Getaway by bazookah on Wattpad

Blurb

We've all heard the tales of good and bad, the tales of innocent deceit and her hero, the tales that despite their nature, show us the beauty in contrast.  

But it's the tales of pure evil that get swept under the rug. The tales of deception, where cruelty is rewarded. The tales that have you questioning who the real villain of the story is.

There's a simple philosophy to most thing in life; two wrongs 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 make a right. 

So what ensues when you put two of the worst kinds of people together? 

Loyalties transfer, lines blur, and hatred ignites complete chaos. 

She's cunning. 

𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

She's dangerous. 

𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴.

She's evil. 

 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦.

Or so that's what we're told. 

The devil is always worse. 

But maybe, just maybe, she's the devil in disguise, playing his advocate...

Original (First 500)

"Absolutely unacceptable--" more specifically; revolting, pathetic, and a fucking blessing. "--and what it is." But I don't dare dump the hard truth onto the hysterical girl crying on the other end of the line.

To be quite honest, it's a miracle I'm able to keep my mouth shut for so long, especially considering I've been sitting here, listening to her sob over a mediocre man for the past ten minutes.

This is the issue with women who emotionally involve themselves with men. They give full control of their emotions over to a man, who is by textbook definition; a disappointment.

While the rest of us, whether it be their children, mothers, sisters, or the women they fucked, are subjected to this disappointment they seem to ooze out of every clogged up useless pore in their bodies.

Not only did Hana have yet to understand this simplistic notion, but she was the worst kind of victim. The kind that saw the good in them.

This was the first thing I'd picked up freshmen year about my new roommate turned friend. Only she was the worst type of friend. Sweet, naive and far too innocent to ever take any of my advice. Even if it was the only right way to deal with her problems.

I examine the dark shade of red coating my almond shaped nails and briefly wonder how I'm going to find a nail tech that I don't want to slaughter in America.

"Lina?" A choked sob fills the line, louder than the others. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhm." With a roll of my eyes, I set the phone on speaker and reach into my bag to pull out my laptop. "Thomas, dick, little brunette from Political Law 101."

If three years at Oxford had taught me anything, it was how to be an expert at listening without actually listening.

That gets her off my ass and back to her breakdown while I hold up my empty champagne glass, ushering one of the two flight attendants over.

Yet they are both too busy ogling the body guards positioned on either side of the bar.

"If word of this gets out...it'll look so bad on me." Hana's soft voice trembles through the line and despite the annoyance bubbling in my chest, I don't like hearing it crack. "I-I just want him to feel as terrible as I did when I saw him and her --" 

I sigh, fed up.

Not only was this trip back to New York so sudden, and frankly, against my will, but I was spending it cooped up hundreds of feet in the air with useless staff, listening to a messy breakdown, completely sober.

"There's only one thing men like Thomas care about." I look to the guard positioned closest to me and raise a brow at the stoic faced man.

It takes a moment for him to draw his gaze towards me but when he does, I look from him back to my empty glass, my  request clear.

My Edit

Hana is the worst kind of victim. The kind that sees good in men. "Li-na?" A sob causes my best friend to hiccup my name over speaker phone. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Mhm." I hold up my empty champagne glass, signalling to the flight attendants that I want a refill. "Thomas, dick, little brunette from Political Law 101." Neither of the attendants notice me; they're both too busy flirting with my bodyguards at the bar. 

I tap the forefinger of my dark red, almond-shaped nails against the flute of my glass. How am I going to find a nail tech in America that I don't want to slaughter?

"If word of this gets out...it'll look so bad on me." Hana's soft voice trembles through the line. Despite my irritation, I don't like hearing distress in her voice. "I-I just want him to feel as terrible as I did when I saw him and her --" 

I set the champagne glass down and reach into my bag to pull out my laptop. I stifle a sigh as Hana continues to babble about her broken heart. Not only was this trip back to New York so sudden, and frankly, against my will, but I'm spending it cooped up hundreds of feet in the air with useless staff, listening to a messy breakdown, nearly sober.

I finally catch the eye of one of my bodyguards. I lift the empty champagne flute in the air. He nods without twitching a muscle in his stoic face. He interrupts the attendant who is flirting with him. On the other end of the line, Hana stops to catch her breath.

"There's only one thing Thomas cares about," I say, as the flight attendant finally turns toward me.

(Original word count: ~505 → Edited: ~292)

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Critique

The thing about the blurb that intrigued me was the idea of a human woman being worse than the actual devil. I hoped that this was a literal devil, but (spoiler), he turns out to be just a man. That said, the blurb sets us up to expect a less-than-perfect protagonist and that's exactly what we start the story with. A self-involved, cynical, vain woman who treats people in service jobs like garbage. I find it hard to imagine wanting to read an entire book that follows this woman around, so the author made a smart choice in having Lina be counseling a friend through a heartbreak over the phone. To have her care about anything other than herself, even as minutely as she does, humanizes her enough to make reading about her bearable.

Setting

A private plane complete with bodyguards is a fantastic setting, however, since the setting is so unique, it's important to establish it before we get too far into the dialogue. In my edit, I established the fact that the women are talking over the phone in the first paragraph and the plane, bodyguards, and private bar in the second paragraph. This allows the reader to build on the correct image from the beginning, rather than abruptly switching from a presumed mundane setting to a unique one halfway through the scene.

Characterization
Lina is immediately established as cold and vain and barely interested in her friend's problem. Hana is immediately established as sweet and naive. Lina basically states that the two would not be friends if they hadn't been college roommates, but that's not necessarily a given. No doubt Hana would be the kind of person who would be hoping for a bosom friend, but I could imagine Lina going four years of college with absolutely no acknowledgement of a roommate she has nothing in common with. The fact that they are friends, and that Lina is, albeit reluctantly, counseling Hana, this automatically adds dimension to Lina's nearly one-dimensional characterization in the rest of the scene.

I love the line about Hana being the worst kind of victim in the original excerpt. In my edit, I made that the first line, partly because it's a line that says as much about Lina as it does about Hana, and partly because it's much snappier than the original first line, but conveys the same information. 

Conflict/Tension

Tons of conflict in this scene. First, we have the opposing personalities interacting with each other, second, we have a character in tears, third, the setting only exaggerates the differences between the women, we have the fact that Lina does not want to be going to New York, and we have the presence of bodyguards which doesn't hint -- it shrieks -- of danger. Also, Lina's blase attitude toward the presence of bodyguards not only works as characterization but contrasts with the tension inherent in needing bodyguards in the first place. 

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Final Thoughts

We have a fun premise, a unique setting, and a ton of conflict. Characterization is the weakest part of this excerpt. Without the addition of Hana in this scene, she would be one-note horrible, and Hana is one-note sweet. The bodyguards are beefy and stoic, the flight attendants are flighty. However, it's not unusual or even bad to have characters start out a story as one-dimensional because we have a whole book in which to explore these characters. In the first 500 words of an action-packed dark romance, conflict is the most important, a cool setting adds flavor, and characterization can wait. So, overall, the original excerpt in combination with the blurb is a promising intro to an interesting story.

My main issue with the original excerpt was just the set-up of the scene. I was a little confused to find out, 400 words in, that we were on a plane AND on the phone. So, that's where the majority of my attention went to in my edit. 

Full disclosure: I've read most of this book. The author is obviously writing a chapter at a time, potentially from an outline, and for a first draft, the story is incredible. Lina doesn't get much warmer, but she does have genuine affection for certain characters. The 18+ scenes are some of the best I've ever read. As an Old, I started reading romance novels in the late 1980s, and am so accustomed to reading the same love scene in every book over and over, and I really enjoy how creative and character-focused each sex scene is in this book. The progression of the plot is uneven, and the author often creates minor reasons for the characters to get into fights just so that they can make up, but overall, it's just a fun read.  

I wouldn't usually say this because I try to focus on the potential of the first 500 words, but the first chapter is the weakest part of this book, and the first 500 words are the weakest part of the chapter. I say that to say that there is a lot of emphasis placed on the importance of starting a book strong, but I find it much easier to find a story that starts out strong and then gets disappointing than a book like this that starts out okay and only gets better and better. 

