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Let’s all brew a cup of tea and join the characters having tea in this illustration by Denise Holmes. Seems like a great way to enjoy reading the critiques done by Agent Rachel Brooks for September’s first page winners.

Denise Holmes created the above illustration for a collective called The Happy Happy Art Collective. She is represented by Nicole Tugeau over at T2 Illustrators. Her first picture book was released in June 2014 – If I Wrote A Book About You by Stephany Aulenback! Here is Denise’s website: www.niseemade.com

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Agent Rachel Brooks from the L Perkins Agency critiqued the following first page winners. Hope you take the time to read. You can learn a lot from listening to what the experts have to say about a first page, even if it is written by someone else.

CODENAME FOX by Donna Maloy

PROLOGUE. London. September, 1800.

I was all of seven years old, but Noreen’s iron shovel looked to me as big as a Scots battle axe. It clanged on the stone floor, not an arm’s length from my head.

“Oh, please don’t hit her!” my brother cried, yanking on her skirts.

But the scullery maid was determined. Her shovel banged down again, this time against the hearth behind me. A piece of stone whizzed past my whiskers.

“Get out o’ me way,” she told Graham. “Nasty, dirty thing that is. Tracking flour all over me clean floor.”

With a yell like a savage pirate, four-year-old Graham chomped down on her arm. The shovel flew out of her hands, clattering to a stop—right in front of Papa’s black, spit-polished boots. He’d come to see what all the noise was about. Now I was in a different sort of trouble.

With a sob, Graham pulled at Papa’s leg. “Make Noreen stop trying to kill Celia!”

Papa’s head jerked up and he looked toward the corner where I crouched.

“Celia?”

I couldn’t see any point in lying. Shaking with fear, I looked up and nodded.

He stared at me. Of course I didn’t look much like an Ashleigh right then. I looked like a small, flour-speckled mouse.

“Come here,” he said, much too calmly. I could almost feel a spanking on the way.

“Miss Ce-Celia?” Noreen frowned. “But that’s only a dirty little mousie, idn’t it? What’s wrong with killin’ it?” She backed up against the chopping table, eyeing my father and me as if she didn’t know which of us worried her more.

“Get out,” Papa said quietly, speaking to the girl but never taking his eyes from me. Oh, I was in for it now. That was the voice Papa used with stable boys who played dice.

HERE IS RACHEL:

CODENAME FOX by Donna Maloy

This title is intriguing! Sounds like a story filled with fun adventure, although it doesn’t give me a 1800s London vibe, more sci-fi or spy.

I think this opening line could be stronger. It tells us the character’s age, rather than showing us how old the character is through how he talks, the story, etc. Also, the diction of this character doesn’t feel like a seven year old, but a much older character looking back and retelling the tale? If that’s the case, then the diction fits, but if he is in fact seven, the language needs reworked.

When the “stone whizzed past my whiskers” I thought it was a cat (or even fox as the title suggests) but it is actually a mouse. Maybe you can weave in some more clues that this is a mouse talking rather than telling us “I looked like a small, flour-speckled mouse” later down the page.

There’s quite a bit of repetition in this one page about the mouse/person being in trouble, being “in for it”, having a spanking on the way, etc. I don’t think we need to be told so much, since the shovel and yelling definitely tell us this isn’t going well.

Without knowing when chapter one starts in time and events, it’s hard to recommend whether you need this prologue or not. But the prologue camp is usually pretty divided on whether you should have one or cut it. It’s something for you to consider—do readers need this info for the rest of the story to make sense or is it setup that could be woven in throughout? If the answers is yes, readers do need it, then it’s good you have lots of action.

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A SPARROW IN THEHAND   MG by Darlene Beck Jacobson

Helen hurried down the dirt road, clutching her lunch sack in one hand.  She reached for  her sister Fran’s arm with her freehand, trying to get her to move faster.

Fran pulled away from Helen’s reach and continued to plod along. They were going to be late; why couldn’t Fran see that?

The sun poked out its head between two grey clouds just as they reached the schoolyard and the bell rang. Miss Thomson stood in the doorway of the one room building glaring at the sisters.

“I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

Helen stopped at the door, gasping. Her heart dropped like heavy stone as she struggled to steady her breathing. “I’m…sorry…Miss Thomson.” She took a deep breath, feeling calmer. “Ma needed our help this morning. It won’t happen again.”

Miss Thomson stared at Helen, lips pinched closed by an invisible clothespin.  “See that it doesn’t, Miss Wasekowski.” She looked at Fran.  “That goes for you too.”

“Yes, Miss Thomson,” Fran said, her plump cheeks flushed from hurrying.

Helen’s breathing finally settled as she smoothed her shoulder length hair from her face. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her friend Mary. Why wasn’t she here?

Miss Thomson marched to the front of the room. Her stiff, proper skirt stood at attention. Helen bet her laced up shoes pinched her toes as tightly as the bun in her hair pulled at the corners of her cold, dark, eyes. She was nothing like Miss Norton, the teacher who left last year to get married. Miss Norton was like a willow tree, bending and flexible when the situation called for it. Helen doubted Miss Thomson liked teaching or children for that matter.

It was Miss Norton who had given Helen a thirst for learning that never seemed to be satisfied. She’d also ignited an ember that Helen kept buried deep in her soul. That ember was dormant. Waiting. It held Helen’s hope, dream, wish, to become a teacher one day.

No one – except her best friend Mary – knew of Helen’s deepest desire. Mary also held a secret desire of her own. To become a nurse. Both girls knew their dreams were like the wings of a bird – fragile and easily broken.

HERE’S RACHEL:

A SPARROW IN THE HAND by Darlene Beck Jacobson

The description of Miss Thomson is great with her pinched bun and skirt standing at attention. I can picture her for sure! But I’d like to see what Miss Thomson looks like sooner, while she glares out the doorway, rather than waiting until the kids are seated in class to describe her. It might make their tardiness feel more threatening.

Some of the language choices don’t feel MG-aged to me. For middle grade, I’m thinking Helen and Fran are somewhere between 10 to 14 ish? For example, I’m not sure “ignited an ember” or “a thirst for learning” are phrases that a kid of that age would use in that way. The author voice rather than the character’s voice is coming through here.

I’m also a bit confused about why the dreams of becoming a nurse and teacher are so fragile? These don’t seem like farfetched ambitions on the surface. I think I’m missing something here as far as setting that would reveal why these dreams are so fragile. It’s great to know their dreams early on, so the seeds are there, and just need a little nudge to get us to connect with why they’re at risk of being shattered.

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Michelle Kogan Early Chapter Book Through a Sunflower

Rhea wanted to grow a sunflower house more than anything in the world. But even more then that, she wanted to grow it all on her own. She was going to enter it in the Petalpath 10^th anniversary magazine contest and try to win $100.00. Ever since her dad lost his job everyone in the family was helping out. Rhea wanted to show she was big enough to help too!

“Come on sunflower, stand up!” Rhea said.  “I’ve replanted you three times, ‘cause the squirrels ate the seeds.”

“Can I help?” called her mom.

“No, I want to do it myself!” said Rhea, “I’m growing my own sunflowers this year! I’ve been helping you for the last three years. This year you even said, I know enough to grow them all by myself!”

“You know sunflowers, you haven’t given me an easy time. This is the third time I’ve replanted your seeds, cause the squirrels kept on eating them. Now stop wiggling around so I can get you propped up!”

As Rhea wrangled with her sunflowers she noticed a caterpillar that was staring right at her. She slooowly moved closer bringing her eye-to-eye with the caterpillar, and stared right back. The next minute the caterpillar cocked it’s head and starred up, then back at Rhea, and then up again.

“Hey caterpillar, what’s going on up there?”

A goldfinch swooped down barely missing Rhea. It nosed right into her back pocket and plucked out her sketchbook. Her prize sketchbook where she had been keeping all her notes and

HERE’S RACHEL:

THROUGH A SUNFLOWER by Michelle Kogan

The idea of Rhea wanting to help out her family financially is great. It shows us how much she loves her parents, while being selfless in giving up the prize money.

Is a “sunflower house” a greenhouse for sunflowers? A house for one single special sunflower? I’m having trouble picturing this.

It switches between singular and plural for how many sunflowers Rhea’s growing, so whichever it is, don’t forget to be consistent. We need to be able to picture if she’s growing a flower or a whole bunch of them!

The transition from staring at the caterpillar to the goldfinch is a bit awkward. Why is the caterpillar important if the real action is the sketchbook getting stolen? The sketchbook list could be integrated in some way sooner too, so we know what is going on with the sunflower/contest from the start.

Integrating sunflower into the title is smart, but I think it could be tweaked, since it doesn’t sound as fun and grabbing for kids as it could be. It’s all about this awesome sunflower contest, so bouncing off of that could be cool.

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Alice Golin Normal – Young Adult Novel

The calendar on the wall stares at me. Stark diagonal lines drawn through bright blue numbers. Reaching under my pillow, I curl my fingers around the thick black crayon I use to mark each day. Each daty that Dad’s been missing. Twelve so far in September. Choking back tears, I put a slash through yesterday.

Leafing back through the months I come to the end of May. A red circle like an evil eye marks Memorial Day, the day we were told of Dad’s disappearance somewhere in Afghanistan. How? Why? We get no answers. Do they even know?

