Directory Writing Workshops

Writers Workshop: Bring Out The Editor

Dancing Word Writers Workshop

With Barbara Warren

August 26, 2005

Hosted by: Ellie Schroder

Dancing Word Publisher/Editor

*This chat has been edited for clarity and flow.

All works shared during this chat are the sole property of the individual authors and are covered by all applicable copyright laws.

Ellie Schroder: Lord, thank you for this evening, for gathering us together in one place from all over the globe. United in our efforts to use our creativity for You. Please be with Barbara as she teaches tonight. Help her keep a stable connection. And bless us all as we bless you in our endeavors. In Jesus’ Name, Amen

Protocol Reminder: When the floor is open to questions…Please type ? for questions, ! for comments, and ga when you are through. For those of you new to the chat room ga means go ahead and keeps us from stepping on each others' toes. Please wait to be called on in turn.

Tonight, I'm thrilled to introduce talented content editor Barbara Warren for this live writing workshop. Barbara checks manuscripts for plot, flow, clarity and characterization prior to authors submitting to agents or publishers.

Participants in this workshop tonight will be entered into a drawing to receive a five-chapter critique of their work.

Barbara, welcome and thanks for coming.

Barbara Warren: Thanks for that nice introduction. First I want to say something. I got fifteen e-mails with paragraphs and I really enjoyed reading them. You guys are good writers with a lot of potential.

Anne McDonald: First WIP is Grave Hopping With Myrna by Angie Poole

Barbara Warren: Angie, good humor. You really get into her thoughts and nail her character. A few places I thought it needed to be clearer, but very good.

Grave Hopping With Myrna

I had to ask, didn't I?

Two stinking days.

Dot's house sold to-of all people-a Yankee woman. Don't get me wrong, I love people of all colors, creeds, and nationalities, but those Northerners have a whole different way of thinking. And their manners! Gracious, no telling what kind of folks are gonna see me in my bathrobe, drinking my coffee on my back porch. I may have to move my prayer closet indoors. On the south end of my house. (Love this)

Why am I so worked up? My new neighbor is probably a lovely woman. Maybe I'll rattle The Chain tonight, (What chain? Prayer chain? Make it clear) just in case. After our preacher's sermon this morning, I'd bet they're hovering around their phones, like operators standing by. (Waiting for prayer request? Not clear)

Personally, I wanted to stick my finger down my throat while the preacher went on and on, postponing our noon meals so we could feast on the word of the Lord. Are you spending quality time in prayer? Are you using the latest-vogue-acronym method? The way I see it, if you're praying, you're doing it right. Sermon done. (Yeah, I’m king of like that)

Churchy people can get in a snit real quick whenever you vocalize thoughts like that, so I tend to be very selective about what boundaries I want to push. The way Dot whipped around and glared at me from the widow's bench, I knew she suspected this would be one of my moments.

We disagree about most things and have since we were in school. That's probably why we didn't become friends until we hooked up at an A. A. meeting, when she came with her husband, Bud. Dot and I had to have something in common because it sure wasn't our matching theories in regard to housekeeping. This woman is something else. (Yeah, so is this one. :-)

Anne McDonald: Angie, any questions for Barbara?

Angie Poo: Gasp! I hate being first!

* Annie pins a badge of courage on Angie's shirt

AngiePoo: Um, Do I need to reel Myrna in? Sometimes I think I get too far out there.

Barbara Warren: No I wouldn't, I know a couple of women a lot like her (one of them might be me). I liked her. I'd like to have read some dialogue to see how she talks, but she is good.

AngiePoo: Thank you, Barbara.

Barbara Warren: You're welcome Angie, and I would like to say that you all thanked me and were so gracious and then I had to rip your work apart.

Anne McDonald: Next WIP Honoring Bill Shaw by Clarice Claiborne

Barbara Warren: Clarice, he sounds like a very nice man and a benefit to the community. Good job.

Honoring Bill Shaw

He drove a large Coke truck, was a terrific fisherman, a Boy Scoutmaster, crawled around on the roof of the church looking for leaks, basted BBQ and could pull a tooth or fill a cavity.

Bill Shaw moved to Abilene as an infant, the middle child of three. Grade School was across a vacant lot and one block down. (From what?) Bill’s Dad was the manager for the Coca Cola Company so Bill started part time work by sorting empty bottles. When he entered McMurry College he continued part time (his part time work) and drove a large delivery truck to the army camp near Abilene.

Drafted in 1943, he trained (In what, army, navy?) and was sent to England and France and was hospitalized in France, (Why? What happened?) transferred to the Pacific and stayed on Guam until the end of the war. At age 22 he was sent home. (Honorably discharged?)

How did he meet his bride, Mary Lu?  Bill went home to Abilene and Mary Lu, a student at SMU, went to Abilene for Christmas where her dad was the newly appointed pastor of the church. Bill says, “We married on Emancipation day 1948 and I got hooked but it was a really good hook and a really good marriage. We’ve been married 57 years.”

Mary Lou worked until Bill completed Dental School. They bought an office, remodeled, updated the equipment and started their Dental business on January 2, 1952. Bill had no appointments but the other dentists referred fourteen emergency patients. “That $65 for one day, more than paid our rent for a month. We thought we were rich.”

Anne McDonald: Clarice isn’t here, so we'll move on to the next WIP Presque Isle by Laura V. Hilton.

Barbara Warren: Laura, good action. I could see that boat bearing down on him and know I'd be scared witless. But after the wreck, he needs to get busy. He spends too much time thinking. People are in the water, some injured maybe, he needs to start helping get them out. He can make phone calls later. Keep the action moving.

Presque Isle

Josh reached for his can of soda and popped it open; trying to decide whether to turn around now, (not clear if he's standing or in a car or boat) or wait to see if the weather demanded it.

Gray clouds started to roll in . . . As he raised the pop can to his mouth, he heard the roar of an outboard motor, screaming as if the throttle had been locked into the wide-open position.

His heart jumped. He looked up in time to see a pleasure boat plowing straight toward him, racing another boat. The occupants of the other boat (leave out the other boat you have three boats here and it is confusing) were laughing and waving around beer bottles.

