You probably don’t need to point out that your character is looking at something (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 Echo, whose page is below:

TItile: THE HOUR OF THE SNAKETHE STORM

THE STORM
Summer 2017

Digging. Mary rummaged through the glove compartment of the 1973 Mercedes-Benz. Delving. She tossed out an expired registration, two empty pill bottles, and a deck of tarot cards before noticing eyes glaring at her. The homemade voodoo doll resembled somebody she once knew, and she did not dare look back, opting to pocket a Trojan condom instead. Finally, she spotted an open pack of Marlboro Reds. “Oh, thank, God,” she gasped, snatching the cigarettes. “I thought I was gonna have to wait till after the funeral to buy more smokes.”

Dwelling. Mary deflated into the passenger seat and lit the lone germ. She cracked the window and took a drag. Exhaling, she polluted the parking lot of Brooklyn’s Holy Cross Cemetery. For a second, then two, she observed the mist of smoke depart. It seemed to dance up, up, up into the heavens. Mary almost waved goodbye, but before she got the chance, an eerie, chilling breeze swept through the lot, robbing any existing cheerfulness. Flinching, goosebumps crawled onto Mary’s skin like bloodthirsty spiders from Hell itself on this dark and cold … summer’s day.

Mary set the thought aside while setting the cigarette on a 7-Up can. Pulling off her shirt and Levi’s cut-off denim shorts, she replaced them with a black slip-dress. Simple. Sexy. In an attempt to brighten the mood, Mary smiled at the driver, her childhood bestie, Valentina Sahira. “Thanks again, Valentina, for letting me borrow this dress, ‘cause it’s like … perfect!” she exclaimed.

Valentina didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, drool dripped from her mouth as her eyes fluttered like a butterfly with two broken wings trapped in a mason jar. Her head nodded down, down, down, bobbling off her neck. Glimpsing Valentina’s flask on the dashboard sitting next to a handful of A.A. sobriety chips, Mary swayed her head, quipping, “That’s a fold.” It was.

There are some strong elements to this page, and the overall image in the opening has potential. I also really like the closing quip about “folding” a game with A.A. sobriety chips.

That said, the approach to the writing and storytelling makes this page needlessly confusing. Because the overall scene isn’t established at the start and the Mercedes is described as just “the Mercedes” as if Mary doesn’t know whose it is, I initially thought she was rummaging through a random car. When Valentina eventually shows up, I thought she was arriving in a separate car. It was extremely disorienting to realize they were in the same car and I had to go back and read the page again.

Be sure and set the overall setting and be clear who is present.

In addition, quite a few of these sentences feel overstuffed with excess verbiage and make the reading experience needlessly choppy. Pare back the excess in order to let the good ideas shine.

This felt particularly glaring with all the looking and seeing Mary is doing. In a third person limited perspective, you don’t need to always point out when a character sees something unless it’s truly additive. If you just describe the object, by definition we know they’re seeing it.

Here’s my redline:

TItile: THE HOUR OF THE SNAKETHE STORM

THE STORM
Summer 2017

Digging. Mary rummaged through the glove compartment of the her childhood bestie’s Valentina Sahira’s 1973 Mercedes-Benz [“The “Mercedes implies she doesn’t know whose it is. I initially read this as Mary rummaging through a stranger’s car] in Brooklyn’s Holy Cross Cemetery on a dark and cold summer’s day [Set the overall scene so we can visualize this]. Delving. She tossed out an expired registration, two empty pill bottles, and a deck of tarot cards. before noticing [Clunky. In a third person limited POV it doesn’t need to be pointed out that the protagonist is noticing something] The glaring eyes glaring at her. The of a homemade voodoo doll that resembled somebody she once knew [We’re not “allowed” to know who this is?], and she did not dare look back, [If she did not look back, how did she see it enough to recognize someone? Feels contrived] opting to She pocketed a Trojan condom instead. Finally, she spotted and snatched an open pack of Marlboro Reds.

“Oh, thank, God,” she gasped to Valentina, snatching the cigarettes. “I thought I was gonna have to wait till after the funeral to buy more smokes.”

Dwelling. Mary deflated into the passenger seat and lit the lone germ. She cracked the window and took a drag. Exhaling, she polluted the parking lot of Brooklyn’s Holy Cross Cemetery. For a second, then two, she observed tThe mist of smoke depart. It seemed to danced up, up, up into the heavens. Mary almost waved goodbye [Belaboring and I just am not really believing this], but before she got the chance, aAn eerie, chilling breeze swept through the lot, robbing any existing cheerfulness. Flinching, gGoosebumps crawled onto Mary’s skin like bloodthirsty spiders from Hell itself on this dark and cold … summer’s day. [Feels overwrought/overstuffed]

Mary set the thought aside while setting the cigarette on a 7-Up can. Pulling She pulled off her shirt and Levi’s cut-offs denim shorts, she and replaced [You know how I feel about front-loaded sentences] them with a black slip-dress. Simple. Sexy. In an attempt to brighten the mood, Mary smiled at the driver, her childhood bestie, Valentina.

“Thanks again, Valentina, for letting me borrow this dress, ‘cause it’s like … perfect!” sheMary exclaimed.

Valentina didn’t couldn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, dDrool dripped from her mouth. as hHer eyes fluttered like a butterfly with two broken wings trapped in a mason jar [Overdoing it again]. Her head nodded down, down, down, bobbling off her neck bobbled. Glimpsing Valentina’s flask on the dashboard sitting sat next to a handful of A.A. sobriety chips,.

Mary swayed her head, quipping,. “That’s a fold.” It was.

Thanks again to Echo!

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Art: Ein Friedhof im Salzkammergut by Franz Xaver Reinhold