NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

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sharondotson
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1970s Historical Fiction

Post by sharondotson » July 9th, 2021, 5:31 am

Jack Dare waited until after five o’clock. That way the secretaries would be gone. No reason they should suffer through this. He glanced at his watch. Five-ten. The price of time was far exceeding the cost of working there even one more minute. If-only-I-had, if-only-I-had.

“Those are the saddest words in the world,” his father used to say. “Don’t wait for an invitation to get off your ass and do what needs to be done.”

Jack tossed his coat over his arm, hoisted his briefcase and headed for the records room where his law partner Warren Guillory stood before a bank of file cabinets riffling through documents. Guillory didn’t look up.

“Hey-uh. Well, how was Houston? Why’d Ed drag you all the way down there this close to Thanksgiving?”

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Guillory rolled right on by.

“How’s ol’ Ed doing these days? Bet the poor bastard’s gone bald by now.” Guillory, who liked to brag his hair was as thick as pea soup had never met a bald head he didn’t take the time to insult.

“He's fine. Houston agrees with him.”

Guillory eyed Jack over his shoulder. “That so?” He pulled out a document, glanced at it, then stuffed it back in the drawer. “Greenhaven was never good enough for that prick. He wanted out of here as fast as he could go.”

Inventing facts was Guillory’s M.O., but Jack couldn’t give him a pass on this one. “Ed practiced law here for fourteen years, Warren. That’s not exactly hightailing it out of town.”

“Shit, you know what I mean. Ed’s was the poster child for unbridled ambition. President of this. Winner of that. Always on the make.”

Jack rolled his eyes, a gesture he would have skipped had Guillory been looking straight at him.

JRTomlin
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by JRTomlin » July 16th, 2021, 4:54 pm

The Noblest Knight
Historical Fiction

When Thomas Randolph stepped through the side door into the refectory of Cambuskenneth Abbey, the place was already abuzz. The scent of the building, the tang of cold stone, mixing with the sweet scent of beeswax polished wood and candles, tickled his nose. At the far end beneath a high crucifix, a dais had been erected, covered with rugs, and on it sat an elaborately carved abbot's chair that would serve as a throne. A pity it was not gilt, but they had had little time to prepare for the arrival of the Pope's emissaries. A throng of colorfully clad nobles surrounded the dais quietly engaged in speculating in a hum of murmurs.
James Douglas, joined him. "What do you think?"
"We are ready," Thomas said. He turned back to the open door and nodded.
The King flicked his purple, fur-lined cloak hemmed with gold thread to settle it better around his shoulder and strode into the room. Behind him, Robert de Keith, Marischal of Scotland, a good man who had broken the English archers at Bannockburn, carried the huge sword of state to stand behind the King as a symbol of his protection.
The herald intoned, "Lord Robert, King of the Scots."
Everyone bowed deeply as the King sat, his polished and gold etched plate armor gleaming.
Beams from the windows lit the gold circlet on his uncle's hair though Thomas saw strands of white mixed into his it. He went to stand next to the throne, and his heart sped up as he signaled to the herald.

Vivienne Sang
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by Vivienne Sang » August 21st, 2021, 1:29 pm

Title:
Horselords
by V.M.Sang
Fantasy
250 words

Kimi woke to hear sounds of horses whinneying. A gate creaked and she heard galloping hooves. Leaping from her bed she ran to the window of her small bedroom. There, in the darkness, she could just make out a herd of horses disappearing across the plains, with horsemen driving them westward. Her hand flew to her mouth.
Her window overlooked the corral where the family kept their best horses. These animals were now disappearing over the horizon. She rushed to her parent's bedroom. “The horses have been stolen.” She turned to her brothers' bedroom to wake them, too.
“Are you sure, Kimi?” her father called as she woke her two brothers. He came out of his bedroom pulling on a pair of the leather trousers the Horselords wore.
The girl came out of her brothers’ room, followed by the young men, Yeldin and Olias. The boys were older than their sister, Yeldin being the elder at almost twenty, and Olias was eighteen. Kimi would be seventeen at her next birthday in two months' time.
“Of course I'm sure, I heard the gate creak, then the sound of hoofbeats. I looked and saw them galloping off over the plains.”
Olias looked at his sister. “Are you sure they didn't just jump the gate, or otherwise break it themselves. Did you see anyone?”
Kimi looked at her brother and sighed. “I'm not an imbecile, Oli. Unless the horses have now developed a way of opening the gate, someone did it for them.”