Two bikini clad women perched on the deck, with no life preservers in sight. The two men seated up front didn't seem to notice his presence-their attention focused on the boat they were racing.

Josh caught his breath and reached for his air-horn, even as he realized that contact was inevitable. They were going to crash-unless he could get out of the way. Not taking the time to return his can of pop to the holder, Josh he jerked the wheel hard to the right, hoping the other boat would miss him.

His can of pop flew unheeded from his hand, a stream of brown liquid pouring from the top. It hit the floor with a metallic ting. He tried to ignore the sticky liquid which splattered on his bare legs. (I'm going to suggest rewriting these two sentences because it sounds like the liquid hits the floor with a ting.  try something like "His can of pop flew unheeded from his hand, hitting the floor with a metallic ting. He tried to ignore the sticky brown liquid splattering on his bare legs.)

Josh gunned the motor, hoping the swerve and sudden burst of speed would be enough to propell him out of the other guy's way. Tense-laden seconds later, he realized he'd only managed to avoid a head-on collision for himself as the other boat slammed into his boat forward of the engines.

The sickening thud was accompanied by what sounded like a gun-shot, (A crash doesn't sound like a gunshot, so I'm assuming you're going to explain this later and I'm wondering what it is :-D ) as the smaller craft tried to wedge itself into the starboard bulkhead of Josh's yacht.

Knocked from his seat, his ribs sharply connected with the wheel since the wheel is in front of him, (it seems like he would have been thrown forward, not knocked from his seat, just having trouble seeing it) and forced the air from his lungs in one swift punch.

His head slammed into the instrument panel, (I'd leave out the last of this sentence you're in his viewpoint, so he won't be thinking about what the hit on the head brought.) bringing sharp pain and disorientation.

Josh caught his breath. Still light-headed, he gingerly brought his hand up to his head, searching for signs of serious injury. When his hand came away covered with blood, he groaned. Then he remembered that head wounds always bleed more than any other.

Everything else seemed to be intact, so Josh he decided to push himself into action. His ribs hurt, but didn't appear to be broken. He didn't feel any further injuries-just the deep, aching pain to his heart, knowing he'd been involved in a boating accident.  He should have been paying closer attention to the traffic around him, instead of opening his drink and thinking about Storm. Maybe all this could have been avoided. (he's been in a serious accident. they're on the water with a storm approaching. people are in the water. don't you think he'd have too much on his mind right now for soul searching? this should come later when he's safe on shore)

As the screams from the other party began to register, Josh let his breath out in a hiss. Instinctively, he rose and started toward the stern where the smaller boat hit. (I think too much time is passing between the wreck and him getting busy doing something. things happen fast in a situation like this. when you have him take time to think or reason, it slows the action.) He could see the occupants already in the water. Waves were washing over their heads. Josh's foot was on the top step when he thought that he probably needed to contact the Coast Guard before he checked out how much damage he sustained. (he has people in the water screaming. this is no time to check out his boat. he needs to get busy rescuing those people.)

He watched a beer bottle bounce on a wave below him, causing him to remember he'd seen the occupants of the other boat drinking. They had obviously been boating under the influence. The Coast Guard would want to know that.

Anne McDonald: End of the Presque Isle WIP. Any questions for Barbara, Laura?

Laura: Yes - first, Annie am I going to get a copy of this?  I'm having trouble cutting and pasting from here.

Anne McDonald: Yes, it will be in the transcript and I can forward on the e-mails to each of the individual.

Laura: Second, Barbara, thank you for doing this. Do you think I should eliminate one of the boats?

Barbara Warren:  no I think the third boat is fine, but when you have an action scene like this you need to keep your sentences short and to the point. Cut out anything that slows the action. Save the thoughts and long sentences until you solve the problem.

Anne McDonald: (and use color, maybe?)

Laura: Anyway, Barbara, the Coast Guard ends up doing the rescue since before Josh gets down his boat starts sinking - and lurches.

Barbara Warren: The thing is when you have the reader hooked with a tense situation, you want to keep him hooked, so keep it tense

Laura: Okay - so eliminate all the thoughts and keep the sentences shorter?

Barbara Warren: Yeah, that about covers it. Keep your reader in mind and get him hooked, worrying about your character and then turn up the heat.

Anne McDonald: Ready for the next WIP?

Barbara Warren: You guys are all good writers. I'm really enjoying reading your work. If anyone has any further questions they can e-mail me.

Shannon, this gets inside Jake's mind right at the start. I can feel his fear. Very good emotion.

The Gift of the Stranger

Jake fell. The pavement scored his knees and palms, but he hardly felt it for the panic beating in his chest. The sky erupted with flame, and a curtain of fire rippled toward the ground. (good description) He dived beneath the wreckage of a truck. The stench of decay (if it's just started burning then nothing is decaying yet) and burning plastic choked him.

He doubled over, retching-then couldn't breathe at all, and fell (he's under a truck, he can't fall again), curled on his side. The screams (whose screams) had begun-like tortured metal, and tortured souls-oh, God, I'm going to die-

Silence. The stranglehold of death loosed its hold on Jake's throat, and his lungs drew in the sweetness of clean air again. He cracked an eyelid, afraid to look, but light blinded him.

"Jacob."

He sensed, rather than heard, the Voice.

"Come, Jacob."

This time he forced open his eyes, shielded his face. (how? with an arm?) A white horse, and a man in glittering clothing, who scattered the dark by his very presence. (Incomplete sentence) A flashing sword and fiery eyes-then a smile. (Describe the smile. make it a greater contrast to the fire and destruction in preceding paragraphs. how does the smile make Jake feel?)

"Who are you?" Jake breathed.

"I am," he answered simply, and held out a hand. "Will you come?"

Anne McDonald: End of The Gift of the Stranger WIP. Any questions, Shannon?

Shannon: Thanks, Barbara!  I really appreciate you doing this

Barbara Warren: You're welcome. I enjoyed it.

Shannon: This is the prologue of my new WIP ... the sentence fragments and such were sort of deliberate a quick vignette, so to speak ... but I appreciate you pointing out the inconsistencies!

