Wewriwa on the Last Weekend of September

Welcome to another addition of the 

Weekend Writing Warriors

Hop on over to the main page and check out the wonderful snippets from a variety of genres.

http://www.wewriwa.com/

Last week I abandoned my YA manuscript and gave my dear readers a middle grade snippet. Here is another sample from MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS. Since the manuscript is unpublished, feel free to put on your "Evil Editor" hats and give me some honest yet constructive feedback. I can take it! 

I've struggled to write my metaphor without using words that take the reader off the page. This has been a challenge. To quote Mark Twain, "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightening bug." Please help me to strike lightning as I introduce this kid.

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My thoughts and everything else rattled as the door flung open and smashed into the wall. Slater Slatker, the new kid, burst into the room followed by papers flying off desks and swirling into an air dance before settling onto the floor. With a smile that reached from ear to ear, he blew a whirlwind of charm toward my class, and within two minutes, knew them better than I had after five years. Obviously, Slater was used to spinning dirt while making his tornadic path, which meant life wouldn't be the same in the wake of his destruction. His brown Mohawk spiked on top of his head into a stiffly gelled shark fin. He wore faded red shorts and a sleeveless skateboarding T-shirt on that chilly October morning. The entire class turned toward him as he stomped his monstrous Nikes onto the gray tiles. That kid had the biggest darn feet I’d ever seen, and a mouth to match.

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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attending an SCBWI conference, it looks like middle grade is what's selling, so I'm going to switch focus to another unpublished manuscript, MRS.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.

#GBE2: Exploring POV

As a writer, I love the challenge of taking a short scene from my WIP and changing the POV, but I wonder if there is any harm in posting this scene. My manuscript has not been sold, or even queried yet, but I will be in the process of sending it out this month. Would a future agent or editor object to my 250 or so words being published on my blog? I hope not.

Charlie Brown and my little Knob have a lot in common.

I'm in the habit of writing everything in first person, so it was a fun challenge to convert a scene to third; however, the first paragraph was not too different, so I didn't even bother to repost it.



Here is a first person scene from MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS:

Slater’s mom pulled a chisel-shaped knife out of its top drawer and leaned her head back. With the precision of a surgeon, she gently slid the blade downward until it disappeared into her throat. Next she thrust it out with one gigantic swing. Blood covered the blade while red liquid filled her mouth. Her eyes rounded as her lips curved into a smug smile. She winked at me! Blood gushed out of her mouth, and she winked! While the room spun in oval circles, I couldn’t decide if she was crazy or if I needed the loony bin.

When a thick, red droplet dribbled down her chin, I squeezed the back of a chair and stepped backwards. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I worried that I might hurl at any moment.

“You’re b-bleeding.” I gripped the chair with my other hand too until my knuckles turned as white as Mom’s had when she drove me home after I’d gotten in trouble the other day. “Hospital. We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” I plopped into a chair, put my elbow on the table, and leaned my head into my palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”

How about a brush with third person?

 

Mrs. Slatker winked at Knob, whose face had transformed to a mixture of ashen and green. He squeezed the back of a chair and placed a wobbly foot behind him.  Spastic churning bloated his belly in an achy, sick sensation.

“You’re b-bleeding.” Knob gripped the chair with his other hand until his knuckles turned white. “Hospital,” he said. “We need to t-take you to the h-hospital!”

Slater, Calfie, and Mrs. Slatker laughed so hard tears filled their eyes.

“What are you laughing at? I think she’s really hurt!” Knob plopped into a chair, put his elbow on the table, and leaned his head into his palm. “I don’t feel so good.”

“It’s fake, Knob,” Slater said in between chuckles. “She squirted fake blood in her mouth!”