Questions for Your Beta Readers

Your novel has been edited within an inch of its life, gone through to your critique partners and developmental editor, been edited some more and you're ready for the final feedback loop. You're ready to send your book to your beta readers.

It's tempting to send your manuscript along with a "what do you think?" and leave it at that, which totally works for some people, especially those with whom you have a long history of sharing your writing. But with others, you're going to want to provide more direction about the type of feedback you're looking for.

I always send the below list of questions to my beta readers with the caveat - I know you're not a professional editor so I've provided the below questions as guidance to frame your reading. Do not feel compelled to give detailed replies to each! You're my last reader before my book hits the virtual shelves and I'd rather know what's not working before piling up bad live reviews!

A.    Opening:

• Were the first paragraphs and first page compelling? Did they make you want to keep reading? If not, where did you stop reading?
• Did you get oriented fairly quickly at the beginning as to whose story it is, what’s going on, and where and when it’s taking place? If not, what were you confused about at the beginning?
• Did the story hold your interest through the first few chapters? Or is there a point where your interest started to lag?

B.    Characters:

• Could you relate to the main character? Did you feel her/his pain, joy, fears, worry, excitement?
• Which characters did you connect to and like? (or love to hate)
• Are there any characters you think could be made more interesting/developed more?
• Did you get confused about who’s who in the characters? Are there too many characters to keep track of? Are any of the names or characters too similar?

C.    Dialogue:

• Did the dialogue sound natural to you? If not, whose dialogue did you think sounded artificial or stilted?

D.    Setting

• Were you able to visualize where and when the story is taking place?
• Did the setting pull you in, and did the descriptions seem vivid and real to you?

E.    Plot, Pacing, Scenes:

• Was the story interesting to you? Did it drag in parts?
• Which scenes did you really like?
• Which parts were exciting and should be elaborated on, with more details?
• Which parts bored you and should be compressed or even deleted?
• Was there anything that confused, frustrated, or annoyed you?

F.    Writing Style/Tone/Voice:

• Do you think the writing style fits the story and genre? If not, why not?

G.    Ending:

• Was the ending satisfying? 
• Was the ending believable?

H.    Grammar, spelling, punctuation:

• While you were reading, did you notice any obvious, repeating grammatical, spelling, punctuation or capitalization errors?

Do you use beta readers? What kind of guidance do you give them, if any? Are there additional questions you'd add to this list?

Eek! A critique! Of a YA myster-eeeeeeeee

Okay, people, help a girl out. This book is becoming the bane of my existence. I have no idea what works, what doesn't. If my narrative voice is any good, if the characters are compelling. I know nothing.

In this scene: Troy, nearly 18, is lamenting the fact that his estranged sister, who he hasn't seen in three years, recently stood him up.

Also, this is set in 1995 -- hence the answering machine and handwritten note.

Gracias in advance.

**

Troy returned home to a note in Jerry’s handwriting and a twenty dollar bill tacked up on the fridge with a magnet.
Client dinner. Order a pizza. Invite Caitlyn over. Her parents are in Aruba.
Only Troy’s parents would encourage he hang out with the pretty blonde neighbor girl without any adult supervision. But then again, Troy’s parents knew him. Caitlyn, however, didn’t. He’d eat the pizza alone.
He ran upstairs to his bedroom, dropped his car keys on his nightstand, and shucked off his boots. The button on his answering machine blinked. Troy exhaled. It had to be Miranda. He was already bracing for her excuses.
Sorry, I forgot the time.
They changed my schedule at work and I couldn’t call you.
I overslept.
I’m in a ditch somewhere.
He pressed the button.
“Hey Troy, Coach Shipman calling. I saw you at the open meet…” Troy deleted the message.
That was it.
Nothing from Miranda. He’d give her a few more days before he swore off her forever. Like she did to him the day she left.
“Don’t worry, little bro. I'll be back one day,” Miranda had said. She rubbed the top of his head, even though he was taller than her at this point. Three years apart, they were often mistaken for twins.
Dressed in ripped jeans, a sweatshirt, and armed with a duffle bag, Miranda had one foot out her window before Troy caught her.
“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” he asked.
She glanced away, toward the street. “You know how I hate the emotional stuff. Besides, I didn’t want you ratting me out to Mom and Jerry.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” He was desperate to pull her inside the window, tie her up, make her stay. He’d been out of Hulbert a year and things hadn’t felt any better. “Can’t you just move nearby? You don’t have to live here.”
She shook her head. Dark strands of hair got caught in her mouth, but she was holding on so precariously to the window ledge, she couldn’t risk letting go to smooth back her hair. “I want to see places. I’m itchy.”
Troy quickly unclipped the cross from his neck and fastened it above the collar of her shirt. “Take it. You can always pawn it if you need the cash.”
Miranda smiled softly. “Thanks.” She looked down before swinging out her other leg and dropping to the ground, landing with a thud. It was an easy eight-foot drop.
Miranda was fearless. Reckless. Impulsive. Troy used to be like that.
“I’ll send you postcards,” she whispered up to him. Then she took off down the long driveway, disappearing into the dark.
Troy stared out the open window for awhile, ignoring the chill, adding Miranda to the list of people lost to him.
Three years later, she intruded into his life with a phone call. Made him drive up to Cohosh only to disappear again, probably halfway to Nashville or Atlanta. Maybe she was on a plane headed to Europe. But, she led him to believe she’d be there to see him.
Miranda was still reckless. 

