A publisher or agency using Google ads to solicit your novel probably isn't anyone you want to write for.
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|04-01-2012, 10:56 AM||#1|
practical experience, FTW
Join Date: Dec 2010
Location: Ottawa, Ontario
Offering my services as a Beta
I know it's uncommon to see people offering themselves as beta without asking reciprocation, but my WIP isn't near beta stage yet, and I need a little distance from it for a while. I think getting down into the nitty-gritty of another person's manuscript is a great way to get thinking about the craft of writing and what makes a book good. So I'm thinking of this as an exercise for myself as well as a contribution to the community.
I'm unpublished, but I have a degree in English and a background in creative writing, and am an avid reader with an excellent grasp of story, language, and grammar. At the very least, I can tell you what strikes me about a book, what I enjoyed or didn't enjoy, etc.
So, if anyone has written a contemporary, historical fiction, speculative fiction, or YA novel (the genres I read most often, so will be most helpful on), preferably less than 75,000 words or so (my time is limited) feel free to contact me in this thread or by private message. I can only agree to do one at a time, so I can't promise anything, but if I beta for you I can promise you good feedback and a critical, unhampered analysis.
|04-01-2012, 08:35 PM||#2|
Join Date: Nov 2011
Location: Left of center
Looking for beta reader.
Hi. I'm looking for a beta reader. MacAllister says my novel is contemporary fiction. It's 68,500 words. Not looking for line by line editing but rather, a reader's take on story, flow, dialogue. ..it's a love story but there is some explicit stuff in there, and m/m parts. Would that bother you? Please let me know either way. . .
FYI, here are two parts for review, okay?
“I’m not mad. You just said what—that you’re going to kill yourself on the day before your birthday? When’s your birthday again?”
“So you’re going to kill yourself on what, December 15?”
“I’m not gonna kill myself, Mr. B.”
“That’s what you just said.”
“No, I said I was gonna die.”
“What’s the difference?”
He turned away from me and looked out the passenger window.
“What’s the difference, Steve?” I said. I resisted the urge to reach up and yank the sweet curls falling below the nape of his neck.
“Some people just wanna die, Mr. B.,” he said.
Here's another part:
I don’t know why I asked him if he wanted to go with me to class sometime, just sit in and then, on a whim, on a fucking whim I asked if he wanted to go with me the next day, which was Monday, which was yesterday, right? No, tonight—no, wait, it was last night because it’s after one fucking a.m. right now. Anyway, he wasn’t sure at first but only because he said he didn’t want to miss out on “working time,” so I promised I’d get him back by 9:30 p.m., I said, “at the very, very latest,” I said, and when I told him that he said, “Okay. That sounds like fun, Mr. B.,” and I promised him, promised him I’d have him back by 9:30 p.m. but that was a fucking lie because at 9:30 p.m. I was raping—
Oh, Christ. Jesus. Wait.
It's a love story. Really. So. . .
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