Nathan Bransford - The Forums

Andrewauthor wrote:Thanks in advance for any advice offered. All constructive compliments welcome. I'll take extra effort to critique the works of people who help me out (where I can, of course. I wouldn't even know where to begin helping someone write historical fiction, for example)

Also, I'd love comments on my query here: viewtopic.php?f=13&t=2108

FIRST PAGE OF FORTY WINKS

Something was wrong in the in the Aisling household. Gabe could feel it.

Gabriel Donovan Aisling stood in the living room of his home. The home he grew up in. But even that was odd; he was supposed to be away at orientation for college. He had opted to spend his spring break at a week-long introduction to the competitive engineering program he would begin in the fall. He vaguely recalled packing a bag and driving to the university with his best friend. A lot of short, choppy sentences at the beginning of this. Including one fragment and the two independent clauses strung together with a semi-colon. Pobably all of this could be told in two tighter sentences.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. So why was he back here? He couldn’t remember leaving the university. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything leading to this moment, in the living room. He found it difficult to concentrate at all. But the sense that something was terribly wrong caused the hair on the back of his neck rise. He looked around for answers. This is a great place to get deeper into the internal monologue. You're almost there. Put all or most of this in Gabe's thoughts and in his voice.

Everything seemed ordinary. The couch was the same blue floral number; the carpet displayed faint stains left there by three Aisling children. Gabe could see one that was left when he ran into the room after a victorious but muddy football game. A linear grey stain could only be left by his twin brother’s wheelchair and a pink patch was likely a memory of his younger sister’s forays into finger-painting. The sofa faced the fireplace and above the hearth was a bookcase stacked with titles such as The Fool’s Guide to Narcolepsy, 100 Stories for Insomniacs, and the DSM-IV, a catalog of psychological disorders. An awful lot of scene-setting. We need some. This may be just a little too much. Instead of some of the detail, say the titles of the books, I'd like to have another sense involved. Did the house smell wrong? Was there something strange about the texture of something he touches?

Everything was where it should be. Feels an awful lot like the start of the previous paragraph. Gabe’s mother suffered from extreme insomnia and had plenty of time when the family slept to tidy the home. He wondered how she would spend her nights when her sons were away destroying their freshman dorms. Avery was only ten and unequipped to fill the gap in mess-making her brothers would leave. So if it wasn’t the house that bothered Gabe, it had to be something else. I actually think the last sentence is the only one you need from this paragraph.

Gabe opened his mouth to announce his presence. The air tasted stale, and Gabe was struck with a feeling of loneliness. “Mom? Dad?” He waited for a response. “Anyone?” The house was silent. IMO tighten up the earlier paragraphs, because this is the place you're trying to get to. Something's wrong. There's no answer. Now I'm starting to have a sense of dread.

Gabe abandoned the living room for the kitchen. He stepped around the island and checked the refrigerator for notes. Gabe’s mother and father worked odd hours and might have stepped out. But the door was free of fruit-magnet pinned notes indicating they would be away. This paragraph is okay. It doesn't do a lot for me, but it's short. I'm just not sure you need it.

Gabe returned to the living room and began to ascend the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. But as his foot hit the first step, he noticed something odd: two shadows were cast on the stairs. He turned slowly. And the two shadows ups the dread. Everything from her on is pretty good, I think.

A girl was standing in the front door. The oak door was open wide, allowing the bright light behind her to cast a long shadow. The light obscured her features until she stepped forward, slamming the door shut behind her.

Gabe released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the little girl’s features were revealed. “Avery, you scared me. What are you –“ He leaned a little closer, struck by her face.

Unlike the normalcy of the scene around him, Avery was not normal. She wore her school uniform, and her light brown hair hung to her shoulders. But where Gabe expected to see bright, hazel eyes, two black orbs looked back at him. And they watched him with anger. Anger and hunger. She took a step forward and Gabe stepped back, stumbling on the stairs.

“Avery, kiddo, what’s going on?” Gabe extended a hesitant hand toward her.

She blinked and the darkness was gone; her natural eyes danced back and forth, briefly confused. Then her gaze found Gabe, frozen on the stairs, and she began to cry. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to her brother. “Gabe!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him in a soft tackle.

