Anai Second Part by Sara Carbone

There are some very nice things happening in this submission. I particularly like the concept of the pulse. It’s clear to me what it represents, and the imagery is vivid and evocative. I do wonder if the people she meets have this same gift, but that’s probably established elsewhere in the novel.

I am not a fan of dialogue in dialect unless it’s very carefully and deftly executed. Here, I’m not sure what the dialect wants to do. Is Anai “othering” the people she meets by giving us their words in nonstandard language? Is she judging them in some way? Reacting emotionally to their pronunciation? Hearing them as being of a different class or social status? It must be important in some way to the story, that people in this place speak like this. I’d like to have a clearer sense of its significance.

One thing I would suggest in revising the chapter would be to think about how narrative pacing works. Pacing at its simplest is the speed at which events happen, how they move through each scene, and how fast they get from one scene to the next. Sometimes it’s rapid—things happen one right after another, bam-bam-bam. Other times it’s more leisurely, as we take a break after a fast action scene, or pause to explore the world or examine the characters’ motivations. Good pacing balances the fast and slow, moves briskly when the story needs it, but also gives the reader time to relax and process.

The way a scene is written has a lot to do with how its pacing works. Fast action calls for active constructions—active verbs, and short and punchy sentences. Passive voice can be very effective when it’s used skillfully, but a little of it goes a long way. It slows down the action and removes the viewpoint character, and therefore the reader, from the direct experience of that action. They’re not acting; they’re being acted upon. In general, in fiction, active voice is the way to go.

It’s important when writing a scene to be clear about what that scene wants to do. How does it move the story forward? What is its purpose in the progression of the narrative? If the character is walking around apparently aimlessly, as Anai does in this chapter, what is her reason for doing it? What does she want to accomplish? Does she have a goal? She shows us something of herself in how she acts and reacts, but how does that lead us from the previous scene and into the next? What does she do and say here that will resonate later in the novel? Can she move more quickly, with more focus and visible purpose, from one place to the next?

Every scene should have a point. It doesn’t have to be stated in so many words, but it should be evident to the reader that what’s happening here is important to the story. Especially at the beginning, when we don’t know the characters yet and the story is just starting to take shape, every detail means something. We may not know exactly what, but if it’s there, it must be there for a reason.

If Anai is walking around the town, let us see why she’s going that particular direction. Maybe she’s hoping to see a particular person, or find a specific place or object. Maybe she’s looking for something nice to eat or something pretty or practical to wear. Or she might be checking the layout of the town, or looking for an escape route. Focus on one or two main details, and make her motivations clear. Let us feel that she’s acting with intention—even if that intention is simply to check out her surroundings and get to know some of the people there. That will help us move through the scene, and keep us turning the pages.

–Judith Tarr

One Last Time by M.C.Perron

This story hooks me in the second paragraph and pulls me through to the end.  I enjoy the elderly protagonist, something I don’t see enough of.  Giving Katie her dog to interact with helps to keep the story from being too internal.  The story has a nice tight focus, with a single scene and single setting.  The mention of the vibrations getting closer creates some suspense, and the suspense builds when we learn the vet boarded up the doors and when we see the Changed Ones.

I think there are several ways in which the story could be strengthened and its impact increased.

First, the plot structure could be more effectively realized.  For this story, there are basically two types of structures possible.  One is to show an evolving situation.  The other is to reveal a situation.  The story is currently aiming to reveal a situation.  We see Katie and Gerard on the balcony and wonder what’s going on, and as the story progresses, the situation is revealed–Changed Ones, explosives, a sacrifice.  The problem is that the situation is revealed in the paragraph beginning “She had volunteered that night . . .”  and there are 16 paragraphs after that, during which there’s pretty much no suspense and no surprise.  Everything goes as planned.  So the ending has little impact.

In stories that reveal a situation, often the reveal comes very close to the end or right at the end.  A great example is “The Star” by Arthur C. Clarke, in which the situation is revealed by the last word of the last sentence.  So one solution would be to rearrange the placement of information, leaving the fact that the house has been wired with explosives to the very end.  That would create more suspense up to the ending and more impact at the end.