Barbara Warren: That's okay. I would suggest that you show a stronger contrast between what he feels with the fire and how he feels with the man on the horse.

Shannon: Thank you!

Anne McDonald: Robert, you are up next. Heh

Barbara Warren: Robert, good visuals. I could see the boys playing. Pulled me into the story. And I was hooked by the water; wanting to know where it came from. Has a lot of potential.

Dragon Spirit by Robert Peterson

Xane struck his best friend, with the (you will want to use “a” here since “the” implies you described the sword earlier) wooden sword, on his heavy tunic. (this sounds like the sword is on the tunic and did he just hit the tunic? or did he hit the flesh beneath the tunic? it's hard to hit a man's shirt withut hitting the man. Or does the fact that it's heavy protect him? Maybe Xane struck Hector, his best friend with a wooden sword.) "Die! Servant of evil."

Hector dodged. "Why am I always the evil one?" he asked, striking back. He tucked his chin down and spoke with a deeper, menacing voice, "I'm Lord Boerguult, servant of evil Emperor Garthal. You'll be the one doing the dying."

Xane and Hector grew up playing in these forested hills above their farms. At thirteen there is more work than play. (these two sentences are telling. whose viewpoint? since you start out with Xane it should be his.)

"You're the evil knight, because the good knight, Lord Sanzaro, always triumphs."

Xane laughed and jumped onto a large rock. "And I always win. . ." He swung at his friend's head (This doesn't sound very friendly. Did he connect?) and jumped off the rock. Dry autumn leaves fluttered to the ground from where his swing knocked them from the bare branches overhead. Hector ducked and charged. "The Emperor wants you dead."

Xane dodged a tree. Their wooden blades met with a clap.

Hector drove Xane back. "I'll bring the emperor your skull."

Xane stumbled and fell on his backside in the creek that ran running through the trees. Cool running (leave out running here) water filled the normally dry gulch.

"Hey, take it easy." Xane looked around splashing water toward Hector. "Where'd all this water come from?" (well what a place to stop. i want to know too. Good hook.)

Anne McDonald: End of Dragon Spirit WIP. Any questions, Robert?

Robert:  Thanks, Barb. I appreciate your help. I guess I need to go back and figure out how to add description without telling and maintain POV without it being dialogue or inner-dialogue. Thank you very much Barb and Annie

Barbara Warren: Yes, you do need to use point of view. Your reader will identify with the first character you introduce so it should be his POV. And I want to know where did the water come from

Robert: I guess you will have to hope it gets published or I decide to let you edit it for me : )

Barbara Warren: That is really nasty, Robert.

Robert: sorry

Barbara Warren:  Okay, i'll edit it for you :-)

* Remade_Gold snickers

Robert: That really just happened to be where 200 words stopped. I did not do it on purpose.

Barbara Warren: I'll just bet.

Anne McDonald: lol Remmie, you are up

Remade Gold: Sorry. I wasn't sure how much was being put up, and the first few paragraphs (this part) is a dream. Then he wakes up. It's just confusing without the italics.

Anne McDonald: Okies, thanks for setting it up.

Barbara Warren: Remmie, This is very good. It needs to be clearer in some places, and I marked them, but it's a very exciting story with good characterization and description. Makes me want to know what happens.

Sins of the Son by Remade Gold

Taro stood in the doorway of the emperor’s dining hall.   Long tables of hot food and sweet wine pleasured his sense of smell. Skilled musicians and singers, and beautiful dancers, dazzled his ears and eyes with their performance. Brilliant lights of the entire spectrum of color, colors he had never seen, burst before him and chased back the shadows. No, there were no shadows here.

His heart ablaze with joy, Taro joined the others in the middle of the dance floor, swept off his feet by a melody he’d never heard before. They sang in perfect harmony, their voices ringing above even the Overworld.

A pretty girl with auburn hair—how he knew she was pretty when he couldn’t see her face, who knew?—twirled at his side, laughter like music.  She giggled, skirt whirling around her thighs as he turned her.  And he was laughing, too, a dry, warm sound.

Taro looked and saw Slay dancing with another woman. He called out and waved. Varen and Anathia danced together, eyes ever on one another. Knoa found a sweet partner, tall and strong-looking, with black hair braided up off her neck and a familiarity Taro couldn’t place. And Marsen was even having fun, even if he wasn’t dancing with Desiree. (How does he know Marsen is having fun? He can’t know how Marsen feels. Marsen can look like he’s having fun though) Come to think of it, where was Desiree?

“Welcome, son.” He swung around. A man about his height with black hair and green eyes looked back at him. The man was older, but he looked strikingly like Taro himself.

Taro blinked. Was this--?  He backpedaled, (backpedaled? Do you mean he backed up? not clear)  nearly falling over for the shock of it.  “Daddy?” he whispered.

The man smiled broadly, pulling him into an embrace. “I missed you, son.”

He moaned, lost in his father’s broad arms. The thought sent chills down his (what thought?)  spine, and Taro shook. (Taro shook, telling. Show it)  His throat choked up, and he couldn’t answer.

“Who is this?” his father asked, looking at his dance partner.

Anne McDonald: end of Sins of the Son section.

Remade Gold:  lol.  Sorry.  The dream isn't over yet, but it helps to clarify a couple things. Taro senses emotions as intimately as his own (per comment in the scene), and he's dreaming of heaven. His father is dead.

Anne McDonald: Any questions for Barbara, Rem?

Remade Gold: Yes. How can I better show Taro sensing other people's emotions?

Barbara Warren: okay so he can sense Marsen is having fun because he can sense someone else's emotions?

Remade Gold: Yes ma'am. But you had no way of knowing that.

Barbara Warren: Since this is just a small piece of your manuscript show it somewhere earlier. Let your reader see him sensing another character's emotions

* Remade Gold nods

Remade Gold: Can I email you as to how?

Barbara Warren: You can e-mail me with anything.

Remade Gold:  Thank you.

Mary C:  I just opened my email to find my paragraphs, sent to Barbara bounced back to me. Does that mean I can't get them checked? It's okay, I'll still learn :)

Barbara Warren: No you can send to me again and I'll do them and send them back to you. It won't be on the forum, but you will get an edit.

