picture the hill–dodging rocks, trees, divots, etc]. Deviation might end in death, or worse, irreparable damage to my machine.

The dead Slayer bat’s seven meter wingspan [I was initially confused whether this was the flying machine or something else?] combined with a modified velocipede were machine was my only hope of escaping my nightmarish home [can you be more specific so we can picture what kind of “home” is being referred to here?],. I had to reach someplace where no one knew me [be more specific. where exactly?], where sky pirates did not take what they wanted with impunity. [This sentence is super, super convoluted and difficult to follow. Read the original version out loud]

The memory from my first and only visit on an airship was a black cloud [This feels like a non-sequitur, I don’t understand what this has to do with the preceding paragraph], threatening to overwhelm me. I squeezed my eyes shut, pedaling harder against the horror chasing after me. [Which is what? The memory is chasing her? The black cloud? Or something else?]

Chiroptera could fly if her pilot could overcome her fear.

The only thing holding me back, is myself!

I blindly lurched up a hillock and hurtled into the air.

Weightlessness. I gasped, keeping kept my eyes clenched shut in disbelief. [Choose one out of gasping or eyes clenching shut or, better yet, choose something more individualized]

My legs burneding at the pedals, the contraption’s wings beating so wildly the bones creaked, the wind rushed through the feathers of my hair band, setting my long locks streaming. [Make your verbs more active]

Am I really flying?

I dared to squint down and saw the slope two meters beneath my wheels. I was soaring!

Mouth agape, heart leaping, I savored triumph.

Behind me, the golden sun set over a smoldering volcano. A black knife of smoke cut through the light, dripping a bloody glow of reflected lava.

Ahead, bruise-colored nightfall swallowed the ocean’s endless horizon. Clouds dimmed into oblivion over the tide’s eternal susurrus. Cold, quiet solitude beckoned.

Thanks again to Dugarte!

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Art: Eruption at Cotopaxi by Frederic Edwin Church