EEK! PUT SOME PAGES UP FOR A CRITEEEEEEK: A collection of shorts

Hey, everybody!  It's time for another installment of "Eek! Put Some Pages Up For Criteek!"  In case you don't remember the deal, you can check out Jonathan's original post including the rules. 

I have this WIP where I hope to create one large story knitted together through a collection of short stories. This Eek! is from the first story, Megan. You hereby have my permission to shred/praise/toss/tout/completely rewrite the first two pages. Happy reading. And be gentle!

~Carrie

“How can you say being invisible wouldn’t be fun? How would you know?” Noah stared at her, disbelief mixing with anger.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had the superpowers conversation. As annoying as it was, she took some comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only big sister who had to relive this particular debate over and over again. Usually, she just nodded and agreed that whatever superpower Noah was fixated on for the day would be the most awesome thing in the world.

But that particular morning she just couldn’t bring herself to agree. She didn’t mean to say what she did because she knew he wouldn’t understand. At eight the world still looked as though it could be anything he wanted it to be.  Despite his innocence, or maybe because of it, she found herself wanting to say more. She wanted to tell him that she did, in fact, know what it felt like to be invisible.

That as soon as she got out of the car she’d once again don her cloak of invisibility.

She wanted to warn him that while being invisible would allow him to move from place to place unnoticed, it also had consequences. After a while, he would start to question his own existence. The cloak of invisibility is heavy and he wouldn’t have the power to just remove it whenever he wanted. Others would have to remove it for him.

But she didn’t say any of those things because he wouldn’t understand. She’d already said too much and his innocent feelings had been hurt. Besides, she had reason to hope that this would be the day when someone would permanently lift her cloak of invisibility. Why dwell on the negatives?

“I’m just kidding with you, Noah. Of course being invisible would be awesome.” She tried to put as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible, but the look on Noah’s face told her he still didn’t trust her.

The car pulled to a stop at the front of the car line and she slowly got out, her mom calling to her before she could shut the door.

“Megan, are you sure you’re going to be all right until after your game tonight?”

She always asked, and while Megan appreciated it, she wished her mom wouldn’t. Every time her mom asked the question, Megan had to lie. She had to tell her that of course she’d be fine. Megan had to stay at school until after the game, and her mom couldn’t come because of work and Noah. Why tell her mom the truth—that she’d be miserable and alone—just to make her feel even guiltier than she already did?

“Yeah, of course I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

Megan closed the door and turned toward the school. It loomed over her, and she immediately started to feel the weight of the cloak. She tried to shake it off with each step, but it wouldn’t budge.

She entered the building, a ghost walking unnoticed through the crowded halls. As she did every morning, she tried her best to connect. She looked at her classmates as she passed, trying to pull their eyes to hers. She gave them a slight smile or nod. Their eyes often linked with hers, but they didn’t connect. They looked through her, not at her.

She was the girl everyone knew, but no one noticed.

She had gotten used to it. She learned to accept it. She was able to find a way to be a ghost, existing only when someone removed the cloak for her. In some ways she liked it. No one bullied her. No one took advantage of her. No one expected things from her that she couldn’t deliver.

But she couldn’t hold on to those positives for very long. The loneliness and self-doubt eventually took over, nearly suffocating her.

This was the first day in a long time she felt the heaviness so early in the day. She always felt the burden from the moment she woke up, but she could usually endure until the final bell rang. Since she’d been given the hope of a different day, she thought it would feel lighter than normal. Instead, it felt heavier.

She held her breath as she turned the corner, even though she knew he wouldn’t be there. He was never there before her. But still—there was always the possibility, and she couldn’t seem to keep herself from hoping.

She released her breath slowly as her eyes fell on the empty space in front of his locker. She glanced around as she walked, not really looking for him, but looking just the same. The usual groups were all accounted for, talking over each other in frantic sentences to get in as much gossip as possible before the bell rang.

She moved forward, unnoticed.

Someone accidentally bumped her shoulder as he passed by, and for a moment her cloak shifted. She was rewarded with a polite and apologetic smile before she became invisible once again. She reached her locker and looked down the hall once more as she unpacked her bag, hoping to see Brett.

Instead, she saw the one person at school who she knew was genuinely happy about her existence. Emma was her savior in many ways, but Megan didn’t think she knew it. Sure she often told Emma she was an awesome best friend and that her life wouldn’t be the same without her, but she didn’t think Emma fully understood the truth of her words. Emma wouldn’t understand it if Megan told her she made her feel as though the cloak didn’t exist at all.

