Critique Contest
Shelly Watters is hosting an awesome contest. Agent Judith Engracia of Liza Dawson and Associates will critique the winners first ten pages.
But first, we all need to make our irst pages shine.
Hidden in Shadows
Urban Fantasy
96,000 words
First 250 words:
Heavy breathing. His — the hunted.My unsuspecting prey muttered a curse as he lost his footing and slid a few feet down the mountainside.I smiled. Easy pickings, compliments of cocaine.Rocks tumbled down as he stumbled again, splinters of shale forcing me to hide behind a tree. I'd waited four days for this — my chance to hunt and kill him at my leisure with no eyewitness — I wasn't about to let him see me and make a break for it.I peeked around the oak, and the setting sun momentarily blinded me, blood reds and flaming oranges blurring together like the gates of hell. How appropriate.He stood, hunched over, his hands on his knees. His labored breathing shook his large frame, the back of his neck the same bright red as the sunset. If he continued at this pace, I might not have to kill him. His heart could give out. Perfect… save me the trouble.But I couldn't rely on the possibility of a heart attack. He had to die by my hand. I removed a large knife from its sheath inside my right boot and took aim.Voices sounded from above us, loud and near. Other hikers. I grimaced. Now was not the time to make my move. Not yet at least.The man now sat on the edge of the path in a stupor, idly picking up pebbles and letting them fall into a pile. The red Louisiana clay of Driskill Mountain stained his trembling fingers.
I'll do my best to get around and critique everyone else, but it might take me away since I'm away on vacation. Feel free to critique to your heart's content - tell me what works, what doesn't, what needs to be changed/fixed. Thanks!
But first, we all need to make our irst pages shine.
Hidden in Shadows
Urban Fantasy
96,000 words
First 250 words:
Heavy breathing. His — the hunted.My unsuspecting prey muttered a curse as he lost his footing and slid a few feet down the mountainside.I smiled. Easy pickings, compliments of cocaine.Rocks tumbled down as he stumbled again, splinters of shale forcing me to hide behind a tree. I'd waited four days for this — my chance to hunt and kill him at my leisure with no eyewitness — I wasn't about to let him see me and make a break for it.I peeked around the oak, and the setting sun momentarily blinded me, blood reds and flaming oranges blurring together like the gates of hell. How appropriate.He stood, hunched over, his hands on his knees. His labored breathing shook his large frame, the back of his neck the same bright red as the sunset. If he continued at this pace, I might not have to kill him. His heart could give out. Perfect… save me the trouble.But I couldn't rely on the possibility of a heart attack. He had to die by my hand. I removed a large knife from its sheath inside my right boot and took aim.Voices sounded from above us, loud and near. Other hikers. I grimaced. Now was not the time to make my move. Not yet at least.The man now sat on the edge of the path in a stupor, idly picking up pebbles and letting them fall into a pile. The red Louisiana clay of Driskill Mountain stained his trembling fingers.
I'll do my best to get around and critique everyone else, but it might take me away since I'm away on vacation. Feel free to critique to your heart's content - tell me what works, what doesn't, what needs to be changed/fixed. Thanks!
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