My phone rings. A real call. not a text. Ignoring it, I stare at the red circle desperately hoping for some message. some sign. But the numerals 31 tell me nothing. Unless choosing Memorial Day was some hidden code.

I shudder at the thought and let the pages slip through my fingers until I’m back to September. The box for today is fresh, unmarked.

“Please God,” I whisper, “let us hear today.” But unlike those early days, I have little hope.

My phone keeps ringing. Stops. Rings again. The caller has no mercy. Giving in, I grope around on the floor until I find the intruder.

“Get out of bed, Nikkia,” Micah says gently.  And then, more sharply, because he knows I don’t want to listen, “Now!”

I want to shout, ‘No, I won’t. Not until we hear from Dad.’ But Micah’s gone and besides there’s no point. If I don’t get up, Mom will come for me. And she’s got enough to deal with.

My phone rings again. I grip it tightly, tempted to throw it across the room. It’s Gillian. She and Micah must have planned this.

HERE’S RACHEL:

NORMAL by Alice Golin

It’s clear that your protagonist is in a lot of pain over missing her dad, and it’s great you let us in on this emotional connection from the first page.

It’s not clear why she isn’t answering the phone. This call seems important, but then she ignores it. Confused a bit here, since isn’t she desperately wanting to hear from her dad or any news about him? Wouldn’t she pounce on any call to see if it was news?

Micah appears, but where did he come from? It feels like the transition is a bit awkward from the phone to being told to get out of bed. Is he a friend, sibling? Was the door open, or did Micah have to open it, in which case wouldn’t she hear him coming in? I think the author is seeing this scene more clearly than I am.

This first page overall feels slower and more repetitive than it could be. The core information of her dad disappearing and not wanting to get up are there, but then the pacing and interest-level get dragged down some by talking about the calendar then searching for the ringing phone at-length. I’d rework this to keep the core info, but relay it in a more concise, emotion-heavy way. This will help us immediately feel for her that she wants to hear from her dad but hasn’t in so long.

Shorter titles can be good, but I think this one could be more grabbing. Maybe tweak it, possibly keeping NORMAL in it, but ramping up the grab-me-factor. Then we’ll be sucked in!

Thank you Rachel for sharing your time and expertise with us. It is truly appreciated.

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

This Goldilocks illustration was sent in by Patricia Pinsk. It was done as a paper collage with ink, watercolour, digital textures. Her work includes multi-media drawing, illustration, photography, glass-work, sculpture as well as Web-based graphics for the corporate world. Website: http://www.patriciapinsk.com Twitter: @PatriciaPinsk

Below are the first page critiques done by literary agent, Jenny Bent. We can all learn a lot from what Jenny had to say.

Deena Graves – TERRAZA – Young Adult

Pizza sauce, garlic, and beer did not mix. Not when all three meshed, creating a gag-inducing stench in the faded black fibers of my Perky Pepper T-shirt. Dixie would shoot me dead for sure. The last time I came home from the pizza shop smelling like a garbage disposal, she threatened to hose me down in the front yard before I’d “ever step one soiled foot” into her home.

Shrugging into my fleece jacket, I ignored the stink of my shirt and shoved my dark-framed glasses back up my nose. I scowled down at my beat-up Mongoose and the flat tire forcing me to walk my happy ass home.

“Hey, Luc!” a voice called from behind. I kept walking, stealing a quick glance over my shoulder. Max jogged toward me, holding up the sides of his pants. I snorted. If he didn’t wear them so low, maybe the stupid things would stay up.

“Wait up, man,” he panted, pulling up beside me. “You know bikes were designed to be ridden, right?” Max eyed my flat and sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” I tossed him the souvenir I’d found wedged in the rubber tread. “And they ride better when the tires aren’t shredded.”

He inspected the chunk of weird black glass about the size of a half-dollar, tossing it from hand to hand. It weighed next to nothing, and no thicker than my pinkie, but its wicked, chiseled edge had almost cut my finger trying to dislodge it. “This was in your tire?”

I nodded. “I bet it was Manager Mike, the douche nugget.” I scowled out at the dark, Edison Square of squat, brick buildings. The stretch of small-town antique shops, specialty clothing stores, and trendy eateries had long since closed for the night. A brisk October wind cut through my fleece jacket.

HERE IS JENNY BENT:

Terraza

Lively voice which is great, I’m seeing too many flat voices in YA contempt these days. Not sure the voice is always completely authentic– “gag-inducing stench” doesn’t feel to me something like a teenaged boy would say. I did like the voice overall however. And line by line the writing is strong here.

I would like to see this author push themselves a little more to write a really “wow” first page. The skill level is there. But I am not sure from reading this that the book is beginning at the right point. I like the hint of mystery that someone sabotaged his bike. But the writer is starting with a conversation, which can be a tricky way to start a book, particularly when the conversation is not necessarily a very interesting or illuminating one.

I would try instead to either start in a place that is a bigger moment for the character or a place with perhaps more emotion for the character.

Alternatively, the author could perhaps have the character show/feel a little more here. What is his mental state as the story opens? We don’t know, beyond annoyed, and I’d like a little more on that. What is his general frame of mind as the story opens? What is he thinking about as he leaves work, is there anything significant on his mind? How does he feel about his friend Max beyond the thought about his pants, I can’t tell. If the author gave us more access to thoughts/feelings, we could get a better sense of him right away. Also, perhaps these two could banter a little more and we could get a sense of their personalities and relationship that way. Right now their conversation isn’t that interesting. It’s there to convey information about the bike, some of which we know already (there’s a flat tire) but it should serve more purpose than that–it should also illuminate character and it should also entertain. And is there a different way he could react to the flat tire? Something funny or unusual that would really intrigue the reader?

And finally, I would love the author push him/herself a little more with the opening line. The opening line to a book should be the best sentence the author has ever written. It doesn’t have to be necessarily super action-packed or dramatic, but it should instantly intrigue, or amuse, or create thought. I fear that this one is a bit of a throw-away.

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Helen Landalf – CLEO – YA novel 

The minute I slither into my sequined tank, Joan starts to disappear. I yank it down to show a little cleavage, slide on my black lace over-the-elbow gloves, and she fades even more. Then I squeeze into a pair of velvet leggings that hug her queen-size thighs, top them off with a flirty skirt, and step into my red stilettos. She’s almost gone.

“Joan,” comes Mom’s voice from outside the bedroom door. “Are you in there, honey?”

Elizabeth Taylor, in her Cleopatra gown and headdress, gazes down at me from the poster above my dresser. Ignore her, she seems to say. You’ve got work to do.

I glance at my phone, but there’s no text from Matt. Grabbing the bottle of foundation, I slather the cold, sweet-smelling liquid along my skin. The little potholes left over from Joan’s acne outbreak back in middle school? Gone. Next comes blush, the soft brush whispering glitter and bone structure onto Joan’s chipmunk cheeks, followed by eyeliner that sweeps into a dramatic V at my temples, adding flair and width to Joan’s squinty eyes. I glance up at the poster again and paint it thick and black, just like Liz’s.

The doorknob wiggles. “Joan?” Mom says.

“Be out in a sec.” I fluff my limp brown hair to create the illusion of fullness and then dim the lights on my makeup mirror. Leaning forward, I suck in my cheeks and survey my work. Not bad. All I need now is a dab of lipstick, and my transformation will be complete.

Just as I’m snatching up the tube of Burgundy Plum, the Lady Gaga ringtone blares from my phone.

“Hi, Matt,” I say. “Hang on, I’m coming.”

HERE IS JENNY BENT:

CLEO:

This is another one with strong writing that could have a stronger opening line. For inspiration, here’s a link to 20 great opening lines in YA fiction:

http://www.epicreads.com/blog/20-amazing-opening-lines-in-ya/

I like the concept here that we are watching someone’s transformation. And there is a great use of physical detail here. But again, as with the last critique, there’s not enough information about this character’s state of mind as this is happening. I want to know more about her and I’m not getting anything about her personality from this–all I’m getting is physical characteristics and perhaps that she is pretty hard on herself about the way she looks.

I love the part where the poster of Elizabeth Taylor seems to talk to her, that gives this a little edge that it really needs. But let me learn more even about this character from her inner thoughts or her dialogue, make every line really work. Maybe she could say something funnier or more interesting to Matt? To her mom? Think something interesting while she is doing this that lets me know something about her or her state of mind while she is doing this? Why does she need to transform? What about transforming makes her feel strong or special? Why does she love Elizabeth Taylor?

I think adding this level of detail and characterization, as well as working on the opening lines, will give this already strong first page some extra added oomph. Remember that you never have much time to hook the reader and focus on making this character as vivid and lively as possible.

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Mieke Zamora-Mackay               SHADOW                                     Young Adult

The hall is buzzing. Not the usual humdrum of the first hour of school. It’s a serious buzzing. Whispers about someone. Murmurs about something that’s happened.

In the woods…

Junkie…

Huffing…

Dead…

These are the words that float above the din.   No one looks my way, but there’s enough space for me to walk through the sea of bodies. I’m used to it. Everyone always walks around me, like I’m encased in some bubble. Protecting their personal space, they’re probably afraid that if they brush up against me, I’ll know everything they keep hidden inside. See into their dark hearts and thoughts, their misdeeds, acts of violence and carnal desires. It comes with being the daughter of a self-proclaimed medium; the local town kook.