lizy2shoes
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by lizy2shoes » September 3rd, 2021, 7:00 pm

Title: Carousel
Genre: Sci-Fi

First 250 words:


For me, today was sixteen years ago. This time I’m going to get things right.

Atop a snarling yellow horse on the merry-go-round, a small child waves to her guardian on the sidelines; the tinny, mechanical carousel refrains of My Darling Clementine weaving in and out of the horses and children as she circles round and round.

Yes, I remember that kid, that song. This is the day.

I sit on a nearby park bench and take in the setting, scanning and searching my memory.

The kid, the song, the merry-go-round in the park. I had been wearing that sweater my grandma had made, the purple one. It was itchy. I didn’t like it, but that day had been brisk and I hadn’t owned many sweaters back then.

What had I, the adult me, been wearing? I try to remember… I remember thinking I was tall, very tall, and I had a patchy, scraggly beard.

I avoided shaving this month for just that reason.

But what if I had shaved this morning? Would this still be the day?

What if I’ve made a mistake? Chose a different path somewhere in all these years…will today still be the day?

A small panic somersaults in my chest. My God, this is insane. I’m insane! I’ve lived my entire life anticipating an event that very well may have been a dream! I’ve wasted decades waiting for a metaphysical scene that might never happen!

And then, there he is: the wool sweater weaving through the scrubby brush and elm trees that surround the merry-go-round, the color of the yarn intensified by the clouds that suddenly roll in.

giffmacshane
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by giffmacshane » September 4th, 2021, 6:47 pm

Genre: Historical Fiction/Romance
Working Title: Twelve Trees

Alicia Beaufort bounced like the kangaroos she’d seen the last time her father dragged her to his Zoological Society meeting. Up and down, up again on the stagecoach seat, until her bones had turned to jelly. Dirt and dust trickled around the canvas window coverings, creating an atmosphere almost too thick to breathe. The shades were meant to keep out the heat as they lurched through the desert, but to Alicia it seemed hotter than any hell ever preached at her. Even the veil she’d wrapped twice around her face didn’t prevent the sand from settling in her nose, her hair, her eyelashes.

Another bump and she slid forward, would have landed on the floor if a strong hand had not held her in place. She smiled grimly at her benefactor.

“Thank you.” She tried to sound sincere as she jerked her arm away. For the past two days that man had been touching her at every opportunity, and she was heartily sick of him. Safe in the knowledge that the noise of the wheels would mask her words, she turned away and added, “I know your type, you smarmy bastard.”

Alicia allowed herself a small smile. Cursing improved her mood. It was a newly-acquired skill and she hadn’t found many opportunities to use it. Her grin widened at the memory of Geoffrey Blandings standing with his mouth agape as she’d cursed at him ferociously. Looking back, it was even more comical—she’d learned most of the words from him.

SMStevens
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by SMStevens » September 7th, 2021, 9:42 am

Title: Beautiful and Terrible Things
Genre: General Fiction

First 250 Words:

Charley jerked her head away too late. The scramble of bloody fur on the asphalt imprinted itself on her brain as a shudder coursed through her body. She stopped jogging at the edge of the two-lane thoroughfare slicing through the heart of Founders Park. Resisting the urge to flee past the carcass, eyes averted, she inched toward it, feeling an obligation to acknowledge the damage and her potential role in it.

The squirrel lay on its back, mouth agape in what Charley imagined to be a silent scream. A spot of red blossomed across the white canvas of its belly. A passing breeze fluttered the wispy tail, startling her. She shuddered again and embraced her torso, the internal heat from her morning run entirely dissipated.

“I’m so sorry, squirrel. I hope you don’t have babies at home who need you.”

