Critique: Hidden Canyon

Another excerpt from Absolute Write's Share Your Work forum, used with permission.

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George awoke to the feel of a rough gloved hand across his mouth. In the dim glow from the bedside clock, he could see his neighbor Bill, a finger in front of his lips, signifying silence. Bill whispered, "Get dressed and follow me, quickly. I'll explain outside." Bill had been his neighbor just long enough to earn a measure of trust, so George dressed quickly, then followed Bill down the hall and out the back door.

I like that you started at an interesting point in your story, and with an explosive first line. However, I see a few details jarred me from the story.

1. Starting with the main character waking up can be seen as a cliché, even though your character is waking up in an astonishing fashion. This didn’t bother me, but it may bother some editors.

2. In English speaking cultures, everyone knows that a finger over one’s lips is silencing. When you explicitly describe this motion, I feel like you’re wasting a little space. Bill could shush George, saving you words.

3. If the only light is his digital clock, and Bill just woke up, will he really recognize his next door neighbor? It might be better, both for your story logic and for your style, if you introduce George and let Bill be a dark figure for a few lines.

4. Telling me that Bill has earned a measure of trust isn’t enough to get me to believe that George wouldn’t have freaked out.

5. Why did Bill put his hand over George’s mouth instead of shaking him awake, whispering his name, or tapping him?


"Where's Amy?" asked Bill as he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure George was sticking close.

"Her mom's been ill, so she went to visit her for a few days. What the hell's going on, Bill?"

I have trouble believing that George would have gone into such detail, given the odd circumstances.

"Hold on, just a few minutes more. I want to get away from the house first. Trust me that long, ok?"

I’d really like to be in George’s head right now. What questions is he asking himself? What answers is he coming up with? For instance, wouldn’t he wonder how Bill got inside?

"Alright," said George. His voice was a bit gruff from being awakened in the middle of the night, and a little fearful from the stress of the situation. His concerns and fears rumbled through his mind as he followed quietly behind Bill, who moved swiftly yet silently across the yard, as he expected from the ex-marine. [The clause on the end of this phrase needs revised. Your “he” in this sentence, grammatically, is referring back to Bill, even though logically I know you must mean George.] Although he tried to emulate Bill's cat-like movements, he felt awkward and out of place trying to be quiet and inconspicuous. What was he doing, he wondered, sneaking through his own back yard like a thief in the night?

Thief in the night is a clichéd phrase. I’d consider finding your own way to say this. I would also try to find a way to kill the adverbs. They’re telling me that Bill is quick and sneaky – but you could be showing me the same details.

They crossed the lawn toward the thick woods that edged the back of the property. Bill led the way along a path that wound through the woods, then up the face of the hill at the back of the development. The full moon and crisp autumn sky allowed for a clear view of the landscape. The homes below appeared haphazardly [If you kill the adverb here, I think your sentence would be stronger.] strewn on their five to ten acre plots. Some of the homes were in the recent 'McMansion' style, but most were less easily classified, ranging from sprawling ranches to old-fashioned saltboxes. Swimming pools and outbuildings were common, including garages, workshops, greenhouses, and others with no readily-apparent use. [I’m not sure this laundry list at the end of your paragraph is helping any.]

I really like the McMansion line.

Bill led them behind a granite boulder the size of George's Grand Cherokee high above his home. Behind it, sitting on the pine needles and leaves, were two other men. One was older than George, somewhat familiar, and a bit rumpled looking as befit the time of day, while the other one looked perfectly alert, fit and trim, perhaps in his mid-twenties. They waved a casual greeting to the Bill and George, then cleared a spot for them to sit.

"George, this is Frank Stevens and Larry Winston. You probably remember Frank from the fourth of July cookout." George remembered the jolly, rotund man with the graying hair. The older man nodded at George as he reached out to take his hand in a firm grip.

"Yes, I remember," George said. "Nice to see you again, Frank. I remember that brand new bright red Jag convertible you were driving. That sure is a beautiful car."

The small talk about cars is really jarring me from the scene.

George noticed the grim look on Frank's face as he answered. "Yeah, it is, I hope I get to keep it."

"What do you mean, you hope you get to keep it?" When Frank just shook his head, George turned back to Bill. "Are you ready to tell me why you dragged me all the way up here in the middle of the night?"

Without answering George, Bill glanced over at Frank. "Anything happening yet?"

Frank shook his head in negation, keeping his eyes on the roads below.

