First Page Contest

This is my submission to Victoria Marini’s First Page Contest hosted by Shelly Waters!
Email: andrew.rosenberg at writerunner dot com
Title: Teen Alien
Genre: YA SF
Word Count: 55,000

Will return all critiques! (Make sure you leave a link in your comment)

Revised Submission (Thanks for the input!)

They say before you draw your last breath, your life hits replay.

They never said it could happen after.

Grett Hawk’s eyes stared up at the pale blue sky. Her heart and lungs lay still. A sharp rock spur impaled her belly, her jaw hung to one side, and her knees and elbows bent at impossible angles.

Two mule boys argued above her body, screaming in girlish voices. One grabbed her broken hand and yanked. Her shoulder separated in a sick, painless snap. The other seized her shattered wrist, grinding the cracked bones. They hauled her out of the ravine, over the jagged, blood-smeared rocks that had blendered her body.

Grett could neither move, blink, nor speak, only stare at the solar trees that crowned the ridge top. On Gwanda, trees were dead things, floral simulations. Grett was as dead as those machines, but by some miracle, thoughts still coursed through her head.

Is this what death is like? Grett wondered. She felt night-sky calm, disinterested in the assault that had just claimed her life.

Uninvited holovid-like images impinged her mind, of whips lashing the mules boys while a white-haired girl laughed at their torment. What do they know of suffering? she had thought. Grett’s mother and sister were dead, killed in action by the enemy. Someone had to pay. Someone had to suffer as much as Grett. Why not the dirty mules? They had overturned her mother's shrine with their frivolous play.

If her guts could clench they would.

Original Submission:
They say before you draw your last breath, your life hits replay.

They never said it could happen after.

Grett Hawk’s eyes stared up at the pale blue sky. Her heart and lungs lay still. Ribs jabbed through her side, dislocated jawbones and broken teeth dripped blood down her throat, and guts oozed out of the gash in her belly.

Two mule boys argued above her body, screaming in their girlish voices. One grabbed her broken hand and yanked, separating her shoulder in a sick snap. The other seized her shattered wrist, grinding the cracked bones. They hauled her out of the ravine, over the jagged, blood-smeared rocks that had blendered her body.

Grett could neither move, blink, nor speak, only stare at the solar trees that crowned the ridge top. Like all plants on Gwanda, trees were dead things, machines designed to simulate real trees. Unlike her, they did not have thoughts still running through their heads.

Is this what death is like? Grett wondered. She felt night-sky calm, disinterested in the assault that had just claimed her life.

A vision intruded into her mind’s eye, an image of whips lashing the mule boys until their backs bled. She had laughed at their cries. What did they know of suffering? Her mother and sister were dead, killed in action by the enemy. Someone had to pay. Someone had to hurt as much as Grett. Why not the dirty mules?

Unease electrified as her life replayed across her mind’s canvas.

Getting to Know Your MC Blogfest: Grett Hawk

Elizabeth Mueller is hosting the “Getting to Know Your MC” Blogfest, inspired by Jeannie Campbell’s 3 questions. Check out all the other entries! The point is to get to know your Main Character at a deeper level.

Today, we’re going to interview my newest MC Grett Hawk from the Alien Teen/Girl World YA SF Series I’m working on (yeah I don’t really have a title yet).

 

Hi, this Grett. Thank you so much for your interest in my story, by Andrew has asked that we take it down for now since it’s pretty revealing, and he wants to keep you in suspense. I promise there will be more from me at a future date!

ENTRY REDACTED

Ideas Don’t Sell

Thanks to Victoria Mixon’s post for inspiring this.

I’m an idea guy. I’m always thinking about situations, complications, characters, conflicts, twists, what have you. I think I’m original, creative, and I can generate the basis of compelling stories.

But there’s a problem.

It reminds me of something I’ve heard from published writers at conferences. It generally goes something like this:

“A friend of mine heard that I’m published. They said they had a great idea for a story, and if I wrote it for them, they’d split the proceeds with me 50-50.”

I hope you can see the problem with this. And the problem with me.

You see, the greatest ideas in the world don’t make a story. They make a great description of an idea.

Stories are more than great ideas. They require great writing. In fact, without great writing, stories are dull and lifeless, and even the greatest idea in the world cannot save it. The writing is what makes the idea come alive to the reader. It’s describing a pretzel as flour, water, yeast, and salt, twisted and baked for 20 mins vs describing a pretzel as warm, chewy nirvana that Hindu street vendors sell during blisteringly cold Decembers in Philadelphia.

The interesting thing is that query letters are really all about the idea, the concept. I wonder if people get caught up in this. Then the writing disappoints, and the partial is rejected.

Seems like I’ve been a ton of time working on the ideas, figuring out all the plot details, worrying about story structure, but used barely any effort working on my writing. Not just sentences, but more about how I approach a scene, what’s said, what’s felt, what’s not just happening in the physical plane, but what’s happening on the emotional level, and not just for the POV character.

The truth of the matter is that great ideas are a dime a dozen. Anyone can think of some characters and some complications, some trick that ties it all together, some great piece of technology or magic. But what sells is writing. Vivid scenes. Relatable characters you care about. Something that captures the reader from the first word and refuses to let them go. (Let’s not go overboard here…the ideas behind the story have to be original and captivating, otherwise your characters have nothing interesting to do). I think that great writing sells a lot more books than great ideas.

So to summarize, ideas don’t sell the writing, the writing sells the ideas.

Or, in other words, the more I learn about writing, the more I learn that I don’t know shit about writing.

PS. I find it interesting that I don’t have a blog category called “Writing Technique.” Hmm…