The author clearly has a strong grasp on the kind of story that she wants to tell, and seems to be having the most amount of fun telling it, and that's what makes it so enjoyable to read. Any of my criticisms of what I've read so far could be fixed in a second draft and polished in a third, but you can't teach an author how to enjoy telling a story, and I think that's what I and a lot of other aspiring writers are missing. For me, I want so bad for the writing to be good, that I'm too scared to write anything. The main thing that I take away from this author is that a story doesn't have to be perfectly paced with geometrically precise character arcs and a satisfying conclusion. It just needs to be a fun ride, not just for the end user, if there ever is one, but for the author.

At the end of each chapter, the author leaves a little note for the reader (this is not unusual on Wattpad, apparently). I've seen the author promise multiple times to keep writing. "This is my therapy," she has stated several times. The readers of this story recognize and feel a desperate need for the energy that the author puts into her storytelling. They don't care about typos and malapropisms. What they connect to is the author's passion. 

In this blog, I try to focus on structure because good structure creates coherent writing which makes the work accessible to more readers and impressive to critics. I have no argument against coherence, but impressive writing can also be bleak as fuck. I can't read non-genre novels because no matter how well-written they are, I end up leaving the story feeling more depressed than when I started. I like a happy ending. I also like a happy journey. 

Something I'm moving away from as a writer, is the idea that conflict in a story has to be the most traumatic thing I can think of as happening to a character. Conflict can be as simple as two best friends with diametrically opposing personalities interacting with each other. Or trying to find a piece of gum you know you had in your purse -- and the fact that you can't find it makes you question your sanity and condemn your lack of organization and spiral into terror about how if you can't organize something as small as a purse, how are you supposed to figure out your life? 

Anyway. If you're 18+ and want to witness the pure joy of storytelling as well as experiencing a ridiculous story where two sociopaths fall in love, this is a good one. 

The Age of Scorpius by Audra Winter

 Blurb

In Gardian, the stars decide everything — and the Scorpio-born are feared most of all. When ancient prophecies awaken, seventeen-year-old Aria discovers forbidden power and is thrust into a conflict she never wanted. As enemies close in, she must uncover the truth behind the zodiac-ruled unions before destiny claims her for good.

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Original (First 500)

Someone had re-written the history of Conviction Woods, the cursed forest I called home. Despite all the texts describing Conviction Woods as eternally inhabitable, there were hundreds of wartime artifacts scattered amongst the forest's grounds. The records had been altered to hide the truth of Gardian's last war, a truth that allowed the Woods to protect those mysteriously meant to survive beyond its boundaries.

I lingered on the edge of the farthest northern reach of Conviction Woods. Before me stood a crumbled and dilapidated stone arch, old runic etched across its surface, worn away by the structure returning to the earth. A few fallen stones lay scattered across the surrounding ground, freezing into the dirt as ancient remnants conjoined with snow and soil. Beyond the arch's gaping mouth laid Assiduous's barren territory.

Assiduous's barren territory, and its occupants who didn't want me meandering on their land. It was too late for me to trace the rest of the runic on the arch. I'd only recorded the lower carvings, my arms too short to reach the tallest stones. I let my eyes linger on the writing to try to memorize the patterns. The clock ticked as enemies neared, and while my feet drew me away from the arch, my mind bent around the writing.

The arch's inscriptions must've been centuries old. I'd never, in any of my studies, seen a combination of Union languages on an artifact. Mixing two Union languages was almost unfathomable to modern-day society; besides our common tongue, Gardian prioritized the separation of the four Unions -- Conviction, Assisuous, Autarchic, Societal -- in their own societies and territories. Even more intriguing, the arch dated back to a war where Conviction and Assiduous were enemies; a combination of the two languages was further proof that Gardian's recorded history was wrong. 

I had spent months scouring over records, libraries, and books to pinpoint the location of the arch as soon as I spotted it mentioned in a 300-year-old document. My research eventually revealed that the arch was placed in Assidian territory on the edges of the Woods at the border, though that could've spanned hundreds of miles from the eastern part of the Hub, Gardian's shared centralized city, to the coastline of the continent. To trace the steps of ancient battles to the coordinates of the arch was a tedious process requiring my nose to be stuck in at least two dozen scrolls within the past couple of months.

Deciphering the runic on the arch was my next step to decoding the true history of Conviction Woods, and the moment I finally found it, an Assidian border patrol just had to be there -- of course.

There was no doubt about it. The two of them had spotted me. I'd stepped past the 10-foot-wide path into Assidian territory where the arch stood, and they were headed straight toward me.

I backed up to Conviction Woods, safely passing beyond the aura of protection set on the trees. 

My Edit

Before me stood the crumbled, dilapidated stone arch, runes etched across its surface. Had they been carved any less deeply—or had another decade passed—the inscriptions would have vanished entirely. Fallen stones lay scattered across the ground, freezing into the dirt and snow.

It was technically only ten steps into Assidian territory, but if I was caught here, I’d be killed. That said, this far out, the guards weren’t especially vigilant. When they'd come around, once every four hours, their laughter drifted from beneath their face guards, loud and careless. It almost made them seem human.

Three days ago, I had started with charcoal rubbings; that should have given me the most accurate record. But the carvings were too worn, the impressions too soft. With half a day gone, I'd had nothing but smudged ghosts on parchment. With the ink in my bottle frozen solid, I'd switched to graphite, copying each rune by hand. 

The longer I stayed here, the more likely I was to get complacent and forget to keep an eye out for the guards, or get too cold to concentrate and miss a detail that would ruin the translation. But I also knew I'd make more mistakes if I rushed. 

Snow and frost building up on the runes, and the changing shadows as each day progressed didn't help. Sometimes, it felt like the runes themselves were changing, in protest against being recorded. 

I was checking my work -- again -- when a shout split the silence. My head snapped up. Two guards were running toward me. I shoved the parchment and graphite into my satchel and tried to stand and run at the same time. Muscles frozen from the cold made me clumsy as I fled. 

Just as I made it into the woods, I stumbled over a tree root, dropping my satchel. Graphite and parchment tumbled across the snow. 

I lie there, sprawled at the base of the tree that had tripped me. The guards came to a stop at the edge of the forest. But they couldn't see me.  The aura of protection around Conviction Woods was supposed to kill anyone who crossed its boundaries. I didn't know why I was safe within it, but I was grateful even as I cursed my foolishness. Now that I'd been spotted, the archway would be guarded more carefully. Would I even be able to complete copying the runes?

(Original word count: ~498 → Edited: ~400)

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Critique

The thing that intrigued me about this story was the controversy over the author, so I didn't find this story organically. Still a fantasy story about a teenage girl and prophecies sounds right up my ally, so I wanted to check it out.

Setting

We have two settings, side-by-side, an ancient, crumbling arch covered in runes set in enemy territory, and a magical forest. These are both great settings, but the way the original blurb introduces them is a bit confusing. In my edit, I introduce the Assidian arches first, because that's where the action of the scene takes place, and I wait until the end of the excerpt to introduce Conviction Woods.

The original way that the Assidian arches are described is good. This is the original passage:

Before me stood a crumbled and dilapidated stone arch, old runic etched across its surface, worn away by the structure returning to the earth. A few fallen stones lay scattered across the surrounding ground, freezing into the dirt as ancient remnants conjoined with snow and soil. Beyond the arch's gaping mouth laid Assiduous's barren territory.

This is really nice imagery, especially if you're super into magical old arches, like me. It sets an atmosphere as well as as providing visuals. I especially like, "ancient remnants conjoined with snow and soil". If this was the first paragraph of the original excerpt, I wouldn't feel any need to adjust it, but because this is the second paragraph after a pretty incomprehensible lore dump, it reads as vague and confusing. When we're introducing a brand new reader to a brand new world, coherence needs to take precedence over poetry. 