Eek! It's ANOTHER Criteek!

I'm going to step out of my Resident Reader role again for another Eek! Criteek! post. As you may recall, I posted the first chapter of my YA dual-narrative sci-fi-ish WIP, Revealed, back in November. Today I'm sharing chapter two. 

Here's the blurb I posted last time: 

A secret society of special abilities, the Order, becomes unbalanced when Jaycen Towle acts on his desire to use the gift he was born with to become a superhero. Cara Wallace, a gifted outsider, is sucked into Jaycen’s world when she discovers his secret and believes the Order may have answers about the parents she barely knew. But are the Order’s answers really worth the shattering they cause both Cara and Jaycen?

Without further ado, here's my chapter two (hey, that rhymes!). 

Jaycen

   “Come in,” my father’s rough voice called through the thick wood of his office door before I even had a chance to drop my fist. My heart hammered and my hand shook ever so slightly when I twisted the cold metal knob. The door closed behind me and my father, Salem Towle, looked up. “Ah, Jaycen,” he smiled. “Take a seat.” He motioned toward the padded chairs across from his mahogany desk, but continued skimming through the stack of papers in front of him. It would be an eventful summer at the bed and breakfast we used as a cover for the Order’s headquarters, so I wasn’t surprised to find him in his office at this late hour. It bothered me when he did that, though. I needed his undivided attention.

   I spoke while standing, too nervous to sit. “There’s this girl at school,” I blurted out.

   He finally looked up with a smirk, a glint to the same blue eyes I saw in the mirror every morning. “Are we due for another one of those talks?” he asked. I wasn’t in the mood. In fact, his untimely joke rubbed me the wrong way and, however briefly the thought flashed, I almost backed out of the office. My awkwardness must have been pretty obvious because his face cleared and he simply waited. The clock above his head ticked away the empty seconds. When I didn’t start again, he impatiently asked, “Well, who is she?”

   “Her name is Cara Wallace.” Just saying her name sent chills up my spine.

   He shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s her Talent?”

   I reached up to rub the back of my neck nervously. Just spit it out, I urged myself. “Well, that’s the thing. You don’t know her. She’s, um…well, she’s not in the Order.” As soon as the words were out, relief washed over me at finally confiding in someone. After all, I had been observing her for the better part of a year now. But at the sharp look on my father’s face and the wrinkles that lined his forehead, I wanted to suck them back in.

   “Jaycen, there are rules against that,” he said, solemnly. Here I was telling him about my first crush and instead of clapping me on the back, he was crushing me with rules of the secret organization he held so dearly.

   I started to say, “But dad, it’s different with her. She’s different--” before he cut me off with a movement of his hand that brushed aside my words.

   His sigh was made louder by the quiet room. “Is this really worth discussing? I can’t change the rules, even for you.” While he managed the Order’s headquarters, he was right. He was not a Superior- the leaders and enforcers of our organization. And since Cara hadn’t been born into our exclusive society the way everyone was...

   “Dad, I really think there’s something there.” I paused to consider my words. “I mean, it’s weird. She doesn’t even watch where she’s going. I swear, it’s like she can tell where people are around her, but it’s only with people. She walked right into a door one day.” The memory caused a smile to tug at the corners of my lips, but I cleared my expression to mirror my father’s. He had to take me seriously with this.

   “That doesn’t mean anything, son.” He continued shuffling papers around his desk, again making me feel like I was interrupting him, even with the late time. “Maybe she’s really looking under her lashes or something.”

   My eyes rolled. “What about her facial expressions then?” He looked up, but only for a moment. “The looks she gives people…” I sighed, exasperated. How could I make him understand if I wasn’t even sure I understood myself? “Her face contorts like someone insulted her, but no one addresses her at all. She always has this look of…panicked concentration.” I hesitated. “I gave her a ride home tonight.” He didn’t need to know the context in which that ride was offered.

   My father’s head jerked up to study my face before he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His attention was on me now. There was no turning back, but I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

   “And?” he prompted. His graying eyebrows hovered toward his hairline.

   I slipped into one of the padded chairs in front of his desk, scooting to the edge with anxiousness. “Her parents are dead. I don’t know the details, but she’s adopted. Isn’t it possible that she doesn’t know anything about the Order?” His eyes widened while mine narrowed in response. “Well, is it possible?”

   I watched as my father took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, but it did nothing to release his tension. His body held rigid and his appearance took on his actual mid-fifties age. When he leaned forward and clasped his hands on his desk, I realized I was about to fall out of the chair, hanging onto what he might say. I wanted him to tell me it was possible. I wanted him to say there was a chance I could get to know Cara.