Bill leaned back against the boulder and rubbed his hands together to ward off the autumn chill. "Well, I guess we've got time for the short version before the excitement starts. Not only is Frank a doctor, his hobby is firearms. He's a licensed dealer, and he has some guns that are illegal for the average guy to own. Apparently that's reason enough for the local ATF office to occasionally decide he must be doing something illegal and try to prove it. His home's been raided twice before, and it's going to get raided again in a little while." When George started to interrupt, Bill waved him off.

This feels like you’re giving this information for the reader’s benefit instead of the other characters’ benefit. It almost feels like an ex-marine quickly briefing someone, but it falls just short. Cut a few details, or perhaps reword it a bit.

"Luckily the county sheriff is a friend and knows Frank better than that, so he sent his son up to warn him when he heard what was planned." Bill gestured toward the younger of the two men. "Larry's a county deputy. Larry, this is George Adams. He's only been living in the area a few months."

I feel like this information is being presented solely for my benefit.

Larry stuck out his hand for a quick greeting, nodding to George as he did so. Larry's grip was firm. George noticed the well-defined muscles in his forearms and guessed that he was much stronger than his slim frame indicated. He wondered how many times someone on the wrong side of the law had underestimated the deputy, simply because he was a few inches shorter than the average lawman. The two men exchanged pleasantries, then George turned back toward Bill.

"Well, I have to say it's nice meeting your two friends, and I'm sorry to hear about Frank's problems," George said, "but what's that got to do with me?"

Larry took the lead in the conversation. "Mr. Adams, we're not really sure. All we know is there are two addresses on the warrants, and the second address is yours."

###

Eight matte-black ATF vans turned off the Interstate and rolled down Jefferson Avenue, their headlights winking off as they entered the subdivision. They turned right into a boulevard flanked by stone walls. A sign between the lanes of the entrance proclaimed that they were entering Hidden Canyon Estates. The trees that lined the boulevard rustled gently in the backwash of the wake left by the speeding vehicles.

In the lead vehicle, Agent Edwards shifted in the driver's seat as he thumbed the mike switch. "Strike Team, this is Strike Leader. We're go for operation. Units two through four, follow us; units five through eight, good luck."

Agent Edwards paid scant attention to the acknowledgments of the other seven units. His thoughts were on the upcoming action. He hoped there was no Kathryn Johnston involved in what should be a simple operation. If many more 92-year-old women were shot and killed during these actions, the Supreme Court might decide to reverse their position on 'no-knock' raids.

I feel like this scene should come at the very beginning. Then, if you still have Bill waking George up by grabbing his mouth, the reader will assume—briefly—that it’s your MIBs.

###

"My address?" George's sense of unreality, already triggered by the excursion up the hillside in the middle of the night, reached a new level. "Why my address? What's the ATF, and why would they be interested in me?"

"The ATF is the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. As for why, we really don't know, George," Larry said. "All we know is that no-knock raids are scheduled for two addresses in Hidden Valley. My dad was extended the courtesy of being invited along as an observer because he's the sheriff of the county. They told him to meet them at the entrance to the subdivision at 3:45, and the two addresses that were targeted. That's all the information he was given."

"Now, wait a minute. I don't own a gun or explosives, and I certainly don't have a still. I don't even smoke! I'll just go back home, and tell them they're mistaken when they arrive." His building panic was evident in the tone of his voice, although he tried hard to control it.

And cut.

I think the areas you need to focus on most are story logic and dialogue. Since I don’t know anything about George, almost all of his reactions strike me as unrealistic. I walk away from the first thousand or so words wondering why Bill is helping George, why someone would have tipped Bill off that George’s house was about to get raided, and why a group of men have risked getting in trouble with the government to protect him.

Also, I think you would benefit from reading your dialogue out loud. For the most part, your dialogue is decent – but every so often, something comes out sounding a little stiff and robotic. When you’re panicking about something, do you use words like arrive and mistaken? Those are not the words of a man who’s been woken up in the middle of the night be his neighbor and told that his house is about to be attacked.

On Critique Responses

This is an open note to everyone I do a critique for:

This is a chance for both of us to improve our abilities to critically evaluate writing. For me, it is a chance to criticize new fiction and give me both an insight into evaluating my own work, and (with luck) a chance to create a portfolio of critiques that proves that I would make a good editor.