The truth is, I don’t know any of their secrets. I don’t see anything they have to hide. Instead, I see spirits, ghosts – lost souls.

I see the part of every person that has left their physical body. Usually, they’re just trying to find their way home, or revisiting a part of their life they wish to say goodbye to. Some just really don’t know what’s happened to them.

I reckon that’s how the fresh one walking in my direction is feeling.

I keep my eyes down low. I don’t want him to catch me looking. He’ll know instantly that I can see him, and that won’t do. Lost spirits are never up to any good. The fact that they don’t have a clue about what’s happened to them in the first place is an indication of that. And this one’s got trouble written all over him.

HERE IS JENNY BENT:

SHADOW

I like this one a lot! The voice is strong, the first line is good and the opening page shows us a lot of information about this person and their place in the world of the school without “telling” us too much. There’s a real attitude to the writing, which I like. I also like that the author sets up the character and tells us about who she is in an interesting way and then starts right into the action. It’s great that she sees this particular dead person and immediately forms an opinion about him that is intriguing to the reader. I want to read more because I want to know more about this ghost and why he’s trouble and what will happen between these two. I also like that the writer starts at a moment of interest in the action–the school is buzzing about something–what is it? And then he/she gives us a lot of information about the character by telling us that she’s an outcast–everyone is buzzing about something, but she wouldn’t know because no one tells her anything. This is a more interesting way of showing us something about her rather than simply telling us that she’s an outcast. There are plenty of question marks to keep us reading but enough information is provided that we don’t feel confused, which is an essential balance.

If the writer wanted to go a little further, she could give us a little more info about the particular state of mind that this character is in as the book opens, or how she feels about the fact that she is an outcast, but overall this is a very strong opening page indeed.

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Peter McCleery       THE STAND-IN           Contemporary Middle Grade

Middle-school is a lot like prison. There is a precise routine and schedule overseen by an all-powerful warden (the principal). There are authority figures who roam the halls and enforce strict rules (guards/teachers). You are allotted a certain time and place to eat grub. There’s a Supermax cell block for repeat offenders (detention). There’s even a rec yard and communal showers. And, of course, there is a very specific hierarchy of cliques and social groups among the inmates. You better know who you can trust and who you can’t.

In my line of work, I can’t trust anyone. If this were prison instead of Glenview Middle School I’d be called a Fixer. The guy who runs the black market. I like to think of myself as a businessman. Or entrepreneur, if you want to be fancy about it. I sell things to the inmate-students that make their 3-year stint here a bit more comfortable. At a fair price, of course. In prison, a fixer deals in cigarettes and shivs. Here, I deal in contraband junk food and fake doctor notes. Now, some of these things may or may not be “appropriate” or “legal” per se, but they do fill a need. I provide a valuable service. There is supply. There is demand. And there’s good, ol’ Digby Fisher in between making a little money. Is that so wrong?

The answer is no, by the way.

Shortly after my mom and I moved to Glenview (which should just be called The Affluent Town of Glenview because that’s always how they describe it the newspaper.) I knew I had a good thing. These kids get more allowance money than my mom gets in her paycheck. One day the vending machine went out of order (I had nothing to do with it, I swear! Just a lucky coincidence.) It just so happened that my mom was doing a Costco run that day. I added a few items to the shopping list. Snack-size Doritos, gum, M&Ms. The next day I sat next to the broken vending machine with a backpack full of snacks and sold out before third period. I provided a needed service. In many ways I was a hero. After maintenance fixed the machine

HERE IS JENNY BENT:

THE STAND-IN

I love the idea of this one and this is a good first page in that it has tons of voice and sets up an interesting, resourceful character that the reader will want to spend time with. However, to my ear, the voice was a little older than middle-grade at times, slotting into that awkward 14/15 year old territory, and in the second paragraph maybe even more 16. Examples of places I would loosen the voice are, “precise routine and schedule overseen ” and “a very specific hierarchy of cliques and social groups” – phrases like this feel a little formal for the target market. The age issue might just be because of Digby’s very in-depth knowledge of how a prison runs, even down to knowing the word shiv. It left me wondering whether he knew someone in prison or just watched a lot of old movies. The opening has a journal feel to it, but I would lose the direct talking to the reader halfway down as this can pull you out of the story. I liked some of the examples of the things Digby can source, like doctor’s notes, and the story about how this ‘job’ started was short enough not to feel like too much up front backstory, although I’d hope the present day plot starts on the next page, with the inciting incident following shortly after.
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Thank you Jenny for sharing your time and expertise with us. Your advice is invaluable.

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

This fun illustration was sent in from illustrator Sharon Lane Holm. Sharon is an illustrator/author who has over 20 years of experience in children’s book publishing. She has also written and illustrated 2  apps. available on Itunes, “Kids Counting Kitties 1-10, and Kids Counting Kitties 10-1″; available in English and Spanish.

Carolyn Chambers Clark, SECRETS, YA Coming of Age

Logan Spenser roars his convertible across the school parking lot and idles alongside my half-open window. His black leather jacket shines in the morning sun, setting off his chiseled jaw and the beauty of his mocha skin. I’ve seen him in the halls without the reflective sunglasses he’s wearing now. Something buried deep in his eyes tells me he’s been through some rough stuff himself.

He points his finger at me. “Raz Rinaldi! Thief.”

Chelsea gawks at me from the driver’s seat as if to say answer him, Her yellow sunglasses make her pale face look even more like vanilla pudding, while her blonde hair lies in perfect order against the shoulders of her expensive sweater.
“Thief? You’re calling me a thief?” My words tumble out and I want to duck my head, but force myself to pull back my shoulders and glare at him.

He doesn’t answer me, just laughs and zooms off.

My face gets hotter while I tick through my actions of the last week and find the worst thing I’ve done is “forget” to do the dishes my stepmother left in the sink. “What’s he talking about?”
Chelsea, AKA Speed Demon of Ash City High, and the closest thing I have to a friend, shrugs and laughs. “It’s destiny. The hottest guy in school knows your name.”

I love Chelsea, but she gets everything wrong. “I’m not looking for a hot guy. I have to keep my grades up. You know that.”
Chelsea laughs. “You are one boring chick. I can’t think of one reason why I like you.”

HERE’S SARAH:

Carolyn Chambers Clark, SECRETS:

A clear strength to the writing here is the dialogue, which feels realistic and not forced. We don’t yet know these characters, but I felt like I had a good sense of who they are on the page. However, I felt the writing was expository at times. For instance, “Something buried deep in his eyes tells me he’s been through some rough stuff himself” felt like leading the reader in a very specific direction. I’d much rather get to know Logan as the story progressed before I saw the narrator jump to this conclusion. Similarly, the description of Logan in the first paragraph didn’t feel authentic to a teen voice, which surprised me given the way the teens actually speak in dialogue. Shining leather jackets, chiseled jaw, and roaring convertibles gave the impression of the 1950s and, to me, the adjectives used in this paragraph felt dated, or at least from an older perspective, as well. I appreciated how quickly the love interest – and possible conflict – was introduced right on page 1, and I’m interested in Raz’s friendship with Chelsea. Though, when Logan calls Raz a “thief” I expected more context. Is this a joke they share? Why is Chelsea so shocked he knows Raz’s name if they seem to have a natural banter with each other? We move on to Chelsea and Raz driving away before we get a chance to learn more about Logan, even though the novel opens with him.

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MARK OF THE SIFTER by Laura Rueckert - YA Contemporary Fantasy

Deep in my chest, I could feel it: the girl was asleep. The itch to jump into her dream almost overpowered me, but I lingered in the arched entrance hall of Rainthorpe Manor, the mansion we’d used as home base on Earth the last twenty years. A new recruit had died this morning, and Beatrice would bring her by any moment to meet me. Not even the peaceful glisten of snow through the leaded windows could curb my urge to depart, and I leaned around the corner to check the grandfather clock again.

Beatrice and an older woman with brown, wind-toughened skin materialized in front of me. I nodded to both of them.

“This is the Head Sifter, Seth,” Bee said, gesturing in my direction.

The new Sifter’s eyes flicked to Bee and back to me.

“Welcome.” I didn’t ask her name. The details of her former life had been included in her contract.

Her voice wavered as she asked, “Are you the one shielding it?”

I gave a short nod, and her hard face looked like it might crack. “Thank you. It was horrible.”

Bee caught my eye and raised a finger to show she understood my impatience. “I’ll introduce you to your partner,” she said, drawing the woman from the hall. “And we’ll go over some of your duties.”

“Thank you!” the woman called over her shoulder, but I was already fading out, diving into the dream world of the destroyer.

It was time to find the problem. Stealing, cheating, taunting—despite our normal methods, none under my command were having any luck with the girl who was supposed to annihilate my team of Sifters.

HERE’S SARAH:

Laura Rueckert, MARK OF THE SIFTER

I really liked the voice here. It’s calm without being passive, and I feel like Seth is a narrator I can trust. I wondered, though, about the genre, which is labeled as “contemporary fantasy.” To me this read much more like sci-fi, in both tone and in what was being said. The mention of “home base on Earth” and being part of a mysterious group of “recruits” that jump into dreams have an Inception-like science fiction concept. The idea of dream-jumping is an interesting premise, and I like how this opens with Seth’s desire to jump into this sleeping girl’s mind. It tells me a lot about him as a character with very few details. Though, overall, I was left with more questions about this concept than intrigue. Who is the sleeping girl and why is she not mentioned when Beatrice enters the scene? Is Seth no longer with her at that point? I also wanted the phrase “dream world of the destroyer” explained a bit more. Is “the destroyer” a person? A threat? Why is Seth involved? Without context, it’s hard to get immersed in the world, and in sci-fi – and fantasy – that is the key element in attracting a reader on the first page. I needed to know what a Sifter was in order to know who our main character was, and also know enough about his world to want to learn more.

