Free writing critiques: my way of giving back
When I was first beginning to write, I thought each and every word was solid gold, assuring me I was one step closer to a Pulitzer Prize. These days, I realize I’m about average for a published author, but even so, I have something to offer those who are just starting to write.
As a new writer, I remember how important it was to have others read and enjoy what I’d written. I soon found online writing critique groups, where my sample chapter or short story was posted for all to see and crit, while I sat back and cringed, waiting for the inevitable (bad) news. I have something slightly different to offer.
If you are a new, unpublished writer, unsure whether your writing is ready for prime time, and you’re simply looking for some validation, please feel free to post a paragraph or two of your writing as a comment on this blog post. I will keep it hidden unless you state otherwise, and I will offer you some feedback in the form of a ranking– sort of a beginner, intermediate, expert ranking. I will not go into a tremendous amount of detail, but just let you know where I think you stand.
A beginner might be someone who has recently begun writing, and perhaps would benefit from joining an online writing group or attending some workshops. This does not mean you should give up writing. It simply means you will improve over time.
Intermediate might be someone who has a moderate amount of talent which shows through in their writing, but still needs to work on their technique.
An expert would be someone who was born to write. They are ready to be published! (Sadly, at first, I fell into the “beginner” ranking).
Note: if the writing does not appeal to me in any way, (ie too violent, too graphic, etc.), I will not give a ranking or publish the comment on my blog.
My opinions are simply that– OPINIONS. Generally, I won’t be able to give a full critique. This will be only for beginning, unpublished writers who would like a little feedback. Just my way of giving back to the ever-growing writing community.
That is a fantastic offer, how do I do this?
Rochelle, thanks for your interest. Simply copy a couple of paragraphs of your best writing into the comment field. I approve all comments before they are visible, so if you would like a private critique, please let me know and I will keep it hidden, and email your rating back to you. Otherwise, I will post your paragraphs and the rating on the blog.
Please let me know if you have any further questions.
Faye crossed boundaries in search of the truth. She saw boundaries as barriers to the truth. Boundaries keep us in denial. They help us to maintain our delusions about ourselves, about others and what we consider our station in life. She went out at night to find and photograph people who lived outside of “normal”.
Faye found Nat on a July night in Washington Square Park where he sold drugs to college students. The story of their meeting played out in a community of park people… chess players, drug dealers, students, tourists and street performers. It had rained that day and in spite of a long hot spell, the night air was unusually cool. The rain had called out the earth’s smells, the sycamore trees smelled like fresh cut hay, the soil like Earl Grey tea. They found a bench away from the lights.
First, I would like to thank Ms. Windsor for being the first to offer me a writing sample for critique. As I suspected, the process of writing a critique (and in this case, assigning a rank), is difficult, but as promised, here is my assessment of Ms. Windsor’s sample.
Your sample (which you mentioned was not the opening of your story), has a poetic, almost lyrical characteristic. I am wondering if you have written much poetry. The first paragraph seems more like non-fiction, and at first, I wasn’t sure. The second paragraph has some nice imagery and detailed descriptions.
With a sample this size, I can’t give much of a detailed critique, but I feel you fall somewhere between Intermediate and Expert. I would be curious to read the beginning of your story, if you would like to send it.
Thank you, Shelley for your comments. I am not sure why I skipped the first paragraph when I submitted the sample. Below I am sending the first with the title and the second and third paragraphs again so they will be in the correct order.
Night Flight
Meeting Nat for first time was an episode of crossing boundaries—social class boundaries, racial and legal boundaries. Faye wasn’t sure how old he was. He seemed very young. She didn’t ask him because she expected he would lie about his age. She didn’t want there to be any lies between them.
Faye crossed boundaries in search of the truth. She saw boundaries as barriers to the truth. Boundaries keep us in denial. They help us to maintain our delusions about ourselves, about others and what we consider our station in life. She went out at night to find and photograph people who lived outside of “normal”.
Faye found Nat on a July night in Washington Square Park where he sold drugs to college students. The story of their meeting played out in a community of park people… chess players, drug dealers, students, tourists and street performers. It had rained that day and in spite of a long hot spell the night air was unusually cool. The rain had called out the earth’s smells, the sycamore trees smelled like fresh cut hay, the soil like Earl Grey tea. They found a bench away from the lights.
Ah! Now it makes perfect sense. Thank you so much for adding the first paragraph.
This is so great of you to do. I am a new writer, well not so new. I just graduated college, and I am hoping to publish some things and reapply for an MFA program. So this type of thing is exactly what I need. Maybe I don’t have what it takes…maybe I do. Anyhow this is a short essay – about my babymoon experience in Idaho.