Gabe was too startled to respond immediately. His arms were out to each side and his shirt was quickly becoming wet with tears. “Avery, what –“

She begged, “Gabe, help me, please!” Her plea was muffled by his body. “I’m so tired, Gabe. It just won’t stop.”

“Avery, are you hurt?” Gabe grasped her shoulders and forced her back to examine her for injury. When he did, he was startled to see that she had stopped crying and once again her eyes had become black and her expression had changed to anger. She snarled and reached up to claw at his face.

Andrewauthor wrote:Thanks in advance for any advice offered. All constructive compliments welcome. I'll take extra effort to critique the works of people who help me out (where I can, of course. I wouldn't even know where to begin helping someone write historical fiction, for example)

Also, I'd love comments on my query here: viewtopic.php?f=13&t=2108

FIRST PAGE OF FORTY WINKS

Something was wrong in the in the Aisling household. Gabe could feel it.

Gabriel Donovan Aisling stood in the living room of his home. The home he grew up in. But even that was odd; he was supposed to be away at orientation for college. He had opted to spend his spring break at a week-long introduction to the competitive engineering program he would begin in the fall. He vaguely recalled packing a bag and driving to the university with his best friend. A lot of short, choppy sentences at the beginning of this. Including one fragment and the two independent clauses strung together with a semi-colon. Pobably all of this could be told in two tighter sentences.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. So why was he back here? He couldn’t remember leaving the university. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything leading to this moment, in the living room. He found it difficult to concentrate at all. But the sense that something was terribly wrong caused the hair on the back of his neck rise. He looked around for answers. This is a great place to get deeper into the internal monologue. You're almost there. Put all or most of this in Gabe's thoughts and in his voice.

Everything seemed ordinary. The couch was the same blue floral number; the carpet displayed faint stains left there by three Aisling children. Gabe could see one that was left when he ran into the room after a victorious but muddy football game. A linear grey stain could only be left by his twin brother’s wheelchair and a pink patch was likely a memory of his younger sister’s forays into finger-painting. The sofa faced the fireplace and above the hearth was a bookcase stacked with titles such as The Fool’s Guide to Narcolepsy, 100 Stories for Insomniacs, and the DSM-IV, a catalog of psychological disorders. An awful lot of scene-setting. We need some. This may be just a little too much. Instead of some of the detail, say the titles of the books, I'd like to have another sense involved. Did the house smell wrong? Was there something strange about the texture of something he touches?

Everything was where it should be. Feels an awful lot like the start of the previous paragraph. Gabe’s mother suffered from extreme insomnia and had plenty of time when the family slept to tidy the home. He wondered how she would spend her nights when her sons were away destroying their freshman dorms. Avery was only ten and unequipped to fill the gap in mess-making her brothers would leave. So if it wasn’t the house that bothered Gabe, it had to be something else. I actually think the last sentence is the only one you need from this paragraph.

Gabe opened his mouth to announce his presence. The air tasted stale, and Gabe was struck with a feeling of loneliness. “Mom? Dad?” He waited for a response. “Anyone?” The house was silent. IMO tighten up the earlier paragraphs, because this is the place you're trying to get to. Something's wrong. There's no answer. Now I'm starting to have a sense of dread.

Gabe abandoned the living room for the kitchen. He stepped around the island and checked the refrigerator for notes. Gabe’s mother and father worked odd hours and might have stepped out. But the door was free of fruit-magnet pinned notes indicating they would be away. This paragraph is okay. It doesn't do a lot for me, but it's short. I'm just not sure you need it.

Gabe returned to the living room and began to ascend the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. But as his foot hit the first step, he noticed something odd: two shadows were cast on the stairs. He turned slowly. And the two shadows ups the dread. Everything from her on is pretty good, I think.

A girl was standing in the front door. The oak door was open wide, allowing the bright light behind her to cast a long shadow. The light obscured her features until she stepped forward, slamming the door shut behind her.

Gabe released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the little girl’s features were revealed. “Avery, you scared me. What are you –“ He leaned a little closer, struck by her face.

Unlike the normalcy of the scene around him, Avery was not normal. She wore her school uniform, and her light brown hair hung to her shoulders. But where Gabe expected to see bright, hazel eyes, two black orbs looked back at him. And they watched him with anger. Anger and hunger. She took a step forward and Gabe stepped back, stumbling on the stairs.