Since this is on my blog, though, it gives you, the writer, a chance to critically evaluate opinions about your work. So, feel free to make my critique a dialogue. Want to argue with me about a specific point? Do it. You can't do this with a real editor, and you can't really get away with it at peer critique boards - but you can, and should, here.

All I ask for is civility, and in return, I'll give you as much running dialogue on your work and on my critique as you want. Because that helps both of us.

Critique #1: Devil's Angel

I pulled this from the Romance Share Your Work forum at Absolute Write, with the author's permission to critique it here.

Chapter One

“You want to do what to my what?” Nicholas asked. The music in the club was sonic-boom loud. Between drinks, he eyed the bartender at Heaven’s Gate. The local hangout for angels and the devil’s minion [Missing punctuation!]

I’d really like some indication that the bartender is female when you introduce her.

Do you mean Devil’s minion, singular, or Devil’s minions, plural? Why would demons hang out at a place with such a biased name? This is a detail you need to explain, but in the snippet I’ve got – you don’t.

Smiling, she said twice as loud as the first time, “I want to fill your glass, on the house.”

“Oh.” Laughing, he wiped his hand across his chin, slightly embarrassed. “I thought you said you wanted to feel my ass and pounce on my mou--never mind.”

This is cute, and I think you’ve got a functional opening, but I have a hard time believing that Nicholas really confused “on the house” with “pounce on my mouse.” Is he being silly or serious? It’s early enough in the book that a detail like this can jar the reader away.

The bartender arched a blond eyebrow. With a quick retort [missing comma] she answered, “That could be fun. I bet it’s more like a snake, though, not a mouse.” [In my opinion, With a quick retort, she answered is redundant. The retort is the following dialogue, yes? Or are you describing the dialogue as a quick retort? Either way, I’m thinking about it too hard. I suggest revising.]

Heat rose to his cheeks, [Comma usage error] as he spit out answers by rote. Though he acted like any other customer at the bar, relaxed and jovial, inside he was rigid and tense.

Consider this: You’ve told me that he’s rigid and tense, but without telling me why. Perhaps you could give some sensory information here instead, and show that he’s rigid and tense, while simultaneously giving a reason.

“Most definitely. But you can only touch if I get to feel yours after. Your ass, that is.” And from what Nicholas could see, she had a very nice ass.

I read through to this point twice, and I think it’d be much clearer with a speaker tag of some sort.

“That’s doable,” she said with a curious smile. “You gonna show me your wings?”

This may sound harsh, but I think all the other dialogue before this is just getting in the way. IMO, describe the bar, show us Nicholas and a sexy bartender, and have the first words uttered be, “You gonna show me your wings?” I think this would be a lot more powerful.

“Nah, that would be conceited of me. I’m not that kinda guy.” Always alert, he glanced around.

IMO, stick a speaker tag in here--and if you need to show him looking around and being alert, give it its own paragraph. This is a chance to give the reader more sensory detail.

“You know how the other male angels are about size. I don’t want to boast.”

For the briefest moment, I’m unclear about who is speaking. You don’t want this to happen! Confusion will make readers put your book down. Speaker tags!

She laughed a flirty, feminine laugh. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she teased.

Nicholas gave her a forced, but dazzling smile. “Deal. Later, eh?”

I’m not against omniscient third person perspectives, but be aware that they’re not in vogue right now. Describing his smile as dazzling betrays a bias, but I’m not sure whose.

This could’ve been fun, if he weren’t in such a foul mood. He hadn’t flirted in a long time, but imagined it was like riding a bike. At least humans always used that phrase. The only bike he’d ever ridden was a Harley.

To me, this is a close-in third person perspective, with the camera slightly inside Nicholas’s head. But in the paragraph above, you were a bit more omniscient—or, at least, your camera was in the head of a narrator who thought Nicholas had a dazzling smile.

Flirting wasn’t something he’d even considered tonight, but for some reason he forced himself.

[Why is he at this bar, then? His motive for being here has just become very muddy, and you’re not offering me an explanation.] Somehow, he thought it would magically take away his desire for Noelle. Under any other circumstances if he wanted to have sex, it was a quickie with whoever happened to be on the same wavelength as he was. In and out, literally. [Eww! Nice line, but—Ewww.] There was definitely no flirting involved.

Matter of fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a female for sex. [Is Nicholas bisexual? If not, consider rewording this first line. It makes me think that he may have sought out some steamy man-on-man action at some point, even though the next line jibes against this.] He’d thought of taking a vow of celibacy. For approximately thirty seconds he considered it. [Cute line! Find a way to kill the adverb and make the line shorter and snappier.] Even if he were serious, it would take the approval of the Alpha and Omega [You’re missing punctuation here.] the real power couple. The puppet masters.

