Public Critique: MOONY HILL

Good morning!  Today I have an excerpt from a 695-word story called MOONY HILL by Dana Gaar up for critique.  The excerpt gives a taste of the beginning and end, and she envisioned it as a picture book but says that may change.  If you have the time, please give it a read and offer any advice or constructive criticism you may have.  If you're interested in having a query, synopsis, or excerpt posted on Lit Rambles for critique, check out my contribute page.

ETA:  At Dana's request, I've posted the full story.

 

MOONY HILL
By Dana Gaar

 

Walking to a party over Moony Hill 

Where trees are blushing and autumn’s revealed

 

In the hollow below, in the late night air

Tables covered with drinks and plenty of fare

 

A bonfire is roaring 

to lessen the chill 

But we’ve all 

heard the legend of Moony Hill

 

Spun by our fathers

in the full moon light

Tales of old man Moony

and his mean old wife

 

The rumor is wild and the tale it is tall

A time after summer, before the snow fall

They lived back in the woods

at the top of a rise

And fought night and day

for most of their lives.

Legend’s not clear

what happened to him

But she was found headless

where daylight is dim

The hill remained quiet

for a day and a year

When the harvest moon rose,

we thought we could hear. . .

Some say it’s a panther

at times we hear wail

Though seen many nights

by those who dare tell

Alone before dusk,

you may do what you will

Her head in her hands,

she haunts twilight till

 

But the stories are old 

and it’s been a long time

Things parents made up 

to get children to mind

 

Though it’s quite dark, it won’t be that bad

Let’s not be afraid, there’s fun to be had

 

A moonlit ride in a wagon of hay

A quiver and shiver at the coyote’s bay

 

Legs that dangled when the night owl screeched

Were quickly pulled up and tucked underneath

 

The wind would howl 

and the bushes would wiggle

Bringing squeals and shrieks 

that turned into giggles

 

The graveyard crept by

in a ‘lay in wait’ manner

While the hair on our necks 

belied our brave banter 

 

Roasting wienies on sticks

round the great open blaze

Dark phantoms behind 

danced in long fiery waves

 

Burnt to a crisp 

were a dozen marshmallows  

Glancing over our shoulders 

at strange moving shadows

 

Wearing sly little grins

we poked and we picked

Deliciously soaked

in the hour of the witch

 

At the end of the night when the haunting was done

We banded together as though we were one

 

Walking home from the party back over the hill

We laughed at the things that gave us a chill

 

But black is the color of autumn at night

Different shades of the same creep around in moonlight

 

Sounds are so different when light’s not around

They’re louder and closer and fearfully bound

 

Hearts jumped in our chests 

when we heard the low moan,

Was it animal, wind, or the trees that had groaned?

 

Impossible to tell if imagined or real

We all drew in close, hushing our squeal

 

Some looked to the left others looked to the right

Wishing for home with all of our might

 

The air was quite fluffy, like clouds on the ground

We could not see up, we could not see down

 

When you look hard enough 

the darkness takes form

Like clouds in the sky 

on a cool autumn morn

 

Is that moss hanging down in the trees just ahead 

Or giant black bats about to be fed?

 

We teased each other with a joke and a dare

Cringing with dread, but in love with the scare

 

Just about then 

as we rounded the curve

We heard a far wail 

and there went our nerve

 

Is that?  Oh my! You think it could it be? 

Go see! No way! Please go before me!

 

The legend of old no longer a lark

Lady Moony’s arrived so we must depart!

 

With the swoop of a bat, 

we missed not a beat

The only thing left 

was the dust from our feet!

 

Running and screaming does not require balance

Tripping, not falling, now that takes some talent!

 

Did you see? Yes, I saw! Though he shook his head no.

Was it her? Yes, I’m sure! I felt her so close!

 

We gasped and we panted and started to slow

With hands on our knees, a thought started to grow

 

Of all the night’s spooks and whimsical ghosts

We find, after all, we’d scared ourselves most!

Dana Gaar

Tip Tuesday #56

I love this tip from Deren at the The Laws of Making.  When you're done reading, tell us: How do you handle and deal with criticism?

It's difficult, of course, to be told that your child isn't the most perfect in the world. It's equally difficult to hear that your manuscript could be improved.

As with most difficult things, one tends to go through the five stages of grief with criticism:

Denial - That's not a problem.
Anger - They missed the point.
Bargaining - If I made this small change, would that fix it?
Depression - I can never give them what they want.
Acceptance - Maybe I can if I work at it.