   Finally, my father spoke, slicing the silence like a knife through butter. “Jaycen, why wouldn’t she know about the Order, if in fact she has a Talent?” His question dimmed the light inside me, but I wouldn’t let it extinguish entirely. My father continued on without a beat, knowing I wouldn’t have an answer. “And even if that was a possibility, how would you approach such a topic without revealing what you are?” Part of me wanted to see the curiosity in his eyes, but his tone said otherwise. If only he knew I’d already crossed that bridge.

   I sighed in exasperation and hung my head with my fists balled against the seat. This wasn’t what I had hoped to get out of our conversation. Saying nothing at all would have been more inspiring. And I needed some inspiration. At least something to get me thinking about anything other than how to talk to her.

   My father took my silence as an invitation to lecture me. “Son, you know the rule. And you know why that rule is in place. ‘Good order is the foundation of all great things.’ We need to protect those great things, which is why it is vital for us to blend in. You’re not going to blend in so well if you’re spending your time chasing after a girl you may very well never have a chance with. Not to mention you’re bound to secrecy. Could you really keep that secret in a relationship with a Norm? The Order won’t allow it and I stand by that.”

   I didn’t have to look up at him to see his expression. His eyes would be hard, his eyebrows straight lines above them, with lips pressed together in solidarity. I had seen it before- when I had asked to join one of the school’s clubs, try out for a sport, or get a job working for someone who wasn’t in the Order. It was ridiculous how controlled my life was by the Order when, in fact, the Order was supposed to be the one place I was free to be my true, Talented self. “That great thing is my prison,” I mumbled.

   His blue eyes narrowed, but he pretended not to hear my remark. “Son, I'm warning you. Do not get involved with her.” My eyes shot up and locked on his. He put his hands up, palms out, to silence my protest. “If you cannot be trusted to do that, I will not be able to stop the consequences. If she had confessed an ability to you, now that would be an entirely different story. But you cannot take any chance of exposing us for some little crush you’ve developed.” His gaze held mine for a moment to seal his words before returning to his paperwork. That was my dismissal.

   I almost growled as I stormed out of his office, letting the door slam behind me as I went. I had barely made it down the hallway when a voice broke the silence.

   “That was a nice trick you played,” Brian barked. Of course he was pissed at me. Using my Talent on him wasn’t something I did. Another rule I broke tonight. I should have been defending him, not working against him.

   “Don’t take it personally,” I replied, not meeting his harsh glare. I had other things--other people--on my mind and the last thing I wanted to do was listen to Brian lecture me after my dad had already done that. And if that’s the only reason he was at Headquarters this late, he was wasting his time.

   Brian laughed and took a step closer to block my way toward the door I needed. “You know the rule. Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?”

   My eyes rolled away from him as I tried to step around him. He shifted to stop me again and I finally met the gray daggers of his eyes. “Like I said before, it wasn’t your place. Just like it’s not your place to lecture me about it.” This time I slipped around him and our shoulders rubbed as I passed.

   His words slammed into my back. “Do you really think the Order’s going to let you go through with this?” My jaw clenched. “I heard your dad tell you to stay away from her. It doesn’t matter what you think you’ve seen in her. All the Order is going to hear is that she’s a liability, a loose end that needs to be taken care of.” My back absorbed the heat of his words. “And I will be ready to take care of it when you can’t.”

   Every muscle in my body braced for a fight. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to whip around and crush his nose, friend or not. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of sending me over the edge. Before he could act on the Order’s behalf, he’d have to tell a Superior. And he wasn’t going to risk having to explain what we were doing in the alley in the first place, not to his grandfather. Without even a backward glance, I forced my feet, one step at a time, to carry me through the door and down the stairs to my room.  

--Brianna Lebrecht 

Eek! Put some pages up for a criteeeeeek: A cozy mystery

In addition to my YA stuff, I'm working on an adult cozy mystery series starring Marty Melman, a 60-year-old curmudgeon inspired by my dad. For you mystery novices out there, a cozy mystery is usually set in a small town, where the murder and violence happen off stage. There's no swearing and no sex and nothing graphic. There's also a delightful cast of quirky characters and a slew of suspects. Cozies are more about the characters and the puzzle than the crime. It's escapist mystery for those who find Making a Murderer way too real (raises hand).

In this scene, Marty comes home from bike riding to find out a man he loathed (his daughter's ex) is dead. I'd appreciate any and all comments.


