FROM CARNEGIE
Below is the first 700+ words of my middle grade/fantasy for critique.
Nothing could be further from anything magical than Jack Disor’s family. They lived in the Philippines on a tiny island shaped like a sock and surrounded by a gloomy jungle where tales of witchcraft and black magic abound. Some of Jack’s friends bragged about having relatives who were witches or warlocks, but all his family tree could ever boast was an uncle who was hit by lightning seven times.
Jack’s father was a scientist and he didn’t believe in any of that folklore, though they happened to own the biggest and most haunted-looking house in the city. While their neighbors went on and on about ghosts in their attics, the scary noises coming from Jack’s attic was a clunky weather-machine his father invented. Jack’s mother was a librarian who occupied every available space in their house with books because their vast library had already ran out of room. She collected encyclopedias of every girth, dictionaries in every language, cookbooks for every edible creature, and even schoolbooks she and her husband owned since they were Jack’s age. If there was one type of literature missing from their library, it was from the world of fairytales.
Jack was the only child in the household and he wasn’t too keen about his unimaginative upbringing. In fact, he would be more than happy if he ever found monsters hiding under his bed or inside the closet. But everything changed on his eleventh birthday, and all because of a book.
One gloomy morning, as a tropical storm excited a steel windmill that generated electricity for the Disor house, Jack got out of bed with a big grin on his face and a racing heartbeat. He quickly put on a striped-blue shirt and baggy shorts before creeping out of his room towards a shadowy stairway. A clap of thunder competed against his heavy steps and the first person to greet him was the darkly framed portrait of some bearded professor his parents once knew. More dead scholars peered down when he passed through a labyrinth of hallways until a forest of towering bookcases welcomed him to the library.
The coast was clear.
In the middle of the spacious room were half-a-dozen boxes of varying sizes covered in colorful paper, and he bolted towards them with hands outstretched.
“Jackson Vergil Disor!” A booming voice echoed throughout the library. Jack quickly looked around but saw no one. “Up here, son.”
Jack’s father was dangling upside-down meters above him using gravity boots—one of his latest inventions—though Jack was the least bit surprised of his father’s air-defying ability.
“Morning, dad,” he said with a toothy grin, inching towards the pile of presents.
“Your robot-themed party commences in thirteen-hundred hours,” noted Jack’s father while hanging silvery party streamers in the ceiling.
“Wasn’t that the theme of my last birthday?”
“No, that was cyborg,” answered his father matter-of-factly while Jack rummaged through his presents. “Put those down; you’re going to end up ruining your last birthday—”
“I’m not going to open them,” he said as he shook a flat, boxy gift. It rattled so he quickly discarded it and moved on to the next.
“So what exactly are you looking for? Books?”
But Jack did not answer. He was distracted by something that sparkled from the bottom of a bookcase when a flash of lightning illuminated the library. He slowly crawled towards it and parted volumes of The History of Shepherd’s Pie, which only revealed another row of jammed books like someone had intentionally hidden whatever it was that sparkled.
When Jack’s father came down from the ceiling all he saw were his son’s skinny legs sticking out of the cavernous bookcase. “What on Earth are you doing back there?”
Jack still did not answer. He eventually reached the very back of the bookcase and was surprised to find that the shiny object was just a big, black book. However, unlike the other books in their library, this thick ‘tome’ was bound in animal hide and reeking of musk. As lightning flashed one more time, the tome’s glossy cover showed an engraving of giant, stone pillars erected in a circular pattern.
“Stonehenge!” said Jack excitedly.
He slowly opened the leathery tome, which creaked like the rusty hinges of an old coffin, and revealed page after page of sinister sorceress and mythical creatures. By the fifth page Jack’s grin had nearly reached his ears.
“Let me see, let me see!” called Jack’s father, mocking his enthusiasm.