The second setting, Conviction Woods, although it takes up most of the word count, is actually less clearly described than the Assidian arch. The only physical description we get of the woods is the mention of war artifacts being scattered around. Also, there are trees. Since Conviction Woods is the second setting that the character is physically in, and we as the reader only get there at the end of the excerpt, it's okay that we don't really know what the forest looks like, but it's weird that we spend so much word count on the woods with so little physical description.

In general, I try to avoid describing one setting when the reader/characters are already in another setting. We want to stay as present as possible. Exceptions would be if we're in a flashback or if one character asks another to describe the other setting in detail. But then, a flashback is its own scene, so that doesn't count, and the second scenario should really only take place if it's a setting that the reader either won't/can't get to or if the setting has gone through a dramatic change by the time the reader gets to it.

In this case, since the opening scene takes place in Assiduous, all or most of the Conviction Woods exposition should wait until we're actually there.  This is maybe counter-intuitive, since the reason we're in Assiduous territory is because we're trying to find out about Conviction Woods, but I'd argue that the reason we're here is less important when we're establishing a world, a main character, and stakes at the start of a story.

Characterization

Characterization is about the contradictions that people are made up of. Like, surly but gentle, funny but mean, charming but stingy, that sort of thing. And only two characteristics, even opposing ones, will still make the character feel only two dimensional, but that's fine for an intro. As we get to know the characters, we can explore all of the facets of their personalities, but lets start with at least two.

In the original excerpt, there are zero characteristics of our main character. If we wanted to stretch, we could say they are studious, but we have no sense of if the narrating character is bragging about how much studying they've done, or complaining. If they were doing either, that would make the character more interesting.

Actually, I'm being unfair. We have this passage: Deciphering the runic on the arch was my next step to decoding the true history of Conviction Woods, and the moment I finally found it, an Assidian border patrol just had to be there -- of course. This is is a nice bit of ironic inner dialogue, but it comes toward the end of the 500 words, so it's basically drowned in infodump. I didn't keep it in my version because I feel like it undercuts the drama of the situation. If the narrating character is scared enough to run at sight of the guards, then they're too busy for snarky inner narration. The exception would be if this was the character's voice throughout, but it's not. The exposition to this point is pretty straightforward, with a slight bent toward poetry when describing the setting.

As for the guards, they do have distinct personalities, but not until after the first 500 words. Like with most novels by first-time authors, most of the first 500 words could be deleted or distilled down to a sentence or two, as the story gets a lot more flavor once the characters start interacting with each other. But we're dissecting the first 500 words, so here we are. 

In my version, I added this paragraph:

It was technically only ten steps into Assidian territory, but if I was caught here, I’d be killed. That said, this far out, the guards weren’t especially vigilant. When they'd come around, once every four hours, their laughter drifted from beneath their face guards, loud and careless. It almost made them seem human.

This is pretty bare bones characterization, but what we get is someone who is willing to risk their life, and who thinks of the Assidians as less than human. I have no idea if this is true to the actual story because we get this vague wording about being on Assidian territory ("its occupants...didn't want me meandering on their land") and absolutely nothing about the guards, not even a short description. 

Conflict/Tension

Again, we have the suggestion that the narrating character is trespassing is the "meandering on their land" line. But what are the stakes? Imprisonment? Death? We also have a line about the clock ticking as enemies near, which is a weird statement. First, we don't have a clock. We're outside. If anything, it should be a watch, and second, who are the enemies? The Assidians or the people who messed with he history of Conviction Woods -- or are they the same? For a story that starts with an infodump, the info is too vague to be informative.

We have hints that what the narrating character is doing is important, like the amount of research they've done, a war that was covered up, and ancient arches with mysterious runes that need to be translated. But the tension is undercut with words like "lingered" and "meandering" and also with the suggestion that the character isn't even trying to get the full imprint of the arch runes -- like, they're only getting impressions of the ones they can reach.

In my version, I have the attempt at rubbing not work with the excuse that the etchings are so old that the rubbings aren't really showing up, but mostly because I didn't want to have to address the idea that the character wasn't even going to try to copy down the ones they couldn't reach -- just memorize them. Also, there's a sense that they don't have time to copy them down, but no reason why. Like, the woods are ten steps away, so the character can disappear and come back any time guards aren't present, so why is the character just trying to memorize them? Is the "ticking clock" referring to a different deadline, maybe a prophecy-related one?

Final Thoughts

For me, the only sin that an excerpt of the first 500 words of novel that can't be forgiven is a lack of conflict/tension. We always have time to fill in a sketched out setting and characterization, but stakes need to be clear. They don't always have to be life or death, but they have to feel important to the character. The biggest failure of the first 500 words of this story is that the author is trying to hint at urgency but continually undercuts herself by spending too much time on lore and using vague language to hint at danger.

That said, none of the sins in this excerpt are unfixable. Honestly, if we started the story at the end of this first 500 words, the next 500 wouldn't be perfect, but they'd be a lot more interesting way to start a story. Also, none of the sins of this writing is unexpected or unusual in a first-time author. Some of the other critiques on this blog are of excerpts from the second 500 words, for that reason.

Starting a story like this is like the author popping in to promise that this is going to be an interesting story, but not wanting to spoil anything. It's the move that a lot of insecure authors do (I have to fight the urge myself), but it's not one that should make it to publication if you have a good editor.

From my understanding, Audra Winter had hyped up her novel on TikTok, talking about how she'd been working on it for ten years. People who don't know anything about writing would naturally assume that the writing after that amount of time would be amazing. Someone like me, who has been working on certain stories for three times longer than that, know better. 

To be fair to Audra, I don't think she was trying to trick people into thinking her writing was better than it was. I think that she was genuinely excited about her book and thought that her writing was excellent. She knew her world and her characters so well that she didn't understand that the translation from her brain to the written word wasn't happening as smoothly as she thought. 

Editing is a different skill from writing. And yes, good writers can also edit their books, but generally only after having had really good editors work on their first several books -- or, at least, the author having studied editing separately from writing.

I'd bet that there's an excellent story buried in a lot of direction-less writing, and I'm glad that she seems to have a good editor helping her dig it out. And, actually, seeing that Audra is trying to fix the story says a lot about her sincerity. A lot of people who get criticism about their writing will just decide that the critics are just jealous and double down on how good their writing is.

Angelfire by GT_Cooper at Inkitt

Blurb

Trapped, tortured, and at the mercy of a sadistic councilman, a young warrior must reclaim her stolen powers to survive. With every agonizing strike, she plots her escape — and vengeance. As her strength returns, she faces impossible odds: deadly guards, her own exhaustion, and a merciless enemy who will stop at nothing. In a world of fire and shadow, only cunning, courage, and unrelenting determination can turn the tide.

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Original (First 500)

Pain ripped through me as I heard the crack of the whip. Again and again and again. I could feel my blood oozing from my slashes, hot and wet. I fought against my restraints, my wrists burning as the metal cuffs chafed them. Then Mordecai, the traitor, came around to face me, and ask me questions. Once I didn’t know the answer to. So he tortured me.

After I burned the ice away from Aquaia, and passed out from exhaustion, I woke up to find myself here. And at the mercy of Mordecai Gregori, one of the most trusted council members.

I couldn’t escape using my powers either since, I guess, I burnt out. I can’t feel it anymore. It’s like I had no power to begin with. At least that’s how it was when I first got here but now I can feel creeping back in everyday.

And today I think I could use it. That I could escape. So I let Mordecai think I was still weak, that I didn’t have my power yet. But I was waiting for the perfect moment to get out of these chain, and kill him. Because he would help the enemy. And he had probably injured many more before me. The sadistic bastard.

So today, I was trying to escape. And when Mordecai came to caress me, as he usually does which was extremely weird and creepy, I grabbed his arm and let the fire free. He was ash on the wind in no time. Then I burned through the cuffs, the hot metal burning into me. I peels off the hot metal, and rubbed my raw, bleeding wrists, trying to soothe them. It didn’t help.

I took two daggers from the assortment of knives, and daggers. They were about the same size, and light enough for my weak body to wield. I hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, maybe months. And I was so hungry. I was starving. I had been fed a small meal everyday. And it wasn’t enough to feed me, as well as keep my strength, my power. Finally I had enough strength to escape.