Geared Toward Murder
by Kimberly G. Giarratano

Marty put his key in the lock and opened the front door. The sun was dipping low in the sky, bathing the house in an orange light. It wasn’t late, but daylight savings time always had that way of blanketing the town in darkness before anyone was ready for it. Marty was grateful he wore his hooded sweatshirt. The mile ride home was far easier than the three miles he had ridden that morning. His rubbed his still sore rearend.
Marty tapped his sneakers against the door saddle, trying not to track in extra dirt that he would have to vacuum later. Now that Marty was on a forced retirement and home all the time, he was responsible for the housekeeping.
“Joanie? You home?” he said from the foyer.
“Marty is that you?” Joanie called from the living room.
“Who else would it be?”
“We’re in the formal living room,” she said, her voice shaky.
Marty dropped his wallet and keys into the ceramic catch-all bowl on the vestibule table before heading into the living room. They never used this room, except for company.
He halted at the sight of Jason, Miranda, and Joanie sitting on the beige Ethan Allen couches, wringing their hands. And some stranger. A man in his mid-30s with dark hair. He wore a suit and a navy tie with a pin.
Marty’s eyes flitted around. “What’s going on?”
Joanie leaped to her feet. She was still wearing her nurses uniform. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been worried. Your bike ride ended hours ago.”
Marty inwardly cringed. He thought about lying, but he was reading something in the situation that said this was serious and shouldn’t be taken lightly. “I went to see my dad.”
“I knew it!” Jason cried. “You owe me and Mom fifty bucks.”
“Not now, Jason,” Joanie barked.
“What’s going on?” Marty asked. “You’re freaking me out.”
The young man came forward and extended his hand. “I’m Detective Smalt. I came to speak with you about Dr. Gary Highhouse.”
Marty shook the young man’s hand. “What kind of name is Smalt?”
“Marty!” Joanie chastized.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Melman,” said the detective. “I get asked that a lot. My grandparents were British.”
“Oh,” said Marty. “So, not Jewish?”
The detective shook his head.
“Better luck next time,” Marty said, before taking a seat on the end of the sofa. “What’s this about High-louse?”
Miranda hissed, “Daddy.” Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. “Gary’s dead.”
Marty’s eyes widened. “I just saw him.”
Detective Smalt withdrew a small notepad and pen from his suit jacket pocket. “When?”
Marty held his gaze on the detective who was poised to take notes. “This morning. He was at the Old Spokes ride. I don’t know, 9:50, I guess. The ride started at ten. What happened?”
“He had an accident on the trail,” Jason filled in.
“Well, it wasn’t an accident,” Det. Smalt pointed out. “Someone sabotaged his brakes. He took the curve too fast and …”
Miranda sobbed loudly. Marty put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and tried to comfort her. “It’s okay, honey.” He gave Smalt a glare. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out there trying to figure out who killed the guy?”
Smalt softened. “Witnesses say you and Dr. Highhouse weren’t on the best of terms. You were arguing this morning.”
“The guy was a two-timing louse,” Marty quipped.
“Marty!” Joanie hissed.
“May he rest in peace,” Marty finished. “Listen, I didn’t like the man. He hurt my Miranda a couple of years ago, but I wouldn’t kill him.”
The detective nodded. “Did you see him on the bike trail?”
Marty shook his head. “He said he was going to bring up the rear. I figured he’d get ahead of me.”
“Why’s that?” Smalt asked, pen paused.
“I’m out of shape,” Marty said glumly. “I’m not fast on the bike — yet. I assumed he’d pass me in no time. But he never did.”
“Witnesses said they saw Gary’s bike on campus, braced against the lamppost. Apparently, he ran into the academics building before getting back on his ride and getting on the trail.” Smalt looked pointedly at Marty.
“Well, I got on the trail immediately, pedaled a few miles, and then veered off toward the Assisted Living place. You can check the visitor’s log.”
“I will,” the detective said. “As a matter of procedure.”
“Right,” Marty answered drily. “Well, you have your work cut out for you.”
The detective rose from the couch and made his way into the foyer. “What’s that mean?”
Marty opened the front door for Smalt. “If his bike was leaned up against he lamppost outside, anyone could’ve had access to it.”
“I realize that,” said Smalt.
“Well, you’ll also realize that Gary wasn’t a good guy. I bet a lot of people wanted him dead.”
Smalt narrowed his eyes. “Including you?”
“You think I’m capable of murder?” Marty let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m a sixty-year-old Jewish man with a heart condition who just bike rode five miles today. I’m lucky I’m not dead.”
Marty waited for Smalt to climb into his unmarked police cruiser before shutting the door.

Eek! Put Some Pages Up for Criteek!

I know I'm one of the resident readers here at Across the Board, but I also write and asked to be added into the rotation for the Eek! segment Jonathan started. 

I have been playing around with Revealed, my dual-narrative YA sci-fi-ish WIP, for the better part of five years and I finally feel like I'm getting closer to where I want it to be. Here's a blurb: 

A secret society of special abilities, the Order, becomes unbalanced when Jaycen Towle acts on his desire to use the gift he was born with to become a superhero. Cara Wallace, a gifted outsider, is sucked into Jaycen’s world when she discovers his secret and believes the Order may have answers about the parents she barely knew. But are the Order’s answers really worth the shattering they cause both Cara and Jaycen?

Now that you know what you're getting yourself into, here's the first chapter for you to help me make better. 

Jaycen

Trevor’s attempted screams were muffled by the gag in his mouth, but I still cringed at the sound. I hated this game of harvesting a gift. I hated Brian for dragging me into this--to cover his own indiscretions, of course--and Trevor for agreeing to spill his blood in the first place, even if he would heal quickly. The blood would be flowing and soon it would be over.

