Entry #5 (YA F) - Beta Project 2019

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N


Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now.

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit.


First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. A fake smile plastered her face. And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days.

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?


What do you look for in a beta?

· Line-by-lines are great if you can give them, and I like overall impressions on what does or doesn’t work, too (worldbuilding, characterisation, plot, etc). But, really, any feedback provided will be greatly appreciated!

· My ‘Draft Zero’ is complete, but I’d never inflict that on anyone. I’m aiming to have a more polished draft ready for beta reads by the end of the summer *cough* Maybe longer *cough*

· I have the hide of a rhinoceros now, but let me know upfront if you give your comments in a brusque fashion so I can adjust my comment-reading expectations accordingly.

· NB: Potentially, this might fall under the ‘Upper MG’ category by the time I’ve revised my messy first draft. Let me know if that’ll be a problem – no hard feelings!

 

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N


Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now.

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit.

This has voice, but I feel like there are too many characters and not enough of your MC. In 150 words, you have Haydn, her artist sister Tessie, sharp-toothed creatures, a witness, a winged monster, a princess, the faire folk, and the queen. Focus on Haydn and what she does. She feels minimal in this hook.

First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. A good opening line A fake smile plastered her face. And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.” I don’t know who she’s talking to aside from “a man.” Since Haydn seems to know him, tell the audience something. We have nothing to envision with this person as it is. She’s talking at a man-shaped blob.

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? How big is this town that she knows him, but he doesn’t know her, especially as someone in the same line of business? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days.

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. Now this has gotten my attention. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?

To start, I love the names. A town named Olde makes me giggle. However, I think this has a common case of the writer being too deep in story. You know what you’re seeing in your mind when you wrote it and reread it, but it doesn’t quite come out on the page and things get missed. For example, how old is Haydn? Her age isn’t stated anywhere. How big is this town? The Olde English feel makes me think of a small one, but there are apparently at least three inns and two have almost the same names. All the other characters until the men with the unicorn feel undeveloped. Like there’s really no one else there but Haydn and the unicorn men. Yes, there are people saying things and interacting, but they’re little more than cardboard cutouts and whispers in the wind at the moment, and they’re gone as soon as they’re no longer needed. Give the scene some more permanence.

 

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N




Hook:


After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village. I'm assuming these are her sister's paintings?


None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. How old are both of them, and which one is older? Haydn sets off to warn her, I don't think I need both the "heading" and "setting" but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. since I don't really know the cause of the horrors, I'd like it stated at some point. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. while we don't need to hear who the witness is, this phrasing actually pulls my attention away from Haydn. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. if Tessie doesn't know these things are happening, why wouldn't she paint that monster now?


Haydn arrives at the market, at first this sounded more like "some local market" but I get that it is the Wylde Faire... but maybe underscore this is different from where Tessie and Haydn come from? but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit. So far, the only culprit seems like monsters?

Since I don't know how much magic is in your world or how much of it exist where the sisters come from (or actually if they are even human) I'm not super clear on the role of magic. Add in the sense that this is all tied to some kind of political intrigue, and I'm left with the idea that there's a fun story here, but that I'm not very informed about it.


First 750 words:


If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. A fake smile plastered her face. And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname which is..... She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why don't know if she really has to wonder why when they are actually saying why... the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.


“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”


“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”


Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.


Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern? I'm not sure how this works because my first thought it that another inn closing would help her family's tavern. (reading on, I understand this now, but I think I need this worded differently, "it couldn't be long until the same was expected for her family's..." or something.


She marched over to him is this someone she knows?, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”


It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.


“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”


Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”


The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” If Haydn knows what this means, I think he'd leave it at person (and she'd fill in the wife bit) and if she doesn't know this, I'd require more than just "because of his wife." He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”


He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness is there not a better word? simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days.


“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.


"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”


Surely the break wasn’t over already?


She turned around.


Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.


“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.


“No, why?” Haydn said.


“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”


She nodded grudgingly.


“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

There's a jump between these two lines I don't follow. The guy speaking and the cause for humiliation are two different conversations happening in different places, but to me they are simultaneous and in the same place.


The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.


“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”


“We’ve got a delivery to make.”


Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?

It's good! I like it. There's a lot of personality, a decent amount of world building, and some conflict right off the top with the threat of the inn-closure. There's a bit of "a person" "a voice" "a man" which makes it all feel a bit rough right now, but it begins in a place where I want to hear more.

 

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde

Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now.

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit.

Interesting premise with a potentially good conspiracy angle.

First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake (comma) then Haydn didn’t know it (or 'what it might be'). A fake smile plastered her face. (maybe move this) And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do ('Doing') this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname ('would be a thousand times more demeaning'). She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn (what inn? did I miss something?), propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him (or 'the man'), still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days. (why?)

