The Perfect Betrayal by Mira Cade

Blurb

Denise Winters has everything she ever wanted-a charming husband, a beautiful brownstone in a quiet neighborhood, and a life built on routine and quiet elegance. Her husband, Jovan, is a man most women would envy: attentive, successful, and meticulous in everything he does. But when a local woman is found strangled in her apartment-with a ribbon tied neatly around her neck-Denise begins to unravel the tightly woven threads of her marriage.

It starts small: blood in the sink, vanishing trash, and sleepless nights beside a man who doesn't blink when he lies. As she pieces together fragments of the truth, Denise is plagued by a terrifying question-has Jovan always been this way, or has she been blind for years?

As secrets emerge from the shadows of their picture-perfect home, Denise must decide how much she's willing to sacrifice to uncover the truth-and whether she's too late to save herself.

But the deeper she digs, the more she realizes, Jovan doesn't make mistakes. He erases them.

---

Original (First 500)

The first time Denise suspected her husband might be a murderer, he was standing barefoot in their kitchen, humming a tune she didn't recognize, while blood trickled down his wrist and into the stainless-steel sink.

She had just come in from the rain, hair plastered to her face, heels in one hand and the grocery bags dangling from the other. The house had been too quiet. No TV. No music. Just the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hall, and the faint, almost melodic sound of something dripping.

That's when she saw him. Her husband Jovan.

His dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and the fabric speckled with tiny red droplets. The kitchen smelled faintly of bleach, something sharp and unnatural layered over the clean scent of lemons from the diffuser she had left on that morning.

Her breath caught, "Jovan?"

He turned slowly, like he hadn't heard her come in. Like he was returning from somewhere extremely far away.

"Oh. You're home early." His voice was calm and steady. It almost sounded...bored? He glanced at his wrist following her line of sight, then back at her, smiling faintly, "I cut myself chopping ginger. I didn't even notice."

Denise's gaze dropped to the knife on the counter -- long, glinting, its edge smeared red. There was no ginger on the cutting board. There were no vegetables. Hell, there was no sign of cooking at all.

"Let me see." She stepped closer, ignoring the goosebumps crawling up her arm. The cut was shallow, more a scrape than a gash, but there was something about the angle that did not make sense. It didn't look like a slip. It looked like a slice. It was clean, almost intentional. 

Jovan pulled away, chuckling. "It's nothing. Go shower, D. You're soaked."

And that was all he said. He rinsed the knife and then dried it. He then placed it in the butcher's block like nothing even happened. That night, for some odd reason, Denise could not sleep.

Jovan lay beside her, his breathing slow and rhythmic, his hand resting heavy on her waist. But she stayed awake, eyes wide in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering what he'd really been washing down the drain. Or if that actually was his blood.

But that feeling hadn't started there.

No, if she was honest, the unease had been blooming for weeks -- subtle, like the first scent of rot perfume. There were the missed calls, locked drawers, and doors. A strange call from his office saying he hadn't shown up for work. The neighbor's cat was found dead behind the hedge. Small things. Disconnected things. But they'd begun to collect, like stones in her chest.

It was easy at first to explain why.

Jovan was brilliant and intense. A man who carried secrets in the spaces between his words. She had fallen for that -- his mystery, his restraint, the way he made the rest of the world feel like background noise.

---

Critique

The blurb is amazing. A woman who suspects that her husband might be -- what? From the blurb, it's hard to tell that she suspects him of murder. "Betrayal" to me, usually means cheating, so the dead woman could be his mistress. But blood in the sink, vanishing trash, and a husband who erases his mistakes -- that is sinister. I wasn't sure if the blurb was vague because it was going to turn out that her husband was innocent, but the first line dispelled that illusion.

"The first time Denise suspected her husband might be a murderer, he was standing barefoot in their kitchen, humming a tune she didn't recognize, while blood trickled down his wrist and into the stainless-steel sink." Oh, my GOD. WHAT?! THE FIRST TIME?!?!?!

Now, I've been lulled into a false sense of good writing by a great hook and a stellar opening line, before, but the rest of the excerpt was also really good.

Lines like this, "Small things. Disconnected things. But they'd begun to collect, like stones in her chest." -- this is beautiful. This is such a relatable feeling, and such a creative expression of it. I love that. The combination of the author's sparse scene setting and characterization with the sometimes poetic lines makes for some really evocative writing.

No piece of writing is perfect, so we'll get into some nitpicks, but this is mostly a showcase post, to share what it looks like when an author nails the opening to their story. 

Setting

The kitchen has lots of great detail. Stainless steel sink, knife with blood on the edge, a chopping board with no ginger or other damn vegetables, the smells of bleach and lemon and -- something else. We don't spend any time on the decor, only the important parts of the scene. This is great because if we got the entire layout of the kitchen, the appliances and colors and design choices, this would feel too relaxed. Instead, we keep the focus small. The sink, the cutting board, the blood.

We also have the scene setting before we get to the kitchen. The too-quiet house with the grandfather clock, the sound of something dripping -- which is probably her, because she's soaking wet and carrying grocery bags. Or, it's his blood, dripping into the sink. 

Later, they're in bed, and we don't get a sense of the layout or decor, but we do get his hand heavy on her waist. Then we're in her head, adding up the sense of unease that led to her walking in on him and his bloody arm. The call from his work saying he hadn't been in, the dead cat, the locked drawers and doors.

Because we're in an ordinary setting; a house, a kitchen, a bedroom, small clues like a stainless steel sink and a lemon-scented diffuser, I'm picturing upper middle class, nice apartment or house, clean, probably not a lot of personality. Like, lots of beiges and grays, sleek lines, etc. And unless this turns out to be incredibly incorrect later, we don't need any more detail than this when we first walk in, especially with what we're walking in on.

Characterization

We're not getting deep with these characters, which makes sense because he's hiding something, so he's all surface charm (and then asleep), and she is freaked TF out. Survival mode strips us of all personality. So, here, again, the author isn't trying to tell us too much, to assure us that these are going to be interesting characters by giving them witty banter and working into the conversation every in-joke they have. It's nice restraint.