In other stories that reveal a situation, the reveal comes earlier, but when it comes, the story flips to an evolving situation structure.  So another solution would be to keep the reveal where it is, but then after the reveal, the situation starts to change.  Things don’t go as planned.  Perhaps Gerard doesn’t die and jumps out of the chair and Katie has to go after him.  Perhaps the switch doesn’t set off the explosion, and when Katie pulls on the wire, the broken wire comes out from under the door.  Something like this would escalate the suspense up to the climax and create more impact at the end.

A related point is that I’m not really sure of the significance of Katie’s story.  It’s not clear to me whether she is truly making a sacrifice or if she’s just ready to die.  If she’s just read to die, I can understand that, but it doesn’t make her a hero.  It makes her someone who can help others out without inconveniencing herself.  In that case, you might want to bring out the fact that there is some price she’s paying for doing this.  For example, she might think that she’d much rather give herself a shot like Gerard and go peacefully to sleep than die in an explosion, ripped into pieces, or be thrown out of the balcony to the ground to die slowly as the Changed Ones eat her alive, etc. But she has to make sure the explosion goes off and stops the Changed Ones.  If it’s truly a sacrifice, then we should feel her desire to live (which she perhaps lied to her son about) and all she wishes she could still experience.  And if she’s giving up a life she’d rather hold onto, she should be getting something for it.  For example, perhaps her son and granddaughters would not be able to get on the boat without her doing this.  Because she volunteers, they are given space on the boat.

Circling back to the issue of whether the plot is revealing or evolving, we have a similar problem with Gerard’s subplot.  The fact that Katie is going to put him to sleep is revealed in paragraph 6, and then everything happens as planned.  (It bothers me that Katie doesn’t seem to check how the injection is affecting Gerard and never checks to make sure he died.) I don’t think the story is making the best use of Gerard possible.  Similar to the options with Katie, the information could be rearranged so we don’t learn that Dimitri is a vet or that he gave Katie a syringe until later.  Or the situation could evolve after you reveal it.  Gerard could jump up when the Changed Ones appear, causing Katie to drop the syringe and lose it through the floorboards.

I’ve been talking about the placement of information, and this applies on a smaller scale as well.  By the time I finish reading the first sentence, I’ve mentally put the rocking chair in the living room.  So it’s jarring when I find out later she’s on the balcony.  It would be better to establish that in the first or second paragraph.

I’m also jarred when I learn the ground is shaking in paragraph 16.  When the story mentions vibrations in paragraph 2, I think of those as sounds, because they are compared to humming, so the ground shaking seems like something new and different.  It would help to more clearly set the scene to describe the ground shaking earlier and how it vibrates up through the house to the balcony and the chair and into Katie and Gerard.

A few smaller points.  I inject my cat with insulin twice a day, and the description of the injection process doesn’t seem accurate to me.  The vet should have prepared the syringe so Katie doesn’t need to squirt any out, just inject.  After she does squirt a bunch out, she never measures how much she’s injecting into Gerard.  If she doesn’t inject enough, he won’t die.

There are a few awkward sentences.  One involves this simile:

>their mouths moving like that of a school of fish out of water, just much slower and less fish-like <

This is awkward for several reasons.  The simile is comparing a plural (their mouths) with a singular “that of a school.”  Also, the sentence is saying that the two things are similar and then it’s giving two differences, which is contradictory.  If these two things are similar, just let them be similar.  Something like this would be stronger:

> their mouths moving like they were fish out of water<

That’s a great, original detail that makes these Changed Ones different than most zombies, and now it comes across more clearly.

The other detail in that sentence,

> their skins ashen-grey no matter their ancestry. <

Doesn’t fit here.  It’s not something that would make Katie laugh, which is how the sentence began.  It feels like the author forcing a detail (one much less interesting than the gaping mouths) into the sentence.  This could either be cut or put into a separate sentence.