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions (or 'saddles'), blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her ('she'). The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here (or 'in this village')?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we (or 'are we not')?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business. (I can't make sense of this paragraph)

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?

Starts a little slow, and I don't have a good sense of who Haydn is yet. Her hostility seems unfounded, and it's hard to warm up to her.

Quite a bit about Garland Day. Is it that important? We get that Haydn doesn't like it early on, not sure it needs that much elaboration.

The writing is quite good, though not always clear. Could be partly an English-American thing. The dialogue is okay, but doesn't sound too period-correct. (I'm guessing, based on the setting and the horses, this is not present day.)

 

[Sage]

5.

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N


Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. Honestly, my first reaction is ‘why would you do this?’ But that is mainly because I wouldn’t touch someone else’s art supplies. I also don’t think you need to clarify ‘artist sister’ as the rest of the crit makes it clear that she is painting pictures and not being a house painter But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. Is the monster special to Tessie in some way that she would want to paint it again in the first place?

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. Maybe mention that Hayden can’t find Tessie first? And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit. What wrong culprit is that?

I like the heart of your hook, it sounds like a fun plot that really comes through with your last sentence. I just feel a bit lost in the ‘why’ of it all. I feel like you are missing some details that the readers don’t know about just yet, like the fact that this is a Fairy Market and that her sister has disappeared? If you intend to use this as a query, I would refocus on the important beats of action and then add in the reaction.



First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. I kind of want her age included in this beginning. I don’t know whether she is 14 or 16, so it is hard to tell just how humiliating it would be for her. A fake smile plastered her face. And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.” Part of this is just not knowing your world and not knowing the ages of your character, but I’m not quite sure why Maiden is an insult for Hayden? I would assume that all of the other girls are also maidens? Unless this is something that only a certain older age range does and all of the other girls are already married? Does Hayden wish she was married already or hate the whole mindset of Maiden/Mother/Crone?

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it. I would also like a further expansion of world building and history here. Not an info dump, but what is Garland Day? What is the garlandpole dance for? And what happened to the previous years that Hayden participated in? Not that I’m saying, dump everything right here, but I think we need a little more grounding to know why this mattered.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.” Okay, I think this part as well needs an explanation. I wonder about a mayor who is driving out all of the people, how is he going to make any money if all of the people in his town are gone? (Though, I guess it’s a matter of how large a town this is, as this town is large enough to have three inns?) But, I would like an explanation of what he meant by all of the hintings at why the Mayor doesn’t like Hayden’s family.

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days. The explanation would probably fit in nicely here!

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. First hint of magic, yay! They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign. Since there are only two of them, maybe ‘younger’ and ‘older’? I usually see ‘youngest’ and ‘oldest’ as descriptors for groups of people rather than only two.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. See, this is why we needed the history of what is going on with the Mayor’s family and Hayden’s family and what happened two years ago. I have no idea what happened, disaster could have been Anese got cake on Hayden’s dress to she tripped Hayden so she knocked down the whole garlandpole. Hard to care when you don’t know the scope. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?

I grew to like Hayden, she’s a hard character to get into - though I feel like that was your intention. I really would like to know how old she is, because she really does read more like upper MG than lower, between messing with her sister, protesting tradition, and practically throwing fits at the old inn owner.

As you see, I asked ‘why’ a lot when reading through this hook and beginnings. I just feel like you’re holding back parts of history and the world. Maybe these things are shown further on in the story and the 750 words will come together when paired with the next 2K. It’s hard to say without reading those words, but I do feel like you could use a bit more history and world building up front here so that we feel included in the story. As it is, I don’t feel like I am connected within the story.

I also feel like there is a disconnect between your hook and the beginning of your story. Again, maybe it is just only having the 750 words and this is the start of how she ‘liberated’ those berries. But the hook focused on Hayden, her sister, and the kidnapped princess. It offered epic stakes. And then we open on Hayden, Garland Day, and drama with the Mayor of a small or midsized town. And I just cannot connect the two, as I don’t even see mention of a sister? I know that beginnings don’t always have to open right at the action of a hook and I can’t accurately judge the beginning without reading the rest of the novel, but judging by the hook, I wonder if you’ve picked the right start to this story?

All in all, I liked how Hayden was a firecracker, and I can see a lot of room for character growth as the novel progresses, but she’s a character that I can see people following.

 

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde

I will be brusque. Adjust your seatbelt accordingly.

Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village. What does Haydn want? She opens with a prank gone bad.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. (Haydn is now late, incompetent...)A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. (No relevance to anything preceding) A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. (I think the berries did this, but you are being to spotty with laying it out. you are making me guess.)

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie.(What about the dragon? Does the dragon matter?) And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. (Left field calling.) Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit. (I have no reason to believe Hadyn can do any of this.)