But, we still learn plenty about them. Denise is non-confrontational, but she has a deep intuition. She's known something was wrong for a while, but hasn't been able to put it all together. She has incredible attention to detail, from sounds to smells. I love the note that there are no signs of cooking, just a bloody knife on the cutting board. Also, that the cut looks intentional, not like an accident. 

And we learn about him, that whatever he was thinking about when he was washing his blood down the sink was intense enough that he didn't hear her come in, probably grocery bags a-crinkling. Also, it says a lot that he doesn't even try to sell the ginger lie, he just deflects, sending her off to shower. 

And, I don't know. Is it possessive of him to fall asleep with his hand on her waist, or is that sweet? In any other circumstances, it might indicate intimacy, but with her not feeling super close to him, it comes off as creepy and controlling.

Conflict/Tension

Oh, yes, there is conflict. First, we have the visual of blood, the obvious lie about the ginger, the fact that the cut looks intentional -- and all of this juxtaposes with him speaking so calmly and just throwing out his nickname for her, "D". (Note that I think in prose, it reads better for someone's intially nickname to be spelled out, like Dee, but that's a personal preference.)

We also have the growing sense of unease, the weirdness going on with him and around them (dead cat, his workplace calling, etc.) It would be enough to just start a story with, "The first time Denise suspected her husband might be a murderer," but the overall sense of unease pervades the entire passage.

---

Final Thoughts

Here's a small nitpick. I tend to prefer scene setting to be in chronological order -- like, don't start in the kitchen, then describe the whole house, then back to the kitchen. But I understand the author's need to start with a killer opening line, and the line comes with Denise seeing her husband in the kitchen. So, I would just keep the focus on the kitchen. We don't need to know what the house sounded like when she got home. Stay in the moment. 

Here's what I'd do with this part of the passage (not changing the wording, just the order of the sentences).

The first time Denise suspected her husband might be a murderer, he was standing barefoot in their kitchen, humming a tune she didn't recognize, while blood trickled down his wrist and into the stainless-steel sink.

His dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and the fabric speckled with tiny red droplets. The kitchen smelled faintly of bleach, something sharp and unnatural layered over the clean scent of lemons from the diffuser she had left on that morning.

Her breath caught, "Jovan?"

She had just come in from the rain, hair plastered to her face, heels in one hand and the grocery bags dangling from the other. 

This way, the description of Jovan is all together, which makes for a more powerful visual, and it also means that Denise was so distracted by the scene that she forgot that she was soaked through. 

We also don't need a line like, "That's when she saw him. Her husband Jovan." because she introduced him as her husband in the first line, and when she says his name a second later, it's just puts both pieces of information (name and relationship) twice in the same short passage for no reason.

Another small thing -- I almost love this line: No, if she was honest, the unease had been blooming for weeks -- subtle, like the first scent of rot perfume. If we dropped "perfume", I think that would work. If we absolutely had to keep "perfume", maybe we could go with "rotting" instead of "rot". Actually, if we ended the sentence after "weeks", it would be a great sentence. We don't really need a simile to add to the metaphor. 

And my favorite line, of course, is the first one. I love that the husband is barefoot. Being barefoot is such a vulnerable state, it should evoke coziness, safety, but it's juxtaposed with the introductory, "The first time Denise suspected her husband..." -- it's great. I also love the humming, and the fact that she doesn't recognize the tune. So many tiny details that add up to this sense of impending doom. 

My biggest nitpick about this excerpt is that the opening line is not fulfilled within the opening scene. The opening line commits the cardinal sin of over-promising.

It's Jovan's own blood that he's cleaning up. We can see the cut. We have the rest of these five hundred words (at least) where, at worst, he cut himself on purpose and lied about it. So, what about this scene makes Denise suspect that he's a murderer? Even her rumination on him missing work and the dead cat don't really add up to him being a murderer

Now, none of this is a dealbreaker for me. It's a great line, the scene we get is still really good. However, there was a sense of letdown as I read the excerpt that wouldn't have been there with a different opening line. The easy fix would be to change the opening line and letting the story be a slower burn. Walking in on your husband washing away blood in your kitchen sink with no vegetables in sight is still really dynamic scene to start a story with.

But what I would want to see, is a scene that fulfills the promise of the opening line. Seeing the cut is what really undercuts the promise here, so the quickest fix would be to have Denise not see the wound, have Jovan "hide" it. And the knife could be there, but clean. So, all she sees is the blood speckling his shirt and smells the bleach. It would still be iffy to go from blood in the sink to suspecting that the husband is a murderer, but we can trust Denise's intuition on that. 

Jovan can cut himself after she leaves to take a shower, and she wouldn't know for sure when it happened. So, the setup for whatever comes later would still be intact, but Denise's suspicion wouldn't seem so out of nowhere.

Okay, all nitpicks done. I thought that this was a really interesting way to start a story. I love that the blurb holds back so that the opening line can punch the reader right in the face. I'm intrigued by the concept of a woman finding out her husband is a serial killer and having to survive coming to that knowledge.

The Magical Beasts Calls Me Mother by Rojeen_Zara

Blurb

I died from exhaustion in a world that never wanted me.
When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer a nameless office worker...
I was the beloved daughter of a duke inside a novel I once read.

But here's the problem:
I'm not the heroine.
I'm not the villainess.
I'm just the "ex-friend" side character who was supposed to fade away quietly.

That was my plan too-
...until I stumbled upon a black dragon's egg.
Until it hatched and called me "Mother."
Until it transformed into a child and dragged me into the center of every noble's gossip, every battle, and... every man's heart.

Now the male lead won't stop appearing in my life, the second male lead keeps getting too close, and even the villain himself seems interested in me.

And worst of all? The so-called heroine is furious that everything she wanted... is becoming mine.

I never asked for this.
But if fate insists on putting me in the spotlight-
then fine.
I'll shine brighter than anyone else.

---

Original (First 500)

Warmth.

It was the first thing I felt. The kind of warmth I had never known in my life.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight spilled across silk curtains the color of dawn. My body sank into a mattress so soft I thought I was still dreaming.

"Celestria, you're awake."

I froze. The voice was gentle. Loving. So unlike the one I grew up with.

