Writing that kicks your ass

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Andy's piece--Critter

Hi everyone,

I've emailed the first 20 pages of my middle-grade novel Critter to everyone--please let me know if it didn't come through.  

Just to give you an idea of the story's pacing, I think it will end up being around 220-240 pages.  

I guess that's all I want to tell you--let's see how it stands on its own!  

I have just three questions:

1) What's working well?

2) What isn't working well?

3) Where do you imagine the story going from here? (I ask this because I wonder what story I'm setting up in the reader's imagination).

Thanks, guys!

Andy

Monday, February 15, 2010

Cherry Picker by Jason Kurtz

Not so gentle men...
 
I just sent my Cherry Picker story to Alexandria LaFaye, my deadline was TODAY! :) So you get to sample what the experts get to look at...(Check your E-mail!)

Some things I am looking for:

Readability. I want you to have the impression that these guys are really talking and communicating via a variety of platforms such as game chat, texting, email, email to text, blog (I think that is all in these 18 pages!)

Teens have an entire life that happens after their parents’ lives are over for the day, and for many that heavily involves technology.

The language. Workshoppers have complained about the language (all women). Thoughts from the guys?  Is this REAL?

My age group is 14-19-year-olds, the action takes place shortly before the beginning of their senior year. Hi-jinks ensue...

Thanks for looking at it!

Jason

PS: Hope you enjoy my the mock-up of my cover that I use for inspiration! ;)
PPS: Remember to comment below this entry.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

A standing offer

Hey guys,

I just wanted to put this offer out there.

I have some longer works that feel as though they're in the later stages of the process (I hesitate to say finished!), and I feel that sometimes with whole drafts of long works, it's best to receive feedback on the whole thing.

So my offer is this: If anyone wants to trade their book-length draft, I'm willing and eager.

The problem, of course, is that we're all pretty busy, and reading a book-in-progress and giving feedback on it is a huge commitment.  I know I'd have to make sure I have a not-so-busy week or so during which I could read someone's draft.

I do have a good chunk of free time coming up, in case someone has a longer piece they'd like feedback on.  I have spring break from March 6th to the 14th, and in that time I could read someone's draft and give feedback.  And after May, once school is out, I'll have plenty of time, so if summer rolls around and you've got a whole draft of something long and you'd like some feedback, I'm glad to read.

And if anyone's up for commenting on one of mine, I'm ready at any time.  I have my YA novel (65,000 words) and my middle-grade gross-out (a little less than 12,000) ready for feedback.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Notes on Bathrobe Daydream

Dave,

My comments are at the bottom of the text (b1) through (b12)

The way the comments appear came out as a surprise to me. I did it in word and the comments are posted in the text, not at the end. I can resend if necessary. Let me know. I thoroughly enjoyed the reading.

Bill K.

