The Beta Club: In the Hallway (Lit Fic) - Come Critique!

 

It's Beta Club day!  This week is turning out to be Lit Fic week.  :)  Enjoy the excerpt and let the author know what you think!

For newbies:  If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments.  All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive.  And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.

 

Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments.  My detailed critique is below.
 
Author: Anonymous
Title: In the Hallway
Genre: Literary Fiction

Excerpt:

 
 
I hear the voices yelling at each other above the surrounding din as I bob and weave through the passing time throng that’s slowed up to check out the burgeoning knot of bodies pressing in around something in the middle of the hallway.

 

I can't hear the words yet, but I can isolate the two voices at the center of the scene.

One male. One female. Both of them loud over the almost controlled chaos in the hallway.

Even over the cacophony, I can identify the sound of imminent confrontation, feel it, alive and humming, shimmering in the air as I walk and wonder what’s going on and how bad it’s going to be.

It’s the lunch block.

Twenty-two hundred students fed and watered during a two hour chunk of time.

Five hundred plus hungry students at a time shoved and herded through lines in the commons like cattle on a tight twenty-five minute lunch schedule in an overcrowded open area that was hard to police.

 

It’s never good. The hallways leading there are never better.

I try never to be in this part of the building during this time of the day, but in spite of my best efforts my timing, like almost everything else in my life lately, is just a little bit off today.

I've gotten close enough to identify the center of attention, Owen Johnson and his girlfriend Chloe Maxwell, our very own poster children for dysfunctional teenage relationships everywhere.

All about the drama, they were always either fighting in public, having sex in public places and on couches at parties, doing it for posterity on videotape, cheating on one another, abusing a variety of substances together, or simply being co-dependent.

Beyond unhealthy, they are now putting on quite a show for the lunchtime crowd, complete with him red-faced and raging and her with tears running down her cheeks.

I can see they’ve already reached the pushing and shoving part of the program.

“F***ing b**ch!”

Owen’s push off Chloe’s shoulders forces her back up to the bank of windows running long lower D wing, framing her against the bright blue sky and well manicured green grass of the outside common area.

After the sterile, brown brick walls and dark, dirty-blue carpet that makes up my interior life in the institution, the bright almost burns.

The study in contrast seems lost on Owen. “You're such a whore!”

“F**k you! I hate you!” Chloe shoves him back, hard in the chest. “You are such a f***ing a**hole!”

There’s never been any doubt in my mind that Chloe can wax poetic when the mood hits her.

I watch with some kind of morbid fascination as I pick up my pace.

The audience is appreciative enough to take up sides and whisper amongst themselves. They stand a respectful distance off, giving the two combatants a clearing in the middle to work with.

Just as I reach the back of the group, Owen's right hand balls up into a fist and cocks back.
S**t, s**t, s**t. 

I have a new mantra running unbidden through my mind.
He's gonna hit her. 

I run my eyes along the hallway searching for either a uniform or another staff member, but it’s lunchtime and everybody’s in the commons.
That's just f***ing fine. 

I start pushing bodies out of my way, using my elbows and shoulders and hands to clear a path and kept moving through the crowd.

“Don't leave me.” Owen's scream of pain, frustration, and anger bounces off the walls, loud and clear over the din coming from the commons. “I love you!”

He pivots on his heel.
What the f**k? 

Time slows to a crawl. I watch his hand trace an arc in the air in what seems like slow motion, and then it’s through the floor to ceiling windowpane.

The sound of impact explodes as shards of glass fall everywhere. Cracks run through the glass and sun glints on the spider web pattern.

A river of blood gushes down the broken window and down Owen's right arm and hand as reflexes kick in and he pulls it back through the broken pane.

The sight and smell of the blood dripping down onto the carpet causes everyone closest to the pair to step back. The sight and smell and sound seem to start the normal flow of time for me once again.

In a confluence of the surreal and the ludicrous, I hear the sound of the bell ringing.

B lunch.


 
 
 
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments. 


 
 
Alright, so what do you think?  Are you hooked?  What did the author do well?  What things could be improved?  Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback!  And thank you to the author for volunteering!
  

**Today's Theme Song**
"Attack" - 30 Seconds to Mars
(player in sidebar--go ahead, take a listen)

 

 

The Beta Club: A Sad Song In A Flat Key (Lit Fic) - Come Critique!

 

 


It's Beta Club day!  On the agenda: Literary Fiction.  As I've mentioned before, this is not my specialty, so I'm hoping my lit fic buffs out there will help me out with this critique (along with everyone else.)  Enjoy!


For newbies:  If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments.  All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive.  And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.