I went out the door, having to route around in Mordecai’s pocket for a key to unlock, the door. Gross. Once the door was unlocked I walked out to see that there were guards lining the hallways, and when they saw me all of them unsheathed their weapons, most of the weapons two handed swords. Not as efficient as my dagger, but that’s why I was able to keep my stamina and agility up. After that long time chained up all of the muscle had disappeared and it was a wonder that I could even walk or hold the daggers in my hand.

They attacked, and I slashed. I had killed maybe five guards, most of them different kinds of dark creatures. Then ones of them slashed my leg. I hissed in pain, and hurried to get this fight over with.

My Edit

The whip cracks. Pain rips through me — bright, blinding. Again. And again. I lose count of the slashes as my back and my mind go numb. Blood runs down my ribs, hot and slick. After weeks of this, I can’t believe I have any left. I barely have the strength to kneel. I barely have the will to draw another breath.

Silence.

Mordecai's boots echo across the concrete floor — slow, measured, familiar. The whip slithers behind him, leaving a dark smear across the stone. He steps in front of me.

“Tell me where to find the crystal,” Mordecai says, gently.

I lift my head. Tears blur him into a wavering shadow, but I refuse to wipe them away. The pain is nothing. He trained me to breathe past it, compartmentalize. But he never taught me what to do with betrayal. The monsters he trained me to fight were strangers.

“You promised,” I whisper. My lips split when I speak. I taste iron.

His jaw tightens, but his voice stays calm. “Tell me.”

Mordecai. When my power first sparked and burned the curtains from my bedroom walls, he was the one who knelt beside me and said it was a gift. When I scorched the training yard, he laughed and called it progress. He taught me how to breathe through flame. How to hold it. How to shape it. How to love it.

When I burned out my magic saving Aquaia — the harbor, the ships, every soul trapped behind the sea wall — I thought it had killed me. I remember the roar of the wave turning to steam. I remember the sky going white.

Weeks in this cell have reduced me to a quivering mass of torn tissue and broken promises. But within the ruin, something glows. Slow. Quiet. Patient. My magic has returned. It coils low in my chest like an ember waiting for breath.

Mordecai steps closer. He crouches in front of me, his coat brushing the blood-slick floor. For a moment, he just looks at me.

Then his hand rises. I flinch, chains biting into my wrists.

His fingers brush my cheek, pushing a grease-matted strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is achingly familiar.

"You don't have to do this," I say, my voice hoarse and heartbroken.

His hand falls as he steps back, the tenderness disappearing from his gaze. He towers over me, looking at me through the eyes of a stranger. Of an enemy. "Yes, I do," he says. The regret in his voice makes me close my eyes.

I draw a breath. I open my eyes. I free the fire.

It explodes outward in a roar. Mordecai screams as his coat ignites, then his skin. The smell hits me — sweet and sickening. Flames crawl over him, devouring cloth, flesh, hair. His cries collapse into something smaller, thinner. The last bit of him are the eyes that once gleamed with pride at my first step, my first word, my first fireball.

Then they, too, are gone. Mordecai. Gone. I killed him. How — I can't deal with this right now. I can't —  Somewhere beyond the cell, something shifts. The air itself seems to shudder. A distant howl answers another. The wards Mordecai wove into this prison flicker and fail.

They know. His creatures will not last long without him. But they will last long enough to tear me apart.

Heat spreads down my arms. The iron around my wrists glows red beneath my focus. I tighten my will. Metal softens. Locks melt. Chains crash to the floor. Without them holding me upright, I collapse onto my hands and knees. The wounds across my back awaken and shriek. I swallow the screams clawing up my throat.

A lifetime of training forces me to my feet. I stagger toward the door. My fingers leave streaks of blood along the wall. I press my palm to the lock and let the heat build until it runs like wax. The door swings open.

A shape hurtles through the smoke-choked corridor toward me — an oversized black cat with torn, leathery wings and green eyes split by vertical pupils. Its mouth opens too wide, rows of needle teeth glinting wetly.

It shrieks. I burn it to ash. The corridor fills with the smell of cinders.

And I step into it.

(Original word count: ~499 → Edited: ~727)

---

Critique

The hook is strong: a captured and tortured hero trying to escape someone she once trusted. Opening with action and betrayal is always effective—you can’t get more dynamic than the MC being whipped in the first line.

That said, the original excerpt leaves several key details too vague to dramatize. Mordecai asks questions the MC can’t answer, but we never learn what he’s asking. We’re told he was trusted, but given no specific memories. His “caressing” is mentioned without context — is it paternal, manipulative, ritualistic? 

Because the excerpt doesn’t supply these details, I invented some for my edit. For instance, I framed him as her former mentor and had him demand the location of “the crystal”. 

Setting

The setting for this scene is a prison cell. Pretty basic; metal bars, a locked door, and a cement floor. If you're going to open on an action scene, it's really smart choose a simple setting. It cuts down on scene description and  allows the reader to focus on the two characters at the center of the scene.

Characterization

Another nice get-out-of-jail-free card that you get from opening with an action scene is that the bare bones of characterization is all you need to focus on. We have Mordecai; a once-trusted council member turned traitor and torturer. And we have the MC whose body is weak from the torture, but her magic has returned enough for her to escape. 

That said, the tell rather than show style of the original excerpt uses a lot of vague language like "the traitor", "the enemy", "the sadistic bastard". Mordecai showing up every day to caress her face is a great detail, but describing the event as "weird and creepy" is a little impersonal for a mortal enemy. As this scene is our intro and outro for this character, some sort of emotional stakes would be nice. In my edit, I made Mordecai more of a father/mentor figure, which helps anchor the action of the scene with emotion.

Also, while it's nice to have a badass MC who can withstand torture and scorch her enemies into ash, this is our intro to her as a person, as well, so a little bit of internalization goes a long way.

Conflict/Tension

The premise is full of conflict and tension, but the execution diffuses it. Aside from the strong opening lines, the excerpt shifts quickly into exposition, reading more like a summary than a scene. The nice thing about underwriting a scene is that you have a skeleton that you just need to flesh out into a living thing. 

In my edit, I added dialogue, more immediate visuals and scents, and slowed down and focused on the connection between the MC and her torturer.

Final Thoughts

As written, the excerpt reads like a summary of a series of dramatic actions mixed with some backstory and world building. Aside from the whipping in the first sentence, there isn't any action to ground all of this information. There are benefits to telling instead of showing. For instance, in the original excerpt, the MC is able to lose all of her power, gain it all back, be tortured, kill her torturer, arm herself, and kill five guards. In my edit, it took over 700 words just for her to deal with Mordecai and kill one minion. 

I would argue that when we're meeting a new character, especially a main character in a physical or emotional situation, it's okay to slow down and focus on that moment. 

I also think that the premise of this scene — to establish a completely new world, an MC, the loss and gaining of the MC's power, torture and escape  — that's a lot of pressure on the very first scene of the story. I did my best with my edit, but I would actually probably start a scene or two before this one. Have the MC wake up in a cell, introduce the betrayal and the torture slowly. That way, by the time the MC burns up Mordecai, there's a nice release of the tension that has been built up over several scenes. In this case, we're starting mid-tension and that ratchets up the level of difficulty in establishing emotional stakes in the story and personal investment in the action.

Darcy's Date by Crystal Charee

This is an original of mine. Darcy is a mermaid who gave her daughter up for adoption when she was sixteen years old. The daughter is Aura, who features in Britney, The Dwarf Queen, which I'll posted a First 500 challenge on, someday. Aura is also a main character in her own story, A Thousand Auras, and is a recurring character across several of my fictional universes.

This story was supposed to help me explore Darcy's character so that she can be a full person in my mind. I never got far with it, but I do love her.