A woman sat by my bedside, her golden hair coiled elegantly, her emerald eyes shimmering with relief. She reached out and touched my cheek as though I were the most precious thing in the world. 

"My darling daughter, you frightened me. You've been asleep for so long."

Daughter.

The word pierced through me. My throat tightened. My adoptive mother had only ever spat that word at me like a curse. But this woman...she said it as though it were a blessing.

"...Mother?" My voice cracked.

Her eyes softened further, and she gathered me into her arms. "Yes, I'm here. Your mother is here."

I couldn't stop it. Tears burned my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. I clutched her gown as if she would vanish.

She stroked my hair patiently. "Shh, you're safe. Your father and brother will be overjoyed to hear you've woken."

Father? Brother?

I pulled back, blinking rapidly. My gaze darted across the room -- gilded furniture, crystal vases, walls adorned with paintings that looked centuries old. Nothing about this resembled my dingy apartment or the office where I'd collapsed.

And then...memory hit me like storm.

The novel.

I knew this place. I had read these very descriptions.

This was the Arden Duchy. The home of Celestria Arden, the duke's beloved daughter. A side character in the story.

My heart pounded in my chest. If I was here, that meant...

I wasn't the heroine.

I wasn't the villainess.

I was the girl destined to stand in the background until she disappeared from the story altogether. 

The door burst open before I could breathe.

"Celestria!"

A tall man with silver hair and commanding presence rushed in -- the Duke himself. Behind him, a boy around my age with stormy blue eyes barreled past, nearly tripping in his haste. 

"Sister!" the boy cried, grabbing my hand. 

I stared at them -- at the father and brother I'd never had in my real life.

They looked at me as though I were their treasure.

My lips trembled. This wasn't possible. None of this was possible.

And yet, when my father's large hand rested protectively on my shoulder and my brother grinned as though I'd hung the moon, I couldn't help but whisper the one truth my heart knew:

For the first time in my life...I was loved.

---

Critique

This is a showcase post — an excerpt of the first 500 words of a novel that are so good, I don’t see any reason for my own edit. This will still be a critique, but it’s mostly a highlight of excellent work, with discussion of a couple of areas I wanted to nitpick. 

Let’s start with the easiest fix: the title. It has too many plurals. It should either be The Magical Beasts Call Me Mother or The Magical Beast Calls Me Mother, depending on how many magical beasts call her “Mother.” Based on the blurb, it’s only one.

The blurb is great. For most posts on this blog, I try to provide a more compelling or cohesive blurb than the author provided — that wasn’t necessary here. The author describes her story beautifully.

The first line, “I died from exhaustion in a world that never wanted me,” is intriguing but heartbreaking. In the next line, she opens her eyes, and in the line after that, she’s a character in a novel. Each successive line escalates with more intriguing detail: from a world that never wanted her, to being fine with being a side character destined to fade out of the story, to this crescendo: "But if fate insists on putting me in the spotlight-/then fine./I'll shine brighter than anyone else."

We do get a bit Mary Sue-ish. Every guy in the book falls in love with her, including the villain. But I’m fine with it. I’ve never had a problem with self-insert characters. They get to be what I want to be, the smartest, most talented, most desirable person in the room. A character doesn’t need to be fatally flawed to be interesting. Conflict and tension can come from choices, rivals — existence.

Similarly to the blurb, the writing in Chapter 1 is poetic, and in fact repeats a couple of the same lines as she realizes she’s a character in a book: “I wasn’t the heroine./I wasn’t the villainess.” The next line differs from the blurb: “I’m just the ‘ex-friend’ side character who was supposed to fade away quietly.” This feels contemporary and slightly jarring against the poetic rest of the blurb.

The line in the book, “I was the girl destined to stand in the background until she disappeared from the story altogether,” is much stronger. It matches the poetic feel of the prose and says so much. Compare “ex-friend” to “girl”: an ex is nebulous — the victim or the villain — whereas “girl” feels more innocent, less powerful. Compare “fade away quietly” to “disappeared completely”: both are beautiful, but “disappeared completely” is so final.

Setting
Here are some setting descriptions: “sunlight spilled across silk curtains the color of dawn” and “a mattress so soft I thought I was still dreaming”. These scream luxury even before we get to “gilded furniture, crystal vases, walls adorned with paintings that looked centuries old.”

The setting tells us the MC didn’t wake up as a peasant on a straw mattress or a hard, cold ground. She woke up as a princess (daughter of a duke — but what’s the diff?). We get texture with silk, soft, gilded, crystal. For color, we get “the color of dawn.” There’s just enough imagery for the reader to fill in the details without slowing the pace of the MC’s realizations.

That said, the room could use a few more colors and some additional physical description. The bed could be a canopy, there could be a chest of drawers, candlelight, or a book that her mother is reading before Celestria wakes up — something period-specific to set the scene. Very short mentions of clothing would help too: a “brocaded gown” for the mom, “doublet and hose” for the father and brother would immediately evoke a medieval vibe.

Characterization
The heart of this chapter beats through the MC’s interactions with her new family. Her mother’s “golden hair coiled elegantly” and “emerald eyes shimmering with relief,” the father’s “commanding presence,” and the brother’s “stormy blue eyes” all frame a scene overflowing with tenderness. The mother touches her cheek “as though I were the most precious thing in the world,” and the father and brother “looked at me as though I were their treasure.”

What saves the reader from going into sugar shock is the MC’s memory of her old life. When her mother calls her “daughter,” the MC thinks, “My adoptive mother had only ever spat that word at me like a curse. But this woman… she said it as though it were a blessing.” That contrast gives the emotion its weight.

As someone who’s been abused and neglected, the MC could react with suspicion or discomfort — but instead, she cries and accepts the affection. That choice tells us she’s not naive, just starved for love. Even her calm acceptance of waking up in a novel feels believable: people who’ve survived chaotic households are experts at adapting to sudden shifts in reality.

The family’s one-note warmth works here because the chapter ends before it overstays its welcome. If the chapter lingered longer, we’d need a little more complexity. Even naming the parents and brother add dimension to a simple characterization, since names come with so much baggage.

The brother could use a distinct moment. He’s uninhibited; maybe he climbs onto the bed before being gently scolded. How the parents handle that tells us more about the household’s emotional rules than paragraphs of exposition could.