Finally, I’m sad to say I was unfamiliar with the Rainbow Bridge and had to look it up to figure out what it meant.  This hampers the impact of the ending.  My suggestion would be to either set up the Rainbow Bridge early in the story, so we know what it is and what it means to Katie when it shows up at the end, or to cut it and use another image that arises more naturally from the story itself.  If the balcony is a place where she and Gerard have spent a lot of time, reuniting with him on the balcony in the rocking chair with the blanket might be a hope she has at the end.

I hope this is helpful.  I enjoyed reading the story.

–Jeanne Cavelos, editor, author, director of The Odyssey Writing Workshops Charitable Trust

Broken People by Chad Rueffert

Jumping Through The Stars, Chapter 1 by A.M. Entracte

–Judith Tarr

Sun Chaser by D. Campbell

This is a jewel of a story, beautifully conceived, tightly focused and precise in its language. It reminds me of a number of classic stories, notably Ray Bradbury’s “All Summer in a Day” and the Original Star Trek episode, “For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky.” It honors its predecessors even while it puts its own stamp on its subgenre.

Yes, it is science fiction, most definitely. It’s set in the future, extrapolating from events and phenomena of the present. That’s pretty much the definition of mainstream SF.

I have a couple of questions about the current draft. First and most minor, beer is a thing in the story. I like that, but it pinged my worldbuilding instincts, and made me wonder how and where in this underground world people are growing barley and hops, not to mention food crops in general. Not that the story needs a digression, but—maybe a very short line, closely tied to its context?

I wondered too about Papa’s card. Evie’s theft is a suspenseful scene, building on the tone and feel of her first attempt to sneak up the stairs, and leading into her second, when she succeeds. That’s a nice resonance. But in waiting until after the Sun Day ceremony to use the card, isn’t Evie risking being discovered? Wouldn’t Papa notice that this crucial item is missing?

Maybe he would keep his card in a safe place, a box or container? Somewhere that he doesn’t worry about because he believes it’s secure? That he wouldn’t make a habit of checking regularly? Would he leave it behind when he goes to the ceremony? Wouldn’t he keep it with him whenever he’s outside the apartment, in case of emergency?

Would it make more sense for Evie to steal it after the ceremony, when Papa is home and probably asleep? She could slip it out, do what she’s planned to do, then return it before he wakes. Otherwise she risks being discovered before she can use the card.

One more suggestion I would make is to rethink Celia’s character a little bit. In this draft, I don’t get a sense that she’s about to become a human sacrifice. She’s annoying and entitled, which is a good reflection of Evie’s age and personality—Evie doesn’t like her and it’s clear to see why. What I’m not getting is the full significance of her role in the ceremony.

Evie does mention that Celia is a fanatic, that she believes she’ll be the one to prove that the sun has stopped burning humans to death, but I think the story needs more. A little more ambivalence, a stronger sense of what’s all too likely to happen. If it’s clearer that people are in denial, and Celia worst of all, that will help. So will layering more complexity, building up various characters’ emotions (Celia’s in particular), clarifying the disconnect between the believers and the skeptics—beginning with a clearer indication as to what that belief is. It’s just a bit too subtle in the draft.

I don’t think any of this will add much more word count. The story is strong. It just needs a line here and a clarification there, to bring it to its fullest potential.

–Judith Tarr

Specter by L.K. Pinaire

–Jeanne Cavelos, editor, author, director of The Odyssey Writing Workshops Charitable Trust

Some Women Like To Hear The Cannon Balls/Akash And The Ship Of Ice by Kate Wooderson

I really liked the wild, frozen setting of “Some Women Like to Hear the Cannonballs”, and its small-but-consequential story: the polar quest for a dead King’s will, and the consequences it might bring down on the living. However, I was caught by the metaphors here: when they work, they really work, but they aren’t entirely tuned up in other places. So this month, I’d like to talk about resonances between our themes and our plot, how they work to tie a story together, and how to fix the ones that have come a little loose.

