Blurb
Eighteen-year-old Theresa Hartley never asked for limitless power—but when it comes, the world depends on her. Ordinary in every way but her courage, faith, and integrity, she faces impossible problems that challenge her to do what is right, not what is easy.
Original (First 500)
Our house was next to a pond close to the river where all the neighborhood’s kids spent many happy hours looking for turtles and frogs. I was lounging on the deck reading a book on the school summer list. Catherine was inside reading a magazine.
Taking a momentary break from the book, I notice a red fox walking along the pond’s edge. It disappeared behind a little patch of woods which dad let grow wild like most of the neighbors. This was very rare. Red foxes were never seen in broad daylight during the summer months. It didn’t happen.
Then something really amazing happened. It came out of the woods and walked towards me!
I kept still and waited to see how close it came before noticing me. It was sixty feet away, forty, twenty. By now it was clear it was looking at me. I considered running into the house but curiosity won out.
The fox reached the four steps of the deck. It came up to the steps, stopped, and sat on its haunches staring at me. It did not seem vicious so I waited.
In an instant, faster than you could blink an eye, a softball sized white ball emerged from the fox and went straight into my stomach.
I screamed and ran into the house. The fox ran away. I slid the glass deck door closed and locked it just in time to see the fox disappear into the woods.
“What did you scream for?” asked Catherine who had walked into the kitchen.
“There was a fox out there.”
“He won’t hurt you” she said and went back to the living room.
I stood at the glass door for five minutes watching for anything else that might happen. At last I thought it was all over.
I went into the living room to sit down and think. What was that white thing? I couldn’t come up with any theory. It was nothing I had ever seen on those nature programs.
Perhaps it was a daydream from not eating enough. Mom had warned me about that. At age ten, I was already conscious of my weight and tried to stay skinny. I should eat something.
I went into the kitchen to prepare an early lunch of fried eggs, a strip of bacon, toast, and milk. I gobbled all this down in a couple of minutes and soon felt better. It was too little eating after all. Nothing had really happened.
Satisfied, I walked back into the living room to find something else to do. I turned on the television and watched the late morning talk shows for a while.
I heard fire trucks in the distance blaring their deep toned sirens. These trucks could be heard from a mile away. They were coming closer. Soon the sound made it obvious they were in the vicinity of our street. My intuition told me this had something to do with the white thing that jumped at me.
Our house was next to a pond close to the river where all the neighborhood’s kids spent many happy hours looking for turtles and frogs. I was lounging on the deck reading a book on the school summer list. Catherine was inside reading a magazine.
Taking a momentary break from the book, I notice a red fox walking along the pond’s edge. It disappeared behind a little patch of woods which dad let grow wild like most of the neighbors. This was very rare. Red foxes were never seen in broad daylight during the summer months. It didn’t happen.
Then something really amazing happened. It came out of the woods and walked towards me!
I kept still and waited to see how close it came before noticing me. It was sixty feet away, forty, twenty. By now it was clear it was looking at me. I considered running into the house but curiosity won out.
The fox reached the four steps of the deck. It came up to the steps, stopped, and sat on its haunches staring at me. It did not seem vicious so I waited.
In an instant, faster than you could blink an eye, a softball sized white ball emerged from the fox and went straight into my stomach.
I screamed and ran into the house. The fox ran away. I slid the glass deck door closed and locked it just in time to see the fox disappear into the woods.
“What did you scream for?” asked Catherine who had walked into the kitchen.
“There was a fox out there.”
“He won’t hurt you” she said and went back to the living room.
I stood at the glass door for five minutes watching for anything else that might happen. At last I thought it was all over.
I went into the living room to sit down and think. What was that white thing? I couldn’t come up with any theory. It was nothing I had ever seen on those nature programs.
Perhaps it was a daydream from not eating enough. Mom had warned me about that. At age ten, I was already conscious of my weight and tried to stay skinny. I should eat something.
I went into the kitchen to prepare an early lunch of fried eggs, a strip of bacon, toast, and milk. I gobbled all this down in a couple of minutes and soon felt better. It was too little eating after all. Nothing had really happened.
Satisfied, I walked back into the living room to find something else to do. I turned on the television and watched the late morning talk shows for a while.
I heard fire trucks in the distance blaring their deep toned sirens. These trucks could be heard from a mile away. They were coming closer. Soon the sound made it obvious they were in the vicinity of our street. My intuition told me this had something to do with the white thing that jumped at me.
My Edit
Our house was next to a pond where all the neighborhood kids spent many happy hours looking for turtles and frogs. I was lounging on the deck, enjoying the warm breeze and reading a book on the school summer list. Actually, I had already read all the books on the reading list for my upcoming fourth grade year—as well as fifth, sixth, and seventh grade—so I'd Googled the eighth-grade reading list and was currently working on Lord of the Flies.
My sixteen-year-old sister, Catherine, had said that the book was a good reflection of what to expect from junior high. I was only on Chapter 3, but so far, eighth grade didn't sound that much different from third grade, plane crashes aside.