“Avery, kiddo, what’s going on?” Gabe extended a hesitant hand toward her.

She blinked and the darkness was gone; her natural eyes danced back and forth, briefly confused. Then her gaze found Gabe, frozen on the stairs, and she began to cry. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to her brother. “Gabe!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him in a soft tackle.

Gabe was too startled to respond immediately. His arms were out to each side and his shirt was quickly becoming wet with tears. “Avery, what –“

She begged, “Gabe, help me, please!” Her plea was muffled by his body. “I’m so tired, Gabe. It just won’t stop.”

“Avery, are you hurt?” Gabe grasped her shoulders and forced her back to examine her for injury. When he did, he was startled to see that she had stopped crying and once again her eyes had become black and her expression had changed to anger. She snarled and reached up to claw at his face.

Andrewauthor wrote:Something was wrong in the in the Aisling household. Gabe could feel it. I think you can come up with a more dynamic opening line than this.

Gabriel Donovan Aisling stood in the living room of his home. The home he grew up in. But even that was odd; he was supposed to be away at orientation for college. He had opted to spend his spring break at a week-long introduction to the competitive engineering program he would begin in the fall. He vaguely recalled packing a bag and driving to the university with his best friend.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. So why was he back here? He couldn’t remember leaving the university. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything leading to this moment, in the living room. He found it difficult to concentrate at all. But the sense that something was terribly wrong caused the hair on the back of his neck rise. He looked around for answers.

Everything seemed ordinary. The couch was the same blue floral number; the carpet displayed faint stains left there by three Aisling children. Gabe could see one that was left when he ran into the room after a victorious but muddy football game. You could make this sentence more dynamic by changing it to something like, "One darkish spot was all that remained of his victory dance after a muddy football game." A linear grey stain could only be left by his twin brother’s wheelchair, and a pink patch was likely a memory of his younger sister’s forays into finger-painting. The sofa faced the fireplace, and above the hearth was a bookcase stacked with titles such as The Fool’s Guide to Narcolepsy, 100 Stories for Insomniacs, and the DSM-IV, a catalog of psychological disorders. Your formatting may have been eaten by the forum post, but just make sure you italicize those titles.

Everything was where it should be. Gabe’s mother suffered from extreme insomnia and had plenty of time when the family slept to tidy the home. He wondered how she would spend her nights when her sons were away destroying their freshman dorms. Avery was only ten and unequipped to fill the gap in mess-making her brothers would leave. So if it wasn’t the house that bothered Gabe, it had to be something else. This last sentence doesn't seem to fit with the rest of this paragraph.

Gabe opened his mouth to announce his presence. The air tasted stale, and Gabe was struck with a feeling of loneliness. “Mom? Dad?” He waited for a response. “Anyone?” The house was silent.

Gabe abandoned the living room for the kitchen. He stepped around the island and checked the refrigerator for notes. Gabe’s mother and father worked odd hours and might have stepped out. But the door was free of fruit-magnet pinned notes indicating they would be away.

Gabe returned to the living room and began to ascend ascended the stairs to the second-floor bedrooms. But as his foot hit the first step, he noticed something odd: two shadows were cast on darkened the stairs. He turned slowly.

A girl was standing in the front door. The oak door was open wide, allowing the bright light behind her to cast a long shadow. The light obscured her features until she stepped forward, slamming the door shut behind her.

Gabe released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the little girl’s features were revealed came into focus. “Avery, you scared me. What are you –“ He leaned a little closer, struck by her face. This feels like an unnecessary stage direction, so I added a new sentence to the next paragraph.

His voice trailed off. Unlike the normalcy of the scene around him, Avery was not normal. She wore her school uniform, and her light brown hair hung to her shoulders. But where Gabe expected to see bright, hazel eyes, two black orbs looked back at him. And They watched him with anger. Anger And hunger. She took a step forward, and Gabe stepped back, stumbling on the stairs.

“Avery, kiddo, what’s going on?” Gabe extended a hesitant hand toward her.

She blinked, and the darkness was gone. Her natural eyes danced back and forth, briefly confused. Then her gaze found Gabe, frozen on the stairs, and she began to cry. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to her brother. “Gabe!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him in a soft tackle.

