1st place - a critique of the first 20 pages
2nd place - a critique of the first 10 pages
3rd place - a query critique
So here I go:
name: Jan Morrison
Genre: literary fiction
Here is the final edit before sending it to Brenda - whoosh as you read this it will be gone - thanks everyone for making this a whole lot of fun and I hope you all tried to get around to as many sites as you could - there were some intriguing first words!
Today, I flung a bowl at my husband, Palmer. Granted, it was a soft bowl – one of those bendy plastic ones that most of our age group would have experienced at our childhood cottages, red with two raised lines near its lip. It was full of sugary bits of cereal but no milk and so, all in all, a minor rage. Mind you, if it had been made of glass and full of boiling maggots, I still might’ve flung it.
Afterwards, after cleaning up the Cheerios, calming and distracting Palmer, and seeing him banging away at on-line solitaire in the office, I retreated to the sun porch. It was quiet there and the morning light was soft as it laced through the orange and red leaves of the two large maples out back. I thought of last fall – before the accident that rendered our lives into a parody of the one we’d had.
I stretched out on the old daybed, plumping the rose and bird festooned pillows behind me, and considered for the umpteenth time the words my mother might have used to counsel me. Palmer had been out of the hospital for three months. That seemed to be the important thing on everyone’s mind before he got here, but now I realized it was the same as confusing the wedding with the marriage. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next. I’m not sure what a wife in these circumstances is morally required to do.