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JUST GO AHEAD by Valerie McCammon, Picture Book

My annoying big brother, Patrick Robert, doesn’t think I can do anything right.
I’ll show him.

I tell him I’m going to swing as high as the sun.

“You just go ahead and do that, Nick.”

I pump and I push, flying higher and higher. I’m Astronaut Nick zooming across the Milky Way.

“Fire the rocket boosters.”

I gain speed as I dodge whizzing asteroids.

Clunk! One hits me in the head. [Illo note: acorn falls]

Patrick laughs and walks away.

I tell him I am going to sail across the ocean to rescue the tribal princess.

“You just go ahead and do that.”

I ready my ship. I hoist anchor, and Captain Nick shoves off.

“To the Skeleton Coast.”

The sail billows in the wind as I shout orders to the crew. [Illo note: Swab that deck, sailor. Batten down the hatches, mates. Report to the brig, cadet.]

Uh-oh. Pirates are boarding. [Illo note: dogs jump in]

As the hull fills with water, one last command: “Abandon ship.”

I lunge for shore as Patrick moors the sinking vessel. He sighs as he also rescues the crew.

I remain confident. I tell Patrick I am sure I can find hidden treasure.

“You just go ahead and do that.”

I don my pith helmet and claw through the attic jungle. Patrick trails me from a safe distance.

Hiss! An anaconda, poised to strike. [Illo note: coiled up garden hose]

HERE’S SARAH:

Valerie McCammon, JUST GO AHEAD

As a picture book concept, I thought this was really fun. I love the idea of a younger brother trying to get the attention of his older brother, and the escalations of each attempt. Though, the illustrator notes left little interpretation for the scene. It’s important to use descriptive language in picture books, but the illustrator should be able to add to that vision with their own. Another thing I liked about this book was that Nick’s first attempt at “swinging as high as the sun” was a realistic thing he’d be doing at a playground, and that in his mind it went to a completely fantastical place. But, the next declaration is to “sale across the ocean to rescue the tribal princess.” This, to me, was the fantastical thing in his head, but didn’t fit the pattern you set up of “real thing vs. imagination.” What also confused me a little bit was the opening line, “… doesn’t think I can do anything right.” None of the scenes that follow really demonstrated him trying to do anything “right” so much as trying to prove he can do something amazing. The phrasing there didn’t really set up what the story was going to be about. That said, I think this is a strong concept overall and can be very fun with a few tweaks for consistency.

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The Outlands, a middle grade novel by Julie Artz

The first rule the village elders teach us in Graz? Curiosity kills. It’s the first lesson, the last lesson, and just about every lesson in between from what I can tell. They only let up for a sprinkling of history and a dash of survival. I should know. I’m in year seven of this, the final year before apprenticeships start.

So I’m not surprised to see Curiosity Kills written in tidy script on the whiteboard when I walk into class. I slide my bag under my desk and power on the tablet that’s bolted to the desktop. My fingers trace the graffiti on the wooden surface before swiping at the screen and picking up where yesterday’s notes left off.

Paper is scarce so we type everything. It’s a good thing, too, because my chicken-scratches wouldn’t pass muster with my teacher, Ms. Imma. She’s standing at the front of the class now in a dress as neat and precise as her handwriting on the board. The wooden shutters of our tiny schoolroom are opened wide, hoping to capture enough breeze to keep us from roasting. Or falling asleep.

I tap some of her words with a few added “blah, blah, blahs” into my tablet and glance over at Lisbeth, who types like a bird skimming the surface of the creek at a mayfly hatch. Zip. Zip. Zip. She notes every single word, and probably studies them every night before her bedtime prayers. It makes sense, really, because Ms. Imma is her mother.

Lisbeth is the only one of the year sevens who seems happy with the plan the elders have for her. My best friend, Nico, fidgeting at the desk in front of mine, will dig wells with his father, Aitor. Pablo will tend goats. Both jobs involve hard work and a strict master. Lisbeth will become a teacher. She’ll be perfect after years of practice nagging the three of us.

Then there’s me. Unlike the others, I can’t follow in my father’s footsteps. He’s already got an apprentice. My brother Rim. I feel my ears getting hot just picturing the glee on Rim’s face.

HERE’S SARAH:

Julie Artz, THE OUTLANDS

I loved the opening line of this, and the opening paragraph overall is strong as well. It sets up an interesting premise and I was curious to read further to find out just why curiosity kills and what, exactly, this apprenticeship was all about. I liked the voice, but did have a few concerns about word choice. For example, “chicken scratch” felt like an old-fashioned phrase that a MG-aged character wouldn’t refer to himself. I also didn’t know whether a “bird skimming the surface of the creek at a mayfly hatch” was supposed to mean very quick or very carefully. This, of course, might be regional, but the phrasing of it also felt like the voice of someone much older. I couldn’t picture a young person speaking that way, particularly with the use of simile and metaphor. It didn’t feel true to the voice we opened with. I also wasn’t sure if this was a futuristic world. Paper is scarce, but they don’t seem to be typing on anything that doesn’t already exist. The jobs that are described for the other Year Sevens feel very rural, but without any futuristic advancements that may exist. It made me wonder if it isn’t futuristic, why is paper scarce and why does curiosity kill? I think the world could be better developed here. I also didn’t see the narrator very much after that opening paragraph. I was curious why the story itself begins here and where the plot of the novel is set into motion.

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Thank you Sarah for sharing your time and expertise with us. We can all learn a lot from reading and first page and hearing what an editor or agent thinks.

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

I want to thank Agent Quinlan Lee at Adams Literary for taking the time out of her busy schedule to critique four first pages that were submitted. It really helps all of us to read what was submitted and what an industry professional thinks.

Quinlan is a published author of numerous books for young readers and more than 15 years of business and project management expertise. She has been a part of the Adams Literary team since 2008, representing clients in all genres from picture books to YA. She is an active member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) and a founding board member of the Charlotte Chapter of the Women’s National Book Association (WNBA).

Carol Foote                                          TROUBLE DOG                                         PB

Pepin never meant to be trouble. He just liked to play – romping, sniffing, nosing, digging … toppling, grabbing, leaping, crashing…

So Pepin was always in trouble. And his foster family, who was trying to find him a good, forever home, wasn’t having any luck.

When the first visitors came to consider adopting Pepin as their pet…

Pepin was scrabbling at the kitchen wall. Mouse! I smell mouse! He made a small hole and thrust his nose inside.

“No, Pepin!” Father shouted.

Pepin pushed harder and made the hole bigger. Mouse! He wants to play!

“Out of the kitchen!”

Shaking their heads, the family left. “We can’t have a dog like that,” the man said.

When the next family visited, their little boy roared his T-Rex through the air.

He wants to play! Pepin took one leap and – WHAM! [ART: boy is on the floor wailing.]

“No, Pepin!” Mother grabbed the dinosaur in Pepin’s mouth.

She wants to play! Pepin pu-u-u-lled as hard as he could, and – BAM!

Mother rubbed her elbow. “Outside! Now!”

Shaking their heads, the family left. “We can’t have a dog like that,” the boy said.

When a couple visited, Pepin was in the yard. He sniffed the air. Mmmmm! People food! Pepin nosed the lid off the trashcan and leaned in. The can tipped, tipped, tipped and – CRASH!

Pepin shook the bag. RRR-RIP! [ART: various kinds of garbage spill out, including diapers] Here’s something to play with!

“No, Pepin,” Mother yelled.

Shaking their heads, the family left. “We can’t have a dog like that,” the woman said.

Here is what Quinlan had to say:

Trouble Dog

I liked the set-up in the opening with a dog who didn’t want to be trouble but whose puppy behavior put him spot-in the middle of it. There were nice fun action words to draw the reader in. I’d love to see a few more of those later in the manuscript. I’m a little concerned that the overall concept of the book—a puppy being fostered, looking for a forever home—might be a little complex for the youngest PB readers.

Also, don’t be afraid to let the illustrations do some of the storytelling. For example, instead of writing “He made a small hole and thrust his nose inside,” just write “Mouse! I smell a mouse!” and let the illustrator go to town bringing Pepin’s character and enthusiasm to life and showing the readers how he reacts to the idea of a mouse in the kitchen.

I liked the repetition of “We can’t have a dog like that.” But you could punch it more by taking away the shaking your head line. Again the illustrations could show that. It would be fun if you played with the line so it brings it back to the Trouble Dog line, such as “We can’t have a dog like that. That dog is trouble!”

They key to whether this story works or not will be the ending. We already have over 260 words, so the clock is ticking. If there is fun and funny resolution that shows that Pepin really isn’t trouble and that he finds the perfect home (or his foster family decides to keep him) then it will make the destination worth the journey.

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B. A. Rieth                                 Title: MS AMERICA                                    YA

I forgot to breathe the first time I saw Noah Vale. Dressed in khakis and a white button down shirt, he dribbled a basketball in the driveway across the street from our house. He wore a tie. “Will you look at that,” Dad said. “I think we have new neighbors.”

