GUTGAA Week 4: First 200 Words

For the final week of the Gearin' Up to Get an Agent blogfest, hosted by the amazing Deana Barnhart, we are perfecting our first pages! First we're posting them on our blogs and hopping around to give feedback and advice. (One of the query contestants last week was smart enough to take MY advice and made the finals!) :D (No, I'm not bitter.)

Then, by Tuesday at 3:00 PM EDT, we email our official entries to Deana, where they will be judged by a team of preliminary judges and then by Agent Kathleen Rushall of the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency and by writer Monica B.W..

Yes, yes, I know. I just posted for a first page contest last week. That was a different contest. With different judges. And different participants (probably). If you helped me out with that one, feel free to either help again or ignore this post.

UPDATE: Once again, based on the awesome comments, I've revised the first page and would like feedback on whether I've been successful in fixing the issues you all saw. The original is just below, with the revision after that. Thanks, everyone!

So, without further ado, I present my first 205 words for my YA Fantasy:

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party would merit a special dispensation of luck. She didn’t even bother to grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with Moria and launched herself out the palace window.

The first flash came from her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, it was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. The cover hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.

So, what do you think? Got any advice that will help me beat you in the contest? :D

REVISION (210 words):

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her questionable best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party deserved a special endowment of luck. She didn’t even grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with her best friend Moira and launched herself out the palace window into the sweltering air of San Antonio, Texas.

The first flash came from her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings froze in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, the magazine cover was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, forcing her human and pixie classmates to swerve around her.

 Annnd... cut! Is that any better?

Contest with Teen Judges!

I couldn't resist this one. Brenda Drake is hosting a blog fest with four teenage judges. They're reading the  35-word pitch / loglines and first 250 words of each entrant's WIP, and choosing which one they'd buy. The winner gets a synopsis and 10 page crit, which is so perfect for me, since I'm really worried about my synopsis-writing skills. :)

Now, if I understand the rules right, you get to help me fix my entry before it is judged on the 20th (when I will post it to the entry site). So please feel free to be candid and brutal. I like winning more than I like compliments and I'm perfectly capable of ignoring advice I don't agree with. :)

Without further ado....

35-Word Pitch:

Humans are used to pixies, but human-pixie hybrid Brina will have to leverage her differences to understand her heritage, slow the flow of illegal dust, and win the heart of a certain charming Midsummer ass. 

UPDATE: Based on all the wonderful comments, I've flipped things around a bit. The original (246 words) is below, followed by the revision (249 words). Please comment on whether the revision fixes the problems, introduces new ones, and (if it comes to that) which you like best. Thanks so much!!

First 246 words:

The magazine cover taped to her locker hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.
Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and forced herself to breathe. Stretched her lips into a slight smile. Pressed her head to the side, as if she were pondering a pleasant surprise. Ignored the churning in her stomach.

Soon, she’d be able to shove her feet forward. 

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best, but she’d been running late after her workout, and hadn’t even bothered to grow to human size first. Instead, she’d left her backpack and schoolbooks with Moira and rocketed out the palace window toward home and her mom’s birthday party. 

The first flash had come from off to her left and, like an idiot, she’d twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk. 

As a special bonus, this particular picture had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Revision (249 words):

Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her dubious best.

She knew it, but figured hurrying home for her mother’s birthday party would merit a special dispensation of luck. She didn’t even bother to grow to human size first, but left her purse and car keys with Moria and rocketed out the palace window toward home.

The first flash came from off to her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.

As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo had captured the moment her four bright white wings had frozen in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward. The resulting portrait could have been entitled “Freak, Falling” but instead the headline proclaimed: “Human-Pixie Hybrids: The Last American Taboo.” That worked, too.

Naturally, it was taped to her locker first thing Tuesday morning. The cover hadn’t been torn carefully, and a jagged gash ripped halfway through Brina’s right wing. As if she needed help looking ridiculous.

Brina stopped dead in the middle of the hallway and forced herself to breathe. Stretched her lips into a slight smile. Pressed her head to the side, as if she were pondering a pleasant surprise. Ignored the churning in her stomach.

So what do you think? How can I make it utterly un-put-down-able?

Writing About Fathers

It's Father's Day tomorrow! Time to turn all gushy about how much we love the fathers in our lives. Well, unless we're busy writing top ten lists about the worst fathers in the world.

There are a lot of fathers in fiction. I haven't made an exhaustive study, but it seems that quite a lot of them are bad fathers. Why? Because that makes for greater tension. Better conflict. If a character has had to forge their own way in the world, or to overcome a really bad parent, that character has a lot of depth that can be explored as the writer tortures them some more.

'Cause we writers are sadistic like that.

One of my favorite musicals is Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim. Act II, of course, is the best one. Happily Ever After is over, everything the fairy tale characters achieved in the first act is revealed to be rather empty / problematic / messy / fake. Oh, and a giant comes to avenge her husband's death.

