Page critique 7/22/21

Offer up your page (or query) for Nathan's critique on the blog.
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Nathan Bransford
Posts: 1448
Joined: December 4th, 2009, 11:17 pm
Location: New York, NY

Page critique 7/22/21

Post by Nathan Bransford » July 19th, 2021, 12:44 pm

Below is the page up for critique on the blog on Thursday. Feel free to chime in with comments, create your own redline (please note the "font colour" button above the posting box, which looks like a drop of ink), and otherwise offer feedback. When offering your feedback, please please remember to be polite and constructive. In order to leave a comment you will need to register an account in the Forums, which should be self-explanatory.

I'll be back later with my own post on the blog and we'll literally be able to compare notes.

If you'd like to enter a page for a future Page Critique, please do so here.

Title: The Simeon Scroll
Genre: Thriller

The man came rapidly out of a troubled sleep. He lay there in the darkness, unsure for a moment where he was. He moved his head cautiously, his eyes gradually adjusting to the gloom, trying to identify what had awoken him, but aware only of the rapid thump of his heart.
Familiarity returned slowly. A temporary bed in temporary accommodation. He realized he was holding his breath and let it out with a quivering sigh, still trying to identify the strange disquiet he felt. But it remained elusive.
He pushed aside the coarse blanket and swung his legs out of the narrow cot. An ancient slit window cast a pale pool of moonlight into his humble accommodation, a room barely wider than his outstretched arms. A hint of sickly, sweet sulfur wafted in on the early morning desert breeze, carried up from the shore of the Dead Sea, three hundred feet below.
He padded across the cold stone floor in his bare feet and filled an earthenware bowl from a large jug. He splashed the cool water on his face and across his body, then dried himself quickly. He slipped on a sweatshirt and worn denim pants, and stepped into a pair of leather sandals, then pulled on a traditional, grey, monk’s habit.
He stood for a moment of contemplation, repeating a silent prayer. But it did little for the unease that sat deep and disquieting in his gut.

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