Finally, it might help to clarify whether the MC still has her own memories or any of Celestria’s. Her physical state — any lingering pain or dizziness from Celestria’s “injury” — could also ground the scene. Those small details of body and memory would make this lovely, dreamlike opening feel just a little more real.

Conflict/Tension
Conflict doesn’t come from tension between characters or the MC’s rejection of her situation. Instead, it comes from remembered loneliness and pain. The height of tension is a hug:

“I couldn’t stop it. Tears burned my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. I clutched her gown as if she would vanish.”

That is heartbreaking. The last line is similarly heartbreaking:

“For the first time in my life...I was loved.”

This feels positive on the surface, but “the first time” carries a lifetime of conflict in the background. Imagine living an entire life without feeling love — there’s so much unspoken tension for the reader to fill in. It’s a very powerful statement.

---

Final Thoughts

The chapter works beautifully as is: dreamy, half real. This fits a character who just died or woke from a coma. A little more depth would fill some questions for the reader and make the opening even more compelling — without ruining the poetic voice.

Waking up in a novel isn’t original, but it’s rare. Waking up as a side character? That’s intriguing. I love the idea of exploring a world you know so well, like walking through a painting and seeing what’s out of frame. What happened off-page that you now get to be part of?

The blurb promises action, intrigue, and romance — I’m excited to read further.

Over My Dead Body by RebelleFleur00 on Wattpad

Blurb

Deadly assassins Allegra and Ace have been trying in vain to kill each other for years. With a mutual enemy threatening their mafias, they find themselves in an unexpected alliance, and soon discover killing each other isn't the only temptation they need to resist...

Original (First 500)

I slowly turned the knob on my scope, focusing the red crosshair into the middle of my sight. I slowly rotated my sniper rifle, scanning the five-star restaurant fifteen hundred meters away. My breathing steadied as I laid my eyes upon my target. Francesco De Luca, and he was aligned perfectly within my sight. He was an unpleasant-looking man, to say the least. Overweight, silver hair, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl. No surprise he was surrounded by escorts half his age. But what else can you expect from a De Luca?

Now the question of the day: Headshot? Or heart shot?

That was always my biggest dilemma during my missions. I contemplated my options as I tapped my finger against the trigger lightly while pursing my lips. I waited for a few moments before I sighed and settled for the head. I held my breath to focus the shot, and quickly pulled the trigger.

His head practically exploded, sending blood flying all over the women he was with as his lifeless body plopped to the floor. His security detail rushed over to him, frantically trying to grasp what just happened as a chorus of screams filled the air. 

"Gotcha." I chuckled as my lips curved into a grin.

I grabbed my sniper rifle, my trusty McMillan Tac-50, and quickly began to pack it up. I dismantled my weapon in record time and dusted myself off before reaching into my pants pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I hit the bottom of the box three times, before opening it and sliding one out. I lifted it to my mouth as I hummed Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra. A fucking classic. I slid the box back into my pocket, grabbed my rifle, and made my way downstairs.

The vantage point I picked was an abandoned warehouse about a mile away from the restaurant. Still humming, I quickly descended 5 flights of stairs while I puffed on my cigarette. Sirens screamed in the distance, and I smiled knowing that they were cleaning up the mess I made.

The vibrations of my phone snapped me back to reality. Biting my cigarette, I dug through my bag trying to find that annoying device.

"What?" I mumbled, still holding the cigarette between my teeth.

"Is he taken care of?" The cold voice asked.

"Yup." I stated, popping the p obnoxiously. I knew how much he hated that.

"Good job. We'll see you at the safehouse." My father spoke out quickly.

"Alright, see  you soon." I stated before I hung up.

I took a step forward only to see a quick glimmer of an object flying towards me. Reacting quickly, I ducked as something pierced the wall behind me. I stood up before examining the wall behind me, scowling as I laid my eyes upon a very large knife sticking out of the drywall where my head was just a few minutes ago.

"Well, look what we have here." A chilling, yet familiar voice called out from the shadows.

My Edit

His head exploded, sending blood splattering all over his women. 

"Gotcha." I chuckled.

Even though I was a mile away, I could swear I heard the chorus of screams, as his women scattered and his security detail rushed to him. I lowered the scope.

I dismantled my trusty McMillan Tac-50, and packed it up. I picked up the rifle case with one hand and reached into my pocket with the other. Heading toward the rooftop door of the abandoned warehouse, humming Fly Me to the Moon, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I tapped the bottom of the pack against my thigh three times. 

My booted feet tapped down the first few stairs as I flipped open the pack with my chin and used my teeth to slide out a ciggy. I slid the pack back into my pocket, exchanging it for my lighter. 

Sirens screamed in the distance, and I smiled knowing that they were on their way to clean up the mess I'd made.

The phone in my bra vibrated. I lit the cigarette and took a drag before tapping my earbud twice. "What?" I demanded, ciggy between my teeth, boots tap-tapping down the stairs.

"Is he taken care of?" 

"Yup." I stated, popping the p obnoxiously. My father hated that.

"Good. We'll see you at the safehouse." He hung up.

"Always a pleasure," I muttered, taking another drag. Just as I reached the landing of the third floor, a glimmer caught my eye, and I ducked. I scowled up at the knife vibrating in the drywall where my head had been a moment before.

"Well, look what we have here." A chilling, familiar voice said from the doorway of the landing.

(Original word count: ~510 → Edited: ~285)

---

Critique

I'm generally not interested in Mafia stories, but the idea of two assassins who have been trying to kill each other for years falling in love is just so...charming. I couldn't resist.

This is a Wonderful Wednesday post. What qualifies a first 500 excerpt for a Wonderful Wednesday post is a successful combination of what I look for in every first 500 words of a story: interesting setting, interesting characters, and a metric butt ton of conflict and tension.

I always have some nitpicks that I discuss in a WW post, but I don't generally do a full "My Version" because I don't feel like my version would be different enough to make someone read both versions. I felt like this excerpt was a good example of a really fun, engaging first 500 words, but that even good writing can usually be tightened up in certain areas.

