Peer Critique Fest.....

Okay, ladies and gentlemen...

Let's get cooking!

If you submitted a piece, please critique at least five pieces.  Be kind with your comments, but if you have constructive advice, please give it.  :)  

Thanks to everyone who was able to participate.  For those of you who are heavy into A-Z, I'll do another one this summer.    :)

Entry .5  (This one came in a little later than the others...sorry about that.)

Title: POSTER OF THE YEAR

Genre: Picture book      

         Amy slouched through the door, flinging her books down on the kitchen table.

         “What’s wrong?” Asked Amy’s mom, taking a tray of cookies out of the oven.

         “I spilled milk on my jeans at lunch and I didn’t get picked to be the class monitor.” Amy scratched at the milk stain on her pants leg. “Worst of all, there’s a poster contest at school and I can’t think of anything to draw.”

         “You’ll come up with something.”

         Mom offered Amy a cookie. “Want a snack?”

         “No thanks.” Amy shrugged and frowned. “What can I draw for the contest?”

Entry 1

Title: DISAPPEARANCE AT HAWNBRIDGE MANOR

Genre: YA mystery

I find the note in my locker after seventh hour.

It’s just sitting there on my algebra book, nothing special about it. No flashing lights, no eerie background music, not even a mysterious little wind ruffling my hair. Just a photocopied yearbook picture enlarged to the size of a sheet of notebook paper, with cut out magazine letters pasted across the top like a ransom note in an old movie. It’s caught at a funny angle on top of a stack of books, so I can’t read what it says. I can see the picture though, and that’s enough.

Entry 2

Title: The Crazy Part
Genre: Contemporary YA

I should have known Daniel would try this again. I should have known from the way the chords of his guitar smeared the dark spaces above me as I lay alone in bed at night.

                Standing here staring at the note he wrote, my hands shaking so hard I can hardly read it, all I can think is Oh God, how did I miss this? Dear God, what do I do now?

                I haven’t prayed in years. Not even a whisper.

                Then Jayden squalls from upstairs and everything flashes back at me in quick time. I have responsibilities and here I am sitting on a closed toilet seat, my face hot, my hands cold, trembling so hard I’m not sure I can stand.

Entry 3

Title: SEVENTY-TWO HOURS 

Genre: MG adventure

      Anna threw open the barn door and smiled at Fancy. Two scents―sweet hay and horse surrounded her. The chocolate bay mare stamped her foot and stuck her head over the stall opening. Her mane trembled with excitement and Anna’s hands began to tingle.     

      “Fancy, you know I love how you smell, but you won’t win today!”

      Anna jabbed her boots into the dirt, determined to win. Fancy swished her long tail. The horse’s stare pierced through her black forelock that hung down to her eyelashes.

                  The sound of boots scuffing the ground broke Anna’s gaze. She blinked then whirled around.

Entry 4

Title: "My Hair is Black, My Eyes are Brown. At least I think so.

Genre: Picture Book

My dad and mom were born in America, so they are Americans. I was born in China, so I’m Chinese, right? My parents say that I’m not. They say I have blond hair and blue eyes. I disagree. I have to have black hair and brown eyes, like all other Chinese people I see in my city.

The policeman has black hair and brown eyes.

The people at the market where mom buys fresh vegetables, fruit and meat all have black hair and brown eyes.

The lady outside the park entrance with her large barrel of warm sweet potatoes has black hair and brown eyes. 

Entry 5

Title:     Winding Roads
Genre:  Memoir

Before they labelled me Slaggy Aggie and Slit-Eyes, even before someone later dubbed me Sunshine, Mamma named me Silvija.  It's pronounced Sil-vee-ya.  My Mamma told me she wanted a beautiful name for a beautiful baby, that's why she chose it.  That was probably the only time Mamma ever used the world 'beautiful' in the same breath as my name.  Mamma believed that giving children praise encouraged vanity, and, since vanity in either a child or an adult was right at the top of her own personal list of heinous sins, it was to be avoided at all cost.
I believe the only reason she eventually told me she considered my name beautiful was because she got fed up with me coming home with my nose bloody, my hair in disarray and grimy tears drying on my face.
.

Entry 6

Title: Not A Holiday

Genre: MG Historical Fiction

WHRRRRR, whrrr, WHRRR, whrrr

            “Hurry, hurry!” Mummy shouted. “Joyce, Gina!  Get out of bed now!  Get to the shelter!”

            Our shelter was in back of our council house.  Daddy dug a deep trench in the back garden where we used to grow potatoes and covered it with a big piece of wavy aluminium.  The walls and floor were cold and damp and I hated going in it.

            “I don’t want to, Daddy,” Gina whined.  “It’s full of creepy crawlies.”

            “It’ll be fine,” Daddy’s face was drawn in tight.  We could hear the bombs whistling through the air and the thunderous explosions as they landed.

            “Down there, now!” roared Daddy. 

Entry 7

Title: Gabe to the Rescue

Genre: Picture Book

Gabe was the only alligator at the zoo.

He liked to float across the pond with Tucker Turtle, Frieda Frog and Pedro Parrot sitting on

 his back.

      One day, while relaxing in the pond, they heard a loud sound coming from the top of the hill.

RRRRRRRRRR, RRRRRRRRRR, RRRRRRRRRRR!

      Tucker glanced up the hill.

      Frieda looked up the hill.

      Pedro peeked up the hill.

      Gabe gazed up and saw the zookeeper pushing and pulling something big and green across the grass.

      “Look! It’s a new gator, and she’s in trouble.” Gabe growled.

      Gabe opened his mouth wide and showed his shiny, sharp teeth.

Entry 8

Title (working): The Darkest London

Genre: Fantasy

Charles Franklin Osgood paused at the arch of the Old Bridge, the one that jumped the moat away from town and towards the Woods on the other side, where nobody ever went. He paused there to look over the soft, wooden railing, gnawed to tissue by age and weather, into the eyes of his reflection, dark upon the water sliding in silence below. It comforted him to prove to himself that he, at least, was the same as he had been yesterday, and all the days before that— even if it was, taken out of context, a sorrowful, little picture.

Entry 9

Title:The Longest March 

Genre: Realistic Apocalyptic Fiction

I’ve always liked numbers, which is really funny because I was such a terrible math student in school. I would like to blame the teachers, but the more likely reason is that I just didn’t give a rip for a bunch of problems with no basis in reality. So, you want reality? Here’s a real number for you. Actually here’s a few “real” numbers. Eight billion. That’s the estimated world population just before the King Death (KD or Katy for short) flu really got going.

ARE YOU IN?

I know lots of people are busy with A-Z right now, but I thought I'd like to host a critique fest.  I've done it before, but it's been a while.  If you are interested in having something peer critiqued, email me:  Title, Genre, and your first 100 words (don't end in the middle of a sentence).  I'll post all of them on Thursday so the critiquing can begin.  I ask that you submit no more than 2 pieces to be critiqued.  If you submit a piece I hope that you will critique at least five pieces.  

So...Are you in?