FROM MITZI
I've gone over and over it and would really appreciate some external feedback! Don't water down your critique, I'm a big girl and can absolutely deal with it. My goal is to make it better and get it published - not boost my ego
The novel is light SF but doesn't really collide with that genre until the end of the first chapter - another 2000 words from this excerpt.
Alexis wants Mr Cross.
Sash shaves his back.
I traced my fingers across the glitter nail-polish messages, grinning. A decade’s worth of high-school gossip was scratched, painted and cut into the wood of this most holy of lunch tables. If Alexis or her minions caught me sitting here, they’d disinfect the seat. Unpopularity is absolutely contagious.
Today, though, it was six am and the hair-straightener brigade were asleep in their mansions. I was wrapped in two layers of puke-colored fleece, waiting for the rest of my bio class. I had two hours on a bus to endure before being dumped at the beach - my least favorite place on the planet. Now seemed as good a time as any to catch up on gossip.
A shadow cut across the table. “Ellie? Oh my god.”
I looked up from a comment on a dodgy nosejob and squinted into the sunrise. Andy Jackson glared down at me from behind a pair of yellow women's sunglasses. Andy was a celebrated member of the gossip table, and I’d just read more than I ever wanted to know about his anatomy. He lowered himself into the seat opposite me. “You know Alexis will eat you alive if she finds out you’re sitting here."
“Pffft, she’d never eat me. Too many calories."
Andy didn’t smile. “You’re totally dead. Hey, speaking of dead, the homework you did for me sucked.”
Great. A customer complaint, my favorite way to start the day.
Andy pulled a stack of pink papers from his bag. He leaned towards me, whispering conspiratorially. “I got an F.”
“I see that,” I replied in a clearly non-whispering voice. “The, uh, enormous red letter on the front is a bit of a giveaway.”
Andy scowled. “Drake knew I didn't write it, which means you messed up. I want a refund.”
Oh, jeese. It was early. I was tired. I wasn’t ready to deal with this level of stupidity.
I crossed my elbows on the table, sighing. “You see how the paper is pink, Andy?”
Silence.
“You see how the writing is purple, and there are little flowers in the margin?”
Andy looked confused. This was one of his staple expressions. I rubbed my forehead, wincing. This sort of thing didn't usually need explaining.
“You're meant to copy it out in your own handwriting, genius, that's why I put it on such pretty paper. I didn't think anyone would actually hand that in.”
Andy‘s cheeks reddened. “But you didn't tell me that.”
“No refunds,” I said, pushing the papers into his hands. “If you have a problem you can bring it up with the principal. I bet he’d love hearing about our little arrangement.”
Andy paused, glaring, then snatched the papers from the table. “It's... it’s a stupid story anyway.”
I wanted to say How else could I make it look like you wrote it?, but didn’t feel like getting my bag peed on. Instead, I shrugged. My apologetic smile didn’t feel very convincing.
Andy leaned forward, his face close enough that I could see veins tracing across his eyes like scarlet spiderwebs. “There’s one about you,” he said, pointing at the messages on the table. “In pen on the right.” He stood and stormed off, papers in hand.
I frowned and shuffled to the edge of the table, searching for my name. He was probably bluffing. I hadn’t dated since I was four, and certainly hadn’t undergone questionable teen surgery. The only two people who knew enough to embarrass me were banned from this table as well. If I’d made it on to the holy grail of local gossip, I was pretty sure I’d know about it. I scoured the overlapping layers of marker and polish for anything remotely connected to me, then froze.
Scrawled in black pen in the corner of the table, I spotted my name. A wave of anger coursed through me.
I stood quickly, slung my bag across my shoulder and marched to the car-park. Half the class stood about half-asleep, and I pulled up my hood to hide from them.
Nobody could see me like this. Nobody would understand.
I turned around the back of the math building and slumped against the wall. Two words, written in black. Two words were all it took to make my hands shake, to make me double over, fighting for control. I breathed slowly, eyes closed until my focus returned.
Nothing in high-school is sacred. No life-changing moment is yours alone to cherish or regret. Everything is passed around, cheapened and twisted into something whispered over lunch. Something scrawled on Alexis’s table. Something you have to face, every day, whether you’re ready to or not.
If I found out who wrote it I’d gladly kill them. Tie them to the table and burn the lot.
Two words.
Ellie jumped.
CRITIQUE
Not horrible. A few things I noticed right off - first, you attempt to describe every single bodily movement and facial expression and include superfluous description. It reads like you're trying to be a director/cinematographer instead of a writer. That increases tedium and clutter very quickly.