Others have observed the same pattern. What I want to point out is that understanding is usually a part of acceptance. I had a hard time reaching the stage of acceptance with some of the criticism I recently received because I didn't understand. Oh, I understood the words and the concepts behind them, but I didn't understand how to make the suggested changes.

And then, on the third morning, I woke up, reread the letter, and I understood. It felt like a miracle.

Writing is the process of encoding thought with marks on a page. Reading is the process of decoding marks on a page into thoughts. There's plenty of room for error in both processes. Because of that, understanding the thoughts of another and how they apply to your own thoughts is hard work. Fortunately, it's the perfect sort of work for your subconsciousness.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

So, here's the punch line: the best way to understand criticism is to study it and then sleep on it, perhaps for several nights. I suggest three nights because, according to School House Rock, three is a magic number.

Deren Hansen

Deren blogs at The Laws of Making.

Winners + WriteOnCon Live Panel

Just drew the winners for my giveaway using Random.org.  Thank you, everyone, for entering, spreading the word, and donating to WriteOnCon (if you did).  You guys are the best!

The winner of WILL GRAYSON, WILL GRAYSON by John Green and David Levithan is...

Joseph Miller!

The winner of EXTRAORDINARY by Nancy Werlin is...

Courtney Barr, The Southern Princess!

Congrats you two! I'm going to try to locate your e-mail addresses and will be in touch for your addresses.  If you don't hear from me, however, e-mail me at caseymccormickya (at) gmail (dot) com.

Then, one final reminder that we have a LIVE panel happening tonight at 9 PM EDT at the WriteOnCon site with literary agent Jessica Sinsheimer of Sarah Jane Freymann Literary, literary agent Roseanne Wells of Marianne Strong Literary Agency, associate editor Jocelyn Davies of Razorbill Penguin, and associate editor Kari Sutherland of Harper Collins Children’s Books.  We'll be doing a transcript, but I hope you can all make it live!  For details, stop by the WriteOnCon site. 

See you then!

Guest Blogger Sarah: Write at Home

I love to read how writers become writers, why they write, their influences and journeys, and I just love this post by Sarah from The Crazy Baby Mama.  So, naturally, I've pulled her over to share it on Lit Rambles!  Please check out her blog (particularly if you're a mom!) and enjoy.

Write at Home

Before I was born, my mom spent two years in the Peace Corps. She volunteered in Robert Kennedy's campaign. She worked for the Western Center of Law and Poverty, and served as Chief of Staff for a California Congressman. She was an activist, and an intellectual, and in July of 1981, she became a mother. So, she decided to make a monumental job-change and exchange her high heels for sneakers.

My mom's work-shift started at daybreak -- long before I woke up to the moan of the foghorns, and the smell of coffee brewing in our teeny-tiny house in Venice, California. While my dad showered and shaved, I'd stumble to our dining room table, where she'd bring me a cup of mint tea, and a bowl of Quaker Oats Maple Brown Sugar oatmeal. While I ate, she'd sit next to the open window, sipping her coffee and smoking her third cigarette. The laundry was done, and folded neatly. Lunch -- usually a salami sandwich with extra mustard, a Capri Sun, a baggie of sliced carrots and cucumbers, a hard-boiled egg, and sometimes a brownie -- was already tucked away in my neon pink backpack. While we waited for whoever was driving carpool to BEEP BEEP BEEP the horn, my mom would quiz me on my multiplication tables and ask me who I was the most excited about seeing at school.

When I'd come home from school, the house was redolent with the fragrance of dinner. Sometimes, she'd make her famous spaghetti and meat sauce, other times, chicken kabobs, or salmon croquettes. When I had soccer practice, or art class, or Hebrew School, my mom drove, and we'd listen to classical music in the car while she'd fill me in on the latest murder mystery she was reading each night before bed. On evenings when my dad had late-meetings, she would prepare finger sandwiches, and we'd dine daintily like royalty. And sometimes, in the still of the night, when even our cat, Nebbie, was snoring gently, she'd wake me up, and we'd sit by candlelight on the front deck, drink chamomile tea, and eat squares of dark chocolate. We would whisper ghost stories while surrounded by the powerful stillness of midnight.