“Some Women Like to Hear the Cannonballs” is ultimately working as fun: an adventure story that balances its romance and its epic consequences without making either feel like they’re too big or too small. The title—even if the reference is gone!—is deeply fun, and I think better than the other ideas. It captures Akash’s sense of humour very well.

But most of all, from the beginning, this piece is deeply atmospheric in a way that clearly signals what’s coming, and what each place and element of story is for. The first paragraph’s description of fog—how it limits the space—creates an intimate opening that really strongly sets up the nature of the story to come. The mention of Akash’s compass roses, right after a comment about direction, builds a resonance around her as a navigator of physical but also emotional spaces. The Sceptre‘s blind figurehead tacks a feeling of abandoned melancholy onto the ship—and then the government it belonged to—and the description of its silence is deeply evocative.

All of those references work because they’re pairing externally-focused elements of story—things like description and plot—with internally-focused ones, thematics and characterization, and using one line to say something about both of them. As a reader, I’m feeling the sense of depth, because each line is lifting more than its surface weight.

However, the way Akash and Dell’s romance is set up breaks that pattern somewhat. The “Akash and Dell had spent the long voyage north circumnavigating friendship’s globe” set of metaphors felt to me, as a reader, somewhat forced compared to those more subtle resonances; it hops quickly from comparison to comparison without developing them as strongly. Most importantly, while it’s telling me about the internal question of the relationship, the information I’m getting as a reader—that this story takes place in the sea and on ships and in the ice—is information I already know. Those lines only work to pin the relationship to the nautical setting, and not tell me anything about that setting like the ones above, and so they feel less deep to me, less effective—only going one way.

It’s where “Some Women Like To Hear the Cannonballs” does this—overstates its case, or states it three different ways and less precisely, or builds metaphors that only go in one direction—that I’d focus on as places to shore up (pun not intended!). I’d suggest looking at each paragraph to see if the same thing’s being said in different ways and settle on what the author feels is the better one. For example, “Instead of the chests of gold coins she had hoped for, she saw only gilded gewgaws” and “She’d hoped for diamonds but found only ice” are functionally the same sentence, expressing the same emotion and doing the same work in terms of moving the plot forward. If one is cut, that paragraph will read sleeker, more directional, and more confident afterwards.

There are a few other bobbles there’s a chance to handle in a line-by-line revision: for example, a little more variance in word choice. There are a few runs of repetition in “Some Women Like to Hear the Cannonballs”; two sentences that end with “herself” in a row, or little batches of them starting with “she” that set up rhythms that aren’t being used deliberately. And it’s a space to resolve some small confusions: In Fortune’s introduction, it’s hard to tell if this is a sailor or the wider concept (favouring the bold!).

Aside from a line edit, I noticed the author’s mention of having developed character motivations and the romance from a prior draft, and think there could be room in the next draft to continue that work. As it stands right now Dell and Akash don’t quite have the tone of voice, the body language, the emotional connections of a friendship turning romantic. We’re told they’re friendly and involved, but I’m not seeing that come through their interactions just yet. Fortune is also never quite established as a character, and so his betrayal in the second half of the piece reads as very sudden to me, and slightly arbitrary.

There’s a good site to do that work, I think, in that early hint of threat to Akash’s captaincy (“For now“). Right now it isn’t ever really exposited on: did Akash have hints this was coming or not? But it’s an obvious place to develop the setup for that inevitable betrayal.

But overall, the bones of this story are well in place, and the technical work that I think could make it stronger is already being done in other parts of the piece. It’s just a matter of a tighter line-by-line revision, adding in some supports, and cutting some lines that aren’t necessarily needed, and I think this’ll be ready to go.

Best of luck!

–Leah Bobet, author of Above (2012) and An Inheritance Of Ashes (2015)

The Broken Roots (Mahohma I) Chapter 1: The Siege of BRAY’ZAK’YENI by Joseph Ahn

There’s so much to love in this chapter. The depth and breadth of the worldbuilding. The well-drawn characters who play off each other in interesting ways. The prose that, with a few stumbles here and there, is remarkably strong and will be stronger with polish. And that twist in the end—lovely.