Setting

The first setting is great -- a rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. The author doesn't describe the setting at all, and this is what's smart about choosing a setting that is familiar enough to readers that it doesn't require much of a description, if any. In this case, this is a place we're going to spend about five seconds in, it's not sentimental to Allegra, and it's not one we'll return to (presumably). Even if your reader has never seen a movie, they can probably imagine that there's not much of visual interest in a rooftop of an abandoned warehouse.

We also have the stairwell that Allegra takes to exit the building, and this is where the action takes place. I will say that this sentence: "Well, look what we have here." A chilling, yet familiar voice called out from the shadows." threw me off a bit. "Shadows" is just too vague for a setting as small as a stairwell. Also, these two are about to fight, so establishing where the familiar voice is coming from would be good in this sentence, so that it won't have to be established when we move into the fight. In my version, I just placed him a few feet away from her, in the doorway.

Characterization

We have three characters in this excerpt: Allegra, Ace, and Allegra's father. Allegra's characterization is simple but effective. Murder is, for most people, a big ethical question. Most of us would feel weird or bad if we'd just made another person's head explode. Allegra says "gotcha" and grins. We also have her popping the "p" in "yup" in order to annoy her father. That is a succinct and fun way to add dimension to both Allegra and her father, as well as establish the type of relationship they have.

Their entire phone conversation is actually revealing. It's short, professional on his part, snarky but just as abrupt on hers. Allegra describes her father's voice as cold. Wow.

The third character, Ace, has one sentence of dialogue before this excerpt ends, but boy, does he make an impact. I'm curious as to whether he missed her with the knife on purpose, or not. He certainly doesn't seem particularly upset. He also doesn't follow up the first knife with a second, more accurate one. He seems to want to play.

Conflict/Tension

There is plenty of tension. We have Allegra murdering someone in the first sentence to nearly being murdered herself. In smaller ways, we have the tension between Allegra and her father, and between Allegra and Ace (attempted murder). Even Ace's dialogue, "Well, look what we have here" is a conflict between what we'd expect a person who just tried to put a knife through her head and what he actually says. He's so casual. Very weird.

That said, although the scene is rife with tension, the writing isn't. I like the casual tone that the author establishes, especially in juxtaposition with such a fraught scene, but the tension could be tightened up a bit. For instance, something as simple as "his head practically exploded" doesn't need the word "practically". We're adding a question into what would otherwise be a powerful statement.
Another thing is, we spend 158 words with Allegra looking through the telescopic lens and readying herself to take the shot. She steadies her breath, she purses her lips, she holds her breath. We don't need any of this. I do like the detail that the man she's targeting is surrounded by escorts half his age, but it's also not technically necessary.

What makes "I slowly turned the knob on my scope, focusing the red crosshair into the middle of my sight." such a powerful opening line is that we're about to see a dude get killed. And then we don't for 140 unnecessary words. I think the author is trying to build tension but it actually deflates the tension created with the first sentence.

Another area where the author tries to create unnecessary suspense is with who Allegra is talking to on the phone. It's not until his third line of dialogue that we find out that it's her father. Why? It makes the kind of bland dialogue way more interesting when we understand that she's talking to her father. The fact that he's so professional and abrupt only adds to the intrigue. There's no need to bury that reveal.

This is the weakest paragraph in the excerpt:

I took a step forward only to see a quick glimmer of an object flying towards me. Reacting quickly, I ducked as something pierced the wall behind me. I stood up before examining the wall behind me, scowling as I laid my eyes upon a very large knife sticking out of the drywall where my head was just a few minutes ago.

Okay, first, we don't need "reacting quickly" because "I ducked" conveys the same thought. Second, it's really dumb to stand up and examine a knife sticking out of a wall that was meant to be sticking out of your head. That is something that you see in Kung Fu movies, but it happens visually quickly and is played for comedic effect. In this case, it would be smarter to remain ducked and look up at the knife.
Also, in this scene, a lot of things are supposed to happen quickly, in succession, so we want the wording to reflect that idea. 

Consider my edit:

Just as I reached the landing of the third floor, a glimmer caught my eye, and I ducked. I scowled up at the knife vibrating in the drywall where my head had been a moment before.

This is the same amount of action but done in 36 words instead of 62. Actually, most of my edit is the same exact verbiage as the original excerpt, just condensed from 510 words to 285. Now, does that mean that my edit is better? No. There's a pretty good chance that if you asked 100 people which version they liked better, they'd prefer the original.

 
This is why I don't usually do an edit of Wonderful Wednesday posts. This excerpt hit enough of my personal bugaboos that I wanted to see what my version would look like. If I was this author's editor, these would be the changes I'd suggest, but my feelings wouldn't be hurt if the author rejected them. I'm not even a hundred percent sure I like my version better. It's more concise, but is it more engaging? I don't know. I don't really think so. But it was a fun exercise.

The Placeholder by Mindful Imaginist on Wattpad

Blurb

In rain-soaked Dublin, Aoife begins to unravel the life she thought was hers, discovering that love, identity, and belonging are not given — they are claimed.

Aoife Brennan planned the perfect night to celebrate the life they were building. But when the clock strikes midnight, she learns that some truths don’t crash down; they unravel, quietly.

Set in the rainy corners of Dublin, The Placeholder is a story of love mistaken for fate and the quiet ache of being someone’s almost.

---

Original (First 500)

The clock struck six.

It was a quiet sort of evening, the kind she used to dream of when she was a little girl -- soft rain tapping the windows, cinnamon-scented candles flickering in glass jars, and the promise of love hanging in the air like the scent of the stew simmering on the stove. Except it wasn't a dream anymore. It was her first wedding anniversary.

And he wasn't home.

Aoife Brennan stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the folds of her navy silk dress. She had curled her hair just the way he used to say he liked it when they were younger -- back when he still laughed with her over burnt cookies and muddy shoes. Back when they were friends.

Her eyes flicked toward the hallway. Silence.

She'd taken the day off from the children's hospital -- cancelled four appointments, rescheduled a critical consultation, and sent an apologetic message to a new mother whose baby had colic. Everyone had understood. After all, even one of the best pediatricians in Dublin deserved a break to celebrate her first anniversary.

But the person she'd planned the day for didn't even know what she'd sacrificed.

