Word for the Day: Focus
What I'm Reading: Cup of Joe by Teri Wilson (okay, I've been really slow at reading lately. Lots of other things taking my energy.)
Picture of the Day:
The television in my office is to entertain me while I'm walking on my treadmill, which is directly opposite the screen and next to the wall. My cat, Templeton, likes to sit in the basket and watch whatever is happening on the screen. Isn't he cute?
I've been working with critique partners for an online class I'm taking on Body Language with teacher, Margie Lawson. I had no idea what to expect when we formed our group, but I've been delighted with how my partners have helped me to amp up my writing. Who knows? Maybe we'll continue on together. I wanted to share something from my current manuscript to show how together we took some rather "blah" writing and amped it up a notch utilizing the tools we have learned from the class.
BEFORE:
"What's going to happen to the baby?" she asked.
He glanced up and saw a look of concern pulling her brows close together.
"She'll be well taken care of. Her new parents will make sure of that.
"What makes you so sure they'll be good to her? What if they're perverts or
something? Did you check them out?"
What was this? The kid was making him angry. Why all the questions? He
hadn't thought she even cared if the baby got fed. Now she was worried about
the baby's future? Before he could stop himself, his hand cracked against
her cheek, leaving a vivid imprint of his fingers.
"Why'd you do that?" She glared at him and stepped closer, hands fisted at
her sides.
"Shut up. You talk too much." He rifled in the bag for the premixed formula.
Pain shot through his head, crumpling his legs, and he fell to the floor.
The girl stood over him, holding something in her hands. He opened his mouth
to speak, then the room spun into a black funnel.
AFTER:
"What's going to happen to the baby?" Something in her tone drew his
attention. He looked at her.
Her gaze riveted on his and she moved around the table, treading lightly like a cat walking sideways and sizing up its foe.
He attempted a smile to disguise his building rage. "She'll be well taken care of. Her new parents will make sure of that."
She placed her palms flat on the rickety wooden table.
He mimicked her position, and noticed a slight tremble in her skinny arms.
"What makes you so sure they'll be good to her? What if they're perverts or something? Did you check them out?" Her voice rose to rival the tone his mother used when he'd lied to her.
His teeth clenched. He stood upright, muscles tightening in response to his building anger. How dare she question him?
His hand cracked against her cheek with a satisfying jolt.
Her body jerked, her eyes widened and her hand rose to cover the reddened
handprint. "Why'd you do that?" she yelled. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she stepped closer, hands curling into fists.
"Shut up. You talk too much." Spittle flew with his words. Dismissing her, he riffled through his duffel bag and pulled out a can of baby formula.
Pain shot through his head, crumpling his legs, and he fell to the floor.
The girl stood over him, holding the cast iron skillet in her hands. He
opened his mouth to speak, then the room spun into a black funnel.
So, what do you think? Much better? I think so. I've never had so much fun working with critique partners before.
Thanks for stopping by!
No comments:
Post a Comment