Believe me, I was looking. Noah moved like a dancer, long and sure and strong. Cutting left, then right, he guarded the ball against some phantom opponent and pulled at something real in me. I couldn’t keep my sighs off him. “Humph,” Dad said.

I knew what he was thinking. With all his years in the real estate business, how could he have missed the clues of a home about to change hands? The white picket fence freshly painted, the gutter that had drooped for years, now straight as a balance beam. I thought of Mom, her phone calls stretching across time zones. We had missed clues before, Dad and I.

We stood side by side in front of our big picture window. It was Sunday. Early. Almost 10:45. Dad sipped coffee from his favorite mug, bathrobe opened, pajamas rumpled. I pushed up my glasses and smoothed the sleep from my hair. I’d heard about Noah and his family last evening, from our next door neighbor, Mrs. Kurowski. “They have a boy your age,” she’d said across our backyard fence as I stuffed a bag full of Chinese take-out containers into our garbage can. “A nice boy. Cute. That’s the word girls use these days, isn’t it, dear?”

Rumor, I’d thought. Wishful thinking. Not anything I was willing to believe until I saw it with my own eyes. Mrs. Kurowski had been wrong before. Years ago she’d told me the Savoys were in the movie business. The day they moved in I’d stood at the curb, autograph book ready, as their moving van lumbered into the neighborhood. Not the one they had hired. The one they owned. Savoy Family Movers.

But this time Mrs. K had gotten it right. Cute was the word. I fought the urge to pirouette. Me, with two left feet and a tongue always ready to trip me up.

Here is what Quinlan had to say:

Ms. America

This has a nice opening. I was pulled into this girl’s voice right away with “I forgot to breathe the first time I saw Noah Vale.” Also the way she told the readers that her mother was gone was quick, deep and cut straight to the heart: “I thought of Mom, her phone calls stretching across time zones. We had missed clues before, Dad and I.” That is a perfect example of spare, strong writing. Similarly, saying “It was Sunday. Early. 10:45.” and even talking about her throwing away the take-out containers was nicely done. The author’s given us a great snapshot of their lives without telling us or over explaining.

I also liked the humor in the story of the neighbor and the “movie company” and the girl’s reaction of “I fought the urge to pirouette. Me, with two left feet and a tongue always ready to trip me up.” Again, it gives us an idea of who this girl is—self-depreciating and funny, not too bitter—and it made me want to know her more. I’d keep reading for sure, even just to learn her name and see her meet this breath-taking boy.

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LIKE VANESSA by T. Charles                                                                        MG

The soil is bad for certain kinds of flowers. Certain seeds it will not nurture…but it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. At least on the edge of my town, among the garbage and the sunflowers of my town, it’s much, much, much too late.

Focusing in class isn’t even an option. Every word of The Bluest Eye haunts me. I’m convinced Toni Morrison has stalked my life for the last thirteen years and renamed the main character Pecola. She is my long-lost twin. Black like me. Screaming for the ugliness to escape. For people to see her for what she is on the inside. Beautiful. Like Miss America. Like Vanessa Williams. Like me?

I wonder if Ms. Morrison’s ever been to Newark, New Jersey. Cause there ain’t nothing but garbage here, too. Garbage on the streets. In those pipes the meth heads sprinkle through the alleys. In the elevators that carry me to the eighth floor of my apartment in the Grafton Hill Projects. Except there ain’t no sunflowers in my ‘hood. Just them fake, plastic, dollar-store-looking ones Pop Pop puts on the windowsill.

It’s sixth period Chorus, and I’m not the only one ignoring the teacher. The scattered noises of gossip and hip hop rhymes battle it out against the melody Mrs. Walton is playing on the piano. Clearly, the students are winning. My seat is wedged in the furthest corner of our dungeon-like music room. I am invisible. The darkness of the walls blends into my dark clothes and even darker skin. I sink into my chair, placing The Bluest Eye under my seat, and reach for my next read, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Pop Pop says he got it special for me because I’m his little songbird.I turn to the first page, ready to lose myself in Maya Angelou’s words. Anything to escape this jungle called school.

Here is what Quinlan had to say:

Like Vanessa

            The writing in the opening paragraph is strong, but it is little abstract, and so it took me the rest of the page to get my bearings. Perhaps starting the story with the third paragraph so we know that we’re in chorus class and it’s chaotic and our protagonist is using THE BLUEST EYE to tune it all out. Then going into wondering it Ms. Morrison has ever been to New Jersey (which places the reader even more concretely in a time and place) and then going into the first paragraph’s ideas about how she connects to Morrison’s work would help the reader connect more easily.

The picture of Newark is haunting and the use of “Pop Pop” starts to hint at the girl’s world and who we will meet in her story. The references to Vanessa Williams threw me a bit, especially in connection with all the Morrison and Angelou references. I’m assuming they are important to the story because of the title, but if not then I’d say to drop them. Not many young readers today will make the immediate connection to who Williams is and her importance to the girl. Overall the voice is very strong, and I would read more.

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Bebe Willoughby         PERMISSION TO LOVE             YA  

A screeching noise sounded within the cabin. The airplane turned, then dropped sharply.

We were on our way to Athens, but we were circling a different airport. The sign came on that told us to return to our seats and fasten our seat belts

“Something’s wrong.” the guy beside me said. Neither of us had slept. We’d talked all night.

A hushed sound came from the passengers. “What’s happening?” I asked.

“There’s a small mechanical problem. The pilots are fixing it,” a flight attendant said.

Panic rushed in. The noise continued, sounding like the brakes on a bike coming to a sudden stop.

“This is your Captain speaking. Due to mechanical difficulties, there’s going to be an

emergency landing. Everyone should pay close attention to the flight attendants as they review the emergency landing procedures.”

“Tighten your seat belts, and put your head down between your legs.” It was the last

We were going to crash, I thought. The flight attendants took the seats in back.

A woman across from us started to cry. Another woman took out her rosary beads.

“What’s your name?” I asked the guy I’d been talking to so long. Suddenly it was

important that I know.

“Miles. And yours?”

“Jade.”

Here is what Quinlan had to say:

Permission to Love

            I had some difficulty with tone of this one. The action of the story is gripping—the plane is going down!—but the description and writing is clinical and detached. I want to feel the danger and the fear of the main character. The dialogue is very calm and unemotional, even though we’re told that “Panic is rushing in!” Where is the tension? If I was thinking, “We’re going to crash.” My inner thoughts would be spinning. Show us that!

I liked the line, “We’d talked all night”, but I wanted more. How had they talked? Just to pass the time? Because she was attracted to him? Had people shushed them but they just couldn’t stop talking? Was it soft talk once the lights were turned down low, while they held hands under a blanket? Or was it boring talk about celebrities and subjects they like in school? You don’t need to go into lots of detail here. But just a sentence or two more will show us more about Jade and make us more emotionally connected and worried about her dying in a fiery crash.

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Thanks again Quinlan. Good job!

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

I want to thank Agent Marie Lamba from Jennifer DeChiara Literary Agency for taking the time out of her busy schedule to critique 4 first pages that were sent in for May. Having her share her expertise is a huge help to all of us.
 
QUINLAN LEE, Agent, Adams Literary  will end MAY with her four critiques posted on May 30th. Deadline to submit: May 22nd.

Here are the Results:

Jennifer Kirkeby / PEACEFUL ACRES / YA Magical Realism

 
“David, we’re here.” The voice jolts me awake. The bus driver’s eyes stare back at me through the large mirror they always use to catch kids smoking, eating, making out, or punching each other. Her eyes are glassy and tired with dark bags hanging underneath them as proof. Must have been a long drive. Below the mirror swings an assortment of crucifixes that she begins to untangle.

I wipe the drool off the side of my mouth and scan the inside of the bus. I’m three rows back on the right side, and unless someone’s sleeping in one of the seats, the only passenger. Weird. I look outside to my right, and am surprised to see a huge white mansion. Gardens out front, a gigantic fountain – real Great Gatsby stuff. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head trying to rattle my brain cells into functioning order to tell me where I am. When I open them, I have a vague memory of going somewhere to do community service.

“Do you need help with your bags?” the bus driver asks while rubbing the back of her sizable neck.

“Uh, no. I got it, thanks,” I tell her, while looking around for my stuff. Noticing my confusion, she points to the floor under the front seat where I see my suitcase and backpack. Guess I’m staying a while. When I stand up, my body alerts me that I’ve been sitting forever. My legs practically fold underneath me, my muscles hurt, and my head throbs. I slide my bags out while the driver opens the door. The swooshing sound is like a giant vacuum seal releasing me into the unknown.

“I’ll see you in six months, David. Stay strong.” My stomach drops. Six months? Her eyes are apologetic. In seconds, her face shifts to genuine concern, and then… is that fear? What does she know that I don’t?

HERE’S MARIE’S THOUGHTS:

PEACEFUL ACRES

This first page raises lots of questions for the reader, which is always a good thing. It makes me wonder where he is and why? What will happen next? That’s the sort of thing that might make me want to read on. The other piece of that “want to read on” puzzle consists of character. Who is this character? Why might I care or worry about him? Get that right, and you’ll definitely have me on board to continue.

But in this first page (which, I realize, is just ONE page), I know far more about the bus driver and the setting than about the boy. So make sure your focus in this scene is where you truly want it to be.