The house smelled like roasted rosemary chicken and chocolate fondant. His favorites. In the living room, a playlist of the songs they used to love in school hummed softly under the clink of glassware. The bath was drawn. Warm. Scented. She'd even booked a couples' massage -- at home, discreet, romantic.

And still no sign of him. 

It wasn't unusual -- not anymore. Ronan had grown distant. At first, she'd told herself it was work. Then stress. Then his father's expectations. Lately, she wasn't sure what lie she was feeding herself anymore.

They'd been childhood friends. Always in each other's pockets. First snowball fights, then rooftop conversations, then shared dreams of what life might become. Their marriage had made sense -- to their families, at least. The O'Sullivans and Brennans had been allies in business long before Aoife and Ronan knew what alliances even meant. But it hadn't felt arranged. Not then.

She had loved him. Quietly. Patiently. She had thought he would come around. 

But these days, he wasn't even her friend. 

She checked the phone again. Still nothing. Last message was from this morning. Just a curt:

"Will be working late. Don't wait up."

But she had.

It was now eleven thirty. The bath was cold. The chicken had dried in the oven. The fondant had collapsed slightly in the center.

Still, she sat, watching the door. Watching the clock.

It struck midnight.

She stood, slipped out of her heels, and pulled a cardigan over her dress. The rain had started to thicken into a proper downpour. She couldn't ignore the tight coil in her stomach any longer -- the one that whispered something was off. Wrong.

She tried calling him. Once. Twice. Voicemail.

On impulse, she grabbed her keys and rushed to the car.

The pub near his office -- the same one he always slipped into with his colleagues -- was twenty minutes away.

---

Critique

I love this. There are a couple of small nitpicks — like how she has stew on the stove but later it’s rosemary chicken in the oven — and a couple of structural quirks, but overall, the scene is beautifully set, the characterization is subtle but detailed, and the tension is abundant. 

You can’t really get much better for the first 500 words of a novel. I didn’t write a revision because mine would have such minor tweaks that you probably wouldn’t even notice the difference. So instead, we’ll just focus on the author’s writing: what works, and what doesn’t.

This entire chapter is a quiet escalation of nothing happening. We start at 6 p.m., with Aoife recreating her childhood fantasy — candles, food, “and the promise of love hanging in the air.” And he’s not here.

We zoom from her childhood fantasy to the mirror. She wears her hair the way he “used to say he liked it.” Oh my god, gut stab! When was the last time this man even complimented her?

Then we go through all the appointments she canceled or postponed to make this night special for him. A couple of small notes here: she’s a doctor — clearly successful and organized — so why wouldn’t she have planned this in advance? Why would she need to cancel appointments instead of just blocking the day off, with a colleague covering emergencies?

Also, the placement of this passage feels awkward. We start with the warm, sensory scene — decorated apartment, good smells — then zoom in to Aoife at the mirror, and then suddenly zoom way out to her career. I think that bit would work better later, maybe when she’s in the car on her way to find him. That would be a good time to fume about her sacrifices.

Okay, now we’re back to the dreamy apartment atmosphere: his favorite food in the oven, the bubble bath warm and waiting. The only awkward part here is the mention of the couples’ massage. No one else shows up, and she never cancels it, so it feels like a loose thread. Plus, bringing strangers into the setup kind of kills the intimacy the author is building, so I’d leave that detail out.

Anyway — back to the vibe: food, music, bath — and he’s still not here. And just as we’re starting to worry he’s been in a car accident or something, we get: “It wasn’t unusual — not anymore.” WHAT?!

Wait. Our lovely, angelic Aoife has gone out of her way to create this warm, romantic anniversary evening — and she’s not even surprised that he stood her up? This story just took a turn. 

That’s the good record scratch, writing-wise. But then comes the bad one: we learn that he texted her that morning to say he’d be working late and not to wait up. So… what the heck? Why has she been expecting him? Why did she draw a warm bath at 6 p.m. when she knew he’d be working late? Why is his dinner getting cold in the oven after he told her not to wait?

Let’s pretend that didn’t happen, because everything else — aside from this and the appointment passage — escalates beautifully, with a romantic, melancholic tone. Every new detail adds context, layering hope, anticipation, and disappointment. Until this text. It makes her look naïve, and it makes the reader feel tricked — like we’ve been pulled out of Aoife’s head. So, no text message. Or, if there is one, it should come around 7 p.m., after she’s already set everything up.

Moving on: she tries his voicemail a few times. At midnight, she grabs her keys. She’s going to the pub to find him. That’s where the excerpt ends.

Setting

Warm cozy apartment, good smells, good songs. Overall, strong setting. 

Aoife’s head is the setting within the setting. Her narration, though, is a little disorganized. As mentioned earlier, we start with her childhood fantasies, then zoom into her reflection (and that first subtle crack: “he used to say he liked it”). Then we zoom out to her career, then to Roman’s distance, then to their friendship-turned-marriage, and finally — we wait.

The writing is evocative, but the structure could be cleaner. I’d start with the childhood fantasies, then move into the development of their relationship — “always in each other’s pockets” — followed by her reflection and the first indication of unhappiness. Then Roman’s distance. Then the revelation that she knew he wasn’t head over heels, that she agreed to marry him thinking their friendship could grow into something deeper.

She had loved him. Quietly. Patiently. She had thought he would come around.

But these days, he wasn't even her friend.

Oof. Gut punch. This is such a strong passage, because friendship is the backbone of their relationship. The idea that her closest friend doesn’t even tell her he won’t be coming home — that’s not just the betrayal of a marriage; it’s the betrayal of their entire history. 

He doesn’t have to love her romantically, but he could at least act like a friend. Or, bare minimum, a decent human being.

After this, I would go with the revelation that their relationship worked as an alliance between their two families. That would keep this information fresh in the reader's head for what comes after the excerpt (yes, I read ahead. I always read ahead, I just try to keep my focus on the first 500 words).

If the structure followed that sequence, we’d build the expectation of a romantic anniversary, then gradually dismantle it. By the time we hit the “arranged marriage” reveal, the intimacy we’ve been clinging to would be completely gone — the perfect moment for her to grab her keys and go.