---

Original (2005)

Darcy was stumped. She stared into her wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear. She briefly wondered if she should just go topless and get the fun part started early. But then her stomach rumbled and she didn’t feel like cooking, so she grabbed a tank top and slipped it on. It was black, naturally. With tiny purple hearts and a doubloon-sized skull embroidered on it in tiny beads. It would be dressy enough for almost anywhere, but casual enough if he’d just packed a picnic or something.

Darcy heard banging on the hatch. It was probably the doorknocker she’d attached to it. Sometimes the tide – Darcy’s eye caught the clock –damn the man for being on time! Caught with her hair down, she answered the door. Vincent was there, sparklier than ever, framed against the black waters of the ocean. Appreciating the view, her eyes traveled from his handsome face, all the way down – to his new appendage. It was small, female, and looked like it was about eleven years old. “Crap,” Darcy said.

“Nice to meet you too,” the girl said like a little Miss Smarty Pants. The girl brushed Darcy aside and entered her home. Darcy felt like her inner sanctum was being violated. Vincent had never been invited in, and this brat certainly hadn’t. Darcy swam forward a bit, pushed Vincent back to clear the way, and grabbed the girl who was – touching something! Snatching back her ceramic replication of a bottle of poison, she tossed the girl out the door. Vincent caught the girl as she nearly swooshed past. Both merpeople stared at Darcy in shock.

Carefully replacing the bottle on the side table next to her couch, Darcy turned back to Vincent and friend, and asked politely, “Would you like to come in?”

Vincent shushed the girl who was about to reply. “Maybe we should just be on our way,” he responded. Holding out his hand, he waited for Darcy to take it.

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to do with a gentleman, and that more than the pre-teen brat compelled her to stay home. No doubt her memory played tricks on her, making it seem as though those kisses had been better than they actually were. The possibility that she was wrong though, was what made her hold out her hand. He pulled her through the hatch as though she were a delicate, crystal feather. Light, delicate, and beautiful. Once again, she suppressed the urge to turn, swim, and slam the hatch behind her.

As if he could read her mind, Vincent took Darcy’s hand more firmly in his own. Taking both girls by the hand, he led them to a carriage that was attached to a baby whale. He picked up the reins and shook them a little. The whale moved forward, graceful for something that size, under Vincent’s power. She could relate.

“This is my niece, Learah,” Vincent explained. “Her mother is in labor and can’t leave the girl alone for a minute...."

My Edit (2025)

Darcy stared into her wardrobe, trying to figure out what to wear. More importantly, she wondered why she'd agreed to a date with Vincent. Nerdy, adorable, way too nice Vincent. She wondered if she should answer the door topless and really freak him out.

Her stomach rumbled. She sighed. She couldn't really afford to chase off a free dinner. Plus, she still had to work with the guy. She grabbed a black sequined tank top, and slipped it on. She was thinking about what to do with her hair when she heard banging on the hatch of her sunken yacht.

She pulled up the pocket watch the she wore wrapped around her waist and cursed to herself. Of course he was early. Vincent was always early. She sighed, pulling her eyepatch down. If she took the time to put her hair up, he'd think that she was taking a long time to get ready, for him. But if she left it down, the long pink curls were going to be in her way all night. She pulled it into a loose braid over her shoulder as she swam from her room to the companionway and then up to the aft deck.

Along the way, she cursed herself for caring if he'd like her hair in a braid instead of her usual messy bun. She hadn't been on a date since she was fifteen, and even then, she couldn't say that her boyfriend took her out on dates. Did that mean she'd never been on a date? Oh, God. That meant that first date was going to be with Vincent. How pathetic was that? She was probably his first date, too.

Vincent was there, his long grey fin sparkling against the black waters of the ocean. He'd ditched the tie, for once, but wore a short-sleeved button-down shirt. His smile was warm, but a little worried. It should definitely have been more worried. Darcy was going to make him regret asking her out.

Then she noticed that instead of his usual briefcase, he had a small mermaid with him. She had big, watchful, turquoise eyes, a swirling mass of blonde hair, and a turquoise tail that matched her eyes. She was probably around ten or eleven years old.

“Ugh. No thank you,” Darcy said, involuntarily. She did not deal with children. At all.

“Nice to meet you too,” the girl said, in sign language. Darcy blinked. She eyed the girl. The girl's tail was mechanical. There was only one mermaid in the entire kingdom, hell, anywhere in the world that Darcy knew of, who had a mechanical tail and spoke sign language.

Darcy said, glaring at Vincent, who, now, was looking more guilty than nervous. "You brought the princess on our date?"

"It was a last-minute thing," Vincent said, pleadingly, his warm, grey eyes sparkled sweetly in the light that shone through her cockpit windows. "It was either bring her or cancel the date."

"Cancel the date!" Darcy said, glaring harder. Rage flooded her body. She wondered that the water around her didn't boil. "Nevermind, I'll cancel it." She turned to swim back through her companionway, but the flash of the kid's hands stopped her. She turned back.

"I've never met a pirate before," the girl signed, again. "You're not that scary. I like your hair," she added with a grin.

"It's taken me two years to get you to go out with me," Vincent said. "And you said this was my one chance. If I'd cancelled, you'd never agree to go out with me again. And, if I had told you about the kid, you wouldn't have believed me." He still had his pleading look, but that sharky lawyer look that he got when he was talking business was creeping into his gaze. "So," he continued, transitioning into his bargaining tone, "If you would like to reschedule, I can make that happen."

Darcy liked to convince herself that Vincent was boring to look at with his gray eyes and gray tail and gray personality. But his eyes generally held a spark of humor in them, as they did now, his tail was pinstriped with dark and light gray, and his fins were long and flowy. And he never bored her. His off-duty personality was sweet and almost shy, but he was full of stories and when he negotiated with her, his "boring" gray eyes would flash like steel. Now, he waited, a challenging smile twitching at his lips.

She glared at him even more, mostly just to give herself time to think. He'd just given her the option to re-schedule or to let him take her on a date with a tiny brat. She was aware of the unspoken third option, to just cancel and never give him another chance. But, it would have been cowardly. It wasn't like Vincent would have had the option to say no to babysitting a princess -- it was pretty much the only excuse she would have accepted.

She hated the option of cancelling. She'd never admit to anxiety, but the anticipation had made her nearly cancel at least once an hour since she'd agreed, in a moment of pure insanity, to go out with him, once. She didn't want to go through all of that again. But to go on a date with a ten-year-old child in tow? How was that supposed to play out? Actually, she thought, how was that supposed to play out? Did he really think that he could pull off a once-chance date with a kid around? She couldn't help but grin at the thought.

"Alright," she said, mirroring his challenge with her uncovered violet eye. "Wow me."

The way his brows went up said that he was surprised, but his shoulders squared, and he grinned. He held out one hand to her, and gestured toward the bow of her ship with the other. "Your chariot awaits," he said.

It really was a chariot, a golden one, with six silver, mechanical dolphins harnessed to the front of it. Suddenly, she knew she wasn't dressed up enough to go wherever he'd planned to take them. Well, she thought darkly, if she embarrassed him, that was his problem. She wasn't fancy enough to see any of the fancy folk he wanted to parade her in front of, again. He'd be the one who'd be judged for dragging a circus act around.

Darcy took his hand, grimly, and he turned to offer his free hand to the child. "Princess," he murmured.

The little girl ducked her head, blonde hair swishing, and took his hand too. Darcy didn't miss the worshipful gaze the girl shot up at Vincent as they moved toward the chariot. He handed the girl in first, and then turned to Darcy. Registering her wooden expression, he smiled, and kissed her hand. "Don't worry," he said, a promise in his warm gray eyes. "This will be fun."

"Worry," Darcy scoffed, allowing herself to be guided into the carriage. She couldn't help but relax at his words, though. And as he took up the reigns and the dolphins swooshed through the night waters, she allowed herself the tiniest moment to appreciate the luxury of being escorted to a fancy, unknown place, in the dark, with a reasonably attractive man.

And a ten-year-old brat.