 

Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments.  My detailed critique is below.
 
Author: Amber Tidd Murphy (Stop by her blog for some daily hilarity)
Title: A Sad Song in a Flat Key
Genre: Literary Fiction

Excerpt:

 

     It all started when Laurel was a girl, and her mother walked out on Laurel's father, because don't all our stories really start there, all the way back in those formative years? The deck might already be stacked against us, but the cards are still being shuffled and have not yet been dealt. Then, like lightning, some event or non-event happens or does not happen, and we are thrust into the wheels of fate, which are turned and clank.
     Yes, she suffered from the same daddy issues that afflict almost everyone else in this day and age. Still, she felt it poor form to use that as an excuse for the way her life turned out. Who didn't keep a skeleton stuffed closet, after all, crammed full of those secrets that go bump after midnight? When her mind chased sleep the darkness left little room for facades, and she was left to remember it all. If she were celebrating a middle-aged birthday, an emcee might have grabbed a microphone and crooned, Laurel Lancaster, this is your life! as he rolled the tape. A curly haired, cherry cheeked child would appear on a screen while the music of a merry-go-round faded in a bit atonally.
     Laurel remembered it with clarity: the day her mother left her father. She was barely five years old; she hadn't started kindergarten. Her sister, Laine, was a screaming toddler. Carol, Laurel's portly mother, wore a powder blue dress. She told her husband the girls were off for ice cream, and they walked out into the heat of that summer in 1986 and never looked back. Carol drove the seven miles to her parents' house and moved back home, heavy two children.
     Laurel's grandmother, Elizabeth Hutchings, was a warm, round woman who made butter and sugar sandwiches for Laurel and Laine. Her grandfather, Calvin, worked for Farm Bureau Insurance and smelled of cigarettes, not stale cigarettes, but like bonfires in October. He traveled often, yet when he returned with the grandest of presents -- piggy banks already nearly full of shiny silver coins -- his absence was forgiven and forgotten. They were married in the early forties, before the war. Carol was their only living child; Laurel's uncle Ross died before she was born. Mr. and Mrs. Hutchings hosted many friends and dinner parties, and were the sort who would neaten their home before the cleaning lady arrived, embarrassed to show any sign of weakness, even in the form of dust bunnies.
     They were big on appearances, but Laurel crept halfway down the stairs the night they moved in, and watched from behind the banister, her chubby childish fingers tightly wrapped around the smooth, white bars until her knuckles became camouflaged in the same color. Her grandparents sat up straight on the couch, one on either side of her mother. Calvin smoothed Carol's hair while Elizabeth wiped her daughter’s tears. In the dark, drapes tightly drawn, family secrets could breathe. An envy rose in Laurel's chest as she watched her mother in that moment, surrounded by two loving parents, strong Midwesterners who had lost their son to AIDS and would now carry a daughter through divorce.
     They lived in Bedford, Indiana, the limestone capital of the world. The house was red brick with a wide front porch overlooking the main street in town. It sat directly across from the new city pool, a chaotic, loud place, foreign to Laurel. She was afraid of the water. She sat in her playroom and stared out the second floor window, mesmerized by the twisting water slide. She wondered when she would be brave enough to climb the mountain of steps to the top for the sole purpose of sliding down.
    
     The day the call came would be that day. 

 
 
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments. 

 


 

 
Alright, so what do you think?  Are you hooked?  What did the author do well?  What things could be improved?  Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback!  And thank you to Amber for volunteering!

**Today's Theme Song (Author's Choice)**
"Falling Slowly" - Kris Allen
(player in sidebar--go ahead, take a listen)

 

The Beta Club: Annual (Literary Fiction) - Come Critique!

 



It's Beta Club time again!  Today we tackle literary fiction.  This genre is admittedly not my specialty, so I'm counting on you guys to give great input for the writer.  Also, you'll notice I'm now putting in a new section for the featured author.  I'm going to list when the author is seeking beta readers/crit partners for the work and will provide their email address link.  If you read an excerpt and are interested in being a beta reader for the person, please email them directly from the link to let them know.


For newbies:  If you haven't been here on beta club day yet, don't be afraid to jump in with your comments.  All feedback is welcome as long as it's constructive.  And if anyone has an itch to be critiqued, the rules for submitting to the Beta Club are under the "Free Critiques" heading at the top of the page.

 

Alright, please read through the author's excerpt, then provide your feedback in the comments.  My detailed critique is below.
 