Anne McDonald: Mary, e-mail them to me, and I'll make sure they get included in the transcript.

Next WIP Closing Arguments

Barbara Warren: Nancy, good sense of place. I can see the cold empty streets. Now I'm wondering why he's so down on his luck. So you've hooked me.

Closing Arguments by Nancy Toback

Chapter One

Adam McCort skimmed his gaze over the shimmering frost, lit by the glow from the soot-dimmed streetlamps. (did you intend for the alliteration in the first sentence—two or more words starting with the same sound— if it's deliberate fine, but if it's accidental, maybe change one or more of them so they don't all sound so much alike.)

Except for Abe at the newsstand, the frigid city looked like a ghost town. Of course, there were unseen souls of the night, lurking in dark doorways and alleys, which made him appreciate his dog’s size and German Shepherd markings.

Adam navigated the icy pavement, Convict straining at her leash. “Easy girl.” He adjusted the bulky Sunday Times tucked under his arm, riding toward his hip, (leave out riding toward his hip. too much going on in one sentence. weakens the picture you are creating) and arrived on the other side of First Avenue, intact.  Shivering in black sweatshirt and jogging pants, he chided himself for not wearing a jacket.

Convict had no problem with the cold—only with the cooped up life she led. She’d gone from unleashed in their large fenced yard in Akron, Ohio, to these closed-in streets of Manhattan. Adam released a puff of steamy breath (maybe a steamy puff of breath—it isn't steamy until it hits the air) and shuddered.

The memory of his sour-puss landlord, Mr. Manekin, pointing a crooked finger at Convict and warning, “One more complaint and the dog goes,” had driven him out into this cold at the crack of dawn. That, and mercy. Three months in the cramped apartment had to be getting to her—it was definitely getting to him.

While Convict inspected the bark of a bare-branched maple, Adam eyed the dilapidated tenement he tentatively called home. He dreaded Tracy Gibbs’ promised Christmas visit. She’d known him as the ne’er do well in high school, and when they’d reconnected last year at their reunion, he was a struggling public defender.

But she appeared sufficiently impressed when he’d told her about his career opportunity at Fitzgerald & Curn. What would she think when she saw how he lived? A metallic clang brought his nerves to attention—his muscles to fight or flight readiness. Adam jerked a glance over his shoulder. It was only an airborne trashcan cover riding the cold November wind, but the desolate streets still made him uneasy. He gave Convict’s leash a tug. “C’mon, girl, let’s get inside.”

Anne McDonald: End of WIP, questions, Nancy?

Nancyt: Thank you so much, Barbara. No questions. Great suggestions.

Barbara Warren: You're welcome, Nancy. Good job.

Okay, Cathy, you made me laugh out loud at this. Loved the humor and I could just see that confused cat. Very good.

Morning Glory Summer The minister and his wife promptly rose, and scampered to catch the bald-tailed cat. (I started laughing here and kept it up all the way through. Great humor. I can just see that cat.)  One of the deacons swung his straw hat back and forth, to shoo the squalling cat (feline to avoid using cat so much) toward a window.

Someone else (name him) opened the vestibule doors so the tomcat could find an exit. (maybe "to provide an exit" since you're using cat so much) The (orange) red-striped tomcat cat seemed confused by all the commotion. He leaped from the stage toward the curtain over the baptistery. He grappled with the red velvet fabric.

(I'm going to suggest rewriting these sentences to make them read more smoothly. "The orange tomcat, confused by all the commotion, leaped from the stage toward the curtain over the baptistry grappled with the red velvet fabric.”)

Within seconds, he lost the battle and plunged beneath the cleansing flood. (I love this) Immediately, the drenched cat hauled himself out of the water, and seeing the light (what light? How would she know this?), shot out the wide-open double doors.

Everyone froze. Amy figured they wondered how her family would react. (does she know how to react? does she look at a family member to see how he or she reacts?) Parishioners looked toward their pew-mates, eyes apprehensive, (period) everyone seemed not to know what to do. (awkward sentence. I'd leave it out)

Maude, who had remained seated through the fiasco, rose slowly and with great aplomb said, "My goodness! How Ethel would have gotten tickled over this." With her pronouncement, a few twitters of merriment rippled through the building. Several men let go hearty chuckles and women's subdued laughter sprinkled the sanctuary.

The soloist Mrs. Landry, a mute statue, her mouth still open, looked for all-the-world like she had strangled on treble clefs. (love this)

End of WIP sample.

Okies, next WIP On Shoulders of Hope by White Bat

Barbara Warren: White Bat: This is good. I'm wondering what Jon will do with himself now since he can't play football. The writer gets into the character's mind and shows how much he hates what has happened to him. I can identify this because my niece has just had surgery on her shoulder and can't play basketball in this, her senior year. Her reaction is a lot like Jon's.

On Shoulders of Hope

Jon groaned inwardly at the diagnosis, and the pain running up his arm seemed to lessen to the pain (pain used twice in same sentence. makes an awkward sentence) in his gut as he heard the news: He wouldn’t be able to play football again.

Why? Why did I have to be so… stupid! I could have not tried so much to grab that elusive football, and then this never would have happened. I wouldn’t have knocked into Chris and fallen. He thought. (Leave out “he thought”. We can tell from the text he’s thinking about this)

As Jon’s parents talked to the doctor about how long the sling should be on, Jon (he) replayed the fateful moments in his mind again. He had reached and jumped for that ball, but it flew too high. Now the thump of flesh and bone hitting another mass, the fullback, Chris, of the Tigers, the opposing team. (Let him hear this in his mind. He relived the thump of flesh and bone hitting an unyielding mass as he slammed into Chris, of the Tigers, the opposing team. Something like that.) The sudden drop to the ground that seemed to jar all of Jon’s bones, and then the splitting pain washing over him as his shoulder ignited in pain. (pain used twice in same sentence.)