Has anyone noticed that the parents in that play are almost universally deficient? All the mothers die, with the sole exception of Cinderella's evil step-mother. All the fathers are absent at some point, either emotionally or physically. Usually chronically absent.

There's a turning point in the play, after the baker's wife is killed, leaving the baker a single parent. The baker, true to the form of the play's fathers, hands his baby to Cinderella and walks away, determined to find someplace to live without so much dang trouble. Along the way, he runs into his own father, long suspected dead (after stealing greens and consequently losing his daughter, Rapunzel, to the witch, and his wife to death-by-grief). This absent father passes on some much-needed fatherly advice to the baker: running away doesn't help. Have a listen:



After this song, the baker returns to the remaining group, they carve out a plan to kill the giant's wife, sing a poignant song about how no one is alone, and end triumphant, though still grief-stricken. The baker goes on to actually parent his child.

One of my college roommates played Cinderella in her high school production of Into the Woods. She told me that the boy who played the baker had a real-life absent father, and he was thrilled when his father decided to attend the play. I'm sure he imagined that the song No More could spark a similar turnaround. At the halftime intermission, his father came backstage to congratulate him... and to say he was leaving early.

In my own WIP, I have a variety of parents. Absent, involved, theoretically-fine-but-never-mentioned, overbearing, loving, etc. I'm working on helping my parents be more "real," which is hard when I'm already over-budget on word count. Still, little by little, I'm slipping in moments with parents.

In honor of Father's Day, I thought I'd post a snippet of my WIP, showing my MC's relationship with her father. Hope you like it:

Dad pulled back and lifted Brina's chin in time to see the first tears spill down her cheeks. “Hey, now, none of that.” He gently brushed them away and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. Brina wrapped her arms around his chest, between his upper and lower wings, and squeezed.

“They hate me, Dad.” Brina’s voice was almost carried away by the soft morning breeze.

“They don’t know you, Brina. They’re scared of you because you’re different. They hate your skin and your wings, but they don’t hate you. That’s impossible. If you let them get to know you . . . .”

“They don’t want to know me.”

Dad pulled back again and held her shoulders. His face was intent as he stared into her eyes. “That’s what makes this such a great opportunity for you. They’ll be forced to spend time with you outside the classroom. To see you as a person, as a fellow actor. You’ll see. It’s really hard to hate someone you work with—especially when that someone is as cool as you are.”

Brina looked away. “Dad, I’ve been going to school with them for ten years. One play won’t change things.”

Dad smoothed back her hair from her face. “Try it out, and I won’t make you do it again, okay?”

From Brina’s window below them, she heard her mom call up. “Brina! Rand! Breakfast is ready!”

Neither of them bothered to yell back, since she’d never hear them. They were too small. Instead, Dad climbed to his feet and held out his hand to help her up.

Brina put her hand in his, but looked away toward the rising sun as she stood.

Dad squeezed her hand. “This too shall pass, darlin’.”

Brina nodded, then drew a deep shuddering breath, wiped away her tears, and flew down to get ready for school.

So what kind of parents do you have in your WIP?

That's YAmore Blogfest

Yay! My first blogfest! Over at Oasis for YA, they're hosting a Valentines' day blogfest. I was invited to participate by Jessie Harell, who I've recently "met" and like already. Blogfest participants post "250 romantic, swoon-worthy words from your YA WIP" in honor of the most romantic day of the year. Well, who can resist that?

Therefore, for your (hopeful) reading pleasure, I now present the very first excerpt from my WIP. Enjoy!

“Why don’t we catch a movie?”

Brina’s wings drooped a bit. “I get kicked out of human theatres. Too much glow. It’s why my parents caved and got Netflix.”

“Really? Wow.” Ethan thought a moment. “Do you get kicked out of ice cream parlors?

“Not that I can recall.”

“There’s this great place near the Riverwalk. What if we go there, and then watch a movie at your house?”

Brina smiled. “You want to watch a movie with my family?”

Ethan’s eyes twinkled in the streetlights. “They’ll love me. Plus, I figure if you’re home early, I’ll get a longer date. Make up for the awful party I took you to.”

Brina fought back a giggle, but couldn’t tone down her permagrin. “Sounds good.”

“First, though,” he said, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night that I won’t get a chance to do at your parents’ house.”

“What?” Brina ruthlessly stomped on a rising thread of hope. He couldn’t mean….

Ethan stepped closer, pressed her lightly against the car, and cupped her jaw in his hand. “This,” he said, as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Ethan’s kiss was utterly different from Louie's. Instead of just resting against hers, his lips moved, rocking first one way and then the other. Every nerve ending in Brina’s body buzzed, and she held onto his arms with hands gone numb. Kissing Ethan was like taking a direct jolt of Yellow dust with a chaser of White. It was better than flying.