Nathan Bransford - The Forums

Hi all, I'm Graham, 34, and working the day job whilst redrafting a novel whenever I spot a pocket of free time.

I've got a gangly first draft of an adult crime/social drama based in Manchester, England. There's a guy trying to get away from his old life, and a whole mess of circumstances and old friends slowly dragging him down into hell. It's violent, in parts, despite the main character's best efforts at a clean life.

I'd like to link up with someone who wants to critique my novel, and help me see the forest of words from a fresh perspective. Is that you? I'd love to give feedback on your work too.

How many words?

I don't do editing or grammatical analysis.

I’m looking for a critique partner for my 90k word crime novel/psychological thriller. I sent it to agents but was rejected and I’m wide open to critiques to improve it. My criteria for critiquing your book is your protagonist and storyline have to engage me, and I’d like you to read enough of mine so you feel the same.

Storyline:
Journalist JuShon investigates the death of a young woman found dressed in an ancient Roman gown, lying in the redwood forest above Oakland. Meanwhile, a former high tech executive stalks a woman who does expressive dance to jazz on a stripper’s pole. As the first body becomes two then three, JuShon finds she is being investigated in return.

Opening:
To reach the body before the crime scene techs threw a tent over it, JuShon ran through the gloom, dancing between dark the potholes and erosion ditches that pocked the hard clay trail. Rounding a bend, she stopped short—a policeman lit by the orange glow of his cigarette, stood at the entrance to the forest path up the mountainside. A young couple sat on a stump near the cop, arms wrapped around each other, hunched over like mushrooms in the moonlight. She couldn't distinguish words, but heard the boy's choked fearful tone, and girl's soothing response. Witnesses.
JuShon checked the gps Video-Bob had sent her. Due west, up the slope. She grabbed branches and pulled herself up, and with her phone on dim, side-stroked through intertwined oak and thorny nettle. V-Bob had promised her the body was “ultimate cool, blow-out news.”
Bright spotlights twinkled through the brush, and she clawed her way to the edge of an illuminated teardrop shaped clearing of grass and brush. A policewoman unrolled yellow crime tape, tying it to trees, while two techs walked a grid pattern, eyes on the ground. Two more knelt, working on something hidden behind bright yellow flowering scotch broom—the body.

If interested, please respond.