The injury coach standing over him…flashing lights, red and blue, ambulance… all his team members watching in anxiousness. It wasn’t too bad; (you’ve built me up to think it was bad, so this is jarring. I’d leave it out and go with “He didn’t really need etc”) he didn’t really need an ambulance, but still… A shoulder dislocation and frazzled, pinched nerves felt like a white-hot branding iron pressed against the (his) shoulder blade.

Now, an hour later, Jon sat with his parents, praying for the Advil to kick in, and hoping against hope that the doctor wasn’t saying what he was saying. No more football? What other sport was there? (Leave out "to do") to do? Jon glanced over at his friend Andrew.

Andrew’s short stature, curly red hair, numerous freckles, and sun-burnt skin made (him—-you’re talking about Andrew so you wouldn’t use “his friend”) his friend look almost like a geek, almost… Straight A’s lined the boy’s report card, yet his synthetic shorts, Nikes, and loose T-shirt betrayed his real passion of track, running, and cross-country. (This is telling. Unlike Jon, Andrew got straights on his report card, something like that)

Andrew’s pensive stare and watchful eyes over his friend (watchful eyes over his friend sounds sort of odd. Make it clear that Andrew is worried about Jon but put in a kid’s natural behavior. I’m assuming these are high school kids. Keep it realistic for them. I’ve worked with teens in church and they are usually more casual. Not talking much but not missing much either. Let him glance at Jon his expression worried or something) comforted Jon a little bit.

Jon had tried running with (Andrew—-leave out “his friend”) his friend once, even tried out for the track team, (so how did he do running? Could he keep up with Andrew?) yet his body was built to be a wide receiver. He didn’t have butterfingers and could determine a way out of every obstacle.

He balled his right fist, squeezed his fingers as hard as possible, and then contracted; frustration worked over his mind. Jon knew (leave out “Jon knew”) he was about to snap. Throw a temper tantrum or something right here in front of his closest family and friend, and the doctor. Jon (He) took a deep breath between his gritted teeth. It sounded like a hiss of a snake. (The deep breath he took between gritted teeth sounded like the hiss of a snake.)  Now (leave out “now”) he stood up.

Anne McDonald: End of WIP sample. Questions for Barb, Batty?

Tab: oh...  No, not really

Barbara Warren: okay if you think of some later, you can e-mail me.

Anne McDonald: next WIP.

Barbara Warren:  Shade, good except for some head hopping in the beginning. Pick one viewpoint character for each scene and stay with it. I like the girl and I want her to win. But even if she doesn't, she has courage and you've shown that. Good characterization.

"Real gold fears no fire." (Right. I like this. Hadn’t thought of it that way.)

"Light came into the darkness, and the darkness could not comprehend it."

*****

Streamers hung from the two huge magnolia trees, swathing them (their branches) in brilliant reds and festive yellows. Large, round tables stood in the trees' shade, spread with meats and pastries of every type and tall flagons of spiced wine. There were large platters of breads, cheeses, dainty morsels, fruit, candy and candied fruits, all wreathed about by bouquets of wild flowers and an exotic assortments of numerous delicacies

On the center table a replica of the holy fountain of Ashaan bubbled merrily, diffusing cheer and goodwill. Sunlight filtered through the branches, falling softly on the grass in irregular patches. Laughing children ran impromptu footraces, caught up in exuberant rivalry.

Thane smiled at his young daughter in an all too rare moment of mirth and lack of inhibition, (Thane’s all to rare moment of mirth? Are you in his viewpoint? If so would he be thinking about himself?) his delight written across his strong, stately face. (also if it’s his viewpoint he wouldn’t be able to see his expression and he wouldn’t thing of his face as strong and stately)

Overcome with paternal pride, (This shows his viewpoint if your viewpoint charater the reader can only see what he sees, thinks and hears, what emotion he feels etc. This shows his pride in her so we know how he feels and that this is his POV) he urged her to take part in the races and prove the Thane superiority in all things physical.

Challenges were greeted not with trepidation but strength; they (“They” is not specific, maybe something like mere obstructions to be crushed, etc.) were to be crushed by the potent competency of the Thane family. It was expected.

Nodding, Kestrel reluctantly went to the starting line with the rest of the children, fearful she would fail her father. (Here you’re in her viewpoint. This is called head hopping. Each viewpoint should be separated by a chapter break, indicated by a blank line or something like * * *  to show the reader you’ve switched viewpoints) She was not swift, though she tried hard. Small for her age, with slender, delicate limbs, she was sure she would lose. And at her own party, no less! Her father would be furious, and worse, publicly shamed. She mustn't let that happen. (This is a good example of being in her viewpoint. I know exactly what she’s thinking.)

The line formed. A servitor raised a colorful flag, coughing politely to gain everyone's attention. He announced the race would circle the manor twice, finishing at the far wall, at which he would position himself so as to perceive and declare the winner. Counting down from three, he lowered the flag at zero, spurring the contestants on with a rousing shout.

Kestrel sprinted forward, excruciatingly aware that she was already in the back half of the horde. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to move faster, pounding the ground as hard as her youthful legs could propel her. To her surprise she moved faster, (Move faster, moved faster…to much alike and used too close together) quickly gaining on the others.

Fierce stabs of throbbing pain shot up her legs as she ran, taking her breath away. Ignoring the ache, she pushed on, gasping at the air like a drunkard at his ale. Her lungs burned and her vision blurred. She felt utterly drained. Spent. Tongue lolling out of her desiccated mouth, she ran on, lurching in agony. More than anything she wanted to stop, but thoughts of her father's disappointment urged her on. If she gave up now, she would regret it forever, she knew.

Only three boys were in front now. If she gave one final thrust she could rest. rest.. (I'm cheering for her. You have really caught me with this race. Maybe because I was never fast in a race. I really want her to win and that’s good because you have put me you’re your character’s mind so completely.)

Anne McDonald: End of Shade's WIP. Shade, do you have any questions?

Remade Gold: Shade had to go. He asked me to offer questions, but I can't think of them at the moment.

Barbara Warren: Tell him he can e-mail me if he has any.

Remade Gold: I will.