Nicholas wiped the condensation off the glass he held, thinking of a clever follow-up. He had none. No wonder I don’t flirt anymore.

The ice in his glass slowly melted, diluting the gin he was about to imbibe—for medicinal purposes. [The word imbibe surprised me here. It’s used correctly and all that, but it seems to go against the grain of the style you’ve been writing in.] The mind-numbing properties he loved so well were just what he needed, [Wrong punctuation: consider splitting this into two sentences, even, if different punctuation doesn’t work.] designed to cloud his better judgment. If there was any better judgment left in him, which he seriously doubted. [Good line.]

He swiveled on his seat and eyed the various angels and devil’s minions swaying and jumping on the dance floor. I’d once been just like them, [This jarred me. If other readers have said something about this line, I’d really consider revising it.] he thought as he lit the cigarette dangling from his swollen lip, a souvenir from a recent brawl.

Angels that smoke, drink and brawl. I like it.

Being carefree and looking for the next high had its perks. Bedding the next female on his long “to do” list used to be something he looked forward to.

You always use male and female and it really sounds inorganic. You’re inside Nicholas’s head most of the time, and I just don’t believe that he uses such sterile words.

Lately, emptiness filled him inside. [I’m picking a nit here, but how can emptiness fill something?] Years of battle wore on his soul like waves on a sandy beach leaving a yawning chasm of barrenness. The burdens in his life were eroding him bit by bit, until there was only a shadow of who he used to be. He once was proud and happy. But that was over a thousand years ago.

I think your POV has slipped again. Is this how a narrator would say this, or how Nicholas would say this?

Things were different now.

He thought [Filtering] about how he changed [Show versus Tell. It’s easy enough to show someone thinking.]. How he was not the same angel he’d been. [IMO, strike the first two lines in this paragraph.] Yes, he cared, [about?] but not in the angelic global way an angel is supposed to, it was in a more human way. And he cared about a very specific person, Noelle Spencer—in a very specific way—with all his heart and soul.

Out of the throng of sweaty bodies Nicholas noticed a hulking male pointed toward the bar, heading straight for him. The angel’s voice thundered over the loud music. “Hey, look who’s here. The oldest rookie angel in existence.” [I like this.]

Where are the Devil’s minions?

Bloody hell, it was Michael. The archangel’s arm stretched behind him, holding onto a beautiful golden-haired female. Gabriel.

Isn’t Gabriel traditionally a male? I like that you’re changing the mythology around, but I think some readers might be jarred here.

After guzzling down the rest of his drink, he growled, “Fuck you, Michael.” [People don’t exactly chirp “fuck you,” so I think your speaker tag is a bit redundant. Still, I kind of like the word where it is. I’m always torn on the raging debate about what is and is not a speaker tag. If you decide this needs your attention, focus on it last.]

He [Reword this so that you don’t open up with a pronoun. It’s confusing, though only for a moment.] nodded and winked at Gabriel, wondering how she put up with Michael. It totally baffled Nicholas. One of life’s secret mysteries, he supposed.

Gabriel was a sweet and kind, go-with-the-flow angel. Michael was the polar opposite. Not a very angelic personality trait, but who was he to talk. Then again, Michael did have the title of The Warrior and was a member of the hierarchy.

Nicholas was not. One thing or another always seemed to keep him a level above the lowly guardian status. Not that he considered guardianship a lowly position, but other angels did. In fact, he took his job very serious. [Nicholas is or isn’t a Guardian Angel? I can’t tell.] To the point where he had been teaching a few classes at the Academy about the responsibilities of the guardian angel, after all, he’d been at it long enough. [You imply that he IS a guardian angel, but state that he isn’t. Revise for clarity.]

I really like your vision of the angelic hierarchy, though. It’s a nice bit of world building.

As soon as he walked into the club that night, Nicholas realized he should’ve taken a table in the secluded VIP section. [Can he do that? I thought he was the low angel on the totem pole.] He wasn’t feeling very social tonight. His body ached to either beat the shit out of someone, or have the shit beaten out of him. Feelings, which were becoming more frequent lately, along with a sudden rash which would sometimes cover his whole body. [Huh? This sentence doesn’t make sense to me. Do angels break out into rashes when they get emotional, in general? If so, you need to specifically say so.] When the Almighty told him he was forbidden to see Noelle, his skin turned lobster red [Missing comma] like some [delete some, IMO] humans look after a day in the sun without sunscreen.