A flash of movement caught my eye. I looked up and saw a red fox walking along the pond’s edge. I held my breath. Red foxes were never seen in broad daylight during the summer months. It was too far away to tell for sure, but it seemed to be looking directly at me. My skin tingled with sudden goosebumps.
Even odder, it was walking toward me, with purpose. No grazing of the water or sniffing of the ground. Just the unnerving stalk of an animal intent on its prey. I froze. I knew that foxes only attacked humans if they were cornered or had rabies.
It definitely wasn't cornered, and though it walked directly toward me, it seemed calm enough. It was close enough now to see that, yes, it was definitely making direct eye contact.
The fox reached the base of the stairs up to the deck, paused, stepped daintily up each stair—one, two, three, four. It stopped and sat on its haunches, never breaking eye contact. It opened its mouth.
A softball-sized ball of light emerged from its mouth and slammed into my stomach. I screamed. The fox ran away. I clutched at my stomach. The ball of light had disappeared. Nothing hurt. My tank top and jean shorts were intact. Had that just happened? I looked for the fox. It was gone.
Catherine came hobbling out of the house on her heels, her toes separated by cotton balls. She wore a green face mask and her dark hair was up in curlers. Her soft, pink bathrobe fluttered behind her, revealing her pastel green pajamas.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?" she called. Our parents were out and she was babysitting.
“Th-there was a fox,” I stuttered. Should I mention the ball of light? I didn't know. I wasn't even sure of the fox, now. That whole thing was just too bizarre.
Catherine looked around, saw no fox, and then snorted. “He won’t hurt you,” she said. She started hobbling back into the house, but paused and turned back to me. "You should come in, just in case," she said, looking around the wilderness of our backyard again.
I caught up with her, and she shooed me ahead of her into the kitchen. She closed and locked the sliding glass door. "If you stay inside until Mom and Dad get home, I'll still let you keep half," she said. She always shared half of her babysitting fee, as long as I didn't annoy her. I nodded, stunned at the offer. She usually jumped at the smallest excuse to keep the full fee.
She hobbled back toward the living room while I stood at the glass door for a few minutes, still confused. I couldn't think of a reason why a fox would track me down just to hock a light ball into my stomach, and then run away. Had it really happened?
Mom had warned me about hallucinating if I didn't eat properly. I'd thought she'd just said that to try to halt my blossoming eating disorder. It made more sense to think I'd dreamed the whole thing.
I heated up the breakfast Mom had left in the fridge—two fried eggs, a strip of bacon, and an English muffin. I was glad I hadn’t thrown it away. By the time I'd washed it all down with half a glass of milk, I felt a lot better. I'd almost convinced myself that the whole fox thing had never happened.
But, I decided to leave Lord of the Flies outside. I still had most of the eighth-grade reading list in my room, anyway.
I wandered up to my room and flopped down on my unmade bed. I sorted through the books on my nightstand and selected Night by Elie Wiesel. It was the smallest book; I could probably finish it in a couple of hours. I flipped open to the first page.
"Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp—" Ooh, summer camp! My parents had started sending Catherine to summer camp when she was thirteen, but now that we had the summer house, I'd probably never get to go. At least I could read about it, though.
The sound of sirens caught my attention. I would have ignored them, but they got louder and louder so quickly that I was sure they were heading directly toward me.
Like the fox, earlier. I pushed the thought away. I put down the book and got up. My room faced the street. As I approached the window, a fire truck pulled up right outside.
(Original word count: ~498 → Edited: ~915)
My sixteen-year-old sister, Catherine, had said that the book was a good reflection of what to expect from junior high. I was only on Chapter 3, but so far, eighth grade didn't sound that much different from third grade, plane crashes aside.
A flash of movement caught my eye. I looked up and saw a red fox walking along the pond’s edge. I held my breath. Red foxes were never seen in broad daylight during the summer months. It was too far away to tell for sure, but it seemed to be looking directly at me. My skin tingled with sudden goosebumps.
Even odder, it was walking toward me, with purpose. No grazing of the water or sniffing of the ground. Just the unnerving stalk of an animal intent on its prey. I froze. I knew that foxes only attacked humans if they were cornered or had rabies.
The fox reached the base of the stairs up to the deck, paused, stepped daintily up each stair—one, two, three, four. It stopped and sat on its haunches, never breaking eye contact. It opened its mouth.
A softball-sized ball of light emerged from its mouth and slammed into my stomach. I screamed. The fox ran away. I clutched at my stomach. The ball of light had disappeared. Nothing hurt. My tank top and jean shorts were intact. Had that just happened? I looked for the fox. It was gone.
Catherine came hobbling out of the house on her heels, her toes separated by cotton balls. She wore a green face mask and her dark hair was up in curlers. Her soft, pink bathrobe fluttered behind her, revealing her pastel green pajamas.
“Th-there was a fox,” I stuttered. Should I mention the ball of light? I didn't know. I wasn't even sure of the fox, now. That whole thing was just too bizarre.
Catherine looked around, saw no fox, and then snorted. “He won’t hurt you,” she said. She started hobbling back into the house, but paused and turned back to me. "You should come in, just in case," she said, looking around the wilderness of our backyard again.