Gabe was too startled to respond immediately. His arms were out to each side and his shirt was quickly becoming wet with tears. Tears soaked his shirt. “Avery, what –“

She begged, “Gabe, help me, please!” Her plea was muffled by his body. “I’m so tired, Gabe. It just won’t stop.”

“Avery, are you hurt?” Gabe grasped her shoulders and forced her back to examine her for injury. When he did, he was startled to see that she had stopped crying. and once again Her eyes had become again black again, and her expression had changed to anger twisted. She snarled and reached up to claw at his face.

Andrewauthor wrote:Thanks in advance for any advice offered. All constructive compliments welcome. I'll take extra effort to critique the works of people who help me out (where I can, of course. I wouldn't even know where to begin helping someone write historical fiction, for example)

Also, I'd love comments on my query here: viewtopic.php?f=13&t=2108

FIRST PAGE OF FORTY WINKS


Gabriel Donovan Aisling stood in the living room of his home. The home he grew up in. But something was wrong. He could feel it.
His very presence there was odd; he was supposed to be away at orientation for college (this threw me off because orientation is traditionally in the fall, at the beginning of the school year. so perhaps use a different word than 'orientation'?) . He had opted to spend his spring break at a week-long introduction to the competitive engineering program he would begin in the fall. He vaguely recalled packing a bag and driving to the university with his best friend.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. So why was he back here? He couldn’t remember leaving the university. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything leading to this moment, in the living room. He found it difficult to concentrate at all. But the sense that something was terribly wrong caused the hair on the back of his neck rise. He looked around for answers.

Everything seemed ordinary. The couch was the same blue floral number; the carpet displayed faint stains left there by three Aisling children. Gabe could see one that was left when he ran into the room after a victorious but muddy football game. A linear grey stain could only be left by his twin brother’s wheelchair and a pink patch was likely a memory of his younger sister’s forays into finger-painting. The sofa faced the fireplace and above the hearth was a bookcase stacked with titles such as The Fool’s Guide to Narcolepsy, 100 Stories for Insomniacs, and the DSM-IV, a catalog of psychological disorders.

Everything was where it should be. Gabe’s mother suffered from extreme insomnia and had plenty of time when the family slept to tidy the home. He wondered how she would spend her nights when her sons were away destroying their freshman dorms. Avery was only ten and unequipped to fill the gap in mess-making her brothers would leave. So if it wasn’t the house that bothered Gabe, it had to be something else.

Gabe opened his mouth to announce his presence. The air tasted stale, and Gabe was struck with a feeling of loneliness. “Mom? Dad?” He waited for a response. “Anyone?” The house was silent.

Gabe abandoned the living room for the kitchen. He stepped around the island and checked the refrigerator for notes. Gabe’s mother and father worked odd hours and might have stepped out. But the door was free of fruit-magnet pinned notes indicating they would be away.

Gabe returned to the living room and began to ascend the stairs to the second floor bedrooms. But as his foot hit the first step, he noticed something odd: two shadows (a second shadow?) were cast on the stairs. He turned slowly.

A girl was standing in the front door. The oak door was open wide, allowing the bright light behind her to cast a long shadow. The light obscured her features until she stepped forward, slamming the door shut behind her.

Gabe released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the little girl’s features were revealed. “Avery, you scared me. What are you –“ He leaned a little closer, struck by her something unusual about herface.

Unlike the normalcy of the scene around him, Avery was not normal. She wore her school uniform, and her light brown hair hung to her shoulders. But where Gabe expected to see bright, hazel eyes, two black orbs looked back at him. And they watched him with anger. Anger and hunger. She took a step forward and Gabe stepped back, stumbling on the stairs.

“Avery, kiddo, what’s going on?” Gabe extended a hesitant hand toward her.

She blinked and the darkness was gone; her natural eyes danced back and forth, briefly confused. Then her gaze found Gabe, frozen on the stairs, and she began to cry. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to her brother. “Gabe!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him in a soft tackle.

Gabe was too startled to respond immediately. His arms were out to each side and his shirt was quickly becoming wet with tears. “Avery, what –“

She begged, “Gabe, help me, please!” Her plea was muffled by his body. “I’m so tired, Gabe. It just won’t stop.”

