WeWriWa - Slater to the Rescue

Weekend Writing Warriors

Check this fun hop out at: 

http://www.wewriwa.com/

Those who tuned in last week learned about my little guy being blamed for Slater's fart in class. Things weren't as glum as they looked because Slater came to Knob's rescue.

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“I confess!” He [Slater] dramatically flung his hands in the air and then slapped his head on both sides. Ignoring Ms. Benson’s squinting eyes, he said, “It was me and those Country Bean’s sausages my mom cooks. Completely nutritious and delicious, but oh, the consequences of eating them.”

Everyone broke out laughing. Even Ms. Benson cracked a slight smile for a moment before returning to her business-like tone. “Slater, class time.”

“Sorry, Ms. Benson. I promise not to eat any more sausages before school.” 

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Weekend Warrior Writer's - Middle Grade

Weekend Writing Warriors

Check this fun hop out at: 

http://www.wewriwa.com

After attending an SCBWI conference, it looks like middle grade is what's selling, so I'm going to switch focus to another unpublished manuscript, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS. It's the story of a fifth grade outcast taken under the mismatched wings of a new boy in town. Is that cruel not to answer the door from last week? Sorry.

Here are my first eight lines. Please tell me if you'd keep reading––actually that may not be the right question since many of you write dirty romance novels and wouldn't turn the page of any kid's book, but humor me. I'm looking for an honest critique that will help me bring my work up to the publication level. Thanks!

CHAPTER ONE

 

            Randy slammed into my shoulder with a “Move it, Will,” on his way to Harrison Zimmerman’s desk. Telling me to move was better than putting an /L/ in on my forehead and getting the class to chant loser until Ms. Benson's face turned red. The kid bounced on his toes while kissing up to Harrison, who had the power to share glazed, creamy, chocolaty, or powdery treats. 

“Keaton told me your mom’s making a new kind of donut.”

            Harrison’s tongue swept across his upper lip like a fat frog grabbing his fly––not the zipper. “It's called The S’More––Chocolate, marshmallows, and gram crackers.” His beaming meant­ his stupid end-of-the-week party with the The S’More as the guest of honor. On Monday guys will boast about Mrs. Zimmerman's homemade donuts dipped in chocolate sauce or gooey cherry filling.

Weekend Writing Warriors, September 6

Weekend Writing Warriors

Another week is beginning, which means it's time to share

 writing snippets at:  http://www.wewriwa.com

Here is the continuation from last week. 

You know a fight is imminent!

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Bryson threw a punch, but I ducked and then body-slammed him into the wall.

            “Way to go, Benito!” The stranger outside the window cheered and clapped.

            I let go of Bryson and stared at the man outside. Is he talking to me? My heart sped up as his bug eyes tore through me.
            “Benito?” Bryson laughed. “Is your name Be-ni-to?

            “No. I’m Ben.” I stared out the window and shook my head as though I could clear away all of my confusing thoughts with a quick shake. "Just Ben." 

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Weekend Writing Warriors 8/31/14

It's time for another Weekend Writing Warriors!

Check out eight line snippets at: http://www.wewriwa.

Here's another snippet from my YA manuscript, BEING BENITO CARLEFFA.

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I swung my backpack over one shoulder and then noticed Bryson shoving Austin. The big guy towered a full foot over little Austin and could have easily fit his victim into one of his pant legs.

“Leave him alone, Bryson.” I stepped close enough to see three blackheads surrounding a red splotch on Bryson’s cheek. He must have picked something open, again.

            Bryson’s chest rose and fell as he curled his hands into tight fists. “Always snooping in other people’s business, aren’t you, tool?”

            “Just looking out for my friend, douche.” 

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Weekend Writing Warriors - 8/24/14

   Weekend Writing Warriors

8/24/14

 

Come join the hop to read an awesome eight from published and unpublished authors at: http://www.wewriwa.

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I know I'd already posted my first eight lines of my manuscript, but I decided on a rewrite as a result of a critiquer's advice. Hopefully this new beginning will jump the reader, agent, or editor into the story sooner.

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       I tried to focus on Ms. Link’s daily review, but it was pointless once I’d spotted the fat guy outside. He had hung under a tree for the past half hour with his bug eyes aimed straight at me, or at least it seemed that way. I rubbed my hand over my stiff neck and noticed that my shoulders had inched upwards. Knowing I had to stop this stalker, I got out of my chair and headed toward the window. Maybe if I closed it, he wouldn’t be able to see inside.

       “Ben, what are you doing?” Ms. Link asked.

       “Sorry, m’am. I was cold. Thought I’d close the window.”

       “I don’t think so,” she sang. “You can’t do that to a menopausal women. I’ll be burning like the steel under Carnegie’s furnaces.”

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