            To distract myself I racked my brain for a way to reach out to Cara, to get her to reveal herself to me so I could reciprocate. There was nothing I could do until she made the first move unless I wanted to break the rules. The brick walls that lined the narrow way were like a reminder of their constraint on my life. 

            As if in reaction to my thoughts, there was movement at the opening of the dark alley. I wasn’t worried--I was shielding to keep us from being detected--but my shield faltered with the adrenaline rush when I recognized those auburn curls. What were the odds that Cara Wallace, the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about, would happen down the same alley I was to be guarding? 

            Crap. It was obvious from her look that she spotted us. Brian appeared by my side and muttered something as the lightbulb affixed to the side of the building went out with a pop. In the span of those few pitch black seconds, instead of fortifying our protection, I made a rash decision, one I would pay for later. I took the first step. This was the revelation. I was inviting her into my world.

***

Cara

            The light in the alley was out, bringing about the eerie realization that I had turned too soon. That somehow made the pounding of my heart seem much louder in my ears. I felt them just before I saw them. The spike of anxiousness, surprise, irritation, and pain ambushed me simultaneously. These weren’t just the feelings of one person. No, the gruesome image revealed four people, all staring at me with mixed expressions of anger and mischief. I threw my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp and noted the new location of my stomach in my throat. One of them bled from where his arm used to be and I had no idea how he was still standing. Oh, please let him still be standing.

            Before I could process what sort of trick my brain was playing on me, a buzzing crack relit the light in the alley. The four guys, who I recognized from our small town school, had moved closer in the dark to where I stood frozen, though one hung back cautiously. My wide eyes darted between their defensive stances and I counted appendages. All arms were correctly placed, but there was a visible puddle glinting in the dim light of the dead end alley. My throat tightened. I didn’t want to think about what that was.

I took an automatic step backwards toward the sound of cars back on the street I should still be on. My heart tried to beat out of my chest and for the first time, I was so overwhelmed by my own emotions that I couldn’t pick up on anyone else’s. The raven-haired guy in the middle flinched before taking a step towards me.

“You look lost,” he said. Brian James. That was his name. I might have been mistaken, but I thought he had a faint grin on his face. I focused on him and his irritation washed over me, even though his sharp features remained relaxed.

I cleared my throat, swallowing the scream that wanted so badly to escape. “You’re right. I think I got too wrapped up in my book and took the wrong turn.” I waved my e-reader like a white flag. Another step backwards followed by another step forward by Brian. He glanced at Trevor Quade and Marcus Sandusky standing to his right, who nodded in response before stepping towards me as well. The fourth guy held back. I tried to catch his eye in a weak plea for help, but a shadow masked his face. 

            “Don’t leave yet,” Brian called. “We want to talk to you for a minute.” Yes, he definitely had a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.

            I took a deep breath to steady myself. “Look, I didn’t see anything. I’ll be on my way. This never happened.” I held my gloved hands up in a shaky gesture, nearly dropping my device.

The guys stopped marching forward, so I started to turn. A hand grasped my left arm and I wheeled around to see who had a hold on me. I couldn’t decide whether or not I was thankful for the thick sweater creating a barrier against Brian’s thoughts as he towered over me. At this proximity, though, I felt him as if I were experiencing his emotions first hand. There was a devious air about him. 

            “I said we need to talk.” He pronounced each syllable fully as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and turned me to walk back the way we came. The sounds behind me faded and the alley suddenly represented one of those caves people disappeared into and never came back.

My heart pounded.

The fourth guy, whose face I could see once we were closer, was still standing where he had stopped. Jaycen Towle kept silent, but I could feel his contemplative state. Fierce blue eyes met mine and he held my gaze. Please don’t let them hurt me, please don’t let them hurt me, I thought over and over again, willing him to hear me.

            “It will be OK,” Jaycen said, still several feet away. The guys around me didn’t seem to hear this. I glanced at them nervously and then back at Jaycen in time to catch his wink. “Brian, let her go,” he said firmly. Brian stood straighter and Trevor and Marcus glanced between them, obviously hearing him this time.  

            “No way. We have to handle this, Jay.” Brian’s hold on me tightened and a whimper rushed out of my mouth. 

            Jaycen took a step forward. “That isn’t your job and you know it.” He looked at me briefly. When he looked back at Brian and friends, his pale brows were furrowed in concentration. All of a sudden, Brian yelped. He released me, placing his hands out in front of himself to swat the empty air. The other two followed suit, stumbling as if they were blind, while I stared, confused, at the scene before me. 

            Jaycen grabbed my gloved hand and pulled me away. “Come on,” he said. We took off in an awkward run with him dragging me. When we reached the mouth of the alley, he pulled me left and guided me towards a dirt-colored truck at the curb. Without asking where we were going, I climbed inside and slammed the door behind me, shoving the lock down with a shaky hand. Relief washed over me as Jaycen’s door closed and he thrust the keys into the ignition. He threw the truck into drive and pulled away from the curb just as his friends appeared in my side view mirror. 

