Blurb
Once, she was Greer Thomas: popular, fearless, impossible to ignore. But after witnessing her parents’ murder, she’s forced into Witness Protection with a new name, a new town, and a desire to be invisible.Then she meets Kaleb Nixon. Rough around the edges, with secrets of his own, Kale has built his life on keeping people out. But there’s something about Greer—the way she hides behind sarcasm and oversized glasses—that makes him want to break every rule he’s made for himself.
As Kale gets closer to uncovering who she really is, Greer realizes that the past she’s running from isn’t finished with her yet. Secrets don’t remain buried forever, and Greer has a lot of them.
Original (First 500)
How do the stories begin? Oh, right, with once upon a time.
So, so here it goes:
Once upon a time, there was an overlooked, beautiful girl who longed for someone to come and notice her. Along comes a handsome prince on horseback to save her. They live happily ever after in a ginormous castle.
Well, you know what I’ve got to say to those stories? Bullcrap.
Fairy tales are stories written by lonely people that want to deceive the minds of the youth. But listen up kids, no one ever gets their happily ever after. Some messed up shit happens in life. Did you get that? Are you taking notes? You could be because I’m a prime example of someone not getting their happily ever after. Heck, I would even settle for Cinderella’s life before she met Prince Charming or whoever.
Because right now, my story belongs in the tragedy section of the bargain bin.
My castle comes in the form of a one-story house, parked on the side of a busy street, in a small crater in the earth in Washington.
And it’s freaking raining.
I stare up at the brick ranch style house with a scowl on my face. My one suitcase is on the wet ground at my feet. My brunette hair is soaked to my skin. I’m not wearing a jacket, just a thin t-shirt. There’s a black pickup truck parked in the driveway. It has a bumper sticker for the high school in town. I can’t help but laugh. I haven’t even been to the school yet.
I can’t get my feet to shuffle up the cracked walkway. This doesn’t feel real. The last few months, I’ve been basically sleepwalking through my life. Standing here in front of my new home starts to wake me up a bit.
“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes now, are you going to go in?” Says a deep voice from beside me.
I gulp, “I’m working up to it.”
“It won’t bite, you know?” He chuckles.
I turn to look at the older man standing to my right. A shot of pain grips my chest tight as I look into his sparkling blue eyes. Leo looks almost identical to my mother. I wonder how long the pain will last every time I look at him. I wonder if it’ll ever get easier.
He gives me a forced smile as he noticed the look on my face, “One step at a time, remember, Greer?”
I nod. It all seemed so simple on the drive over here. I pumped myself up the whole plane trip. I told myself I could do it the whole car ride from the airport. So why couldn’t I do it now? Why was this such a hard thing to do?
I vigorously nod, shaking myself from my stupor, and put one step in front of the other. I drag my suitcase behind me on its wheels. Leo keeps a safe distance behind me and…
How do the stories begin? Oh, right, with once upon a time.
So, so here it goes:
Once upon a time, there was an overlooked, beautiful girl who longed for someone to come and notice her. Along comes a handsome prince on horseback to save her. They live happily ever after in a ginormous castle.
Well, you know what I’ve got to say to those stories? Bullcrap.
Fairy tales are stories written by lonely people that want to deceive the minds of the youth. But listen up kids, no one ever gets their happily ever after. Some messed up shit happens in life. Did you get that? Are you taking notes? You could be because I’m a prime example of someone not getting their happily ever after. Heck, I would even settle for Cinderella’s life before she met Prince Charming or whoever.
Because right now, my story belongs in the tragedy section of the bargain bin.
My castle comes in the form of a one-story house, parked on the side of a busy street, in a small crater in the earth in Washington.
And it’s freaking raining.
I stare up at the brick ranch style house with a scowl on my face. My one suitcase is on the wet ground at my feet. My brunette hair is soaked to my skin. I’m not wearing a jacket, just a thin t-shirt. There’s a black pickup truck parked in the driveway. It has a bumper sticker for the high school in town. I can’t help but laugh. I haven’t even been to the school yet.
I can’t get my feet to shuffle up the cracked walkway. This doesn’t feel real. The last few months, I’ve been basically sleepwalking through my life. Standing here in front of my new home starts to wake me up a bit.
“You’ve been standing there for ten minutes now, are you going to go in?” Says a deep voice from beside me.
I gulp, “I’m working up to it.”
“It won’t bite, you know?” He chuckles.
I turn to look at the older man standing to my right. A shot of pain grips my chest tight as I look into his sparkling blue eyes. Leo looks almost identical to my mother. I wonder how long the pain will last every time I look at him. I wonder if it’ll ever get easier.
He gives me a forced smile as he noticed the look on my face, “One step at a time, remember, Greer?”
