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Also: I’M LOW ON QUERIES TO EDIT. If you post your query in the query critique forum, there’s a good chance I’ll edit it in the coming weeks.
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 JacquelineLLandry, whose page is below:
Title: THE OUDERKIRK HOUSE
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Author: Jacqueline L. LandryCHAPTER ONE:
June 23rd
Mason County, WashingtonI go down hard, face first, the toe of my hiking boot catching on a gnarled outcropping of cedar root. I land with an oomph amid poplar and oak leaves, evergreen needles, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts. I heave for breath and inhale the odor of decomposition. I cough to keep from gagging. I know this smell too well but I never get used to it. I know I’m right again. Sadness grips my gut and I grimace.
I ease myself up, taking care not to dislodge the detritus covering the shallow grave. There hasn’t been rain in Western Washington for nearly two months. The little mound looks fresh. The decomp odor tells me a week old, maybe two.
Here’s just one more thing I wish I didn’t know anything about. Experience is a two-edged sword. Sometimes it’s edifying. Right now it sucks a root.
While there’s some nascent voice here (“Sucks a root” feels charmingly on brand, given the context), I have two big concerns with this opening.
First, coming and going, it’s overwritten in a way that had me stumbling right out of the gate. The opening sentence is confusingly backwards, making it seem like she falls face first and then her boot catches. There’s aimless stage direction and generic gestures, with oomphing, heaving for breath, inhaling, coughing, gagging, gut gripping, and grimacing all featuring in the first few paragraphs.
But maybe more importantly, this is one of those openings that feels like the author is playing a game of “neener neener” with a reader who isn’t “allowed” to read the story. The author dribbles out details in a super stingy way.
“I know I’m right again. Sadness grips my gut” and “the shallow grave” are two opportunities to orient the reader around what’s happening and why we should start investing in the story, but the author chooses to keep us in the dark. It’s not even clear where we are entirely beyond Western Washington.
All doesn’t have to be revealed straightaway, but play this game at your peril. Rather than feeling intrigued, the reader may instead feel that the author is being vaguely hostile with them.
Readers connect to a protagonist’s motivation like it’s a north star and we invest in what they want, but we need to know what’s happening and why it matters. Instead of ostentatiously withholding information, err on the side of letting the reader understand the story. It’s usually better to build mysteries around things the protagonist doesn’t know and whether they’re going to succeed or fail at getting the things they want.
Here’s my redline:
Title: THE OUDERKIRK HOUSE
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Author: Jacqueline L. Landry
CHAPTER ONE:
June 23rd
Mason County, Washington
My hiking boot catches on a gnarled outcropping of cedar root and I go down hard, face first, [How would a face first landing be anything other than “hard?”] the toe [It would be more notable if something other than the toe caught] of my hiking boot catching on a gnarled outcropping of cedar root [The original is confusingly backwards. Boot catches and then she falls]. I land with an oomph [I think we can infer the oomph] amid poplar and oak leaves, evergreen needles, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts. I heave for breath and [Aimless breathing] inhale the odor of decomposition [Vague. At first I read this as leaves decomposing, but I think we’re meant to understand it as bodily decomposition]. I and cough to keep from gagging [People intentionally cough to keep from gagging?]. I know this smell too well but I never get used to it this smell.
¶I know I’m right again. Sadness grips my gut and I grimace. [Reader not “allowed” to know the story]
I ease myself up, taking care not to dislodge the detritus covering the shallow grave. [Reader not “allowed” to know the story] There hasn’t been rain in Western Washington for nearly two months. The little mound looks fresh. The decomp odor tells me a week old, maybe two.
Here’s just one more thing I wish I didn’t know anything about. Experience is a two-edged sword. Sometimes it’s edifying. Right now it sucks a root.
Thanks again to JacquelineLLandry!
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Art: Mount Adams, Washington – Albert Bierstadt