Anne McDonald: next WIP Riverboat Rendezvous

Barbara Warren:  Rose, good viewpoint. I only had a couple of short paragraphs about Nick but I can sense his anger. And I want to know more about why the captain isn't happy to see Terry. Sounds like a good story.

Nick hung up the receiver and stared straight ahead at the Mississippi. He'd agreed to do this, but he hadn't promised to make it easy on this guy. This interloper.

He heard the heavy metal door open then a soft thud as it closed. After a silence of several seconds, Nick turned to face his unwanted guest. "Captain Reynard?" (okay, Rose, you warned me, so I know this point of view is on purpose. and you have the extra space to alert the reader. Good)

Terry could tell by the look on the man's face that he hadn't been expecting to see her. "Aye, aye, Captain Stevens. Pleased to meet you." She extended her hand.

A sea of freckles on his blanched face gave her the impression of a mischievous lad caught in the act, (in the act of what?) and she had to bite her lip to hide a smile.

The man cleared his throat as he took her hand in his. "The pleasure is all mine." The words didn't match the tone of his voice.

Well, you had to stop here, didn't you? You people keep doing this to me, get me all interested and then quit. :-)  Good it makes me want to know why he isn't happy to see her. I want to know more. Good hook.

* Remade Gold smirks at Annie

Anne McDonald: End of WIP. Questions, Rose?

Chesterose: Thanks so much, Barbara, for doing these crits, and Annie, for giving us this opportunity. I've enjoyed the wide variety of writing seen here tonight.

Barbara Warren: You're welcome Rose, and I enjoyed reading them

Anne McDonald: next WIP...

Barbara Warren: Gina, since this is so short I didn't find anything to mark. It's very good description. I don't know how Mosalic looks in full, but I can see those thin scaled lips and sandpaper tongue and just seeing this demon would scare me to death.

The evil character of the master comes across very well and if you all keep sending me these scary things. I'm gong to have trouble sleeping at night. :-) If this is an accurate sample of Gina's work, she's a good writer and this will be a very good story.

Demon Chaser

Mosalic licked his thin, scaled lips with his sandpaper tongue, but it brought no relief to his parched mouth.

“Lieutenant,” the master beckoned from his throne. In the last half century, he’d taken to calling his fallen angels by the human’s military ranks. It had begun as a joke, the demon recalled. The master found great enjoyment in poking fun at the weaker race. He loved to counterfeit others almost as much as he reveled in causing them pain.

Mosalic had thought the master would have grown weary of the human titles after a few days, but fifty years later, Mosalic Bane was still answering to Lieutenant Bane.

“Come forward.” The master’s abysmal voice, full of power and seduction, echoed through the barren landscape of Gehenna.

Terror filled Mosalic as he walked backward toward his leader, the way the master required of all his servants. Would he be tortured again today? No telling. His lordship did as he pleased. His moods and whims were as erratic as wildfire.

Anne McDonald:  End of Demon Chaser WIP. Any questions, Gina?

Gina H: Nope, just a thanks for doing this for us!

Anne McDonald: Jessica, your WIP is up

Barbara Warren: Jessica, excellent description, I can see it, good emotion too. Sounds like a good story.

Born of Persuasions

15 March, 1838, Leicestershire, England

A cold wind pierced the wintry brume, (brume not in my dictionary. do you mean broom, like in broom sage?) raising the stench of rotting leaves and stirring the ground fog. I brushed aside the crepe veil fluttering against my face, (no comma) then curled my toes in (an) effort to regain feeling. In the haze, the urns and broken columns jutting up from the sloping churchyard, resembled crooked teeth. (beautiful description)

Thunder shook the landscape, its full toned rumble ebbing like the tide. The vicar paused in his reading and looked at the dun-coloured sky with his lopsided frown. Behind him, the miscellanea (miscellany?) of gentlefolk and farmers I'd not seen since the burial of my father, shifted and looked skyward. (okay, I don't know what's going on of course, but it sounds like a funeral. I'm assuming this is not the funeral of her father, right?)

The vicar glanced in my direction, the question of whether I expected him to finish evident by his features. Heat crept up my face, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Of course, I wanted him to finish. What did he expect? A spark of defiance rose, (where? inside her?) and I lifted my chin.

He scowled and snapped his fingers at his servant, who opened an umbrella and extended it over him. Under the canopy of baleen and oilpaper, the vicar removed his foggy spectacles and polished them. He hooked them behind his ears and in a droning tone began to read again.

The first drops of rain fell. Silk umbrellas opened, shielding the gentlefolk. One or two of the farmers covered their heads and slunk away. I pulled my cloak tighter and focused on the vicar, willing him to continue. The fierce ache I struggled to hamper finally penetrated. (awkward sentence. maybe needs to be more plainly written, saying exactly what you mean. How can you 'hamper' an ache) and penetrated (what? make it clear to your reader.) One tear after another formed. My throat closed on itself, as I fought to maintain composure.

Anne McDonald: End of Born of Persuasions WIP sample. Questions, Jessica?

Embellished: Is it a mistake to use 'brume' and old word for 'fog and mist' in the opening line?

Barbara Warren: Is that what brume is? You will be writing for contemporary readers, make sure they know what you're talking about. I had to get the dictionary and it wasn't there so I thought it was a wrong word.

Embellished:  No other questions, thanks so much!

Barbara Warren: Always remember you are taking your reader on a journey, make sure they understand everything other wise you have left them stranded somewhere

I want to say that you guys are all good writers. I have really enjoyed reading your work.

Gregg, okay, I want to know who this man is. :-)  really defines character and gets into his point of view. Don't repeat things you've already said, it doesn't add anything and it does clutter up the writing. Other than that, it's very good.

We’ve just had a man on the news the last few days who drove his car off the road and spent 28 hours trapped inside. Finally got out and crawled to the highway. Had some broken bones. This reminded me of him.

Dragonfly by Gregg Hart

The man's eyes slowly opened as he realized that something was seriously wrong.  He didn't know exactly what was wrong, but he did know that he was in some sort of trouble. (Leave out this sentence, it just repeats the original thought and slows actions) A hot surface pressed up against his legs.  At least, he figured it was against his legs and assumed the surface was hot. (If he can’t feel his legs or tell it’s hot, then how does he know it’s there?) He couldn't feel his legs at all, and only his face felt the heat of the surface below (Period. He smelled etc.) and his nose smelled the aroma of melted plastic and burnt metal.