Author: Katie Loud (go check out her site)
Title: Annual
Genre: Literary Fiction

Excerpt:

Christian McKenzie was sixteen years old the last time he used a time clock to punch out of work.
            His sneakers left green smudges on the cement floor of the main storage building at Peter Neal Landscaping as he walked toward the back office to turn in his timecard.  He tapped the buff-colored rectangle measuring out a forty-hour workweek against his khaki shorts in the innate way that musicians do.  Christian was surprised to see Pete Neal himself, owner of the landscaping business that had employed him for two summers now, sitting behind the desk in his tiny office. 
            “Why you still here?” Pete asked, standing and hitching up his fatigue pants.  Although his pants were always falling down, his t-shirts were never without oval sweat stains at the armpits, and his few remaining teeth were gray and rotting, Christian liked him.  Pete had always been fair.
            “I wanted to finish that stone wall for you, sir.  It’s my last day.”
            Pete nodded.  “Yeah, Pentinicci already reminded me.”
            “He still here?”
            “Hell, no.  He was gone soon’s his eight hours was up.”  Pete grumbled a bit more before saying what he’d been leading up to.  “I told him job’s here for him next summer, same as I’m saying to you.”
            “Thank you, Mr. Neal.  I’ll be needing a job next summer between graduation and college, and you’ve been good to me.”
            “You’re a good worker, McKenzie.”  Pete held out a calloused hand, and Christian shook it gratefully. 
            “I’ll, uh, see you around, I’m sure.”  Christian was uncomfortable.  Pete’s company did the extensive landscaping at his parents’ mansion, a fact that both of them were a little embarrassed about and which neither of them mentioned.  “And I will be back next year, sir.”
            But he wasn’t.  The trajectory of his life changed forever that evening when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant.

                                                                        2.
            Christian checked the time as he walked to his red Saab convertible.  He wouldn’t be able to go home and shower before soccer practice, and that bothered him a bit.  Most of his teammates found it absolutely hysterical that Christian and to a slightly lesser degree his best friend Roy Pentinicci labored in the hot sun for forty hours a week all summer.  Although their teasing on the rare days he showed up with green ankles didn’t really bother Christian, the sense of bewilderment in their eyes did. 
            His father was one of the wealthiest men in the country.  There wasn’t a reason in the world for him to slave away mowing lawns, weeding gardens, erecting stone walls, accompanying balding, sweaty men with bad grammar.
            But then, Christian had always been something of an enigma to his peers, a fact that bothered him not in the least.  They wondered where his drive to excel came from, of course, why he worked his ass off to earn straight As at the prestigious Stephens Academy, what made him attend intensive extra baseball practices when he was already one of the best high school pitchers in the northeast.  It seemed unfair, of course, that Brian McKenzie’s son should be brilliant, talented in numerous areas, and model-handsome, but Christian was just too likable a guy to hold it against him.
            So people asked Roy, who was not quite as likable and not technically a McKenzie, why on earth the two of them worked for a landscaper instead of just pushing paper at one of Mr. McKenzie’s many offices.  Roy had been taken in by Brian and Belinda McKenzie when his famously dysfunctional family imploded in the fall of his freshman year.  They were his legal guardians, but they were not his parents.  He explained that his Porsche was a strings-attached present for his sixteenth birthday, the strings being that he pay his car insurance with money he earned.  As a three-season athlete and an honors student, this was impossible to accomplish during the school year.  Hence, a summer job was necessary.   That Brian McKenzie had made the same arrangement with his own son (and bought him a far less ostentatious car) when Christian turned sixteen a year later was what confused, almost frustrated people.  What was the point?
Below is my critique, click on FULL SCREEN, then once the document opens, RIGHT CLICK to zoom so you can see the comments.

 



Alright, so what do you think?  Are you hooked?  What did the author do well?  What things could be improved?  Thanks ahead of time for offering your feedback!


*Also Katie is looking for beta readers, so if you are interested in exchanging work with her, email her!


 
 
 
*Today's Theme Song*
"Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" - Good Charlotte
(player in sidebar--go ahead, take a listen)



 

Question of the Day: Genre Respect

 

 

Why do you think some genres are championed while others are considered "guilty pleasure" or "junk food" reading?


Do you think genre fiction (romance, mystery, suspense, etc.) is easier to write than literary fiction?  If something's "commercial", is that a bad thing?  When people ask you what you read, do you tell them or do you pick the most high brow book you've read lately and tell them that one?  And if you're a literary fiction reader, what is your opinion on genre fiction?  What books or type of books would you never admit to reading?  (I apparently have no shame when it comes to this since I have reviewed some verra hawt books over here.  And yes, my mother does read my blog.  *waves* Hi Mom!)


**This week I'm am on a cruise, so I apologize for the short posts and the lack of responses to comments.  I look forward to reading all of your answers when I return!**