Characterization

Aoife is smart, capable, organized, and tenderhearted. She’s not impulsive or dramatic — she believes in the kind of love that grows from loyalty and shared history. Still, she does her part: candlelight, music, bubble baths, dresses. Her love for Roman is real and deep, and so is her pain. Losing him as a husband would hurt — but losing him as her friend is devastating.

The author does a great job of keeping Aoife from seeming like a doormat. Aoife's practicality about their marriage means that she wasn't foolish or masochistic to plan and carryout this whole anniversary set up. It was her last gasp of hope for the relationship, that Roman would step up and treat her as though she was a human worth some kind of goddamned dignity. (Sorry, I got a little heated.)

Roman’s characterization needs some work. Lines like:

“They’d been childhood friends. Always in each other’s pockets. First snowball fights, then rooftop conversations, then shared dreams…”

That’s a nice summary, but it could describe anyone. What specifically defined their friendship? Does he get her into trouble, or out of it? Did he get her into trouble or out of it? Where did they hang out? What were their dreams? 

We know Aoife is a doctor — but what was his path? What drives him? All we know is his name, that he has a job, and that he cancels anniversaries via text. We do know his favorite meal — rosemary chicken with fondant for dessert — and that Aoife cooks it for him. It’s a lovely, specific detail that adds warmth to her, but we still need a reason to fall for him, too. 

If we want to be as devastated as Aoife is, we need to be in love with him, too. The first couple of paragraphs would be the perfect time to build up what she believed was his character, and with a sprinkle of little mementos around the house that show his thoughtfulness, whereas the rest of the scene shows her.

Conflict/Tension

This entire passage has no dialogue — one text message (we’re ignoring it) and no action beyond waiting. Dinner’s done, she’s dressed, the bath’s drawn — yet the scene crackles with tension.

That tension comes from expectation and denial. The entire room is set for two, and there’s only one. The author nails this with small beats: The author sells the tension with little asides like, "Her eyes flicked toward the hallway. Silence." Or, "She tried calling him. Once. Twice. Voicemail."

The reader starts to wonder if something bad happened — and then realizes, no, he just doesn’t care. Their decade of friendship has eroded into indifference, or worse, contempt.

Because think about it: if Roman simply didn’t love her romantically, he’d say so. He’d rely on their shared history and basic human empathy to communicate that. But for him to let her sit alone for hours, waiting, without a word — that’s punishment.

But, for what? What turned warmth into this cold contempt? And what twisted his one-time open affection toward her into this utter contempt? Nothing that we've learned from Aoife's POV points to a reason for this change. So, either she's the most unreliable narrator known to man, or he has been affected by something his wife is not aware of.

Amazing questions for a reader to have, halfway through the first chapter of a book. Tension? Yes, here you go, all you can handle. You want some more? Here, here's some more!

---

Final Thoughts

I think that we've established that we've got an excellent opening, rife with the three elements that I look for at the start of a story (setting, character, DRAMA). Plus, beautiful evocative writing. Even with the notes on structure that I had, this beginning has me locked and loaded to read the rest of the book.

---

I wanted to address something happening in the text of this book outside of the narration, without disrupting the flow of the critique. Every few paragraphs, there’s a note reminding readers that this book belongs to the author, and that if they find it anywhere else, it’s stolen. Her frustration is completely valid — theft is awful — but I think this approach backfires.

Yes, it may help her track stolen copies, but it also interrupts the reader’s experience. It’s jarring. You can’t control or stop theft entirely, and trying to will only steal your own energy and your readers’ immersion. Pick your battles carefully. Keep the fights that don’t serve the story off the page. Punish the thief, not the reader.

It's a shame to see beautiful storytelling scarred by what's happening to the author in real life. I don't say all of this to call the author out (I doubt she'll ever see this), I just wanted to note that in case this becomes a tempting option if you find yourself in a similar situation.

Between the Crystals by CrystalScherer on Wattpad

Blurb

The aliens kill every human they catch, or in rare cases, put trackers on them to discover their hidden villages. When Natalie is caught in an ambush, she is unexpectedly released. But there is no tracker. The Saursunes have an entirely different motive this time.

***

Run. Don't look back.

When Natalie is trapped in an alien ambush, she is unexpectedly released. The first human to ever be let go.

The Saursunes invaded centuries ago, and everyone knows that getting caught is certain death. Natalie is confused but grateful to be alive. As a porter, one of the few humans with the rare ability to teleport between special crystal formations, she must leave the safety of her desert village every day to help gather food.

When other villages increase their raids on the Saursunes' farms, the aliens retaliate by hunting down every human they can find - except Natalie's group. Instead of trying to kill her and those helping her, they bring them food instead.

Is it a trap? Or something else? Natalie isn't sure, but one thing is certain: the Saursunes aren't done with her yet.

---

Original (First 500)

I warily eased through the undergrowth, finally spotting the apple tree I'd come to check on. My shoulders slumped when I saw every apple was gone. Another village must have picked them even though they were only half ripe. 

I examined the forest around me, hoping to find something worthwhile to take back or report. Apart from a handful of dandelions springing back up, there was nothing edible. My trip had come to naught. With a sigh, I turned to go back.

The birds above stopped singing. Even as I froze, faint rustling in the shrubs sent my heart racing. I furtively glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of blue reptile-like scales stalking through the shrubs about a hundred paces away.

A Saursune. There was no way it didn't know I was here. Not at that range, not with its sense of smell. Abandoning any attempt at stealth, I bolted back the way I'd come.

My hand-stitched leather shoes thudded against the forest leaf litter as I careened full-tilt down the trail. A faint hiss and heavier footsteps followed. I didn't dare look back.

I rounded a bend, skidding on the loose forest debris as I desperately raced back to the crystal formation. A rumbling growl came from the side -- the Saursune was circling around to cut me off -- toying with me like a cat with a mouse. Preparing to pounce, or perhaps just chasing me off to send a warning. There was no way to know unless I escaped alive.

Fear goaded me to even greater speeds. I didn't reach for the knife on my belt -- I didn't dare. Unarmed, it might be content with chasing me off. Brandishing a weapon in any form was certain death. Against a Saursune, my small flint knife was useless. I'd be better off attacking a grizzly.