I caught up with her, and she shooed me ahead of her into the kitchen. She closed and locked the sliding glass door. "If you stay inside until Mom and Dad get home, I'll still let you keep half," she said. She always shared half of her babysitting fee, as long as I didn't annoy her. I nodded, stunned at the offer. She usually jumped at the smallest excuse to keep the full fee.
She hobbled back toward the living room while I stood at the glass door for a few minutes, still confused. I couldn't think of a reason why a fox would track me down just to hock a light ball into my stomach, and then run away. Had it really happened?
I heated up the breakfast Mom had left in the fridge—two fried eggs, a strip of bacon, and an English muffin. I was glad I hadn’t thrown it away. By the time I'd washed it all down with half a glass of milk, I felt a lot better. I'd almost convinced myself that the whole fox thing had never happened.
But, I decided to leave Lord of the Flies outside. I still had most of the eighth-grade reading list in my room, anyway.
I wandered up to my room and flopped down on my unmade bed. I sorted through the books on my nightstand and selected Night by Elie Wiesel. It was the smallest book; I could probably finish it in a couple of hours. I flipped open to the first page.
"Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp—" Ooh, summer camp! My parents had started sending Catherine to summer camp when she was thirteen, but now that we had the summer house, I'd probably never get to go. At least I could read about it, though.
The sound of sirens caught my attention. I would have ignored them, but they got louder and louder so quickly that I was sure they were heading directly toward me.
Like the fox, earlier. I pushed the thought away. I put down the book and got up. My room faced the street. As I approached the window, a fire truck pulled up right outside.
(Original word count: ~498 → Edited: ~915)
Critique
Setting
The setting is a house with a backyard that looks out on a large pond. It's summer, and there's a warm breeze on the outside deck where Theresa is reading a book. Inside, we have sixteen-year-old Catherine, who is taking her babysitting duties extra seriously, by reading a magazine. The kitchen is right off the deck, via sliding glass door. I think the settings could be described a little more, but we get what we need.
In the original, after the fox (attack?), Theresa makes herself some breakfast and goes into the living room to watch TV. She doesn't mention Catherine who is supposed to be in there reading a magazine. I think it's valid for Theresa to not want to be alone after the fox thing, but since there's no interaction or anything, I took Theresa up to her bedroom. Theresa's room faces the street, so she actually gets to see the fire engines when they pull up.
Characterization
Catherine is sixteen and babysitting, while Theresa is outside on the deck, working on her summer reading list. I like the juxtaposition of Theresa outside reading a book with her older sister inside reading a magazine. This immediately connotes that the older sister is a little more trendy, superficial, and sheltered, while Theresa is a little more intellectually adventurous, but less social. (She notes that kids love playing around the pond, but she's off alone on her deck, reading a book.)
I played this up in my edit by having Theresa's sister doing self-care instead of reading a magazine. Not only does this exaggerate the difference in the girls' personalities, but it creates a more vivid image when Catherine comes outside after Theresa screams.
To add a bit more characterization to both girls, I named the book that Theresa is reading, gave her sister's opinion on it, and then and gave Theresa an opinion both the book and her sister's opinion it. Quick, simple layering with the information we already had.
Also, based on the accusation of Theresa being a Mary Sue (quick Google search), I made her extra smart by having finished her grade's reading list and working her way through a list several grades up. I don’t personally have a problem with Mary Sue or self-insert characters. Honestly, I think one of the most natural ways to create a character is to imagine the person you’d like to be and send them on the adventures you wish you could have.
There's plenty of conflict with the fox shooting a lightning ball into Theresa's stomach and then Theresa wondering if she hallucinated it. She doesn’t trust her sister with the experience, and with her parents gone, she doesn’t even consider telling them about it later.
Her thought process is that her mother warned her that if she doesn't eat, she might hallucinate. So, at least the mother is aware that there's an issue. In the narration, when Theresa mentions that she "tries to stay skinny", she says it so matter-of-factly that it's hard to tell if she's bragging or being vulnerable. I kept the matter-of-factness, but made "blossoming eating disorder" connote it as a negative thing, even if only in hindsight.
There's also tension after this, where she feels like the experience she had with the fox was only the beginning, and then the fire trucks start showing up and she has that feeling even more.
There's also tension in the fact that she has no friends. Don't get me wrong, I spent the summer I was ten reading, too, because I had no friends, and looking back, I don't regret a thing. But it is odd. I'm not sure if the author didn't want to bother creating another character, didn't want there to be a witness, or if he meant for Theresa to be a loner, but here we are.
So, plenty of conflict, no notes. In my edit, I slowed down the action with the fox a little bit, let her trepidation build, and then, BOOM -- lightning ball! That was fun.
It doesn’t read to me as any worse than anyone else’s first novel—and in fact, it’s a lot better than I was expecting. We have a basic but serviceable setting, basic but serviceable characters, tons of conflict, and a really exciting inciting incident.
I wanted to give the writing a fair critique because the glut of YouTube videos calling this "the worst book ever written" seems like a bit much. Creating is an act of vulnerability and sharing that creation is even more vulnerable.
It’s not really surprising that an author might overreact to being critiqued, even fairly. It's absolutely abominable that we as a society turn people into memes just so that we can mock them.
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