What happened? (Leave out “What happened”)  He couldn't move any part of his body but realized he was in a car. Whose car was he in? (leave out this question) As his eyes started to focus, he saw another car about 100 yards in the distance that was presumably in the same shape as the car he was in, (Stop here. Leave out the rest of sentence) that is to say, there wasn't much to it that resembled a car.

They must have crashed. Did he cause an accident? Was he the victim?  He couldn't remember. Sirens wailed in the background and he then realized that they were probably coming for him but instead of getting louder, they faded away.  Or was it he himself that faded away? (Good)

When he opened his eyes, he decided that he just had had the most vivid dream he had ever remembered. The first thing he noticed was the clean, almost bleach-like smell of his surroundings. He would have never guessed that the smell of destruction and the radiance of heat could have been so realistic in a dream.

"Peter?" a kindly woman's voice seemed to be directed towards him.  "Lucy, go get a nurse! He's awake!"

The room exploded in what seemed like chaos to the man in the bed. (Meaning not clear. Since it appears that all is going on is someone running to get a nurse) Peter?

Who was Peter?   Nurse?  Awake? (Leave out “Nurse? Awake?”) What was going on? Where am I? Who am I? His mind was racing with what he thought were seemingly impossible questions that should have had an obvious answer.

"Welcome back, Peter!" The nurse was checking what he assumed were his vitals on a monitor. "We're glad you decided to join us, you've been in the land of the lost for almost two whole days, ya know."

The man, (he decided, the nurse) still confused, decided that this nurse sounded like a secretary, complete with nasal tones and insincerity in her voice.

The man (When you call him “the man” it becomes impersonal. So far you have been in his viewpoint and it was very good, so now don’t call him “the man” stay in his thoughts) surveyed the other people in the room and asked, "Where am I?  Who are all these people?"

When he asked that, the older lady dressed in a long skirt and a shirt that reminded him of a grandma started to cry. (Stop here. Leave out the rest. Don’t repeat something you’ve just said, it clutters up the writing. Keep it lean and to the point.  You have established his condition so you don’t have to keep showing your reader his memory is gone) At least he thought it would have reminded him of a grandma, as he didn't really remember if he still had one or not.

"They are your family, Peter."

Peter. There was that name again.  He started to figure that maybe he was Peter, but he had no memory of anyone ever calling him by that name and he did not recognize the people in this room.

"This is your mother, and next to her is your step dad." He glanced over at the woman that the nurse claimed was his mother.  She looked motherly enough but her face just didn't ring a bell with him in any way. Next to her was the man that the nurse said was his step-dad. Apparently mom had remarried at sometime in her life. By the expressionless look on step-dad's face, he figured they must not have been close.

He briefly wondered what happened to him.  Next to step-dad, was a girl who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. He decided that she must be Lucy. She was very pretty and her face was red from recently crying. His heart immediately went out to her and he tried to reach his arm out to her but found he couldn't move it. (next sentence is confusing, leave it out) The nurse told him to lie still because he could not move at that time.

"May I touch my brother?" Lucy inquired of the nurse.

"Sure. He may not feel much right now below his shoulders, but he should feel your touch on his face.  I think it would do him some good."

Lucy, with her hand still in her mother's hand, escorted mom closer to the man in the bed.  "Peter, I am so sorry I asked you to drop off my DVD for me.  This is all my fault."  She reached out for Peter's face and slid her hand across his cheek and onto his forehead.

Her fault?  DVD?  Had his dream really been a dream? "Lucy, it's not your fault. It was written in his destiny for this to happen this way." The nurse attempted reassuring.

Mom just stood there and kept crying.  She finally broke down and grabbed the man's (his) hand and squeezed it as tight as she could. (Since he can’t feel it, he doesn’t know how hard she’s squeezing it.) The man (he) had not felt her squeezing his hand when an alarm sounded from the equipment behind him.

The nurse, with a surprised tone to her voice, said, "Ok, it's time to leave. You just pulled the IV out of his hand. We have work to do here. Why don't you wait in the waiting room."

Anne McDonald: end of Dragonfly WIP. Any questions, Gregg?

Gregg: nope....this is great

Anne McDonald: Next WIP.

Barbara Warren: Diana, good. I can feel Emily's frustration. It seems we do expect more of our pastor's wives than they can deliver sometimes. My main problem is that the worry about Lindsey isn't developed more. It's more important than putting away the groceries. Tell more about Lindsey and the worry she's causing her mother. Make that the main thrust of these paragraphs and putting away the groceries secondary. With all of the problems with child abuse from people in authority, I think this is a good story idea. Maybe that's not where you're going with it, but that's where you sent my mind. :-)

Diana Urban's WIP

Lindsey’s crush on her piano teacher worried Emily. (Why? You Start out with this and draw me in and then you drop it and start bringing in the groceries. The groceries and housework seem to come ahead of the worry which should be your main interest. I’d start with her popping the trunk and lugging in the groceries and then bring in the worry. Develop it more. Why is she worries? What’s the teacher like? Does she trust him? If not, why not? Can he handle a young girl’s crush or will he take advantage of it. She needs to be thinking of these things as she puts away the groceries which should be more or less automatic the way we all put them away, while she keeps thinking about Lindsey and her piano teacher.)  She popped the trunk and heaved a sigh. Blake didn't see it as a problem, but he had agreed to take Lindsey to her piano lesson today and wait for her. Which meant Emily had to haul two carts full of groceries into the house by herself. At least she could park in the garage of their two-story, close to the kitchen. Once-a-month shopping and cooking definitely had its disadvantages.

She sighed, grabbed a few bags of groceries, and lugged them inside. After depositing the last load groceries on the kitchen floor, Emily straightened. She turned on the oven and fished out the roll of cookie dough from the grocery bag. Blake and Lindsey would be home in forty-five minutes-time enough for her to bake a couple of batches. She sliced dough onto a cookie sheet. All three children, four if she counted Blake, loved to come home to the smell of baking.