The boy’s character is starting to be revealed when he describes the mansion as “real Great Gatsby stuff” – I like that. That’s the sort of detail seen through the character’s eye and said in his voice that not only reveals what he sees, but starts to reveal who he really is. I’d love to see more of his point of view.

First person can be tricky. It results in lots of “I” sentences. I wipe the drool… I look outside… I slide my bags… Make sure you vary your sentence structure throughout, or this will grow tiresome quickly. Also, once you’ve quickly established that something is in first person, you don’t have to say “I look outside to my right…” Just say, “Outside to my right…” He’s your point of view character, so how else would he see that? You can pull out most, if not all, of the “I see” and “I look” and “I notice” in a story by keeping this in mind. Also try to avoid phrases like, “When I stand up, my body alerts me…” Instead, consider something more direct like, “When I stand, my legs practically fold underneath me…”

My favorite line in this is: “The swooshing sound is like a giant vacuum seal releasing me into the unknown.” It’s a great lead in to a mysterious tale.

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GAMBLER’S DAUGHTER, YA Novel, by Orel Protopopescu

PART ONE: January, 1968/   Chapter One

Six days out of seven, I didn’t know if my father would come home. Sometimes he stayed in the city, gambling, for three nights in a row, nights I was often alone in our house on the edge of a parkway in the middle of Long Island. But every Friday evening he met my train at Penn Station, took me to his club and some place for dinner, and then drove me home by dawn.   This routine was my idea. One day a week, at least, I knew that he’d quit before the sun came up, no matter how much he’d lost. One day a week, we’d share a meal and a few laughs.

Plenty of girls would think I was lucky to be so free, those who didn’t know what it was like to be your own mother and father.   They’d probably never met anybody like my dad, who’d let me do as I pleased since I was fifteen. If he ever found me in bed with Jimi Hendrix and his guitar, he’d just ask Jimi, politely, if he would play us a song. But my Jimmy wasn’t singing to me, unless you count choir practice, when he sang for everyone and no one. He wasn’t even talking to me anymore, so there was little chance of him ending up in my bed and there was nobody else I wanted to share it with. The world was full of boys and men, but I only longed for a boy who wasn’t even a friend anymore and a father who was almost never home.

It could have been worse, I told myself. Some kids were orphans, living in shelters, foster care, or even on the streets. That happened to the unlucky ones. But I could look across a table at my dad, no matter how late or early, and know that I still had a sort of family.   That’s why I was making my way over the icy sidewalks between my high school and the train station on a freezing Friday afternoon. The winds were so fierce, I bowed my head to tunnel my way through them. This wasn’t the hard part.  Being at the club would be harder.   I was tired of being my father’s luck.

HERES MARIE”S THOUGHTS:

GAMBLER’S DAUGHTER

Right away, I was drawn into the voice and point of view here. Very important elements to sustain a novel, so this is a great thing!

One thing I suggest, though, is that the story start out within a scene, instead of with narration. I really feel I could have been pulled firmly into this tale better at the outset if it had instead started out with the line: It could have been worse, I told myself as I made my way over the icy sidewalks. Then pepper the action of the scene with the needed details and we are all on our way, instead of stuck on pause, waiting for the scene to form and begin through narration.

Two other suggestions. One: I might change the boyfriend’s name from Jimmy to something different, since I found myself stumbling over the Jimmi-Jimmy reference. Also, I thought that the character was a bit too self-aware when she said: “The world was full of boys and men, but I only longed for a boy who wasn’t even a friend anymore and a father who was almost never home.” Part of the fun of a novel is that the characters (like real people) aren’t so self-aware and through the course of the novel we, and they, start to learn how they really tick and why. I personally think it’s more intriguing to have the story and the character nibble around the edges of these sorts of facts.

But overall, a solid start.

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Middle Grade novel: THE WOUNDED BOOK by Laurel Decher

In the year of our Lord 1006, on the eve of Ascension Day, the morning star rose over Arezzo, and Bella jumped from her window into the back of the woolman’s cart. The driver glanced over his shoulder.

Had he seen her?

He crossed himself, scolded his donkey, and drove a bit faster.

Bella wriggled herself in between two firm sacks of wool, and pulled her knees up to her chin. It had been easy enough to leap out the window of Uncle’s house. Had Papa passed as easily through heaven’s gate? Bella hoped so.

A tuft of wool tickled her nose and she sneezed. She held her breath. If the driver threw her off, how could she get to the market and back before the bells rang for Terce, so that Uncle did not notice her absence?

The cart slowed. Bella still did not dare to breathe. The cart stopped. She pressed her hands over her mouth and nose, praying that she would not be discovered. The driver called out. The cart turned the corner and rumbled on.

The rush of Bella’s pent-up breath set wool puffs dancing. She caught them, rolled them into balls, and pelted the woolsacks, singing under her breath. The third time through the Agnus Dei—backwards and a bit louder—she laughed.

“Do all you woolsacks think I am singing to you? Does every lamb think it is the Lamb of God? Come, I will sing you a psalm.”

Bella crooned three verses and stopped on the Paths of Righteousness, well before the Valley of Death. She laid her cheek against a rough sack.

HERE’S MARIE’S THOUGHTS: 

THE WOUNDED BOOK

First of all, LOVE the title. How cool is that? And this story starts off fun too, raising good story questions. Why is she jumping out her window?

Who wouldn’t want an answer to that?

Some things could use tightening and clarifying here. Like – was the cart moving when she jumped into it? I had no idea and was a little thrown when I read “drove a bit faster.” Another thing that confused me was how at first she was so afraid to be discovered that she “did not dare to breathe,” but then she’s singing under her breath, then laughing, then talking, then crooning. What happened? No cone of silence here, right?

There are a number of sentences that start with “She,” so the writer could vary her sentence structure a bit more. And at one point the character spells out the stakes: “If the driver threw her off, how could she get to the market and back before the bells rang Terce, so that Uncle did not notice her absence?” I think this info could be conveyed a bit more artfully by pulling away from telling and putting the thought more into the scene and keeping the reader more engaged. Something like: If the driver threw her off now and she were late getting back… She shivered imagining her Uncle, his face red with fury, his hand raised in anger.

Intriguing start.

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When Storms Surge in August by Lauren Rizzuto

In August, the heat always arrived before the sun did. It didn’t mind that the sky was still dark; the light would get there soon enough. Meanwhile, the heat was content to settle in, unannounced, easing into the streets and lawns and sidewalks, all the way up to the doors and windows of the houses. It didn’t knock because–well, it didn’t need to. Like a too-early guest, the heat just made its heavy self at home before anyone was prepared to wake up and greet it properly.

Inside the house at 39 Thornton Drive, an eight-year-old Ernestine Deveraux kicked off the covers to the double bed she shared with her little sister, Sarah. Her oversized tshirt stuck to her skin with sweat, bunching around her middle. Yanking it down, she flipped over onto her side and ferreted about the pillow with her cheek, trying to find a cool spot, but the cloth was too warm to be comfortable anymore. The clock on her nightstand read 5:56 a.m. Sighing, she turned onto her back and stared pointedly at the ceiling. She might as well get up. It wouldn’t do to be late on the first day of school.

Next to her, Sarah grunted sleepily. “You awake?” Ernie asked. No reply. Sarah never seemed to have as much trouble sleeping in the hot little room. Carefully, Ernie brushed her sister’s hair back from her damp forehead, with intentions as tender as they were curious. It looked like that birthmark was getting even weirder looking. Unfortunate.

“You can sleep for a little while longer,” Ernie whispered. Sarah continued playing possum, and so, being older and bigger, Ernie felt compelled to shove her, just a little, as she inched her way out of the bed and walked to the window. If she squinted, she could just make out the plump figure of Mrs. Demares, who was similarly standing and watching from inside her dark house, blowing cigarette smoke through her screen door.

HERE ARE MARIE’S THOUGHTS: 

WHEN STORMS SURGE IN AUGUST

This first page, while clearly written and showing touches of the lyrical, is slow on the start. We writers often tend to write ourselves into a scene. Zooming from a large shot (the weather, the landscape), into a room (entering the house), focusing on a still unnamed child (an eight-year-old), and starting at the moment of the day beginning, but not, really, the beginning of the true story. I’m a writer too, and I’ve done this myself – and in very nearly the same form – on a middle grade manuscript I wrote early in my career.

Here’s what I found out through my own writing: most, if not all of this lead-in stuff can be cut.

Chances are good that this story will start cooking for real on page two or even further along. It’s always great to start right there with the character, and right at the inciting incident, or as close to it as the writer can begin. That doesn’t mean there won’t be room to add details about the heat or the neighborhood as the story moves along, but with tightening up the story the reader won’t have to wonder what is new or interesting here.

Imagine how potent this start would be if it instead started with something revealing and active like your heroine tugging her sister down the street, telling her, “Come on. You know what’ll happen if we’re late.” Then we are hearing her voice, we are in motion, we sense tension, we have questions we want answered. We turn the page.

In this sample, an intriguing detail involves that birthmark. I’m guessing it’s significant. Is this some paranormal sort of mark? A hint of illness? Something that will lead to teasing? Right now I have no idea, but it does add a question mark in my mind, which is always good. The title and the word choices hint at literary, but aren’t firmly in that genre either, so I’m not sure what sort of journey is being promised. You DO want the reader to have a sense of that.