At a loss for anything else to say or do, she moved on, crossing the street and continuing down the park trail. She broke into a fast jog, not to outrun the shower that had begun plunking generous droplets on the trail, but to hasten her trip home so she could bury the roadkill image behind her rigid morning regimen.

Back in her bare apartment above the bookstore, she stopped in the bathroom to turn on the shower—number one, then hung her sweaty jogging shorts and tank top off the sides of the laundry basket in her bedroom—number two. Number three, while the water warmed, she pulled out black jeans and a short-sleeved top.

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pabrown
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by pabrown » September 9th, 2021, 11:24 pm

Title: Here Be Dragons
Historical
First 250

Six-year-old Catherine went into the sea on the ship's third day. Her stoic mother and brothers succumbed soon after. Each linen-covered corpse, delivered to the gray waves, brought renewed weeping from the steerage class passengers.
Johnny Dorlan joined in the grief, but not the crying. Culyan men didn't cry.

The wee bairn, Sarah, lingered beyond her family's deaths. Even knowing she was alone in the family's third-class cabin, her cries went unanswered. Everyone, empty of tears, empty of hope, only wanted their journey to end. For sure, no one would enter the cabin to tend the babe, or find out if she was ill, or just hungry.

The following day, Johnny waited for the crew to take action, but no one stepped forward even as the baby's howl overpowered the screeching sea birds. By day's end the baby's cries weakened. Cold relief swept over the ship. No one pretended to care anymore.

The shrieks, interspersed with soft infant sounds, took Johnny back to the Guardia barracks where the explosives they'd been trying to set had gone off prematurely. Seamus, his brother, lay on the blackened, rubble-strewn floor, holding his stomach as his guts spilled. His screams brought no more help then than the baby's did now.

With an oath he left the rail, pushing others out of his way. He plunged down the ladder to the second-class family cabin level. The door to the O'Neil's cabin remained open in the crew's haste to remove the bodies.
GK Parker
http://gkparkernoir.com/

History like you've never seen

Blanche2021
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by Blanche2021 » October 12th, 2021, 12:41 pm

Title: 'Journey To Love'
Romance
First Page

‘I should be in a convent?’ Virginia Warner spun her head around to face her friend, Dorothy
Baxter. That’s a strange thing to say, what do you mean?’
‘Remember how you couldn’t wait to leave home, your eyes glued to the calendar, willing the days away to your escape?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Virginia lifted her eyes. A deep groan escaped from her throat.
‘And I’m very happy to be here. A smile lit up’ her face.
‘But what’s the point if you’re not going to have fun. I can’t believe that you intend going through three long years of nurse training without a fella, and cloistered in this nurses’ home.
You might as well be a nun. Good looks are wasted on you. Men would stumble over
themselves for you.’
‘Thanks for the compliment, and I do intend having fun, going to lots of parties and all the places I couldn’t go when I was at home, but I don’t want to get involved with anyone until I’ve completed my training. I want to be the best nurse at St. Faith’s.’
‘Well if that’s the sacrifice we have to make, you can count me out.’
‘Not a sacrifice really. Truth is...I’m saving myself until I meet the right person.’
‘Ooh,’ Dorothy raised an eyebrow and looked askance at her friend. ‘I am impressed.
You’re not called Virgin--ia for nothing. But why do I hear your father’s words echoing in your head. Mind while you’re so busy saving yourself, you don’t let Mr. Right pass you by and you end up an old maid like Home Sister and matron. This is nineteen sixty-six. The age
of women’s liberation and free love. You can loosen your chastity belt, but beware an uninvited visit from the white stork. If you know what I mean.’