[b1] Bathrobe Daydream
A short story
By David Revere
“Attention Ladies and not-so-gentle men!"
The announcer's voice thunders into the sweaty air as I muscle my way to a seat in the back of the arena.
"The one and only ‘Toughest Guy Ever’ tournament is about to begin! The steeliest, crustiest, fiercest fighters of all time have stepped from out of the pages of history to make their case for the title here tonight!”
[b2] I’m just in time to witness a single-file line of hulky legends strut down an aisle toward the raised wrestling ring in the middle of the arena. Roving spotlights and pounding heavy metal music accompany their puff-chested entrance.
[b3] I smile with the corner of my mouth. So many famous egomaniacs. It’s easily history’s greatest “who’s who” event this side of judgment day. Goliath is the first to catch my eye. The 10-foot man-tree may not be the handsomest Philistine to have ever walked the earth, but he tries to make up for it with pure charisma.
“I’ll feed your flesh to the birds of the air!” he bellows at the preening gallant in front of him. Blackbeard isn’t impressed. One-eyed and scowl-faced, the buccaneer spits back, “I’ll run ye through with me cutlass and swab the deck with yer innards, thou lumpish, flap-mouthed land lubber!”
The manly parade continues to fill the ring: Genghis Khan, Bruce Lee, William Wallace. Jaws drop as each new celebrity takes the stage.
When all the fighters have assembled along the ring’s perimeter, a pinstriped referee steps up to explain the rules. “Tonight’s contestants will fight bare-fisted. In order for the match to end, one fighter must be rendered completely incapacitated. Power and skill must determine the champion.”
“Let the battle begin!” the announcer booms.
[b4] The fights are brutal, mesmerizing the ecstatic crowd. Each man brings his own flavor of ferocity and menace to the ring, but one warrior stands out above the rest. Wiry [b5] Achilles makes dispatching history’s greatest legends seem effortless. The Spartan-armored golden boy strides around the ring with his fist in the air after every victory.
Blackbeard limps away with a grumbling “Arrgh,” deprived of his other eye. Goliath crashes to the deck, crushed under Achilles’ heel.
Before long, every contestant is bested. Time has not retired Achilles' title as greatest warrior on Earth. “Is there no one else?” His voice is a petrifying roar of testosterone. “Is there no one else?”
For the first time tonight, silence permeates the arena. Achilles is content to let the moment linger… until I stand up. [b6] Clad in my bathrobe and swimming trunks, I swagger my way down the aisle. Every head turns with me, mouth open. Achilles flashes a bemused smile, but it fades by the time I step up into the ring. I shrug off my robe and assume a fighting stance, peals of laughter ensuing.
"Who invited the Karate Kid?" one guy yells.
"Watch your heel, Achilles!" jokes someone else. "He's about eye level!"
Achilles is all grimace as he regards me from the other side of the ring. The certainty of victory lights his eyes a wicked, crimson hue. The referee throws up his hands and walks away. I crack my neck and grin.
“Shall we dance, my red, red rose?”
The sounds of the arena drift into the distance as Achilles and I circle close. I fake a jab to the right and step in with a left hook. Catching my fist in mid-air, he smashes my face with a left elbow, following all the way through. I reel into the ropes.
The world is spinning, but I'm not slowing down. I use the ropes for momentum and launch back towards him like a slingshot. He steps aside effortlessly and I stumble on past. When I whirl around to face him again, he bends his knees extra low and unleashes a two-punch combo to my rib cage. The crowd gasps. I crumple to the floor, deprived of breath and orientation.
Moments later I’m on my feet, staggering towards my foe. Achilles is provoked to speech. “Who are you?”
I spread my arms wide.[b7] “I am the sun, my daisy!”
I grit my teeth as hands viciously grab my shoulder and thigh. Achilles lifts me high into the air and tosses me into the post on the opposite corner of the ring. The pain is blinding, but I'm not stopping now. I regain a foot, half lunging, half swaying towards him.
“I am the breeze, my sweet carnation,” I gasp. An elbow to my chin snaps my head back. I sway like a drunk and crash back into the post. I scramble to my feet again, spitting teeth on the mat. Blood fills my mouth. My eyes are swelling shut. My nose feels like mush on my face. I shuffle towards Achilles like one of the living dead. The crowd gapes in deathly silence.
“Stop this madness!” my opponent pleads.
“I am the rain, my thoft thunflower!” Knuckles are the last thing I see.
The lights are out, but I’m still home. Somehow, there's wind rushing in my ears. Then the blackness turns to blue and I realize I'm flying up past the clouds. The sun is bright. The air is thin and cold.
[b8] "Caaaaw!" A bald eagle rockets straight up past me. I can understand its eagle language. “Follow meeeeeee,” it’s calling as it corkscrews upwards. I spin after it, but it flies faster and higher like it wants to leave the world altogether.
Now I don't know if it's the thinning air, the eagle, or my unknown destination, but something about this [b9] daydream is starting to feel farfetched. Downright silly even. Aren’t I breaking the rules of sense and logic and whatever else? The eagle doesn't seem to care. That makes me wonder. If the sky is my limit - if I can break the rules, who’s really to decide the toughest guy ever?
“Caaaaw!” says the eagle. That’s what I thought.
The faint echo of a noisy crowd reaches my ear from somewhere down below. I smile. I allow myself to fall back down.
[b10] As I break past the clouds, my eyes open and the arena ceiling comes into focus. My body is slick with sweat and blood, but now it feels like I’m connected to something in the ground. Like an electric current. I sit up straight.
A hush falls over the crowd. Achilles has his back to me, his fist still raised in victory.
I stand to my feet. He freezes, then turns.
A quiver underlines his voice as he asks the question for the second time. “Who. Are. You?”
[b11] “I am the thinker, my daffodil.” I speak with the voice of the crowd, the universe, a trillion souls at once.
Achilles’ head jerks up and around before centering back down on me. I balance on one foot and lift my arms to either side, turning my hands down like hooks. The champion raises his fists but not high enough. I let loose a cosmic "WHAAAAAA" and leap into the air. Crane kick to the face. He flies up over the ropes and smashes down into the official’s table. The crowd goes wild as Achilles makes a scramble for the door. But I don’t chase him.
[b12] I’ve got a date with the sky.

[b1]Voice of protagonist is interesting, but I am not sure of his age , his physical appearance, or, more importantly, his yearning. What does he want? What is he running from? He seems to be on stage. Is this his way of coping with some horrible event in his life? Does he want death? Is daydreaming , or sleep, how he escapes

[b2]Sounds like a very literate hero.

[b3]Very well educated in the bible, R.L. Stevenson, movies, history.

[b4]All at once or two at a time?

[b5]First mention of Achilles, the dude also reads Greek mythology. Or sees a lot of Brad Pitt movies.

[b6]This kid goes to a lot of movies.

[b7]His voice says poet, his actions say WWF. I want to know more of his motivation and yearning.

[b8]Crow sound for sure, Is it Eagleeze.

[b9]Is it a dream?

[b10]Is the dream over?

[b11]A muscled John Keats?

[b12]
Dave,
Very poetic. Well written. I want to know more about his motivation and a hint of what is next. Great line at the end, but I need a hint earlier of why he is after a date with the sky. Some rock hard detail. The length is fine. Not too short with a touch of what could be next. I really enjoyed reading this and hope you have a few of your questions answered.
I know 4th & 5th grade boys would like this if a few of the issues I brought up could be answered

Bill K.