Jessica's Critique

Writer, take heart. You see a lot of red in my critique because I explained why I suggested what I did. It won't help you develop an eye for editing your work if I don’t explain.

First, I see a natural born storyteller. You pull the reader in and keep building and building the tension. Even from the killer's POV, there's a pull to keep reading to find out what will happen.

You're a good writer and I suggest working on 'showing not telling.' I gave some examples in my critique below. If this were not a high-action scene, the telling parts would have bothered me a lot more.

I've not seen enough of your work to know if during slower parts you delve into the senses more. I noticed the lack of 'smell, touch, taste,' in this scene. Check your other scenes and see if they also lack.

A good critique group would really benefit you. They could help you point out where you've not made the scene clear to the reader, where you're telling where you can show, and help you eliminate unnecessary words. You've got a good grasp, and I think you're a good writer. Just some fine-tuning is needed.

Thanks so much for sharing it with us!


December 4, 1962

“Open the door! (I wanna see Rosie).” {{Great opening. "I wanna see Rosie" felt planted to me. What about him screaming out her name? }} Walter Hutchiss pounded his fist hard, not caring whether he broke his hand or splintered the wood. Stopping his mounting rage was not within his control. Time had proven that.

A deep voice from the other side of the (locked) {{GWS}} {{we know he's at a door. Why not tell us from within in house, or hotel room}} door responded. “Go home. You’re not welcome here. Rosemary doesn’t want to see you.”

“She’s my wife and I have a right to see her.” Swearing, Walt wildly kicked his steel-toed cowboy boot into the wood-framed door leaving a splintered dent. {{when I picture wildly, I see him swirling his leg in the air without aim. It might work better without the "ly" word. Swearing tell us his mood clearly too.}}

“Move away from the door and I’ll come out and talk (to you),” the man’s voice called. His voice carried a mixture of fear and exasperation—a sound [familiar to] Walt (had heard before in others.)

It’s not you I want to talk to, old man[.], Walt [patted the .22 caliber pistol wedged in the back pocket of his faded Levi's. (thought.) But I’ll deal with you first. (Walt patted the .22 caliber pistol wedged in a back pocket of his faded Levi’s. He knew he would be using it.)Without turning around, he descended the steps and backed away from the small porch. An outside light flickered on. (He stood in the dirt waiting as a grizzly-looking man in his early sixties stepped through the door.) {{Couple of thoughts here: 1.) Because you used italics, it's unnecessary to tell your reader "he thought" so I replaced it with an action beat. 2.) I think it might be more compelling not to promise your reader that he's going to use the gun, but let them keep reading to find out.}}

The small clapboard house stood in the desert on the outskirts of Gemstone, Arizona. The nearest neighbor was probably at least a half mile away. Too far, with the desert wind howling, to hear gunfire. {{good}} A sudden gust pushed tumbleweed across the barren dirt in front of Walt. He hacked, spitting a wad at the passing brush [just as a grizzly-looking man in his early sixties stepped through the door.]

{{Okay, I would move this description to where the light flickers on. It's a good break in the action and chance to describe the scenery. The light flickers on and your character is now facing the possibility of being seen by someone. . . so he looks around and the reader gets a peek at the setting. You increase the tension by making the character worried about who will see him too. I would have him turn back as "a grizzly-looking man in his early sixties stepped through the door. . . that way you don't shove a description right in the middle of the action.}}

His unarmed father-in-law ambled from the porch, stopping a few feet short of him. He was as tall as Walt was at six-foot-one, but a good hundred pounds heavier. Walt could take him. He was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and had become a sharpshooter before the Army dishonorably discharged him. I shouldn’t have left that sergeant alive to testify against me. {{Is that last statement something that is more for the writer to know--one of those things that pop out when writing that tells the writer what's going to happen in the story-- or is this really for the reader?}}

(Walt’s hot temper had been getting him in trouble since childhood. Nobody understood. Nobody. His grandmother had tried, but for all her God-talk and prayers, he had not changed. Now, even his own wife had turned her back on him and run home to her parents. ) {{I think it would improve the story to remove this part. We know he's temper has been getting him in trouble, you've already established that. The fact his grandmother tried to talk to him about God –to me—feels irrelevant in this scene. The reader can pretty much figure out his own wife has run from him and is hiding. So why kill the pace to tell us these things. Keep the story moving.}}

“I want my wife and I want her now!”

“Why? So you can whack her around every time you lose your temper? Face it Walt, you’re a loser. Nothin’ but a drunk who can’t hold down a job.”

“Listen good, old man. I make Rosie happy. You can’t stand that idea can you?”

The man shook a meaty fist (in the air). “Get off my property!”

Walt reached around and pulled out his pistol.