Marlo
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Historical Fiction

Post by Marlo » October 29th, 2021, 6:44 pm

San Francisco, California March 1900
Against my better judgement, I have accompanied my Aunt Netta on the ferry to San Francisco this fine day. Determined to sign a new young writer for her literary magazine, she’ll wheedle me into editing and reviewing his work then publish it under her own byline. After all, when I was orphaned as a child, she took me in. I owe her, even though I am twenty-nine, educated and employed. Sometimes I love her; yet, I hate that I do not say “NO” to her demands of me. I always capitulate.
We walk up Market Street and enter the vestibule of Young’s Café. I regard this lone person reflected in the mirrored walls. He sports an ill-fitting white linen suit, rumpled, but clean. Slim, yet solid, he appears younger than his purported twenty-four years. He grinds out his cigarette on the checkered marble floor and exhales as he steps toward us. I cannot tolerate tobacco. Its odor makes me nauseous. I steel myself to survive this lunch appointment.
“Mrs. Eames,” his voice a surprising tenor. “This must be Miss Kittredge—your niece, Charmian.”
Netta Eames plays stubby fingers over gray waves held tight against her head by a fist of a bun. A tiny woman in a black serge suit, she moves like a jerky charcoal drawing.
“Charmian. Meet my new writer, Jack London,” she simpers.
Mr. Jack London doffs his newsboy cap, dousing his forehead with a cascade of chestnut curls and turns to me.

NeilH
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by NeilH » January 8th, 2022, 6:47 am

Title: January's Child
Genre: Thriller

It had begun to snow again. He stood at the window, peering past the edge of the closed curtains. It was already dark, but the streetlights illuminated all for him to see, despite the falling snow. His name was Matt Sterling, though the name was fiction, like most of his life. 

The cars had arrived an hour ago, standing out, stark against the white backdrop. There were two vehicles, black Suburban SUVs, one directly across from the house, another farther down the street. They were not hiding their presence, but it seemed they were prepared to sit and wait. The snow had settled on the roof of the one across the road, but the hood was clear. The engine was still running. They were keeping warm — or ready for action.

A figure hurried past the end of the driveway, dressed in a pink parka with the hood up. He recognized their next door neighbor, Alice, despite not being able to see her face. She was being dragged along by an energetic bull terrier. His name was Monty, and when Monty decided he wanted to go out, rain or shine, or snow, Alice took him.

He could see her look towards the SUV parked directly across from the driveway. Knowing Alice, by the time she reached the corner, she would call the cops. She was not a trusting soul, seeing conspiracy and threat hidden in every shadow, which was interesting, seeing as she had lived next door to them for the past ten years.

If the occupants of the vehicle across the street were who he thought they were, the cops would not be coming.

rfavis
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by rfavis » January 28th, 2022, 5:03 pm

Withdrawn
Last edited by rfavis on February 11th, 2022, 4:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.

charleswhite
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by charleswhite » January 28th, 2022, 8:49 pm

UNANSWERABLE QUESTIONS
Literary Fiction

This woman needs love and affection in the worse way, which I’m in no position to give her. How can I support her in attracting those necessities to herself? How can I help her exorcise her demons and get her to pry open up her cedar chest of broken dreams? Dr. Noland wondered, as he leaned back in his Charles Eames’ aniline leather lounger, watching Leah Houston stroll across his Serapi Oriental hand-knotted wool area rug. She reminded him of an anxious, anorexic version of the actress Anne Hathaway, a scrawny cat that had been hit by a car on a rainy night and left to die yet had somehow found the strength to pick herself back up. Her body exuded a coppery, chemical-like odor and she seemed friendless and possibly suicidal. The arm pits of her clingy white running outfit were soaked and there were coffee or cola stains in the shape of a spade over her heart. Her pallid, perspiring face, along with the saggy gray crescents beneath her night-blue cat-like eyes, made her look much older than thirty-six.
As Leah seated herself on the walnut/Italian leather armchair, he glanced at his poster of Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” on the wall behind her and took confidence from her enigmatic smile. What’s Leah’s story? Why has someone as attractive as she once was let herself get ground up by the cement mixer of the world? What is the color and state of her mind?