One other thing to note: I’m assuming this is a middle grade novel. If so, the 8-year-old main character is very young. While middle grade is aimed at the 8-12 year old reader, kids typically want to read books about kids who are older than they are. So, by setting your character at age 8, you are cutting off a decent share of this market and editors must be very mindful of who will be reading this book – and if it will be profitable. That’s why you’ll find 7- and 8-year-old heroes starring more in chapter books and easy readers. If this is, indeed, a middle grade novel, then do consider making your main character older. Just something important to keep in mind.

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

CALL For: May/June Illustrations – 500 pixels wide

I want to thank Jenna Porcius from Bloomsbury for sharing her expertise and donating her time to help all of us.

Below are the results for the four first pages critiqued by editor Jenna Porcius from Bloomsbury.

Next Friday May 16th Agent Marie Lamba from Jennifer DeChiara Literary Agency will critique 4 first pages.

QUINLAN LEE, Agent, Adams Literary  will end MAY with her four critiques posted on May 30th. Deadline to submit: May 22nd.

Here are the Results:

Carolyn Clark, MG Fantasy: MISSION TO THE SKY: THE ODIN EXPEDITION

Tiny Mitchell of 18 Hummingbird Lane was the only one in her family with any sense of magic and wonder. Her parents were scientists, and they only believed in things they could see, touch, and count.

No matter how much they insisted magic didn’t exist, Tiny knew they were wrong. She knew that her great-great-great grandmother Petunia Wilson put spells on people and animals to make them behave. Once, she even worked for the President of the United States and helped him catch thieves trying to steal all the gold in Ft. Knox. Tiny admired her great-great-great grandmother and wanted to be just like her, maybe even help the President. She just didn’t know how to go about it.

Tiny’s older brother, Jamie, didn’t believe in magic either, although he did believe he ran the universe, especially her small corner of it. She knew that wasn’t true either, despite the fact he kept trying to prove he did.

“Okay, shrimp, where do you think you’re going?” Jeans full of holes and covered with ballpoint pen drawings of everything from cars to trees and flowers, Jamie stood in the front doorway, sneakered feet ready to pounce. He grabbed for her arm, but missed when she ducked around him.

Being fast and small helped Tiny a lot in the big brother department.” None of your beeswax where I’m going, toad breath, and my name’s Tiny.” Well, her name wasn’t really Tiny. Her parents named her Theresa, but Tiny suited her just fine.
She raced down the steps, jumped on her bike, and pedaled as fast as her legs could go, because she knew Jamie didn’t give up that easily. And, she was right. Paper clips bounced off the thick rubber band in his fingers and whirred around her head, but she couldn’t let them stop her.

HERE IS JENNA’s Comment for MISSION TO THE SKY:

I love the idea of this little girl who believes in magic even though no one else does—it’s a sweet notion that feels perfect for young middle grade. I also really like the family element, and the mention of her great-great-great grandmother has me curious to find out more about the nature of this family magic. But the introduction of her brother and their fighting shifts the focus a bit in a way that is not quite as engaging. I’d love to see more focus on Tiny in these first pages to help set up the plot and give the reader a better sense of where the story is going.

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The Edge, By Angela Larson – Middle Grade

“…Our final announcement this Monday morning comes from Mr. Bennett. All science fair forms are due today by noon. A reminder to all scientists: There is a strict ban on explosive demonstrations this year.” My face grows so hot I’m sure I’m turning red. The announcer didn’t need to say, “We’re talking to you Felix Mathew,” for the whole school knows those last few words are aimed at me. We all just know it. You’d think that they’d be over it — that I’d be over it –I mean, it’s been a year already. Come on, my right eyebrow grew back three months ago.

I should probably tell you what happened. Last year, specifically, on the one day a year that the athletic teams of Einstein Scientific Junior Academy give up their precious gym for the school science fair I, Felix Mathews, rocketed a potato across the gym at 236 miles per hour. I imagined it would be one of those awesome moments where everyone would stop and be wowed by my brilliance. I was even prepared. I had practiced outside once before the fair.

It was a stunning moment at the fair last year. Everyone was stopped by my demonstration. It was just the screams that I hadn’t expected.

My launch pad was stable and strong, my practice run went well, and my confidence was high. But a small nudge by one of the judges a split-second before lift off changed the projectile. With a loud bang, the potato shot out its adjusted path at stunning speed and completely destroyed the gymnasium’s scoreboard. While everyone else watched the scoreboard shatter and fall, I smacked my right eyebrow, extinguishing the flaming hairs lit by the launch.

After the shower of plexiglass stopped, the judges showed no interest in my poster explaining combustion theory. I had labored over it for hours. And standing alone with my poster, at rocket speed I was hit with the certainty that I wasn’t going to be invited to the Monday morning school assembly to show off my prize-winning demonstration. Another attempt at greatness dashed – by just one potato.

HERE IS JENNA’S Comment for THE EDGE:

I really like the classic boy middle-grade humor here, and I laughed out loud when I read “Come on, my right eyebrow grew back three months ago.” But I do think the opener would be stronger if it didn’t lead with the announcement. Situating Felix in the school first (maybe he’s walking to class, sitting at his desk, etc. doing something characteristically Felix) and then bringing in the announcement, for example, could help with pacing and build. Also, there’s some repetition here of information about the fair and what happened last year, so tightening that up will help make sure that the story is packing a tight, funny punch.

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THE RIGHT STUFFING by Margo Sorenson - Picture Book

Jared picked up Carrots and his baseball glove.

Jared’s big sister Sarah frowned. “Don’t take that old stuffed bunny outside,” she said. “Aren’t you too old for him, anyway?”

Jared whisked Carrots out the door quick as a bunny.

“Good catch, Carrots!” he shouted.

Next, it was time to go to the grocery store. Jared sneaked Carrots into his car seat in the car.

“You shouldn’t bring that old stuffed bunny inside,” Sarah scolded. “Ick!”

But Jared raced up and down the aisles with Carrots tucked safely under his arm.

He stopped in front of the vegetables bin. “Look, Carrots!” he said, pointing. “There’s your name!”

At dinner, Jared squeezed Carrots next to him in his booster seat at the table.

“You’re not bringing that old stuffed bunny to dinner again, are you?” asked Sarah. “If you really have to have a bunny around, I’m going to tell Mom and Dad to get you a nice, new one.”

Jared scrunched Carrots down behind him. Only Carrots’ ears stuck up.

“Lettuce decide what dressing you want,” Jared whispered.

Next, Jared got in his pajamas, grabbing Carrots’ paw.

Sarah sighed, “You can’t take that old, dirty bunny to bed! Oh, my gosh. You’re too old for this bunny stuff.”

Jared snuggled Carrots under the covers next to him.

HERE IS JENNA’S comment for THE RIGHT STUFFING:

Myself and my stuffed animal dog, Doggy (who I’ve had since I was three) thank this author for understanding the importance of the child-stuffed animal relationship. J In all seriousness, though, this is definitely something kids and parents can relate to, and Jared and Carrots are an adorable pair. But the action here feels rushed, and the arc not fully fleshed out. I’d love to get to know Jared and Carrots a little more, and it’d be great to see them have a moment where they do something that gets them a positive response from the people around them to make the story a little more dynamic.

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Eye on the Fly by Shiela Fuller  -  Picture Book

Bentley spied the fly.

It was on the screen door as Mom left the house.

The fly took off.

Bituzz…bituzzzz.

Bentley had his eye on the fly.

It landed on the rocking chair.

Bentley jumped.

The fly took flight.

Bituzz…bituzzzz.

Bentley kept his eye on the fly.

It landed on the trash can.

Bentley pounced.

Off went the fly.

Bituzz…bituzzzz.

Bentley saw the fly.

It landed on the blueberry pie.

Bentley darted.

Away went the fly.

Bituzz…bituzzzz.

Bentley had his eye on the fly

HERE IS JENNA’S comments for EYE ON THE FLY:

I think this is a creative idea, but the repetition is making it hard for me to get into the story. I’m not sure where the story’s going, and more importantly I’m not sure why I should care about Bentley and this fly. Widening the focus beyond following the fly—maybe establishing why Bentley is so focused on following the fly, for example—could help to develop the story.

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Here are the submission guidelines for submitting a First Page in May: Please “May First Page Critique” or “May First Page Picture Prompt Critique” in the subject line. Please make sure you include your name, the title of the piece, and whether it is as picture book, middle grade, or young adult, etc. at the top.

Attach your first page submission using one inch margins and 12 point font – double spaced, no more than 23 lines to an e-mail and send it to: kathy(dot)temean(at)gmail(dot)com. Also cut and paste it into the body of the e-mail and then also attach it in a Word document to the email.

DEADLINE: May 22nd.

RESULTS: May 30th.

Use inch margins – double space your text – 12 pt. New Times Roman font – no more than 23 lines – paste into body of the email and attach.

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy

This giraffe fashionista was sent in by Katia Bulbenko. Katia is an artist, illustrator and art teacher living and working near New York City, on the Jersey side of the Hudson. A member of the SCBWI, her work was recently selected for the New Jersey Library Association’s Books for Kids poster. Congratulations! Katia!

Big Red and Wolfie (PB) by Bev Baird Langill

“Look at those nice juicy pigs. Won’t granny be happy.”

Turning around, Red screeched when she saw Wolfie glaring at her.