CRITIQUE
Not bad, but somewhat careless writing. I don't think I've ever heard of an island surrounded by a jungle. Never heard a leather-bound book creak like rusty hinges either. Difficult to believe he'd see anything sparkling behind two rows of tightly jammed books, especially since a leather-bound book doesn't sparkle. But if this is a fantasy, might I suggest an eerie glow instead of a sparkle? Also, Jack is not going to "part" a row of tightly jammed books; he has to remove them.
You use a little unnecessary detail and weak verbs and also too many adverbs. You also have trouble picking correct prepositions. All of these little problems kind of peck away at writing quality. Read it with my little revisions:
Nothing could be farther from anything magical than Jack Disor’s family. They lived in the Philippines on a tiny island shaped like a sock and were surrounded by a gloomy jungle where tales of witchcraft and black magic abounded. Some of Jack’s friends bragged about relatives who were witches or warlocks, but all his family tree could ever boast was an uncle hit by lightning seven times.
Jack’s father was a scientist and refused to believe any of that folklore, though they happened to own the biggest and most haunted-looking house in the city. While their neighbors went on and on about ghosts in their attics, the scary noises from Jack’s attic came from a clunky weather-machine his father invented. Jack’s mother was a librarian who filled every available space in their house with books because their vast library already ran out of room. She collected encyclopedias of every girth, dictionaries in every language, cookbooks for every edible creature, and even schoolbooks she and her husband owned since they were Jack’s age. There was only one type of literature missing from their library: fairytales.
As the only child in the household, Jack wasn’t too keen about his unimaginative upbringing. In fact, he would be more than happy to find monsters hiding under his bed or inside his closet. But everything changed on his eleventh birthday, and all because of a book.
One gloomy morning, as a tropical storm excited a steel windmill that generated electricity for the Disor house, Jack jumped out of bed with a big grin and a racing heart. He quickly dressed and crept out of his room towards a shadowy stairway. A clap of thunder competed against his heavy steps. The first thing to greet him was a portrait of some bearded professor his parents once knew. More dead scholars peered down as he passed through a labyrinth of hallways until a forest of towering bookcases welcomed him to the library.
The coast was clear.
In the middle of the spacious room were half a dozen boxes of varying sizes covered in colorful paper, and he bolted towards them with hands outstretched.
“Jackson Vergil Disor!” A booming voice echoed throughout the library. Jack glanced quickly around, but saw no one. “Up here, son.”
Jack’s father dangled upside-down meters above him using gravity boots—one of his latest inventions. Jack was a bit surprised at his father’s gravity-defying ability.
“Morning, dad,” he said with a toothy grin, inching towards the pile of presents.
“Your robot-themed party commences at thirteen-hundred hours,” noted his father while hanging silver party streamers from the ceiling.
“Wasn’t that the theme of my last birthday?”
“No, that was cyborg,” he answered as Jack rummaged through his presents. “Put those down; you’re going to end up ruining your last birthday—”
“I’m not going to open them.” He shook a flat, boxy gift. It rattled, so he quickly discarded it and moved on to the next.
“So what exactly are you looking for? Books?”
But Jack did not answer. He was distracted by something that sparkled from the bottom of a bookcase when a flash of lightning illuminated the library. He crawled towards it and removed volumes of The History of Shepherd’s Pie, which revealed only another row of jammed books, like someone intentionally hid whatever it was that sparkled.
His father descended from the ceiling to see his son’s skinny legs sticking out of the cavernous bookcase. “What on Earth are you doing back there?”
Jack still did not answer. He eventually reached the very back of the bookcase and was surprised to find that the shiny object was just a big, black book. However, unlike the other books in their library, this one was bound with animal hide and reeked of musk. As lightning flashed again, the glossy cover showed an engraving of giant, stone pillars erected in a circular pattern.
“Stonehenge!” he gasped.
He slowly opened the leathery tome to reveal page after page of a sinister sorceress and mythical creatures. By the fifth page, Jack’s grin nearly reached his ears.
“Let me see, let me see!” mocked Jack’s father.