Crit Me May 2007

New column, Crit Me!

This month, the Muse Marquee has a new columnist, Mommacrit. The Crit Me! column features the first 500 words of one writer’s work, accompanied by a no-holds- barred critique from Mommacrit.

Here are Mommacrit’s guidelines:

Send Mommacrit the first page of your story or novel. It must be less than 501 words. Label it clearly with its title, your name or a nom-de-plume, and its genre. It should be a damn good beginning, hooking Mommacrit into wanting to read more. By sending your work to mommacrit@gmail.com, you are giving permission for it to be published, and publicly critiqued, in the Crit Me! column of the Muse Marquee.

Mommacrit is not a literary god, though many worship at her feet. She is not a god’s earthly representative, sometimes known as an agent or publisher. Mommacrit is a critiquer with very definite ideas. If you’re tough enough to send your work to her for an opinion, that’s what you’ll get, her honest reactions to your 500 word hook.

Do you dare?

CRIT ALERT!!! “Because Mommacrit has been inundated with submissions, the Crit Me! Column will close to submissions until further notice. Mommacrit thanks those writers who sent bribes with their submissions – unfortunately, the chocolate melted. Mommacrit will continue to post honest critiques on work previously received, with or without chocolate.”

First page by J.Race, one writer who dared send work to Mommacrit.

CULVER GROVE, OKLAHOMA

“Nice, pink shoes, Andi,” John Carter snickered.

Five other men, members of the bowling team, stood with Carter cackling like a gang of teenage girls.

Bowling balls rolled down in other lanes and pins collided against one another then dropped to the floor. Aromas of colognes and smells of sweat permeated inside Thompson’s Bowling Alley.

Poised, bowling ball in hand, Amber Lee gritted her teeth. She’d like to swing around to face the redneck idiot and toss the ball into his freckled face. If it weren’t for the other guys in the team she wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Yeah, Andi is my name. Rub it why don’t’ cha. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with those creeps. If it wasn’t for the fact that I love bowling I’d finding something else to take pleasure in. She’d have chosen a gay bowling team if one existed.

I can’t help that I’m not as butch as they are. Seems like they don’t mind hurting anyone’s feelings. I wonder how they’d feel if other people ridiculed them just because their rednecks. I doubt they’d be able to handle that. They’d want to use their fist. It would serve them right if they got pounded to the ground.

Why can’t they accept me for who I am? Oh, I know that hardly anybody doesn’t like someone who is different than they are, but that’s shows their stupidity. Everyone was made to be different.

Maybe, if those idiots can’t accept someone who is different than them that might mean they’re not comfortable with their own selves. I wonder how they’d react if someone who wasn’t a redneck alienated them by treating them just they way they treat me. That just might show them that they’re not any better than anyone else, but they’re probably the type who wouldn’t be bright enough to understand. They’re just a bunch of rowdy unintelligible deadheads. Well, as I heard Forest Gump say, stupid is, as stupid does. That may not be an exact quote, but I could care less right now.

I’ve always wondered if something inside mama’s womb must have gone haywire before I was born. Well, I don’t feel comfortable having a physical alteration. Why bother I’m comfortable the way I am. Besides, why fix something that ain’t broken.

Tears swelled in her eyes, she swung her arm backward then forward and released the ball.

“Andi! Andi! Andi!”

Her teammates taunted as the ball continued to roll down the lane.

Wham!

Every pen tilted and dropped to the lane and slid backwards.

Yay! Another strike.

Amber wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whirled to face the six guys behind her. Each of them wearing their blue short sleeve shirts with three black bowling pins emblazoned on the material, gawked at her. In spite their ridicule her score was a perfect three hundred.

Reaction from Mommacrit

First off, has J.Race followed the guidelines?

“Send Mommacrit the first page of your story or novel. It must be less than 501 words. Label it clearly with its title, your name or a nom-de-plume, and its genre.”

Surprise, surprise, surprise! There is no genre indicated. The title is either “Super Queen” (email heading) or “Culver Grove, Oklahoma” (positioned above the 487 word excerpt.) Take your pick – Mommacrit doubts it will make much difference.

With no mention of genre, the reader must skim the story start to decide for himself.

READ THE GUIDELINES! FOLLOW THE GUIDELINES!

Is this first page a hook, great writing to snag Mommacrit’s gnat-like attention?

Momma has to admit, it would be great to go to a Bowling Alley to see massed pens tilt, drop and slide backwards. What next, a massed uprising of coloured pencils? Andi’s longing for a gay bowling team also gave Mommacrit a laugh. But the quality of J.Race’s writing makes it doubtful Momma could endure many more pages, even to find such gems.

J.Race indicated thoughts were underlined. Perhaps this was to avoid format glitching? Mommacrit will be generous and give J.Race the benefit of that doubt. But why the change of font? Once J.Race has this story ready for submission, check out agent/publisher guidelines to see how they want internal thought indicated.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that I love bowling I’d finding something else to take pleasure in. She’d have chosen a gay bowling team if one existed.” J.Race is showing us Andi’s thoughts here. So Andi is “I”. Andi cannot be “she” in those same thoughts.

There are many errors in the page. Perhaps Andi speaks and think ungrammatically? Here are some of Mommacrit’s nits:

Aromas of colognes and smells of sweat permeated inside Thompson’s Bowling Alley.: Delete “inside”. “permeate” means to spread through. In effect, “permeate inside” would mean “spread through through.” That’s enough sweat and cologne for anyone.

Rub it why don’t’ cha.: Rub it in, why don’t you/why don’t ‘cha

I’d finding something else: I’d be finding something else/I’d find something else

just because their rednecks: just because they’re rednecks

They’d want to use their fist: unless the men own a single giant fist the reader knows nothing about, try “they’d want to use their fists”

In spite their ridicule her score: despite their ridicule,/in spite of their ridicule, her score

Each of them wearing their blue short sleeve shirts: Each of them wearing his blue short sleeve shirt

Constraints of time, space and enthusiasm prevent Mommacrit from continuing this nit list.

The story needs work, lots of work, if this excerpt is any indication. The theme seems to be that one should be true to oneself, and that is a worthy theme indeed. But the writing is muddied with the almost chaotic thoughts of the POV character : “I’ve always wondered if something inside mama’s womb must have gone haywire before I was born. Well, I don’t feel comfortable having a physical alteration.”

Was Andi considering a sex change because the guys on her bowling team laughed at her pink shoes? Fortunately she rejects the idea and goes on to score a perfect 300, underwhelming Mommacrit and concluding the ostensible hook.

J.Race has used lots of active verbs and vivid vocabulary but there is no excuse for sloppiness. J.Race must tighten the writing and delete careless errors before this excerpt has a chance to hook any reader.