At this point, he wasn’t particularly interested in making small talk. And Michael was the last being he wanted to deal with.

Nicholas knew Michael loved a good fight. In fact, Michael loved any kind of battle as long as he could kill someone. Preferably a demon, but he’d been known to take out some really bad-ass humans. Something only Michael could get away with and maybe Lucifer.

Is Lucifer the angel of light, here, or the devil? I ask because, so far, everyone’s been an angel.

He watched as Gabriel, the slender female angel, kissed Michael’s cheek. “I’ll be back. I want to see what Lorenzo’s cooking in the kitchen,” she said to her mate. “You boys play nice.”
He observed [Filtering] as Michael kept his midnight blue peepers [Peepers?] on Gabriel. She disappeared through the heavy wooden doors down the hallway to their right. Michael then sidled up next to him.

Nicholas roughly motioned for the bartender to refill his glass. Placing a heavy hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, his muscles bunched up tightening underneath his T-shirt, Michael broke the silence. “Word is you were offered the position to look into the Abraxas organization. You gonna do it?”

[If the bartender isn’t the romantic interest, the paragraph above is where your story actually starts. Romance, if I recall correctly, has a rule about the hero and the romantic interest meeting on page one. So ask yourself which genre you’re writing in.]

“Does everyone know my business?” Nicholas lifted the glass to his spilt lip, swallowing half of the gin. He turned up the dial on his nasty meter. “What the fuck do you care anyway? You supposed to shadow me?”

Michael’s tone was calm. “Nah, you’re on your own with this. It’s go time for you. High stakes. You fail you’re back to guardian status. I tried to help you the last time but you’re too much of a hothead.” He pointed to Nicholas’s bruised lip. The taunting undertone in Michael’s voice was clear. [It isn’t clear to me.]

Hothead. Ha! “A bar fight last night with a human. I had to lose, of course. Stupid rule passed down from the Almighty: Angels could not to [Could not to?] beat up on the [Why use the definite article? Is there more than one type of human?] humans. No exceptions.”

“Make that almost none,” [I have no idea what this means.] Michael jibed his friend.

Oh, Michael was so looking for an ass kicking.

I think you're off to a good start. The story needs to have already started, though, and I really don't see that it has. You've got a fine writing voice, however, and the problems I noticed are all very fixable. I'm a enchanted with your world building.

If this had been in a bookstore, I probably wouldn't have bought it. But I might have looked at something else with your name on it. I hope I get to see a revision.

Bart Out.

Open Wide the Slush Gate! (Volume One)

Greetings, writing world!

As an English tutor, a fiction enthusiast, and an author with a handful of publications under my belt, I'd like to dedicate a bit of my blogspace page to detailed critiques.

From now until midnight on Saturday (February the 7th, Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Nine), I'll be accepting -- and, in fact, actively soliciting stories for me to critique.

I'll share snippets of said stories on my Blog, complete with running commentary.

Think Evil Editor, minus the snark. Don't be afraid to submit! I don't bite.

Stories should be shot to: perfection [dot] von [dot] klick [at] gmail [dot] com

The first step to submitting anything, anywhere is to follow a set of guidelines - so here's what I need:

.doc , .docx , or .rtf file extensions
Double spaced formatting
Courier, calibri, or times new roman font. (Or, you know, anything that comes with Windows that isn't wingdings.)
Fiction in any genre is acceptable - don't worry about adult content disclaimers. If you submit something smutty, I'll probably show it anyway.
All submissions will be considered anonymous unless otherwise stated.

My critiques mostly focus on style and voice, though I occasionally dip into grammar.

I'll truncate most submissions down to five hundred or so words. You might want to beat me to the punch. Maybe you want help with the intro, but maybe I feel like critiquing the end. Wouldn't that suck?

Hope I hear from you!

I just read an awesome first chapter in SYW over at AW.

The password is not hard to figure out, if you simply go the main forum directory and look at the SYW forum description. However, we could say that it is the name of a certain, unpopular windows OS that has been recently released. And starts with a V.

The story moves wonderfully and has a fresh, exciting style. I want to see more writing like this--minus a few things I pointed out in my critique. I love it when I stumble onto something awesome.

Also, I'm writing a review for Kim Harrison's "For a Few Demons More." If the review doesn't make it to AW, look for it here.