(Original word count: ~507 → Edited: ~1222)

---

Critique

Darcy has a unique voice — snarky and insecure at the same time. She’s a misanthrope, but that cynicism masks a deep insecurity. In the original version, it’s hilarious that she’s completely uninterested in impressing her date or accommodating him or the kid. In my revision, I toned down the child abuse but ramped up her sass toward Vincent, letting her humor cover for vulnerability instead of cruelty.

Setting

The original setting wasn’t entirely clear, and I didn’t add much description in my revision — but I did try to orient the reader with a sense of movement as Darcy swam from her bedroom to the deck. At least now, it’s easier to picture her inside a sunken boat. I'll explore setting more in a future draft. In this draft, I was more focused on characterization.

Characterization

The original carried a light, almost chick-lit tone, but Darcy is darker. She has a past she’s ashamed of, a strong survival instinct, and intense social anxiety. The bubbly tone didn’t fit her—or me. I gravitate toward interiority and emotional realism, so I leaned into her internal reactions and motivations instead of staying on the surface.

Something I didn’t yet explore is how she knows Vincent. We find out that he’s a lawyer, but we never see how that intersects with her life as a scavenger of sunken ships. That relationship will either need more backstory or a change to his vocation.

In this rewrite, removing the scene where Darcy manhandles the child also fixes Vincent’s earlier passivity. He’s still kind and a little playful, but now he has the quiet confidence of someone who can handle her sharp edges. He senses her discomfort about not being “fancy” enough for wherever he’s taking her and reassures her without condescension.

The child mermaid, originally Vincent’s niece Learah, was mostly a plot device to inject conflict. While revising, I realized her description matched an existing character: Princess Coral. The mechanical tail and sign language are hers. I think it will be fun to explore her character, especially in interaction with Darcy during the date. 

The date might ultimately become less about romance and more about Darcy exploring a “what if” — what life might have been like for the daughter she gave up, if Aura had been able to grow up under the sea with her.

That said, with Vincent there, we'll get to deepen the relationship between him and Darcy based on how they interact with Coral together. This scenario will highlight aspects of each of their personalities that may only have glimpsed during their business dealings.

Conflict/Tension

In the original, the tension came mostly from the kid — contrived, but it showed my instinct that a scene like this needs conflict. I think I avoided deeper tension at the time because I didn’t know how to write a date scene without romantic or sexual charge, and the story was intended for middle grade readers.

Now, I can rely on Darcy’s social anxiety and bluntness to create friction. Vincent’s empathy disarms her — it feels good but also unbearable. Like stepping into a warm room after being out in the cold: the warmth hurts a little. She can’t trust it, because she never knows when she’ll be tossed back into the cold again. That’s why she lives alone, keeping her world small and predictable.

Final Thoughts

Ultimately, even though having Vincent unexpectedly babysitting was contrived at the time, I'm committed to the idea now. That means that the weakest part of the story, now, is the beginning when Darcy is looking in her closet. What does a mermaid's closet look like? The clothes can't be on hangers, because the hangers would float off of the closet rod.

Also, Darcy staring into her closet, wondering what to wear? That doesn’t fit her. She’s the kind to distract herself from nerves by working, not primping. She’d be startled by Vincent’s knock because she was absorbed in something mechanical, maybe salvaging or tinkering.

I'm actually exploring that idea in another revision, but it's so different from the original version that I didn't want to use it for this post. I'll use another post to explore the edited original versus the final revision.

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 Summer I Drowned by solacing on Wattpad

Blurb

It's been years since Olivia nearly drowned in Caldwell Beach, and after moving away, she's back for the summer to reconnect with old friends. However, not everything-or everyone-is the same. Her childhood best friend, Miles, is still sweet and carefree, but his older brother West is not. Disowned and working at the local garage, he's distanced himself from everyone, until Olivia accidentally uncovers the reason why. But as the two grow closer, strange things begin happening to Olivia. She can't stop seeing shadows and hearing voices, but as she slips into a downward spiral of obsessiveness and paranoia, she must fight to uncover the truth behind who is after her, and why.

---

Original (First 500)

Growing up in Caldwell Beach, there were rules hammered into our heads designed to keep us safe. Don't swim too far out into the ocean, or the undertow will pull you in. Don't climb trees if they extend over the water, because you'll fall with them if they break. 

Like most little kids, I didn't listen. My friends and I swam deep into the Atlantic Ocean every chance we got and hoped someday we'd reach the spot where the sun sparkled on the horizon. We'd get tired before then, of course, and the waves would carry us back to the rocky Maine shore. But even when the undertow pushed and pulled at my feet, I was never scared -- a girl like me was made for the water. Sometimes I fantasized that if it did get me, it would carry me to the land of mermaids, right where I belonged.

But one rule was repeated so often, it became more of a superstitious warning: never, ever play on the cliffs. Especially the one by the lighthouse.

I obeyed that rule -- when I was in kindergarten, fifteen-year-old Samwell Ellis cracked his skull open as he scaled the cliff's edge, and our teacher told us a sea monster had taken him. Our town was small -- we believed no one died unless they were old or sick -- so it made sense a monster was responsible for the boy's death. The Ellis family then packed up and moved away, calling the town a curse, which fueled the legends and rumors that dominoed through my classroom.

It wasn't until I was old enough to question my parents that they finally told me the truth. Monsters didn't kill anyone; it was an accident brought on by teenage recklessness. 

Even years later, that story still spiraled in my head; it was all I could think about as I gripped the flimsy rope fence, my toes only inches away from the cliff's edge. I wiggled them until the white rubber of my Vans moved. I'd heard you could get a better grip climbing rock without shoes, but only if your skin was strong enough to withstand the jagged edges. There's no way anyone's skin could be that thick.

Sure, teenage recklessness had killed Samwell Ellis in this very spot, but I wasn't a teenager -- I had just turned twelve. I clung to that fact, as if it would protect me.

Cool wind licked my bare arms and legs. The ocean sloshed fifty feet below, inky and terrifying, and jaw-like rocks lined the curve of the cliff. One wrong move and I would fall. My body would become a waterlogged lump of flesh and disappear into the ocean, rot away like the whale corpses they showed us on Planet Earth in class. Maybe a shark would eat me, or maybe I'd become food for a school of fish.

The thought was almost enough to make me turn back.

"Liv, stop," Miles said from behind me. "Seriously, we're going to get in trouble!"

His blue-green eyes came into focus. The lighthouse faded into the churning clouds. Miles's curls whipped around his face as the thunder growled, and light rain began to sprinkle onto my arms.

Miles is right, this is stupid.

But then Faye Hendrick's face flared in my mind and said I was way too chicken to complete the cliff challenge. Faye had done it as some sort of initiation into being accepted by the older kids, and now everyone in our class thought she had more guts than me.

Screw that. All I had to do was climb down the cliff, reach the one rock called checkpoint, and climb back up. Piece of cake.

"Your sister's a jerk, Miles. Take a video. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Miles whimpered as my bare knees sank into the cold, soggy grass. Icy rain pelted me until my skin was bumpy and purple, the veins on my hands, thin blue snakes. A deep breath and I climbed over the edge. Concentrated adrenaline coursed through me, but the rocks, though slick with water, kept me in place.

Breathe. You can do this; just breathe.

One step down. And another. I was just going to make it. Just a few more steps. 

But right before checkpoint, my foot slipped -- and I fell.

My Edit

"Liv, stop," Miles Hendrick said from behind me. "Remember Sam-"

"Miles!" I turned. Miles' curls whipped around his face as the thunder growled. "Are you trying to jinx me?" 

When we were in kindergarten, fifteen-year-old Samwell Ellis cracked his skull open as he scaled the lighthouse cliff, and our teacher told us a sea monster had taken him. The Ellis family moved away soon after, calling the town a curse, which did nothing to dispute the legend. 

Rain began to fall, light but icy. Miles didn't say anything but his blue-green eyes were worried. Churning fog swallowed the base of the lighthouse behind him. I sighed, turning back toward the cliff's edge. 

Cool wind licked my bare arms and legs. The ocean sloshed fifty feet below, inky and terrifying, and jaw-like rocks lined the curve of the cliff. One wrong move and I would fall. My body would become a waterlogged lump of flesh and disappear into the ocean, rot away like the whale corpses they showed us on Planet Earth in class. Maybe a shark would eat me, or maybe sea monsters were real. Miles was right, this was stupid. I poised to turn back.