The overall structure makes sense to me, with the heir coming in person to confront his Empress with hard facts. I do however have questions about the details—and I mean this literally. There is so much backstory here, so much intricate politics, and so many names and places and events to keep track of. In many ways this feels like a chapter from the middle of the book rather than an opener.

At the beginning of a novel, the reader isn’t invested yet. They don’t know the characters or their world. In secondary-world fantasy especially, everything is strange. They have to be won over; they need reasons to learn the new vocabulary and history and culture.

For the author, it can be a challenge to introduce their world to someone who is completely new to it. Complex worldbuilders especially have to figure out how much information is enough, and how much is too much. Here, there’s a complicated backstory, and an epic tangle of politics both within and outside the empire. It all comes together in this meeting between Vyxlis and the Empress.

There’s a rule of thumb that Harry Turtledove often cites—and Harry knows all about complicated politics. “In every scene, the writer knows at least five hundred details about that scene, the world, the characters, the history. Their job is figure out which three of those details to pick, that will contain all the rest.”

That’s especially germane to an opening chapter. Later on the novel, characters can sit down and talk over the complicated stuff. The reader is invested by then, and has enough grounding in the world and its peoples to follow along with the discussion. At the beginning, it’s all new, and the writer hasn’t earned the reader’s patience—their goodwill, their willingness (and ability) to absorb a lot of details all at once.

The key elements of this chapter are Vixlis’ arrival at the siege, his meeting with the Empress, and the break point near the end when everything changes. The decision to make here is which three (or so) details of the backstory are absolutely essential for the reader’s comprehension, and which of the rest can either be implied in context or left for later scenes. The in-depth discussion of satyr dynastic politics might be concentrated into its simplest form: the chief/king/supreme ruler is dead and his heirs are fighting over who gets to rule. We don’t need all the names or the specifics right at this point. We just need the bare facts. The same goes for internal politics. As wonderful as the depth of detail is, it clogs the works here. One or two essential details, with as few names and terms as are strictly needed for clarity, will give the reader a sense of the issues and the stakes. The names and terms can come in later as they’re relevant.

Some of what’s discussed might be shown as a scene or flashback either here or in a later chapter—probably the latter, since there’s plenty going on this chapter without additional action. We get that there’s a siege, that it’s been going on for months, and that the bean-counters back home are trying to slam on the brakes. We also get that the satyrs are in a political mess of their own, and that might be turned to advantage if the Empress will just listen to her advisors.

In short: Big general details here, while the reader is still finding their footing in this world. More names and specifics later, as they become relevant to the progression of the story. The interaction between the prince and the Empress is what really matters in this chapter, and that shines through beautifully. The rest is pruning and paring and polish, and picking just the right set of details to bring it all together.

–Judith Tarr

Black Charybdis by Barry Donnelly

Mindblades Chapter 1 by Andrew Wang

The first thing that drew me to this chapter was the title. It’s got definite science-fictional resonance, and promises a story that’s both edgy and high-tech. Some of the concepts introduced here are very cool as well, especially Dust (which I’d like to see more of, as I’m sure there will be in subsequent chapters) and the Crystal.

The chapter needs some work, and some rethinking of its structure and choice of scenes. I have some questions about the worldbuilding, too.

First, the structure. The chapter begins with some scene-setting and some rather lovely description, then moves into a series of conversations with people Raedan meets. These conversations serve to convey exposition and backstory, and show Raeden interacting with persons who may or may not reappear later on in the novel. The fight at the end features a fair amount of verbal byplay as well as a sample of Raedan’s athletic and fighting skills.

The opening dialogue introduces Raedan and tells us who he is and some of his background. There’s not much actual story there; it’s mostly setup and exposition. I found myself wishing for something more active and concrete. Say the guy is watching a recording of Raedan’s latest game, and we get to see what he does more directly, and maybe the guy recognizes him and then there’s some back and forth about who he is and why he’s here. In the draft, there’s a fairly high ratio of exposition to action and experience. Shifting that balance might help make the opening more vivid and engaging.