“Why are you spying on me?”

“I’m not! I caught you spying on our new neighbours.”

“Just checking them out.”

“Not for a meal, I hope?”

“Of course not!”

Red left quickly and  ran home, arriving there, huffing and puffing.

“Granny, we’ve got new neighbours – three plump, juicy pigs.”

“Wonderful. What I wouldn’t give for a nice roast of pork.”

“Yum!”

“We need to meet them. I want you to take over some nice treats. That will fatten them up even

more.”

“What a great idea Granny. I’ll go over now.”

Granny packed a basket with cakes and cookies, while Red put on her cloak. She had a bit of

trouble doing it up around her neck.

Here is what Allison had to say:

BIG RED AND WOLFIE by Bev Baird Langill

The idea of combining the “Little Red Riding Hood” and “Three Little Pigs tales here was interesting. That said, given the storyline wasn’t straightforward, I thought it could use a few more lines to set the scene, before jumping into the dialogue.  At times it wasn’t immediately clear who was talking, so I might also suggest using attribution, if even just selectively.  Or, if the story is meant to communicate some of its humor visually, I would suggest including art notes.  In some ways, this felt like the middle of a story.  I could make assumptions about Granny, Wolfie, and Red based on what they said, but I wasn’t feeling as invested as I could be.

There are a number of fairy tale-inspired picture books out in the market, so for us to consider one, it needs to be spot-on  – and stand out from the crowd in a really dynamic, specific way.  In this case, unfortunately, I would probably choose not to move forward.

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Rule Breaker  – a Middle Grade Novella By Angela Larson and Zander Mowat

The book made this sound a lot easier. I’m in the hall that leads to the cafeteria, leaning on a bent knee and peering around the corner with a mirror in my hand.  This is surveillance, Chapter One of Detective Derk’s Spy Manual for the Disgruntled. I’ve been on surveillance all week. It’s Friday. My hand is going numb while I wait. I’m debating if it’s worth skipping lunch again, when my target, my jerk brother Roger Adams, turns the corner.

He strolls down the hall in his ‘too important to walk any faster’ mode and pulls a coin from his pocket.   By the time he gets to the vending machine my arm starts to shake. I’m concentrating hard to keep the mirror focused on him.

He puts a quarter in the machine, presses a button and I hear the candy fall to the door. This is crazy – I know he doesn’t have any money.  Then I see the trick.  I blink.  Is this for real?

He pulls a string – its tied to the quarter!

A second later, he’s pulled the quarter up and out, has the stolen snack in his hand, and he is about to walk away.

My body jolts to fast-forward as I turn the corner and launch at him. “That’s not very cool – Stealing from the school!”  Not waiting for an answer, I snatch the coin on the string out of his hand.

“Dude, take a chill pill, before your head explodes,” says Roger as he rolls his eyes.  This is part of Roger’s classic cosmic-cool act.  He goes around saying all these…

Here is what Allison had to say:

RULE BREAKER by Angela Larson and Zander Mowat

I thought this was a great first line.  It grabbed me immediately, and told me a lot about the situation and character in just a few words.  I didn’t mind jumping into the middle of a scene because each line told me something interesting and important – how the character looks, how he fits into his environment, and what his goal is.  I wanted to know why he was following “the target,” and what made him look to a book for advice.  I might even suggest extending his watch, and not revealing who the target is just yet, to maintain suspense for a few more paragraphs.  In any case, I would definitely keep reading.

That said, a few things in the following paragraphs struck me as outdated, in a way, and I found that a little distracting.  Are any vending machines still only a quarter?  Do kids still say “take a chill pill”?  These wouldn’t have stopped me from reading, because I was taken by the plot, but they took me out of the story momentarily, so I might suggest rethinking them.  On a similar note, the specific phrasing coming from the main character – especially his exclamation about stealing from the school (and the fact that that line rhymes, almost like a slogan), made him seem less like a cool spy and more like an annoying little brother.  And if he is, so be it!  But if that’s not one of his main traits as a character, I might similarly rework that line.

Overall, minor quibbles aside, I would be interested in seeing where this story was going.

(Side note – I wasn’t familiar with the category of “middle grade novella.”  There is certainly a range, from chapter books up to more complex MG, but I haven’t heard of something in MG being described as a novella, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.)

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Sarah Phillips Pellet – THE KITCHEN TROLL – Middle Grade 

            Stephen didn’t brush his teeth in the morning. It was about all he could do to get out of bed, pull on his jeans and sweatshirt, eat breakfast, grab his backpack, and walk to school. Who had time to brush their teeth?

The problem was though, Stephen didn’t find the time to do other little things he should’ve been doing, too. Things like weeding the garden, taking out the trash, and sorting the recyclables, they got in the way of the time he liked to spend playing basketball with his friends or drawing in the garden shed where nobody would disturb him. Or find out that he liked to draw.

Stephen didn’t give these things too much thought in the morning. He didn’t think much of anything apart from moving his spoon to his mouth to take a bite of cereal. Th-wap! His father slammed his sketch pad onto the kitchen table. Little bits of dirt scuttled out from its pages and flew across the table as if they knew was what coming next and wanted to get out of the way. The pencil slid out of its spiral cage and rolled onto the floor. Two giant hands came crashing down onto the table with such force that Stephen’s spoon jumped out of his cereal bowl and catapulted soggy Cheerios onto his lap.

“What is this?” his father demanded, his lip curled in a snarl.

Stephen blinked several times. “I dunno,” he lied.

“Oh really?” said his father, flipping the sketch pad over to reveal a sign Stephen had penned which read, “NO TRESPASSING! Property of Stephen Dennison!!!” with each exclamation point drawn in 3-D:  one with diagonal stripes, another with polka dots, and the last one with lightning bolts.

Here is what Allison had to say:

THE KITCHEN TROLL

I liked this opening – it tells you what kind of kid Stephen is, and that this isn’t a one-off situation.  That said, my first question was, why does Stephen eat cereal, instead of an even quicker breakfast?  Sitting at the table and pouring cereal and milk sounds like it takes more effort than, say, eating a granola bar on the way out the door.  Just something to consider.

I enjoyed the imagery of the third paragraph, especially the line “Little bits of dirt scuttled out from its pages and flew across the table as if they knew was what coming next and wanted to get out of the way.”  Since this is a clever line, I might suggest simplifying the other sentences in that paragraph – otherwise, it’s easy to get a bit caught on up things like “spiral cage” and “catapulted soggy Cheerios,” and lose track of the story.

The “No Trespassing” sign seemed to make the sketchpad more noticeable than if Stephen had written something misleading like “Biology Homework” on it, so I wondered what his thought process was there.  I also found that his father’s anger about the artwork felt familiar – it’s a storyline I’ve read before.  I wanted to know more about why, in Stephen’s particular situation, it would be bad if people knew he liked to draw – and how deep his passion for drawing is.  I might suggest having his dad discover a very particular piece of artwork that conveys more of the story (is this where the kitchen troll from the title comes in?).  There also seems to be a disconnect between this scene and the opening describing Stephen, so I would want to know how he caused this situation to happen (did he accidentally leave the sketchbook out?).

Overall, I would probably read a few more pages to find out if the questions above were answered, but would need another hook to keep me interested past that.

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OUT ON A LIMB Susan Detwiler, picture book

James Johnson Junior was out on a limb

It seems that his father was looking for him.

Rotten luck followed James right out of bed

First he stubbed his big toe, and then bumped his head

James spilled juice on the rug, stepped on the cat

When practicing swings, broke a plant with his bat.

The dog chewed his shoe, ran off with his sock

Their chase through the kitchen made furniture rock –

Knocked over sugar and spilled all the tea!

James escaped from the house to hide in a tree…

He scrambled up fast which made his foot slip

He looked down and saw that his pants had a rip.

What would he do? Dad must surely be mad!

The messes and mayhem made James seem so bad.

Would Dad be angry and make a loud roar?

Banish James to his room and then lock the door?

Here is what Allison had to say:

OUT ON A LIMB

Rhyming text in picture books is interesting – in the best cases, it can enhance the lyrical quality of the book, making it an incredibly fun read-aloud.  But in other cases, it can feel a little forced.  Unfortunately, the second one happens much more often when I’m reading submissions, so I always approach rhyming stories with a bit of apprehension.   Add to that the difficulty of translating text that rhymes, and you can see how we might have especially high standards when we consider acquiring this type of book!

In this case, I thought the rhyme was fun, but a few of the lines felt like a bit of a stretch – like they were rearranged to support the end rhyme, rather than the plot.  I also wondered in the emphasis was on the right words – in following the story (and picturing it illustrated), I wanted to highlight certain words or beats that were the most visual or meaningful – and those didn’t always match with the natural beat of the end rhyme.

I also found the plot to be a little bit quiet.  The story of a klutzy child – or one who can’t please his dad – isn’t new, so I was looking for other ways this story would stand out.  I found that I was remembering the sing-song quality more than certain aspects of the story, so wondered if this would be better served written without the rhyme.  I would need to read the rest to see if this could turn into a stand-out story, but I predict it might be a pass.

Thank you Allison for taking the time out of your busy schedule to share your expertise with us. If you sign up for the NJSCBWI Conference at the end of June you will get to meet Allison in person. Please leave a little note for Allison if you enjoyed the post and her comments. Thanks!

Talk tomorrow,

Kathy