Faye Hendrick flashed in my mind, saying I was way too chicken to complete the cliff challenge. She had done it as some sort of initiation into being accepted by the older kids, and now everyone in our class thought she had more guts than me.

Screw that. All I had to do was climb down the cliff, reach the one rock everyone called Checkpoint, and then climb back up. Piece of cake. If Miles' sister could do it, so could I.

"Just take the video," I said over my shoulder.

I gripped the flimsy rope fence, the toes of my Vans only inches away from the cliff's edge. Miles didn't argue with me anymore, but I could hear him whimper as my bare knees sank into the cold, soggy grass. 

I didn't look up at him, I didn't dare, or I'd lose my nerve. I took a deep breath and climbed over the edge. Adrenaline coursed through me, but the rocks, though slick, were firm footholds. My fingers gripped the rock face as though my life depended on it. 

Breathe. You can do this; just breathe.

One step down. Another. Another. I was going to make it. A few more steps. 

One step away from Checkpoint, my foot slipped. My freezing fingers couldn't hold my weight. I fell.

(Original word count: ~722 → Edited: ~416)

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Critique

The original excerpt is very strong writing that seamlessly interweaves setting and characterization with conflict and tension. Some minor tweaks to the order of the scene, like starting with Miles trying to stop Olivia and then going into Samwell's back story tightens the narrative a bit and heightens the stakes of the scene. 

Setting

Miles whimpered as my bare knees sank into the cold, soggy grass. Icy rain pelted me until my skin was bumpy and purple, the veins on my hands, thin blue snakes. A deep breath and I climbed over the edge. Concentrated adrenaline coursed through me, but the rocks, though slick with water, kept me in place.

This is an excellent example of scene setting because it is integrated seamlessly not only into the action but into characterization. I love that Miles is whimpering, not out of fear for himself, but for his friend. It shows him to not only be a more timid (or sensible) character, but also a caring one. And it shows Olivia's focus. She's aware of her surroundings in a very visceral way but in the way that happens when adrenaline is trying to keep us safe.

Characterization
The characterization is also solid. From this short excerpt, we get that Olivia is brave, competitive, and focused. She doesn't belittle Miles' fear, and she almost turns back because of her own fear. 

My body would become a waterlogged lump of flesh and disappear into the ocean, rot away like the whale corpses they showed us on Planet Earth in class.

This is such a great line. It exposes her age and the context where she gets her information, and highlights her imagination. The catastrophizing is relatable and visceral and ratchets up the tension.

Miles is less dimensional, uniformly worried about the danger and "getting in trouble". I think that line in particular undercuts his fear for her safety. It's also a line that any character in any book could say. If we were more specific, for instance, if he brought up Samwell, then he would feel like he belongs in this story, not just any story. 

As-is, I like their dynamic. I like that she doesn't taunt him for being scared and I like that he doesn't call her stupid for doing this. There is a sense of equality in the relationship. However, since this is our first introduction to these characters, a touch more dialogue specific to this world would add more dimension to his character. 

Conflict/Tension

Obviously, a girl in a story called "The Summer I Drowned" on a cliff face in freezing rain is a premise fraught with tension. The author is good at playing up the tension with lines like, "I gripped the flimsy rope fence, my toes only inches away from the cliff's edge." and "The ocean sloshed fifty feet below, inky and terrifying, and jaw-like rocks lined the curve of the cliff."

We do lose a bit of the immediacy with the amount of set-up and back story we get at the beginning of the original excerpt. I ended up trimming the first 175 words so that we could get to the action a bit quicker.

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Final Thoughts

It's rare to find a prologue being used so effectively. Since the main story takes place years after the summer Olivia "drowned", it's smart to give us the drowning up front, without making us wait for a flashback or something. It's a great intro to Olivia's character at age twelve so that we can immediately compare her with her aged up character, and, frankly, it's just smart to start the story on a really exciting scene.

The author does spend a lot of time setting up the danger of the ocean through rumination. The writing is fine, but it makes the story feel more philosophical and ruminative, whereas I think the intention of the scene is to be as suspenseful and exciting as possible. 

That said, I like that the kids are written as believable twelve-year-olds without dumbing down the writing. Olivia in particular, feels like a specific, young, person. Between the excerpt and the blurb, this is a really promising start to a story.

Crash by luv234_luv on Wattpad

Blurb

Lyra Jay Kellie’s plane goes down in a violent Montana storm, leaving her stranded, injured, and completely alone. Her pilot is dead. Her satellite phone is useless. And the wilderness is closing in fast.

Then another crash lights the sky.

Nathan Wesley survives his own wreck—barely—thanks so Lyra, who drags him from the burning plane. Grateful and determined, he vows to get her back to civilization, no matter what it costs.

But the Rockies don’t forgive mistakes. Something is stalking the forest. Resources are vanishing. And the storm isn’t done with them yet.

Together, Lyra and Nathan must outrun the cold, the mountains, and the unseen danger hunting them.
Survival is the goal—falling for each other might be the only thing that saves them.

Original (First 500)

"Lyra! Come here now!" I yelled, irritatedly tapping the toe of my shoe. 

"What, what do you want?"

She stalked into the room as if she owned the place. Well, news flash, I own this place. Half of it, at least. It's my right and no one around here seems to act like it.

"What is this mess?" I demanded and looking at all the filth on the floor and then back at Lyra. This is disgusting, who lives like this? When I was a teenager, I never lived like this.

"Um, I'm packing. I'm going to go with dad to Fort Peck," she quipped and I glared at her. This girl has such an attitude and David never fixed it. That's what happens when you baby twenty year olds.

"Well do you have to make a damn mess just to pack a few bags?" I crossed my arms over my chest. She mirrored my glare and frustration bubbles in my chest.

"It's not a mess. But don't worry, I know where everything is and I'll be out of here tomorrow," she smirked at me, putting a hand on her hip.

"Thank god..." she  muttered under her breath.

"You disrespectful, annoying little brat. Someone is going to have to teach you to have some manners," I said lowly.

"Oh I have manners, you're just not worthy of receiving them," Lyra said defiantly. I could feel my blood boil and my face redden.

"And how exactly am I not worthy in your eyes?" I said through clenched teeth.

"Well, let's see. One, you're a bitch. Two, you're trying to steal all of my father's money but let's face it, as long as I'm around, you won't touch it. Three, I just plain resent you. Do you need more reasons? I have a list," she chuckled.

We were far past civil commentary.

"I am not trying to take your fathers money!" I gasped. Lie, but she's only a witless teenager, she doesn't know any better.

Really, David is loaded. I would love to get in on more than what I'm privy to, but he's got little miss everything and would hand his still beating heart over to the little rat.

"You're a liar," Lyra spat flatly.

"That's it! Give me your phone, your grounded!" I held my hand out to take her phone.

I had to do something about this girl or I'll never get anything I need to do done, dammit.

Lyra let out a humorless guffaw "I'm twenty years old and pay my own phone bill. You've got no right."

She continued to laugh, making me angrier by the minute. This girl was a walking entity of sass and I was close to beating it out of her.

"Wow, you're really off your rocker now. Does dad know you're getting crazier by every year?" she chuckled and quirked the corner of her lips into that annoying little smirk of hers. 

My Edit

I descended the half of the double stairway that led from my and David's wing of the house -- okay, let's be real -- mansion. I swept my gaze over the flawless marble stairs, the miniature statue of Venus de Milo set into an arched niche halfway down, the perfectly polished ebony wood banister. I wore flowing pastel blue robe over matching frilly silk nightgown. Slippers with kitten heels like a heroine in a black-and-white movie, clicked with each step.

Then I saw that my husband's twenty-year-old brat had taken over my formal living room, entryway, and the stairs that led up to the guest wing. 

"Lyra!" I screamed in fury. I felt my beauty mask crack. I hated this girl. She ruined everything.