Thanks again,
Michelle Gluch
Idaho Spawners
As the sun crested the mountains, the number of fish strikes intensified, along with my back labor. My daughter made her presence known, pushing against my spine and pelvic bone. The additional weight of my eight months pregnant belly made the legs of my camp chair sink into the muddy bank of Anderson Ranch Reservoir, near Fall Creek. I shifted in the low-slung seat to see James, my husband, farther upstream at the sparkling clear mouth of the creek. His large frame hunched low over the stream, while he slid a fire engine red Kokanee back into its birth waters. Once the Kokanee flipped its tail and returned to the school, James looked my direction. I waved and smiled, despite the growing pressure I’d felt in my belly, all morning. He waved back.
Our best friends, Dick and Matt, slogged through the thick mud headed my direction, with their fishing poles.
“How you doing down here?” called Matt.
“Better than you,” I said, pointing to my stringer. I leaned forward, my basketball belly rubbing on the nylon seat, to check the stringer that lay in the coffee colored water of the little bay. Three blue-green backs struggled against the stringer and flailed, flipping brown water into the fresh air.
“What are you using?” asked Matt.
“Just a worm and a mallow,” I replied. “They’re holding in the deepwater, and they’re hungry.”
“ I couldn’t get a single bite up there,” hollered Dick. “What’s the deal?”
“Spawning fish don’t eat,” I replied. “You have to invade their space to make them bite, but these immature Kokanee are storing up for winter. They’ll take anything.” They nodded in response.
I reclined back in my seat, closed my eyes, and rested one hand against my pole that leaned against my chair and the other on my round belly, waiting for a strike. The crisp fall air felt refreshing on my face, but I just couldn’t wake up. The pressure in my back and belly had made sleeping the night before impossible.
Cheereek – cheereek, echoed through the narrow canyon. My eyes blinked open. A large bird glided overhead in the cloudless autumn sky. A flit of its wings sent it high above the one hundred foot Ponderosa pines. A tilt of its body sent it into a large lazy loop over the mixing water in the bay, casting a tiny shadow on its surface. It dipped and climbed, then dipped again, playing tag with an invisible opponent. I envied its ease of motion.
It is a typical First Day of August in Texas. It is nine in the morning and Lewisville Lake is already full of boats with people being drug behind on skies or tubes. August was the last month they had before school started and Texans make the most of it. Today’s forecast is expecting to see temperatures in the high nineties, and the rest of the week was expected to go over a hundred degrees.
With all these families spending that last few weeks of vacation having fun, there was another family heading for an event that will permanently secure their place in history. The event and the plans associated with it were set in stone and could not be changed. Historians had their pens ready to write and a few had already begun scribbling across yellow parchment as details of this family are released to the public.
One of the family members involved had completely forgotten about the event to come. The event was so important that even though he had forgotten Rory’s participation could not be ignored. This event had originally been set up and planned by him. Even though at this moment his mind was far from that memory or pretty much any other memory predating him meeting his wife over thirty five years ago. Rory was standing in a cemetery a half an hour from his house. If he had remembered the date, he would have been at home going over details in which he would need to scrutinize every detail.
Damien, thank you for sending your sample. I am unable to tell whether this is fiction or non-fiction. Your topic is interesting and intriguing, (I’m in NC, so I’m interested in learning more about TX), however, it contains a few flaws, common to aspiring writers. I am placing your rank between beginner and intermediate.
Best,
Shelley
Michelle, thank you for sending your story. I enjoyed reading it. I feel you are a gifted writer, and fall into my “expert” ranking, although the story could still use a bit of editing. Nice job, and best of luck to you!
Brody’s mind raced with the pace of his heart. The excitement of the hunt and promise of food overtook him. He knew there would be enough meat to feed his family for a week, maybe more. Brody eased his knees up, to give him a good rest for the shot. He waited until the deer lowered its head. Then, Brody rested his elbows on his knees and brought the butt of the gun to his shoulder. His hands shook with buck fever.
The deer fed along, coming closer with each step. The dry leaf litter announced its every move. It stopped fifty steps away, threw its head up, and looked around.
Brody froze and strained to keep from blinking.
The deer stomped its foot, and Brody knew he would have to take the shot now. He peered down the long barrel, lined the sight up, and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked hard and smoke filled the air. Brody thought he heard the deer running, but couldn’t see. He turned the flintlock on its side, and then heard something hissing between his legs.
Brody looked down in time to see that a spark of burning powder had fallen into the bag he had neglected to close. In an instant, a searing, orange flash of exploding gun powder shot up. The blast hit him square in the face, and Brody sucked in a surprised breath. His eyes, mouth, throat, and whole head burned.
This scene is good, full of action and description. I would place you in the expert category, however, closer to intermediate, due to some editing issues.
A couple of suggestions for you: one, you seem to have a lot of commas in your sentences—some are unnecessary. The overuse of commas slows down the action for the reader.
Another suggestion is to use more variation in your sentence structure. Nearly every one of your sentences is in subject-verb format, ex Brody looked, Brody froze, Brody thought.
Economy of words: use the least number of words possible
ex powder had fallen into the bag he had neglected to close
could be: powder had fallen into the open bag.
Thanks again for your submission. I enjoyed entering into Brody’s world.