“Avery, are you hurt?” Gabe grasped her shoulders and forced her back to examine her for injury. When he did, he was startled to see that she had stopped crying and once again her eyes had become black and her expression had changed to anger. She snarled and reached up to claw at his face.

Andrewauthor wrote:Thanks in advance for any advice offered. All constructive compliments welcome. I'll take extra effort to critique the works of people who help me out (where I can, of course. I wouldn't even know where to begin helping someone write historical fiction, for example)

Also, I'd love comments on my query here: viewtopic.php?f=13&t=2108

FIRST PAGE OF FORTY WINKS

Something was wrong in the in the Aisling household. Gabe could feel it.

Gabriel Donovan Aisling stood in the living room of his home. The home he grew up in. But even that was odd; he was supposed to be away at orientation for college. He had opted was supposed to be spendING his spring break at a week-long introduction tothe competitive engineering program seminar? he would begin in the fall. He vaguely recalled packing a bag and driving to the university with his best friend.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. So why was he back here? He couldn’t remember leaving the university. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything leading to this moment, in the living room. He found it difficult to concentrate at all. But the sense that something was terribly wrong caused the hair on the back of his neck rise. He looked around for answers.

Everything seemed ordinary. The couch was the same blue floral number; the carpet displayed faint stains left there by three Aisling children. Gabe could see one that was left when he ran into the room after a victorious but muddy football game. There was a linear grey stain could only be left by left by his twin brother’s wheelchair and a pink patch was likely a memory of from his younger sister’s forays into finger-painting. The sofa faced the fireplace andabove the hearth was a bookcase stacked with titles such as The Fool’s Guide to Narcolepsy, 100 Stories for Insomniacs, and the DSM-IV, a catalog of psychological disorders. This goes here. Gabe’s mother suffered from extreme insomnia.He wondered how she would spend her nights when her sons were away destroying their freshman dorms. Avery was only ten and unequipped to fill the gap in mess-making her brothers would leave.

Everything was where it should be. So if it wasn’t the house that bothered Gabe, it had to be something else.

Gabe opened his mouth to announce his presence. The air tasted stale, and Gabe was struck with a feeling of loneliness. The loneliness should be foreshadowed in the previous paragraph. “Mom? Dad?” He waited for a response. “Anyone?” The house was silent.

Gabe He abandoned the living room for the kitchen. He stepped around the island and checked the refrigerator for notes. Gabe’s His mother and father worked odd hours and might have stepped out. But the door was free of fruit-magnet pinned notes indicating they would be away.

Gabe returned to the living room and began to ascend the stairs, 'intending to check' He hadn't gotten there, so you can't mention that he did to the second floor bedrooms. But as his foot hit the first step, he noticed something odd: two shadows were cast on the stairs. put in active voice. He turned slowly.

A girl was standing in the entry front door. The oak door was open wide, allowing the bright light behind her to cast a long shadow. The light It obscured her features until she stepped forward, slamming the door shut behind her.

Gabe released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the little girl’s features were revealed sounds formal. Maybe 'he recognized her'. “Avery, you scared me. What are you –“ He leaned a little closer, struck by her face The horror of the situation for Gabe doesn't come through with this phrase.

Unlike the normalcy of the scene around him, Avery was not normal. All telling. She wore her school uniform, and her light brown hair hung to her shoulders. But where Gabe expected to see bright, hazel eyes, two black orbs looked back at him. And they watched him with anger. Anger and hunger. She took a step forward and Gabe stepped back, stumbling on the stairs.

“Avery, kiddo, what’s going on?” Gabe extended a hesitant hand toward her.

She blinked and the darkness was gone; her natural eyes danced back and forth, briefly confused. Then her gaze found Gabe him, frozen on the stairs, and she began to cry. Tears poured from her eyes as she ran to her brother. “Gabe!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him in a soft tackle.

Gabe was too startled to respond immediately. His arms were out to each side Huh? did he hug her? and his shirt was quickly becoming wet with tears. “Avery, what –“

She begged, “Gabe, help me, please!” Her plea was muffled by his body. “I’m so tired, Gabe. It just won’t stop.”

“Avery, are you hurt?” Gabe grasped her shoulders and forced her back to examine her for injury. When he did, he was startled to see that she had stopped crying Period. and once again her eyes had become black and her expression had changed to anger. She snarled and reached up to claw at his face.