Mckeone1
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by Mckeone1 » January 29th, 2022, 4:45 pm

THE CHOICE - A psychological thriller

CHAPTER 1

Mikey took the corner at speed and slammed the brakes.
‘Jesus, Man,’ Chats shouted, putting his hands out to stop being flung against the dashboard. He pulled a joint from behind his ear. His hand shook as he lit it.
‘That’s it,’ Mikey said pointing to a large Victorian house on the corner where a slit of light peeked through makeshift curtains.
A cloud of soft smoke filled the car. Outside, flies danced in the headlights. In the deserted cul-de-sac, a silver BMW raced past screeching to an abrupt stop. The driver’s door flung open. Curly jumped out, his bald head shining under the streetlight.
‘Respect.’ He hit Mikey’s knuckles through the window. ‘Ready, boys.’
They followed him up the steps. Chats pulled his hood further down. His heart was thumping. Boom. Boom. Boom. Curly banged the door with his fist. A fleeting shift of curtain. Footsteps. Light steps not heavy like a man’s. The rattle of a chain. A key turning. A slither of face poked through the doorway.
‘Open di fuckin’ doa,’ Curly shouted, kicking the door with his foot.
The safety chain drawn back the door swung open. A girl stood in the doorway holding a baby. Her hair was matted. Even in the dim light of the hallway, Chats could see she was terrified.
‘Weh him?’ Curly said.
She started to stutter.
‘Weh di fuck him?’
The baby started to cry.
‘Shut dat fuckin’ ting up.’
Chats took a sharp intake of breath as Curly shoved his way into the hallway pointing the Mac10 at the woman who staggered backwards.

ttatjana
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by ttatjana » January 31st, 2022, 2:15 pm

Cassidy Spy - Romantic Suspense

I came to another set of stairs topped by a door. Taking the stairs two at a time, one final shove at the heavy metal door deposited me out into the light. Finally! Had I actually gotten out? The contrast of the tunnels with my new surroundings momentarily blinded me, forcing a pause to figure out where the hell I’d ended up. Best guess, my sprint through the bowels of the gargantuan hospital had brought me to the far end of the hotel lobby next door. Apparently, they were connected. Relief at my escape faded quickly as I listened for footsteps in my wake, waiting for the goons to burst through the door on my heels. I heard nothing.
It soon became clear that no one had seen me busting into the lobby, despite how conspicuous I felt with the bright spotlight of sun blaring through the oversized windows. I could’ve used a cloud cover today, but perhaps that was due to my foul mood at being betrayed and set up for murder. I should’ve seen the sign of impending doom while out at dinner earlier had I been paying attention. Though if I’m being honest, there were signs and flags way before that, several in fact. But that’s for a retrospective when I’m not being chased down by a pack of ex-Navy SEAL security agents, one of whom I was on a date with (and more) quite recently. And I call myself a good judge of character. Classic Cassidy.

ilos
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Re: NEW - Nominate Your First Page for a Critique on the Blog

Post by ilos » February 3rd, 2022, 5:04 pm

Title: Kokuzek, the never land
Genre: Novel - Fiction based on a true story
250 words
Sonia grabbed her sheet music and hurried into the living room to tell Papa she was leaving. His small frame was sunk so deeply into his favorite leather armchair, she would have missed him in the faint light had she not seen the white newspaper on his lap.
She went to the window and drew open the drapes to let the June sun flood the room. “Good morning, Papa.”
He looked up. “Good morning, child. Leaving so early? Must be the rehearsal.” His cheeriness belied the tension in his face.
“What is it, Papa?”
He didn’t answer and didn’t smile.
She didn’t need worries today, not before her concert tonight. “I know. Ilyusha declined the invitation to my concert. But Liza will come, won’t she? I want my sister there; her husband can stay home if he wants.”
Papa’s expression didn’t change, which meant he must be disturbed about something else. She waited. Would he say what it was?
He lifted the newspaper and pointed to the front page. “The war is here.” His voice was gruff.
She winced. “War? Not in Latvia.”
“The Germans are at our border.” He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t want to live through another war. The Great War was bad enough. But still, I can't see how we’ll avoid being entangled in this one as well.”
Sonia hugged her music. The Germans would never attack Latvia and fight the Red Army, would they? Latvia wasn’t a small country anymore; it was part of the Soviet Union for a year now.

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