 His truck bumped along the road in silence. My mind raced, dodging the things I wasn’t ready to think about and dancing around the things I was. So many questions slapped me in the face at once. I wasn’t even sure where to start, but I was overwhelmed with the tense emotional atmosphere and couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “I live on Oak Street,” I mumbled. He maneuvered the truck accordingly.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” I wanted to make it very clear that it was his choice to step in. I didn’t want to feel like I owed him anything, though I couldn’t help but feel like I did. “Stand up to your friends, I mean.”

He sighed, not a happy sound at all. “I know,” he said with furrowed brows, as if realizing this for the first time. His emotions shocked me. He was so conflicted. “Trust me, I’ll pay the price for it.” I stared at him for a moment, not sure how to respond. He looked over at me with a quick shift of his ice blue eyes. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll be fine.” His voice was reassuring, but I was still hesitant.

I cocked my head to the side out of curiosity. “Is this...um, whatever you were doing…why you keep to yourself? I mean, to your group?” I thought about all the times I had seen him at school with his friends. And trust me, I had seen him. They seemed to operate as a small diverse community, not allowing new people into their loop and never kicking anyone out.

He chuckled and the sound sent something fluttering inside me. “Could be.” He seemed happier as he looked in my direction again. “So what’s your secret then?”

He caught me off guard, so I looked away. “I don’t have a secret. Why would you assume I have a secret?” I fumbled my hands in my lap.

“Well, you’re not exactly a party animal, are you? I mean, any time I see you, you’re reading on that thing.”

I blushed as I stroked the e-reader where I clutched it in my lap and he smiled. He was starting to relax, which made things more comfortable for me. “It’s a good distraction…” I muttered. His curiosity was piqued and I looked out the window with relief as we turned onto my street. “It’s that one with the red door.” I pointed out the windshield.

Jaycen put the truck in park at the curb and turned to look at me. His apprehension radiated at me, which made me feel nervous too. His blue eyes sizzled and I was lost in them for a moment waiting for him to speak. “Are your parents home?”

“Yes. I mean no. My parents are dead.” How did that spill out? “Nana’s home. I’m, uh, adopted.”

His eyebrows rose into his sandy hair, accompanied by a weird jolt of excitement, but he didn’t say anything else.

Clearing my throat, I mumbled, “Thanks for the ride and...stuff.” 

He nodded and as I reached for the door handle, the same anxious spike I had felt from him earlier filled the truck now. But all he said was, “I’ll see you around. Be careful.”

I scrambled to exit the truck and jogged to my front door, ready to dismiss this whole weird evening. Listening for the truck to pull away, I fiddled with the keys, but it idled there. I turned to wave as the lock clicked and then stepped inside. Once the door was closed, his truck rumbled away, and I leaned against the door for a moment to catch my breath.

“Is that you?” Nana called from her craft room down the hall. I breathed in the familiar scent of home and safety, relaxing at the sound of her voice.

“Yes, Nana. Sorry I’m late. I got caught up on my way home from the bookstore.” I shuddered at this truth.

She chuckled, a comforting sound on a night like this. “I should have known when you missed dinner. I set a plate aside in the microwave for you. Should still be warm.”

The air buzzed the further down the hall I walked. “Thanks. I’m just going to take it up to my room. Homework, you know.” I could hear her sewing machine and knew I was safe to slip away without further elaboration.

When I got upstairs I set my plate of garlic lemon chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes on my nightstand and collapsed onto my neatly made bed. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let the evening play out against my eyelids. It was obvious I had witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to, but I wasn’t sure exactly what that was. Sighing, I opened my eyes and sat up to eat before my chicken was completely cold. But as I cut my first piece and lifted the fork to my mouth, my stomach clenched against the food I was about to offer it. My appetite was gone, just like any chance of sleep after such a crazy evening.

EEK! PUT SOME PAGES UP FOR CRITEEK!

A post by Mary Fan

Eeeeeeeek! My turn! *bites nails* The pages I'm putting up for critique are from a book I'm co-writing with Dean Lombardo. They're the first ones by me, but not the first ones in the book. The book, currently titled The Cave Artist, is MG historical fiction... actually, prehistorical fiction, if that's a thing. It takes place 30,000 years ago and tells the story of 14-year-old Cor, the last Neanderthal in Gibraltar (on the coast of Spain), and 12-year-old Maysa, a member of a Homo Sapiens tribe. After her husband, the ruthless hunter Balt, leads the human warriors in an attack that wipes out the rest of Cor's clan, Cor must run for his life while Maysa, who never fit in with her people, wrestles with guilt over her husband's deed.


This story has been a unique challenge for me because it's so, so, SO different from what I'm used to writing. It's my first foray into MG, and there's no spaceships, no magic, no monsters...