(Here she puts the cookies on a cookie sheet but she doesn’t put it in the oven until the end of this paragraph after she’s already put the other things away. Have her put it the oven as soon as she fills it.) As Emily (she) busied herself filling the pantry shelves and sorting cold items from freezer items, her thoughts drifted back to Lindsey. She supposed it was normal for twelve-year-old girls to develop crushes on their teachers, but Sara, now seventeen, never had. She'd always gone for boys her own age. (Maybe something here about the teacher and why she feels so worries) Maybe Emily (she) could find a book or two on the subject. She slid the tray of cookies into the oven.

Kneeling in front of the refrigerator, Emily (she) rearranged the leftovers to make room for new items. Usually she cleaned out the fridge before shopping, but time had gotten away from her this week. The drama team leader had called Monday to ask if Emily could sew a few last-minute costumes in time for the dress rehearsal Thursday. Sure, she could. What else did a pastor's wife have to do?

She grimaced. Lord, forgive me. You know I love these people, this church.

The congregation had voted in Blake seven years ago, and the church had grown considerably in that time. Emily put the last carton of yogurt on the second shelf and stood to shut the door.

Anne McDonald: End of WIP. Moving on to Mary's WIP

Barbara Warren: Mary,really good. Pulls me in and I'm wondering what is going on. Very suspenseful. Good characterization for such a short piece of writing. I feel I know them both.

A Soft Answer By Mary Connealy

Ben jerked his hands out of his pockets and caught her as her knees gave out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." (Tried to play this in my mind and I couldn’t see how he had time to jerk his hands out of his pockets and catch her. When we go down, we go down fast. Also, why are his hands in his pockets anyway? Does he make a habit of standing with his hands in his pockets? Most men don’t.) He tried to remember another day in his life when he’d apologized this much. Fifth grade. John Q. Adams Elementary School. Garter snake in the teacher's lounge. (I put my snake in a box of strawberries my mother had to cull. Never did that again.)

"You think he might come back?" she asked in a voice so weak it made his heart ache. The way she let him bear her weight worried him, too. Slender and blonde and so lovely it hurt to look at her, Tru came on like a tough little cookie, although he suspected it was a very sweet cookie. Despite her pacifist books, she'd struck him as a lady who stood her ground. At least she acted that way with him.  Why had she been so soft on Watson? (If Watson is wild and obsessed and she’s afraid of him, then it doesn’t sound like she would be soft on him. We’re not soft on people we’re afraid of. I realize I’m jumping to conclusions. That may not fit the rest of your book, but coming at it cold like this, then soft doesn’t seem to fit the way she sees behaving.) Ben hesitated to answer. He'd seen that wild, obsessed expression on Watson's face. The bald-faced truth was... "Yeah, I think he might come back." She sagged more heavily against him.

Anne McDonald: End of WIP.

EllieSchroder: Any other questions? comments?

AngiePoo: Barbara, what are the biggest problems you see in ms?

Barbara Warren: Most of the time it's showing instead of telling and point of view problems. Also the story is so clear in the writer's mind we forget our reader doesn't know what we know

AngiePoo: What grates on your nerves more than anything else in mss?

Barbara Warren: Well that's hard to say, I did have one client whose male character called the female “sweetheart” every time he opened his mouth. According to her I said, “If he calls her sweetheart one more time I'm going to throw up.”

AngiePoo: LOL. I'm with you.

* Remade Gold cackles

Supergurl17: hahaaaaa

* Tab snickers

Ellie Schroder: (I probably would too)

Shannon: LOL

Ellie Schroder: Any other official questions or comments before I lift protocol?

AngiePoo: Not official--but how does Barbara like her chocolate?

Barbara Warren: I take my chocolate any way I can get it

Robert: Will she work for chocolate?

* EllieSchroder lifts protocol...

Barbara Warren: You bet especially Godiva

Supergurl17: lol Robert

Tab: hehe

Robert:  probably easier to send her money

Barbara Warren: I take that too

Tab: haha

AngiePoo: Mmmmm. Godiva. I've so got to move to a bigger city.

Robert: at least from Colombia, unless I can get Juan Valdez to send her some on his way up north.

AngiePoo: Well, Juan's got that donkey and all. He'd better get packing.

Barbara Warren: We are still talking chocolate aren't we?

Ellie Schroder: How do you accept payment, Barbara? PayPal?

Barbara Warren: I email a statement and the client sends me a check, works fine

Remade Gold: I do have a question for you.

Ellie Schroder:  You're going to be busy from now on methinks, Barb

Remade Gold: lol

AngiePoo: That's right, woman. Buy yourself a bigger day planner!

Barbara Warren: That’s okay, I enjoy it

Ellie Schroder: Barb, I can see why Cheryl & Mel cherish you so for going over their mss... you are very  good! And accurate... and challenging.

*Ellie Schroder draws the name of tonight’s winner

The winner of the 5-chapter critique is...Angie Poole !!!

*Annie leads the applause

Ellie Schroder: Congrats Angie!

AngiePoo: Hands flying in the air!!!  AHHHHHH! Thank you, Annie, Ellie, and Barbara!

Barbara Warren: Congrats Angie, when you send it put something in the message so I'll know it's an edit.

AngiePoo: Floating Body Parts aside, thanks.

EllieSchroder: You're welcome... Thank you so much Barbara, for donating your time and effort for this. It is much appreciated.

Anne McDonald: Yes, thank you Barbara.

Barbara Warren: You're welcome, and thank you for giving me the opportunity to be here

Robert: THANK YOU BARBARA...that had to be a lot of WORK!

AngiePoo: Barbara, thank you for coming to help us with our WIPS. You're great.

Gina H: Just wanted to thank Barbara for giving so generously of herself. Blessings.

Barbara Warren:  Thank you, you guys are special. I've just ripped your work and you are still nice to me.

Remade Gold: But we love you for even reading them.

Supergurl17:  heh

Barbara Warren: it was fun

* Remade Gold smiles

Shannon:  thanks so much, Barbara!

* Tab nods

Barbara Warren