If you’d like to nominate your own page or query for a public critique, kindly post them here in our discussion forums:
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 Roger, whose page is below.
Title: The Witches of Eastlaund Forest
Genre: Medieval Adult Fantasy Novelette
I am Madoc. A name given me by Darnald, the man who raised me though he claimed no kinship. Our village, Clovenshire, stood neglected on the eastern edge of the kingdom. Few who called it home could name the king or cared to whom they owed obedience. We lived in a fine cottage with two spacious rooms and a wood floor. Despite personal fortune, Darnald did nothing to hide a disdain for the people or place. As a result, tongues wagged and rumors savaged the man who neither tended animals nor tilled the earth. Minds changed on a spring day in my ninth year.
Though many years past, the events never stray far from my thoughts. Near the end of its daily trek the sun paused, as it has for millennia, over Eastlaund Forest. Four armed men approached from the west, their long shadows cast a pall over the village. Peasants up before sunrise to sow seed retreated to mud thatched homes or watched at a distance. After estimating the worth of the villagers, the men split into pairs. Two headed in our direction, one a giant, his arms thick as the limbs of an ancient oak. Hobbled by an uneven gait, he planted the butt of a heavy spear with each step. The second dragged a broadsword across rocky ground and smiled like a man arrived to court a pretty woman. Jon Dore and his child bride, Felice, ran to their tiny hut. The men at their heels.
This is a fine opening, and when there are details present, they’re strong. In particular, I liked the way the soldiers were described, which was evocative and created a sense of suspense and anticipation.
That said, I worry these details arrive a bit belatedly, and prior to the description of “mud thatched homes” I had difficult imagining our surroundings entirely. “Cottage” can mean a lot of different things, and while I did get the sense of a forgotten and isolated place, I otherwise struggled to get my bearings within the scene.
Details are so important to help open up a space and begin contextualize elements of the overall story. It’s not necessary to go on and on, but I noted many moments throughout these paragraphs that feel like missed opportunities to bring more detail to bear.
Can Darnald be described with more specificity than “the man who raised me?”, even just an adjective or two like grizzled or kindly? What kingdom is this? What does “personal fortune” mean in the context of this world?
This page feels close, but more specific detail would help immerse us in this setting, sharpen the mystery, and open up the story. I’d feel more connection to the events if I better understood the village and Darnald.
Here’s my redline:
Title: The Witches of Eastlaund Forest
Genre: Medieval Adult Fantasy Novelette
Words: 250
I am Madoc. A name given me by Darnald, the man [missed opportunity to weave in more specificity/personality] who raised me though he claimed no kinship. Our village, Clovenshire, stood neglected on the eastern edge of the kingdom [What kingdom? Missed opportunity to weave in more specificity and detail]. Few who called it home could name the king or cared to whom they owed obedience [Good detail]. We lived in a fine cottage with two spacious rooms and a wood floor [A bit more detail would help us visualize more clearly]. Despite personal fortune [From what? missed opportunity to be more specific], Darnald did nothing to hide a disdain for the people or place [How does this disdain actually manifest itself?]. As a result, tongues wagged and rumors savaged the man who neither tended animals nor tilled the earth. Minds changed on a spring day in my ninth year. [Vague setup for a mystery]
Though many years past, the events never stray far from my thoughts. Near the end of its daily trek the sun paused, as it has for millennia, over Eastlaund Forest. Four armed men [Missed opportunity to describe with more specificity to build more anticipation] approached from the west, their long shadows cast a pall over the village. Peasants up before sunrise to sow seed retreated to mud thatched homes or watched at a distance. After estimating the worth of the villagers, the men split into pairs. Two headed in our direction, one a giant, his arms thick as the limbs of an ancient oak. Hobbled by an uneven gait, he planted the butt of a heavy spear with each step. The second dragged a broadsword across rocky ground and smiled like a man arrived to court a pretty woman. [Good details] Jon Dore [contextualize who this is] and his child bride, Felice, ran to their tiny hut. The men at their heels.
Thanks again to Roger!
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Art: Waldlandschaft mit Bach und Brücke by Jacobus Johannes van Poorten
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Nathan, thanks for the critique, you do excellent work. I forgot I submitted this passage. It’s now the third chapter in a novel I’m 70k words into. I’ll go back and incorporate your suggestions where appropriate. I’ve revised this section at least twice since submitting it to your blog.