Still, when asked what she did for a living, my mom would never describe herself as a Stay At Home Mom. Instead, she would tell people that she "worked from home." You see, during the day while I was gone, she would take her coffee and her cigarettes out to the little shed behind our house, and write childrens’ books at a well-worn library table from the 1920‘s. Along with managing the house, cooking, cleaning, and just being home in case I got sick or hurt at school and needed her, this was how she financially contributed to the family. And more importantly, this was how she nourished her creativity and kept her sense of self happy and alive.

When I started to think about having a family -- even before I met Ethan --- I knew that I wanted to follow my mom's example and (if, financially feasible) "work from home." And so, Ethan and I have tried to make it happen: He waltzes off to work every day, and I stay home with Maysie. But still, you can only sing “The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round” so many times before going absolutely bat-shit crazy. Between power-struggles over bath time, scrubbing splattered sweet potato from the floor and walls and -- how did this happen?-- the ceiling, and spending more time with my iRabbit vibrator than I do with my husband, I wonder how my mom made it all look so effortless. As much as I love my family, some days I feel like I stumbled into somebody else’s life. A life of sneakers and sandwiches, of early mornings and sleepless nights. And it was in one of these moments after while listening to Maysie beat her toy xylophone to death for 15 minutes (and wishing – Oh God if only -- I had a screwdriver to jam in my ears), that I began to fully appreciate how important it must have been for my mom to have her creative identity. Certainly, I don’t know how I would survive without it, which is why I’m writing through to the other side of midnight. Again.

Agent Spotlight: Jonathan Clements

07/21/2011 – Profile Removed.

Given my past concerns about the agency and the recent closing of Tribe Lit, I’ve decided to remove Mr. Clements profile.

See the agency thread on Absolute Write for further details.

~Casey

Public Critique: POSSESSED Query

Hey all! Here's the query I mentioned last week.  If you have the time, please give it a read and offer any advice or constructive criticism you may have.  If you're interested in having a query, synopsis, or excerpt posted on Lit Rambles for critique, check out my contribute page.

POSSESSED
(query)
Supernatural Thriller
By Sara Kjeldsen

Dear Agent So-and-So,

Fourteen-year-old Gabriel has killed more men than he can count. After fighting in the Napoleonic War for two years, he is now stuck at home with his parents. Gabriel's father has forbidden him to return to sea after losing his left hand in battle. To make matters worse, Gabriel is forced to go on a long trip to visit his aging aunt in the country. His boredom evaporates when he hears voices in a dark room filled with locked cabinets.

Gabriel's curiosity is cut short when a series of tragic events drive him into the woods with a madman in hot pursuit. The voices from the room follow him there. Just when he thinks that he is going mad, the truth unravels. Everything that he thought was real is a lie, including his identity. He is not a soldier. He is a cold blooded murderer.

The angry voices of those that he shot five years ago will not go away. Is there any way out of everlasting punishment for killing the innocent? Gabriel is certain that there isn`t one.

Possessed is a supernatural thriller that contains a final word count of 56,139 words. I have pasted the first ten pages at the bottom of this email.

Thank you for taking the time to review my work. If you would like to see more of my manuscript, please let me know.

Sincerely,
Sara Kjeldsen

Tip Tuesday #55

Tuesday already?  I'm still trying to figure out where last week went!  Anyway, I have a tip from a new contributor today, Morgan Kyser.  Thanks for sending a tip in, Morgan!  Everyone, please give her site a visit.  I've been enjoying her blog. 

One of the tricks of writing, at least for me, is finding out what you're good at and zeroing in on it. The most significant way of doing this is by figuring out what drives your stories: plot, setting or characters. Once you've picked one or two, focus on them. Of course, a book can have outstanding characters, plot, and setting, but that's quite uncommon. Usually a writer excels at one or two things and may struggle with the rest. Think of Harry Potter. The main characters are fairly simplistic, acting as mere vessels for the setting and plot, and that's fine! People still enjoy the story and love getting lost in that world, because Rowling focused on what she was best at.

So if you're great at setting and plot like Rowling, don't be afraid to world-build to your heart's content. And if you can't ever get your characters out of your head, by all means, let them take the lead. A good writer can make something work, even if one aspect is lacking. Do what you're good at. The rest will come, and if it doesn't, it can always be worked on with beta-readers or during your first re-reading. When writing out the first draft of a story, focusing on what you're good at can make it easier to keep going and finally get the full story out.

Great tip, Morgan!  I like the idea of focusing on what drives the story.  That seems to be a good indicator of where a given writer's strengths lie, the part that comes most naturally.