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.
An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit.
Pliny The Younger
Title: You Belong To Me
Slumbrous eyes fluttered under closed lids as the familiar yet unidentifiable scent of a stranger invaded her subconscious. Plastic snapped somewhere between sleep and reality, and Delia stared through bleary lenses. A tingle filled her chest. Is someone in here? Ears pricked, her heart thumped as she scanned the room. In the semi-darkness, her eyes darted across the vacant bed to the nightstand with the gun inside. Her belly clenched, her fingers touched her bare ring finger and rubbed. The cotton blanket bounced with each breath. A soft glow from the nightlights dispelled the darkness. The feeling of being watched eased from her chest, and she took a shuddering breath.
Metal clinked from the vicinity of the den. What is that? Delia bolted from bed; bare feet slapped in quick succession on the Brazillian hardwood past her daughters’ closed door, relieved the room was empty. Hefting a hand-carved wooden statue overhead, she eased around a corner. A shadow moved like a movie reel between the incandescent swatches of moonlight through the vertical blinds. Eyes wide, her pulse jumped. A frog croaked. What the heck! Her foot lost purchase, and Delia landed hard on her right hip. Ow! The statue thudded, beside her head. Pinpricks of light danced above. She clamored to her feet, the gown whispered against her ankles, and her heart skipped. She released a shaky breath. Crap, I left my phone. Each footfall tightened the knot in her belly, making her ribs ache. Snatching the phone from the nightstand, she made her way back to the living room and peeked out. Her labored breath fogged a circle on the glass as she scanned the semi-dark world outside.
Offer up your page (or query) for Nathan's critique on the blog.
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