Through a gap in the bushes, I spotted a lithe form far too my right. On four feet, the dark blue reptile's back was almost chest-high on me. The longer horns marked it as a male. His bared teeth glinted in the sunlight as he glared at me. This Saursune wasn't wearing armor or a belt. No phasers or other weapons -- not that he needed them when his claws were as long as my small knife. 

With a hiss, the adult male began bounding through the bushes toward me, covering the distance between us far too quickly. My heart hammered in my chest as my eyes locked onto the waist-high bluish-green crystal spires growing out of the soil. I was almost there!

With a soft cry, I dropped to my knees and skidded across the grass as I clapped my hands onto one of the spires, desperately visualizing a similar crystal in the desert while whispering the location name.

It felt like sunlight was shimmering through my veins, and my vision blurred like I was caught in a heat haze. Within a couple of seconds, the forest greens turned to desert tans, then cleared. The Saursune was gone, left behind in the forest.

---

Critique

To be honest, the blurb isn't that compelling, but I have a thing for gems (my name is Crystal) and I thought the title cover art were cool. I was looking for a Sci-Fi Saturday post entry, and wasn't expecting much. But the writing is so good. Not perfect -- I can nitpick anything to death -- but really compelling setting, characterization, and conflict/tension. The thing about good writing is that you're thinking more about the story than that way it's told, so for me, someone who nitpicks everything to death, it's really hard to find that. I'm going to try to nail down what was so good about this, and then we'll be real mean about dumb little things that don't matter. Sound good?

Setting

We have two settings: a lush green forest teeming with life, and a stark beige desert. Neither get, like, a descriptive paragraph or anything (we get to the desert just as the excerpt ends), but we get flashes of imagery like, undergrowth, a handful of dandelions, birds that stop singing, the flash of a blue/black reptile spotted through a gap in the bushes. It's evocative without losing focus on the main point of the excerpt.

My favorite part is the "waist-high bluish-green crystal spires growing out of the soil". It's these crystals that Natalie uses to teleport. This excerpt doesn't really go into it, but basically, wherever these crystals grow, you can touch them and teleport to a different location with other crystal. It's pretty cool worldbuilding. I like that we only get as much as we absolutely need to know for the scene to make sense, with the understanding that we'll learn more about them as we go along. It's done really organically, especially for an action scene that we don't want bogged down with a ton of worldbuilding.

Instead, we get worldbuilding with other subtle clues like hand-stitched leather shoes, and a lizard whose claws alone are bigger than the blade on the small knife she carries. Also, the use of the phrase "another tribe" indicates that Natalie is also in a tribe. And what keeps us from thinking that she might be Native American or from some other part of our mundane world, we have giant lizards and magical crystals.

Characterization

We don't have any dialogue in this excerpt, but we do learn a lot about this character. Natalie (we know her name from the blurb) is resourceful. She's come to this clearing to check on some apple tree growth, and sees that the trees have been picked clean, even though there was no way for the apples could only have been half-ripe. She concludes that another tribe must have been desperate. I like this moment for two reasons: one, she immediately looks around for anything else she can scavenge, so she's resourceful, and two, she's not angry at the other tribe. She doesn't assume that only her tribe deserves food, and she doesn't condemn the other tribe for being selfish. 

Natalie is also very athletic. She sprints through a forest, a known tripping-hazard zone, and at the same time, she recognizes that the lizard is playing with her because it could overwhelm  her at any time. Her only chance at survival is taking advantage of the fact that the lizard is playing with her. I love that. She's constantly assessing the lizard's proximity, its intentions, its gender, the fact that it's not armed (another nice bit of worldbuilding to include). So, she's quick on her feet both mentally and physically.

We don't really get to know if she also enjoying snuggling up with a book on rainy days, but that's not really relevant to the scene. It's smart writing to understand which aspects of your character's personality to explore based on the situation they're in, especially in an intro to a new story. (A lot of new authors try to cram the character's bio into the first paragraph.) We have no idea if Natalie has siblings, parents, and we don't even know her name or what she looks like, and that's great.

Since we are in her POV, I would like a little bit more of her internal dialogue, a sense of despair or frustration when she sees that the apple tree is picked clean. Slumped shoulders could mean a lot of things. Also, how does she feel about the alien? Is she grossed out or fascinated? We don't really get an emotional reaction, just an intellectual one. 

Conflict/Tension

Ooh, boy, do we have tension. I love the escalation of tension with the apple tree being picked clean, which indicates long-term survival issues, and then the immediacy of running from a huge alien lizard who is playing with us. 

---

Final Thoughts

I will say, one of my nitpicks about the writing is that to indicate that Natalie is disappointed to find the trees picked clean, she, as the narrator says, "my shoulders slumped". Shoulders slumping is a result of an inner reaction, like the energy draining from your body. If you're inside your body, you just feel depleted, but you probably won't notice what your shoulders are doing. It's like a POV character saying "I furrowed my brow." Sigh. "I was confused," is the observation from inside the body, a furrowed brow is the way another character looks when they are confused. And "my lips curved into a grin" makes me cringe every time. Ugh.

Another nitpick is this sentence: "With a hiss, the adult male began bounding through the bushes toward me, covering the distance between us far too quickly." We've already established that the lizard is an adult male, so referring to it this way is weird and clunky. Also, "With a hiss, it bounded toward me," could be the entire sentence and we'd get the same amount of information and it would read faster and underline the urgency of the moment.

That's it. Those are my nitpicks. Overall, excellent start to a story. The writing shows a lot of confidence in that it focuses only on what the reader needs to know. I like that we start with a big-picture problem of food scarcity among multiple tribes, and then goes into immediate physical danger for our main character, with some worldbuilding (magic transportation crystals) saving the day. The setting, characterization, and tension are all interwoven throughout the excerpt which means that the reader is engaged in the story, rather than putting it together like a puzzle.

Also, a lot of new authors seem to think that we need to be introduced to a character at any random time in their life. This author dropped us into this girl's life at an exact moment when several aspects of the worldbuilding come together at once, we get to see the character under pressure, both immediate and long-term, and we get stakes built into both. It's life or death. You can't get any more dramatic of a moment than this to start a story with. Really smart writing.