I nod. It all seemed so simple on the drive over here. I pumped myself up the whole plane trip. I told myself I could do it the whole car ride from the airport. So why couldn’t I do it now? Why was this such a hard thing to do?
I vigorously nod, shaking myself from my stupor, and put one step in front of the other. I drag my suitcase behind me on its wheels. Leo keeps a safe distance behind me and…
My Edit
I scowl up at the red-brick ranch house. A black pickup sits in the driveway—Uncle Leo’s new truck—with a bumper sticker for the high school I haven’t started attending yet.
Cars hiss past on wet asphalt behind me, their tires spraying puddles onto the curb. Somewhere down the block, a horn bleats twice, impatient, and a delivery van door slams. The world moves fast and loud, but none of it feels like it belongs to me.
Wind whips dark, wet strands of hair across my face, casting diagonal prison bars across my view of the house. I’m not wearing a jacket, just a thin black T-shirt. There’s a hoodie in the suitcase next to my feet. The suitcase isn’t waterproof, so my clothes are probably as soaked as I am.
The cab dropped me off ten minutes ago, and I still can’t make my feet move up the cracked walkway. Two people pass on the sidewalk behind me, their voices rising and fading with laughter. I catch only the sound, not the words, and it feels like a language I used to speak.
The front door opens. Leo steps out, pops an umbrella, and jogs toward me. I fight the urge to run away.
“How long have you been out here?” he asks, sounding concerned and exasperated. He stops in front of me and tries to hand me the umbrella. I don’t budge, so he hovers over me awkwardly, using the umbrella to try to cover both of us.
I sense his grief. Is it as deep as mine? Deeper? His eyes are my mother’s eyes. Does he see my mother in me, too? Does something tighten in his chest—a stitch he can’t breathe through? Does he want to flee, as though not walking into that house with me means this isn’t real? His sister alive, his niece still happy and rebellious in California….
A wry smile quirks my uncle’s lips, though he watches me with concern, a wrinkle between his brows. “Are you coming in?”
I nod. But I don’t move.
“One step at a time, Greer,” he says, empathy radiating from him.
In the distance, I hear sirens. I shudder and step forward, suddenly eager to be inside. I never used to hear sirens. I'll never be able to ignore them again.
Leo moves with me, still trying to hold the umbrella over both of us as I wheel my suitcase up the path. He puts his arm around my shoulders. It’s warm and dry and makes a false promise—that everything is going to be okay.
(Original word count: ~500 → Edited: ~428)
Cars hiss past on wet asphalt behind me, their tires spraying puddles onto the curb. Somewhere down the block, a horn bleats twice, impatient, and a delivery van door slams. The world moves fast and loud, but none of it feels like it belongs to me.
Wind whips dark, wet strands of hair across my face, casting diagonal prison bars across my view of the house. I’m not wearing a jacket, just a thin black T-shirt. There’s a hoodie in the suitcase next to my feet. The suitcase isn’t waterproof, so my clothes are probably as soaked as I am.
The cab dropped me off ten minutes ago, and I still can’t make my feet move up the cracked walkway. Two people pass on the sidewalk behind me, their voices rising and fading with laughter. I catch only the sound, not the words, and it feels like a language I used to speak.
The front door opens. Leo steps out, pops an umbrella, and jogs toward me. I fight the urge to run away.
“How long have you been out here?” he asks, sounding concerned and exasperated. He stops in front of me and tries to hand me the umbrella. I don’t budge, so he hovers over me awkwardly, using the umbrella to try to cover both of us.
I sense his grief. Is it as deep as mine? Deeper? His eyes are my mother’s eyes. Does he see my mother in me, too? Does something tighten in his chest—a stitch he can’t breathe through? Does he want to flee, as though not walking into that house with me means this isn’t real? His sister alive, his niece still happy and rebellious in California….
A wry smile quirks my uncle’s lips, though he watches me with concern, a wrinkle between his brows. “Are you coming in?”
I nod. But I don’t move.
“One step at a time, Greer,” he says, empathy radiating from him.
In the distance, I hear sirens. I shudder and step forward, suddenly eager to be inside. I never used to hear sirens. I'll never be able to ignore them again.
Leo moves with me, still trying to hold the umbrella over both of us as I wheel my suitcase up the path. He puts his arm around my shoulders. It’s warm and dry and makes a false promise—that everything is going to be okay.
(Original word count: ~500 → Edited: ~428)
Critique
A teenage girl in Witness Protection after watching her parents be murdered. Original, compelling, and comes with a built-in question: how do you balance grief and danger with teen romance?The opening paragraphs use fairy-tale imagery and commentary about how those stories are “bullcrap.” It’s an eye-catching hook that instantly caught my interest, but because the story drops the conceit so quickly, it feels more like an attention-grabber than an organic entry point into Greer’s voice.