Anyway, Dean is writing Cor and Balt's POV chapters while I'm writing Maysa's. The pages below are the first 3 pages of  Chapter 3, which is Maysa's first POV chapter. Tell me what you think!

Chapter 3

The sun had arced past its midday blaze, but the shades of twilight were still several hours away. Gazing at the rock gilded by the afternoon light, Maysa imagined the forest beyond and wondered how long her cruel husband would pursue the poor savage.

Husband. The word felt so wrong, even in her head, she wanted to spit it out, like she would a toxic berry. For the other women in her tribe, the word “husband” was a source of joy, of endearment, of pride. They’d speak it with their chins uplifted and their lips tilted with fondness—for having found a companion—or vanity, for having snared a worthy mate.  That was because they’d discovered the matches they desired and imagined everyone else had as well. But Maysa saw things differently. While they believed she had the most enviable match of all, she would have given anything to be rid of the wicked man she’d been forced to marry.

A powerful gale blew her long, dark locks across her face, but she’d long ago grown accustomed to the feeling and did not bother with brushing them away. She could not have, in any case, since her basket, filled with dull gray stones, required both arms to hold. A sudden instinct urged her to run into the sea and hurl the basket’s contents into the ever moving surf. Though they were simple rocks at the moment, they would soon be fashioned bringers of death and pain. Worse, she would have to join the other women in shaping them into such.

“Maysa!” The shrill voice of her mother, Noma, rang in her ears. Maysa turned toward the sound. Noma stood in the entrance of the cave, waving her arm in impatience. Upon meeting Maysa’s gaze, the older woman, whose once rich brown hair was now dusted with age, pulled her lips into a deep frown. “What has been keeping you? I did not think stones were so hard to find!”

“Sorry, Mother.” Maysa walked toward the cave, the basket heavy in her hands, and joined the others inside. Near the entrance, where the light was best, a group of five women sat on the ground, each with a basket like Maysa’s beside her. The light of the fire they surrounded glinted off their brown and black hair. They had apparently been at their task—knocking a hard pounding stone into the unshaped rocks to form blades and spear points—for some time. They glistened with sweat from their labor. Ordinarily, such tasks would be performed outdoors. Today, the women had preferred to work inside their new home, as if their prolonged presence would solidify their ownership.

But to Maysa, the cave still felt stolen, which was why she had volunteered to gather more rocks. The very air seemed to accuse her of entering a space that wasn’t hers, and she could almost hear the ghosts of the fallen savages asking how she dared trespass. She tried to ignore the other women’s disapproving look as she sat down beside her mother and placed her basket to the side.

“You must stop letting your head wander into the clouds, Maysa.” Noma sighed. “Losing focus on the present creates space in your mind, which allows demons to slip in. I hope you were not indulging in more foolish daydreams about wildcats.”

A flurry of snickers rippled through the small crowd of women, and Maysa felt her ears go hot. She would always regret the day she let her words get the better of her and shared her dream of leaving the tribe to wander alone in the wilderness, like the stealthy lynx. Oh, how she longed to be free like the bright-eyed predator, and not confined by the laws of her kind! But, as her companions were quick to point out, she would not survive for long if she left. And Gotan had reprimanded her sharply for entertaining such selfish thoughts. The tribe was good to her, he’d said. They provided her with food and shelter and security. What right had she to wish them gone from her life?

Raifa, the medicine woman, repeated Gotan’s question now.  From her position across from Maysa, she seemed to accuse with her sharp eyes, which sat above powerful cheekbones. She was not crafting blades like the others. A woman in her position did not conduct these sorts of rough tasks. Instead, she was using a stone pestle to mix a reddish paste inside a small bowl. It looked like paint, though Maysa couldn’t tell for sure.

Maysa avoided the older woman’s gaze, choosing not to answer. Raifa was supposed to be the wisest of all, wiser even the Gotan, who often sought her counsel. But though she was skilled with herbs and attuned to the ways of the gods, she knew nothing of Maysa’s heart.

Maysa sifted absently through the basket of rocks beside her, loathing the idea of turning the innocent little objects into murderers. That one of her creations might have killed a helpless savage child this very morning made her sick to the stomach. And she was forever bound to a monster who had taken pleasure in the attack.

Had she remained as ugly in womanhood as she had been as a child, she might have been spared the young hunter’s lusty eye. But though Balt had mocked her mercilessly when she’d been a spindly, flat-faced girl whose chin jutted too far, his constant staring had taken on a different meaning once her body had matured to match her long limbs, and her cheekbones had sharpened to offset her angular features in a regal manner. He’d once made fish faces in her presence, taunting her for her full lips, but now his dark eyes sparkled hungrily whenever he laid eyes on them.

Her beauty was her curse, for it had spurred Balt to demand her as his wife. He’d declared that as the tribe’s greatest hunter, he deserved its most beautiful woman. Gotan had been happy to grant his wish, especially after a beaming Noma had wept with joy at having her daughter, whom she’d feared unmarriageable for so long, at last be called beautiful.