Carmen slammed her keycard on the counter. She was old enough to remember metal keys, much more satisfying when it came to slamming. Metal clanked; plastic only clunked. Dully.
Her head ached and she was filled with remorse at the slip of the tongue that had revealed her insomnia. Only sometimes, she’d added quickly, but the agent had already checked the box. Hell’s bells. Mandatory end-of-life counseling, at age 52! What a world.
A noise from the old furnace vent startled her. Carmen tilted her head, listening, and heard nervous laughter followed by a series of thuds and muffled exclamations.
It was noon, and Shasta was downstairs instead of in school. Again. How long before a Social Enforcer buzzed? And what in God’s name was going on down there this time? Carmen faced the basement door, wishing she hadn’t declined the Aging Agent’s offer of nerve pills after all.
—M. Shirey
Developmental Edit
This is a wonderful, matter-of-fact take on sci-fi, bringing it home to reality with a very human protagonist.
Tense? check
Realistic? check
Raises a question? check What’s Shasta doing in in the basement?
Drop-kicks us off the end? check What nerve pills?
What does this paragraph tell us about the book we’re starting? A 52-year-old woman named Carmen with a child named Shasta has been to see someone called the Aging Agent and is bent because they prescribed mandatory end-of-life counseling when she accidentally admitted to insomnia. On top of that, she’s in trouble with some Social Enforcers’ agency because her child keeps skipping school, AND she turned down nerve pills! Nerve pills! I ask you!
Do I want to follow this character through a whole novel? Man, Carmen’s completely got my attention. What kind of 52-year-old mother with insomnia and problems with Social Enforcers turns down nerve pills? Is the woman mad?
Genre? Sci fi. Looks futuristic to me.
Do we need to know who the character is, how they got here, where they were before? I’ve got it—she just came from the Aging Agency, where she royally screwed up.
Do we need to know what she’s going to do next? I have a pretty good idea she’s going to investigate the giggling in the basement.
Does this paragraph drop us right smack in a specific moment in this character’s story? So totally.
Let’s talk about the structure of it. One note: numerals are spelled out, unless they’re extremely long, like years.
Other than that, this is pretty darn tight. I like that the first that happens is Carmen slamming her keys down, but I’d like to skip over the backstory and go straight to the point, which is that Carmen just got herself in the dog house with the Aging Agency. And is about to get herself in the doghouse with the Social Enforcers.
Clearly, this was the wrong time to turn down nerve pills.
Can this be made shorter and snappier? Marginally. I am going to do something I virtually never do, and that is replace a sentence, turning a statement to a gesture.
Copy & Line Edit
Carmen slammed her keycard on the counter. That slip of the tongue about insomnia. Only sometimes, she’d added quickly, but the Aging Agent had already checked the box. Hell’s bells. Mandatory end-of-life counseling, at age fifty-two! What a world.
She was old enough to remember metal keys, much more satisfying to slam. Metal clanked; plastic only clunked. Dully. She put a hand to her forehead.
A noise from the old furnace vent startled her. Carmen tilted her head, listening to nervous laughter followed by thuds and muffled exclamations.
It was noon, and Shasta was in the basement instead of in school. Again. How long before a Social Enforcer buzzed? And what in God’s name was going on down there this time? She wished she hadn’t declined the Aging Agent’s offer of nerve pills.
M., wow! You had me going with lots of questions to answer and many things that made me curious…great job! Would love to see what happens next!
Shivers! End-of-life counseling, at such a young age. Very creepy scenario (in a good way) that would compel me to read more.
I loved this – both versions. Carmen’s first little internal rant about metal keys vs. key cards had me identifying with her right away (even though I’m not close to her age). I have a sense of foreboding about what’s going to happen next, in a completely delicious way.
Thanks for sharing!
I really like the voice here. The first line about the plastic keycard is great, and gives us a sense of the character’s age. Then the modern keycard is contradicted by the old furnace, which implies that not everything is up to date. The one-word sentence “Again” tells quickly and directly that us Shasta isn’t the best-behaved kid around. Nice job!