Second, pronouns are your friends - use them. A female and a male converse - if ever there were a place to use pronouns without fear of ambiguity, that's it.
Third, your setting is very ambiguous. I gather she's outside at a high school of some sort, probably summer school, if she’s squinting into a sunrise at 6 AM, but then – she’s wrapped in two layers of fleece, so it must be cold. Is this Alaska or something? No, there’s a beach nearby, so maybe a coastal state or some place with big lakes. Where the heck is she and is it summer or not? I don’t know. Also, when you say “lunch table”, my mind pictures one of those long, cafeteria tables. I don’t know about anyone else, but if I were to see one of those outside a high school, I would think it odd. Not that it couldn’t happen - but your table is a long-time fixture; would it last outside in the weather very long, particularly with high school kids ready to have fun destroying it? It just struck me as a bit incongruent. Did you mean a picnic table instead? I could see that better.
Finally, you have a little problem with wording that fogs your meaning. For example, you write "Nothing in high school is sacred". I'm sure you meant to say that in high school, nothing is sacred. Do you see the difference? There's a few other sentences like that in your piece.
I trimmed your piece by using pronouns and cutting some of the directing. Tell me how you think it reads:
Alexis wants Mr Cross.
Sash shaves his back.
I traced my fingers across the glitter nail-polish messages, grinning at a decade of high school gossip scratched, painted, and cut into this most holy of lunch tables. If Alexis or her minions knew I sat here, they’d disinfect the seat. Unpopularity is contagious, you know.
But at six o’clock in the morning, the hair-straightener brigade slept in their mansions, while I sat here wrapped in two layers of puke-colored fleece waiting for the rest of my bio class. I had two hours on a bus to endure before being dumped at the beach - my least favorite place on the planet. Now seemed as good a time as any to catch up on gossip.
A shadow cut across the table. “Ellie? Oh my god…”
I squinted into the sunrise. Andy Jackson frowned at me from behind a pair of yellow sunglasses. Andy was a celebrated member of the gossip table; I just read more than I wanted to know about his anatomy. He sat opposite me, and said “You know Alexis will eat you alive if she finds out you’re sitting here."
“Pffft, she’d never eat me. Too many calories."
He didn’t smile. “You’re totally dead. Hey, speaking of dead, the homework you did for me sucked.”
Great - a customer complaint…my favorite way to start the day.
He pulled some pink papers from his bag, leaned towards me, and whispered, “I got an F.”
“I see that. The, uh, enormous red letter on the front is a bit of a giveaway.”
He scowled. “Drake knew I didn't write it, which means you messed up. I want a refund.”
Oh, geez. It was way too early to deal with this level of stupidity. I said, “You see how the paper is pink, Andy?”
Silence.
“You see how the writing is purple, and there are little flowers in the margin?”
His brow knitted in confusion, a more or less constant expression of his.
“You're meant to copy it out in your own handwriting, genius. That's why I put it on such pretty paper. I didn't think anyone would actually hand that in.”
His cheeks reddened. “But you didn't tell me that.”
“No refunds. If you have a problem, take it up with the principal. I bet he’d love hearing about our little arrangement.”
He crammed the papers back into his bag and stammered, “It's... it’s a stupid story anyway.”
I wanted to say How else could I make it look like you wrote it?, but instead, I just shrugged and smiled.
Andy pointed to the edge of the table and sneered, “Someone wrote one about you in pen over there.” Then he stormed off.
He was probably bluffing. My last date was a play date, and I wasn’t sporting a new nose or bigger boobs. The only two people who knew enough to embarrass me shared my banishment from this table. If I reached the holy grail of local gossip, I felt sure I’d know about it. I scoured the layers of marker and polish for anything remotely connected to me, then froze.
Scrawled in black pen in the corner of the table, I spotted my name, and anger coursed through me. I slung my bag across my shoulder and marched to the car-park. Half the class stood about half-asleep, and I pulled up my hood to hide from them.
Nobody could see me like this. Nobody would understand.
I hurried to the back of the math building and slumped against the wall. Two words…just two words put a tremble in my hands and doubled me over like a kick in the stomach. I breathed slowly, eyes closed, until my focus returned.
In high school, nothing is sacred. No life-changing moment is yours alone to cherish or regret. Everything is passed around, cheapened, and twisted into lunchroom gossip - something scrawled on Alexis’s table, something for you to face…every day…whether you’re ready or not.
If I found out who wrote it, I’d gladly kill them, tie them to the table, and burn the lot.
Two words.
Ellie jumped.