Whoseywhatsit Thursday: The Critique

Congrats and thank you to Rhiann for entering and sharing her first 250 words for critique.

Here is her first 250:

Sporadic blasts of the foghorn heralded our arrival at the lighthouse. The headlights illuminated the mist shrouding the island but couldn’t penetrate it. Once we were out of the car, fog clung to my skin like a veil. The air was thick with the smell of sea creatures, both living and dead.

Aunt Laura and I followed Uncle Ned into the lightkeeper’s cottage. He lumbered up the narrow staircase and carried my suitcase into one of the two bedrooms on the second floor. Laura began to unpack, setting my folded clothes on the narrow white bed.

“Darling, shouldn’t you start making dinner?” Ned asked. He was slightly out of breath.

“Yes, of course.” Laura scurried away.

Ned stepped towards me. I grabbed an armful of sweaters and held them to my chest as if their soft wool could protect me, like an armored breastplate.  

“When is Pearl’s funeral?” The words scraped past the clump of grief damming my throat.

“Tomorrow at ten thirty. Just a private service with the two of us, and your Aunt Laura. A friend of mine will officiate.” He went on to mention my father’s other siblings whom I’d never met. “Bartholomew is in Kiev with his circus and Rowena is somewhere in Africa doing God’s work. Neither can make the trip on such short notice. Needless to say, your father won’t be attending. It will be a difficult day, but we’ll be a great comfort to each other.”

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered, then gathered my quivering lip between my teeth.

And our thoughts:

Sporadic blasts of the a foghorn heralded our arrival at the lighthouse. The headlights illuminated the mist shrouding the island but couldn’t penetrate it. [THE WORD CHOICES HERE SIGNIFY A VERY FORMAL VOICE ... PERHAPS SOMETHING HISTORICAL. IF THAT'S YOUR INTENTION, GOOD! IF NOT, BE CAUTIOUS.] Once we were out of the car, fog clung to my skin like a veil. The air was thick with the smell of sea creatures, both living and dead.

Aunt Laura and I followed Uncle Ned into the lightkeeper’s cottage. He lumbered up the narrow staircase and carried my suitcase into one of the two bedrooms on the second floor. Laura began to unpack, setting my folded clothes on the narrow white bed. [This is all lovely, but I get no sense of your main character here. From the end of this sample, she’s clearly full of emotions. Show us some of them to help us connect to her right from the start.]

“Darling, shouldn’t you start making dinner?” Ned asked. He was slightly out of breath.

“Yes, of course.” Laura scurried away.

Ned stepped towards me. I grabbed an armful of sweaters and held them to my chest as if their soft wool could protect me, like an armored breastplate.  

“When is Pearl’s funeral?” The words scraped past the clump of grief damming my throat. [AT THIS POINT I'M WONDERING WHO PEARL IS TO HER? IS THERE A REASON YOU KEEP IT A SECRET?]

“Tomorrow at ten thirty. Just a private service with the two of us, and your Aunt Laura. A friend of mine will officiate.” He went on to mention my father’s other siblings whom I’d never met. “Bartholomew is in Kiev with his circus and Rowena is somewhere in Africa doing God’s work. Neither can make the trip on such short notice. Needless to say, your father won’t be attending. It will be a difficult day, but we’ll be a great comfort to each other.”

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered, then gathered my quivering lip between my teeth.

Ned is clearly a scary dude, and your main character (no sense of age or gender yet) clearly has reason to be afraid of him. I really love your last sentence about pulling the quivering lip between her teeth. I think you have a wonderful flair for describing. Just punch this up with some emotional connection for the reader, and I think you have a nice opening here.


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