Raedan’s interaction with the Chinese woman has more oomph and more overall cool factor. For one thing, it’s got Dust, and we learn some things about it and also about Raedan and the world he lives in.

The encounter with Denise however shares some of the same issues as the first conversation. It’s clear there are strong undercurrents, and Denise is very uncomfortable and seems to be hiding secrets. But Raedan either misses or disregards the signals she’s sending. He doesn’t ask her what’s going on, or seem curious about her reactions.

This may be an aspect of his character, that he’s oblivious or clueless. If so I think the narrative needs to convey more sense that it’s intentional. As it is, the emotional temperature is rather low, and that damping down of feeling carries through to the fight.

There’s a tendency in the fight scene to downplay both the feelings and the stakes. The action moves almost slowly. The fight comes across as low-key in spite of the subject matter. It needs more tension, more suspense, and overall, more oomph.

I’d suggest some rethinking and re-framing of the chapter, starting with the reasons why Raedan has come home, and why he goes to his old apartment. “The tenant left” is a start, but why go to that particular place? He ends up somewhere else anyway after the fight, without seeming terribly upset about being driven away. What compelling reason does he have to go to the old neighborhood? What does he want to accomplish there? Is he hoping to meet someone? To resolve old issues? To revisit his childhood, and if so, why?

I found myself wondering about his political status since he’s the son of a woman executed by the Crystal. Does that affect his own status at all? He seems to be in a position of great trust, with a great deal of privilege. How does that connect with what happened to his mother? Does he have any emotional issues with it, any past trauma? If not, has he been “cured” in some way, or has he found his own way through it? Is his flat affect a side effect of whatever he’s had to do, or had done to him, in order to deal with his past? If so, a quick line or allusion might help clarify that aspect of his character.

That leads to me to ask further questions about the worldbuilding. Is there a plot-connected reason why the date and time are so specific? A lot of space opera just sort of generally alludes to being in the future—a thousand years, ten thousand, or however long it happens to be. The worldbuilding itself carries the weight of time, as we’re shown the extent of human expansion into space, and given relevant details of its history.

Since this is specific down to the year, we have a clear sense of how much time has passed between now and this future. But we also may have questions about the way the future universe has evolved. How does it happen that people are still speaking English? Is that just on this planet or is it more universal? What language are Raedan and the guy on the ship speaking?

As I read, I wondered what happened to the internet. The Singularity didn’t happen? Or did the Crystal shut off human access to any kind of universal cybercommunications? How to people communicate at long distance in this universe? How does space travel work? What about communications between worlds?

Most of these questions are probably answered in later chapters, but I did wonder, specifically in this chapter, why Raedan doesn’t know what’s happened to the old neighborhood. Wouldn’t he check it out before he goes there, to make sure the transport route is still the same and to see what amenities still exist around the apartment? If he were checking it out in 2020 he’d do a web search and some online mapping. How does it work in the 37th century?

Ultimately I think the chapter could begin a couple of scenes later than it does. The arrival has some very nice description but the story takes a while to get going. If it’s clear why he goes to his old apartment, and if he has a strong and specific reason for doing so—maybe finding out something about his mother, or looking for something she left him, or…?—then the story would start with his arrival there. There’s still room to talk about this being a sort of Earth-alike, maybe in the landscape or a particular tree or flower or the color of the sky, and maybe the apartment, or the lobby, or the wall outside, has a mural that depicts the planet from space. He might talk about his career when he meets Denise, or give us a flashback to the game, or get a communication that shows us who he is and what he’s on (presumably) vacation from. Or is he on leave and this is a specific quest or mission related to his past?

The rule of thumb for opening chapters is that in general they should start as close to the end of the story as possible while still leaving room for the story to unfold. Characters’ actions and interactions should have purpose and well-established motivation. Later on it may be possible to slow down and ramble a bit, but at the beginning, before the characters have won the reader’s trust, it’s a good idea to keep the story moving in a clear and focused way. Then the reader is eager to keep reading, and the story pulls them forward all the way to the end.

–Judith Tarr