Page critique 5/21/20

Offer up your page (or query) for Nathan's critique on the blog.
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Nathan Bransford
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Joined: December 4th, 2009, 11:17 pm
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Page critique 5/21/20

Post by Nathan Bransford » May 21st, 2020, 10:06 am

Below is the page up for critique on the blog today. 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.

Most people hear about something tragic and say, “Oh, that’s horrible.” They go on about their business, and live their lives. I’m not most people. I don’t just hear about tragedy. I feel it. My mama says I’m too empathetic, but my dad says I have the feelings of an angel. Empathy, angel, it all boils down to one thing – I’m cursed. I see things before they happen.
When I was six, a terrible thing happened, a swarm of bees attacked the neighborhood know-it-all, Tamara Stevens. My sister, Beauty, told me about the incident two hours after it happened. She said Tamara’s white skin turned tomato red blowing up in pockets all over her face and body. She couldn’t see. Beauty said, “Oh, it was horrible,” but then, she went and stuffed her face with butter pecan ice cream. I knew exactly when it happened and I felt each one of the stings. My vision was blurry for a week after the incident and my skin still itches when I think about it. The details of the memory are as crisp as the lines in a coloring book.
Tamara was reciting a paragraph of Encyclopedia Brown to her four-year-old brother, as if he would remember who wore what during the Civil War. She wore pink and yellow faded almost white to match her skin. She looked deathly. Her mouth moved in o’s and her teeth formed a lot of s’s, but the thing that stayed with me wasn’t her words. It was fear. The kind of fear that stays frozen inside you to keep you all winter on the outside. It’s a second skin that never warms. Tamara lived several blocks down from me. It was her fear that made me see her and him – The Sandman, a vampire demon who took your eyes and soul?

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