Page critique 6/18/20

[Nathan Bransford]

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.

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Title: Faces of War
Genre: Historical

Writtle, Essex
1928

Meg knew she should be at the church helping with the final preparations for the fête, but she couldn't resist the aroma of fresh-baked bread wafting from the kitchen, and the sounds of her boys chattering and the gentle murmur of the housekeeper, Mrs. Patrick. Meg dropped her hat and handbag on the entry hall table and slipped into the cheerful white-tiled kitchen. She poured tea into an old chipped mug, a souvenir of hospital days, and cut a thick slice of bread which she slathered with Mrs. Patrick's damson plum jam.

Her twins, six-year-old brown-eyed miniatures of their father, bounced in their chairs, talking over one another, ignoring Mrs. Patrick's pleas to be quiet so she could hear her program on the wireless. Meg's gaze wandered to the window where blue-checked muslin curtains rustled in the morning breeze. "I'm so glad to see the sun today—it would have been awful to hold Father's celebration in the rain. Did my husband say when he'd be back?"

Mrs. Patrick switched off the wireless. "The doctor's gone to his surgery. He said he'd see you at the church."

"Mum, can we have sixpence for the fête?" Bertie asked.

"There's to be games," Willie added.

"I promised your father I'd help him. I don't know that there will be time." The boys' faces crumpled, and she felt a twinge of guilt for teasing them. "Oh, don't pout. Of course we're going—this is Grandfather's big day."