"I stare up at the brick ranch style house with a scowl on my face," is a much stronger opening line. It's an original line in the author's authentic voice, and it immediately poses a question. Why would someone glare at a seemingly inoffensive inanimate object? So, we have immediate conflict based on the reader's experience of brick, ranch-syle houses (nice, warm, dry, no stairs, middle class, comfortable) with the character's apparent hatred of it. Simple, straightforward, and brilliant.
A quick realism note: typically, participants in witness protection don’t get to keep their first name or live with known family members, since that could link them to their past.
Also, the title should probably be "Shifting Greers" instead of "Shifting Greer's".
Setting
My castle comes in the form of a one-story house, parked on the side of a busy street, in a small crater in the earth in Washington.This is a cute transition from the fairytale conceit into the setting. A couple of nitpicks — first, “Washington” could refer to the state, D.C., or one of a million cities and towns in the U.S. If we changed it to “Seattle,” the reader would know immediately where we are.
We’re told it’s a busy street, but we never get any signs of foot traffic, passing cars, sirens, or life. I added some of these details in my edit. The other option would be to simply say it’s a quiet street.
The fact that we're staring at this house for so long, in the cold rain, makes me want to go in, especially after meeting Leo and realizing that the house is going to be warm and welcoming.
Characterization
Greer's voice; bitter but wistful, really works. Even without the fairy-tale framing, her vulnerability and resilience shine through. Her apathy about being rained on and her inability to take a step are realistic depictions of grief and denial, even without an inner monologue.
Uncle Leo is immediately lovable, and the fact that he encourages her without forcing her to move — even in the pouring rain — shows that Greer isn’t alone, even though she’s lost so much. The truck with the bumper sticker from the school she hasn’t started yet is a beautiful detail. It says she’s already welcome, that this is already her home, and that he’s already proud of her. It also hints that he might be a bit impatient with her grieving process, which could make for interesting character development later.
Describing a character’s appearance in first person is always tricky. What we look like doesn’t matter to us unless we’re thinking about how others perceive us. Still, you as the author might want the reader to know, so they’re not wondering what the character looks like for half the book.
An organic way to describe a character is to have her feel self-conscious or aware of what someone else is seeing. A perfect place for that here is when Greer and Leo look at each other — when she wonders if her uncle sees her mother when he looks at her, she can compare her features to her mom’s.
If you do want to describe her right away, the author’s original attempt mostly works. “A thin black T-shirt” is believable because it’s something you’d actually notice on yourself. The issue is the line “My hair is plastered to my body…” — we’ve suddenly zoomed out to a visual that the narrator couldn’t see herself unless she’s astral projecting. I changed it to “The wind whips dark, wet strands of hair across my face,” because that’s something she would realistically notice in the moment.
I also had Leo start from inside the house instead of revealing halfway through that Greer isn’t alone. That kind of surprise can pull the reader out of her perspective. It can work for an unreliable narrator, but that doesn’t seem to be the goal here. Giving Leo an umbrella also shows he’s already taking care of her before she even steps inside — a nice mirror to the bumper sticker detail.
Finally, I made Greer’s comparison of her uncle’s blue eyes to her mother’s into a moment of specific inner questioning that reveals her grief and panic. It also lets her wonder about him, recognizing that she’s not the only one grieving. That small shift adds empathy and emotional depth while keeping her thoughts self-centered in a realistic way.
Conflict/Tension
In terms of action, the first 500 words are simple: a girl stares at a house, a man comes out and talks to her, and they walk inside together. Potentially cinematic, but not outwardly thrilling.
What makes this compelling is the internal tension. Her inability to accept her new life is shown through her physical stillness, her apathy toward the rain, and the pain of looking at her uncle because he reminds her of her mom. That’s something a novel can convey far better than a film.
Also, it’s impressive to have a two-character scene full of tension without the tension coming from a fight. Both characters are likable and relatable — that’s what grounds the otherwise implausible premise.
Final Thoughts
Overall, really compelling opening to a book, even without the small tweaks that I made in my edit. Between the hook and the tension in the scene, adding a little more detail to the setting and nuance to the characters only enhances what we already had.
Overall, this is a really strong opening — even without the small tweaks I made in my edit. Between the emotional hook and the quiet tension, a few more details in the setting and some nuance in the character work just enhance what’s already there.
I took out the fairy-tale conceit in my edit because the author’s authentic voice was strong enough to stand on its own. The fairy-tale angle felt like a crutch for something that didn’t need propping up.
No comments:
Post a Comment