Lyra walked into the formal living room from the deck as if she'd earned the place, not me. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, her blonde hair swept back in a neat ponytail. The toes of her red socks dotted with white hearts peeked out from under the hem of her jeans.

"What is this mess?" I demanded. Clothes, bags, shoes, and other stepdaughter detritus littered every inch of my flawlessly-decorated home.

"Um, I'm packing," she answered distractedly, looking around. "I'm going with my dad to Fort Peck." Her usual vitriol was at bay, her voice even, and she didn't meet my gaze. I'd overheard David on the phone with her a few days before she'd come to visit, making her promise not to pick fights with me. It seemed like she intended to keep that promise verbally, but assaulting the pristine beauty of my home meant war, as far as I was concerned. 

"Well do you have to make such a mess just to pack a few bags?" I crossed my arms, the fluffy sleeves of my dressing gown tickling my chin. "You have a bedroom, private bath, and walk-in closet you could be doing this in."

"It's not that bad," she said. She looked around again. "Don't worry, I know where everything is. And, I'll be out of here tomorrow." She turned to fuss with a make-up bag that she'd left open on my foyer table. She'd shoved the enormous bouquet out of center in order to make space for her crap. "Thank God..." she muttered under her breath.

"You disrespectful brat," I spat. "Someone needs to teach you some manners." My mask cracked even more with my scowl and started sliding down my face. I pulled at the pieces, collecting them with the French-tipped fingernails of my left hand, and piling them neatly in the palm of my right hand. If I'd been born rich, I'd probably just toss them onto the floor for the staff to clean up, but unlike this monster who had been spoiled every second of her twenty years, I had respect for my possessions.

"Oh I have manners, you're just not worthy of receiving them," Lyra said with a faux sweet smile. She finally turned to look me directly in the eye. 

That born-rich, nose-in-the-air expression made my blood boil. I took a step toward her. "And how exactly am I not worthy in your eyes?" I asked, through clenched teeth. As though we hadn't had this fight a million times.

"Well, let's see. One, you're a bitch. Two, you're trying to steal my father's money. Three, you're lazy. It's almost noon and you're still in your pajamas," she added, with a sweeping gesture toward my elegant nightwear. "Do you want more? I have a list," she said, disgust twisting her pretty face.

Her promise to her father lasted about as long as I had expected. Lyra hated me as much as I hated her.

My husband is still handsome for his age, but his best feature is his money. But his worst feature is his devotion to this little rat. He'd hand his still-beating heart over to her, if she asked for it.

I have to do something about this girl.

(Original word count: ~490 → Edited: ~677)

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Critique

For an intro to a brand new story, we look for setting, characterization, and conflict/tension. To be honest, tension is the most important, so the compelling blurb and opening with a confrontation is a good start.

Slowing down a bit and describing the setting will add a ton of dimension to the scene, and in a case like this, because luxury is such an extreme setting, the way the characters interact with it automatically adds characterization.

Setting
We know that these characters are a) in Alexandra and David's home and b) Lyra is visiting. Other than that, we're not given a lot of context for the scene. Based on Alexandra throwing a conniption over the mess, we would expect to be in a smaller apartment or condo. But the mention of how rich David is suggests otherwise, which could be confusing to a reader.

For my edit, I created a classic mansion with a marble double staircase. I threw in a foyer, and a fancy living room, and I had Lyra take over all of this space. In a house this big, with Lyra having her own suite, taking over the living room is a pointed choice, one that the would make specifically to make Alexandra angry.

A cute little vacation condo or cottage would also work, but the effect would be less extreme, and I thought it was fun to play up the wealth aspect.

Characterization
In the original excerpt, the stepmother, Alexandra reads as an exaggerated evil stepmother. If she was as deeply unstable as her demanding Lyra's phone suggests, her husband would notice. Even if Alexandra is "crazy", she's still intelligent. Like, having the same argument with your twenty-year-old stepdaughter every time you see her is pretty immature, but we all behave irrationally when we're jealous. If we want to ground Alexandra's emotional immaturity, an easy way to do that is to give her a quick back story where she had to fight for what she has whereas Lyra takes it for granted. 

Alexandra should also be smarter than to defend herself against the gold-digging accusation. She's been married to David for six years, so this accusation isn't new, and people don't react to old accusations with the same horror and defensiveness as new ones. 

In the original excerpt, Alexandra remarks on Lyra not needing to destroy the whole house just to pack a few bags. This is a good observation that I think got a little lost in the original, so I just highlighted it in my version. Compare:

"What is this mess?" I demanded and looking at all the filth on the floor and then back at Lyra. This is disgusting, who lives like this? When I was a teenager, I never lived like this.

"Um, I'm packing. I'm going to go with dad to Fort Peck," she quipped and I glared at her. This girl has such an attitude and David never fixed it. That's what happens when you baby twenty year olds.

"Well do you have to make a damn mess just to pack a few bags?" I crossed my arms over my chest. She mirrored my glare and frustration bubbles in my chest.

With:

"What is this mess?" I demanded. Clothes, bags, shoes, and other stepdaughter detritus littered every inch of my flawlessly-decorated home.

"Um, I'm packing," she answered distractedly, looking around. "I'm going with my dad to Fort Peck." Her usual vitriol was at bay, her voice even, and she didn't meet my gaze. I'd overheard David on the phone with her a few days before she'd come to visit, making her promise not to pick fights with me. It seemed like she intended to keep that promise verbally, but assaulting the pristine beauty of my home meant war, as far as I was concerned.

"Well do you have to make such a mess just to pack a few bags?" I crossed my arms, the fluffy sleeves of my dressing gown tickling my chin. "You have a bedroom, private bath, and walk-in closet you could be doing this in.".

The underlined parts are where I embellished from the original. So, instead of "filth", in the first paragraph, which is a word that suggests actual dirt, I listed clothes and such. I also played up Alexandra's possessiveness of the house with "my flawlessly-decorated home".

In the second paragraph, instead of just describing Lyra as having an "attitude" that David is lax about, I created a conversation for Alexandra to overhear. This does a few things. It makes David a more involved parent and husband, even though he's not physically present in the scene, it makes Lyra passive-aggressive for making a mess instead of picking a verbal fight, and it makes Alexandra smart for observing Lyra's passive aggression. 

In the third paragraph, I added a sensory detail with the fluffy sleeves, which also serves as a reminder of Alexandra's flamboyant opulence. 

For Lyra's characterization, in the original excerpt, she does come off as a bit bratty and entitled. It's not until the end of the excerpt that the reason she's acting like this is because she thinks that Alexandra is a gold digger. Even though cultural awareness of soap operas suggests this dynamic, nothing in the text does. So, by giving Lyra a basic outfit of a t-shirt and jeans along with a pair of heart-patterned socks, we have a visual indicator that Lyra is down-to-earth, but still youthful, as well as a contrasting image to her stepmother's over-the-top outfit.

Conflict/Tension

An argument between Lyra and Alexandra about Lyra leaving a mess is a great way to explore characters dynamics, unspoken versus spoken resentments. Since we're in Alexandra's POV, we get to know her hidden motivations, all the things she doesn't say to Lyra. The interesting this about this excerpt is that both women seem to be pretty up front with how they feel, nothing held back. 

An easy and effective way to exaggerate this dynamic is to play up the contradictions in the scene. Lyra is wearing a t-shirt and jeans and packing to go camping whereas Alexandra is still in her PJs at noon and there isn't even an indication of a plan for her day, even though we're in her POV. Lyra is quiet, where Alexandra is loud, Lyra's presence (through her scattered belongings) is large, whereas Alexandra is small (she carefully collects the pieces of her cracking mask in one hand).

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Final Thoughts

The author's note suggests that she was fourteen when she wrote this. I think that explains the lack of nuance in the argument in the original excerpt. It definitely reads like an argument a fourteen-year-old would think that a twenty-year-old would have with her stepmother. 

That said, at its core, a good story is one that we want to keep reading. The author, even at fourteen, starts with a compelling hook and an instinct for Drama. What else do we need?