The expression on his father-in-law’s face was akin to surprise. Surprise mixed with horror and realization. (The realization that a totally unexpected and horrific act was about to take place. With the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.) {{GWS}} {{Self-Editing says 1 + 1 + 1/2. "Surprised mixed with horror and realization" says it much stronger than spelling it out for the reader. If you want, you could add some of Walt's emotions and IM to make these thoughts: Ex: Walt smiled as he watched his father's in-law's eyes despair with the knowledge there was nothing he could do to prevent his death.}} His prey raised his hands in a meaningless act of self-defense.

Hutchiss {{who is Hutchiss? Now is not a good time to start using your pov charater's last name. Don't lose your reader here.}} pumped two rapid-succession shots through the man’s heart. The blood splattering Walt’s t-shirt was like a rush {{can you find a new word to use instead of 'rush' -- as the phrase is cliche}} of adrenalin. A different kind of high than booze or drugs gave him. {{not very sympathetic is he?}}

Sprinting around his fallen victim, Walt felt his own muscles tighten in pleasure as (he saw) {{GWS}} blood pour[ed](ing) from his lifeless father-in-law. {{'Sprinting around' gives the reader the idea that he's already passed the body, but now he's looking at it. Why remove the "Sprinting around his fallen victim?}} He [sprinted around his fallen victim and ] bounded to the porch. The women’s terrified screams coming from the other side of the door (only seemed to make) {{weak}} [made] him feel stronger, angrier and more determined to finish what he had started. This time using the heel of his boot, he [smashed?] kicked at the door while drilling two bullets through the wood.

There was a gurgling sound and a thud, followed by an anguished shriek. {{the gurgling sound suggests to me that its blood blocking her vocal cords. Could she have shrieked?}}

Anticipating the scene on the other side, Walt kicked harder until the door (began to give.) {{weak}} [caved in – or – splintered in] (He saw) {{GWS}} (the) [The] first drops of the women’s blood drip against his boot. {{How did it drip? Is she hanging above him? He was behind the door and would have missed blood splattering. I suggest: Blood pooled against his boots}} It gave him a perverse feeling of satisfaction. {{< -- Can you strengthen this to showing instead of telling}} He clawed through the wood and turned the inside knob to unlock the door. With an angry shove, the door burst open. {{ah-ha, so the door has neither crumbled, nor splintered. 1.) How did blood get on his boots if he's on the other side? 2.) You need to clear this picture for your reader, so they can see what you're envisiong}}

His estranged wife lay on her back. Half of Rosemary’s once-pretty young face was missing. Her remaining eye stared unseeing into his face.

Walt sneered. It didn’t have to end this way, Rosie. It’s your fault. You ruined everything!{{why not have him say this out loud?}}

His mother-in-law knelt rocking on the floor. {{ah-ha, the piercing scream. Good! Yet it seems to me he should notice his wife and mother-in-law together so as not to confuse the reader. }}

With one hand, she caressed her daughter’s hair and with the other, she pressed against a growing red stain on her own dress. The woman turned her head to face Walt. Her lips didn’t move, but eyes filled with horror and pain seemed to scream at him. Why? How could you do this? Do you even know what you’ve done? {{ This is just a suggestion, but would it be more powerful to have her screw up her eyes, and wince, waiting for the bullet. We, as the reader, already know Walt is emotionless, but to see a heart-broken woman facing death bravely right here, might tug more at the reader.}}

(Emotionless,) [Keeping his gaze steady,] Walt [raised and aimed the gun, then] (walked to the little gray woman and ) put a bullet through her already-broken heart. {{showing vrs telling}}

A small wail emanated from the back of the house reminding Walt he had more business to tend. {{Why wasn't the baby crying when the door was smashed in or the first bullet? You could have the mother-in-law sobbing so that the baby isn't heard until she's dead. Makes more sense.}} He stepped around the bodies, not caring if he smeared blood along the wood floor. {{or. . . He stepped around the bodies, and wiped his boots clean on the rugs scattering the wood floor.}} {{shows 'not caring' instead of telling us.}} Eight-month-old Walter, Jr., lay crying in a well-used crib in a tiny unkempt bedroom. Walt hesitated before entering the room. His son had his brown hair and shared his gleaming hazel eyes, but the facial features were those of Rosemary—small forehead, high cheekbones, and a delicate, almost-perfect nose.
Wedging the pistol in his waistband, {{I'm about to show my ignorance of guns, but would a gun that has been fired this many times feel hot? Can he put it in his waistband?}} he pulled a Camel from his t-shirt pocket and lit up. He puffed deeply until he began to relax. With the cigarette still dangling, he slid one thumb into a belt loop and slid the pistol out with his other hand.

“You’ve got a real rotten start in life, kid. Your mama’s dead and you’re descended from a murderer who ain’t gonna be around to help ya.”

The baby boy stopped crying. His head cocked toward the melancholy voice coming through the smoke rings.

“The cards are stacked against you. Maybe you’d turn out just like your ol’ man.”

Walt raised the gun muzzle to his son’s temple and shut his eyes.