Your pitch paints a ren-fair vibe and dragons come alive. I'm in! But, you need to rework the query so that Haydn is driving it all toward an opening goal.


First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake (comma) then Haydn didn’t know it. A fake smile plastered her face. (Fragments are effective for upping voice, as in giving us her thought process, but this one is not a thought she would have. It reads like a note from yourself to yourself, the author. ) And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.” Rearrange the wording (or cut something) so the nickname and dress and her disdain for it all flow logically, easily, no hiccups to the reader.

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” (< Teacher would not say this... unless Hadyn is really this disliked by one and all. Mean school kids I get, but teacher? Now I want to kick Hadyn too.) Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon (implied.) and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; (<established) such a stupid tradition. (<example of fragment that can feel like voice.) In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession (<why is she counting them in her thoughts? More natural would be "no reason that this one would be better than last year's") wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year. (<This paragraph slows your pace and you don't need it.)

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. (Granted, she has personality, but I'm not sure why she marched over to the Inne--like what was her motivation--and I'd like something pleasant about her. Like if she was funny, or something ... the next line could be reworked a bit and would give her clear intelligence, but she is belligerent and I want you to know that's how she's coming off to me.) “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. (< OK, so this is her motivation to talk to the guy. Good. I'd insert this info into narrative somehow when she's going to see the guy, and cut it from here b/c it is a bit forced in his dialog.) The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days. (<Shown, a lot, already.)

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest (younger) was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest (older) one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly. (like through here, why is she so bad tempered? Play with something. use the unicorn. She offers it something, etc.)

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garland pole, (< hard to parse and a non sequitur. Better to connect the preceding and following sentences. She looked around. Oh, great, Anese was stalking around the garland pole etc) directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?

Overall, I see an arc starting. Conflict and characterization. That's good.

OK. For me, I love me a strong-willed girl, but not a mean-spirited one and Hadyn is awfully close to the line here. She also doesn't have a real proactive goal in this scene. I think she'd be easier to get on board with if she did.

I do like the Ren-Fair vibe. And yeah, May Poles and all that were annoying and stupid. LOL.

 

[Sage]

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N


Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, (Why is “liberating” in quotes? Did she steal them? Why be coy here?) Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. (Why not, if she is none the wiser? I can’t figure it out from the info you've given us. Maybe just delete this last sentence?)

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleashes their its full might on the wrong culprit. (Family is singular.)

I think it depends a little on what this is for, but my comments apply if this is intended to be something like a query, where less is more and you just want to keep to the facts without muddying the waters.


First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. A fake smile plastered her face. (Grammar—plaster is a transitive verb, so this is a little off. You need to plaster something—does that make sense? “She’d plastered a fake smile on her face” would work.) And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over before making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this lpast year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.” (This is slightly confusing, because it says above the mayor had other issues to deal with during the past year—so did this innkeeper’s problems actually have nothing to do with the mayor? To eliminate confusion, you could just delete “this past year.”)

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days.

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

“Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngerst was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The olderst one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business. (“Doing out of some business” reads a little awkwardly to me.)

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?


What do you look for in a beta?

· Line-by-lines are great if you can give them, and I like overall impressions on what does or doesn’t work, too (worldbuilding, characterisation, plot, etc). But, really, any feedback provided will be greatly appreciated!

· My ‘Draft Zero’ is complete, but I’d never inflict that on anyone. I’m aiming to have a more polished draft ready for beta reads by the end of the summer *cough* Maybe longer *cough*

· I have the hide of a rhinoceros now, but let me know upfront if you give your comments in a brusque fashion so I can adjust my comment-reading expectations accordingly.

· NB: Potentially, this might fall under the ‘Upper MG’ category by the time I’ve revised my messy first draft. Let me know if that’ll be a problem – no hard feelings!

I enjoyed this. I really like your voice. It could be good for upper MG, for sure, but hard to tell from the first couple of pages! I don’t have a huge number of comments. It flowed well for me, your world seemed rich and well developed, I liked Haydn right away, and it captured my interest.

 

[Sage]

Disclaimer: Since OP asks for a heads-up if your critique style is brusque . . . I'm nitpicky and occasionally snarky. I don't do compliment sandwiches. I call it like I see it, both what works and what doesn't.

Hook: After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, [[Ha!]] Haydn [[Do you mean the name to be anachronistic-ish? I'm guessing so from your snarky tone, but if not, that name feels very modern.]] secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village. [[Well, that escalated quickly! I'm hooked.]]

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping [[You buried the lede there! I'd suggest leading with the kidnapping and following it with the witness' account.]] tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. [[Hmm, OK, I'm guessing that sentence is relevant somehow but I'm not seeing it. Why wouldn't Tessie paint it now? What does that have to do with the kidnapping? I'm thinking maybe that sentence doesn't belong in your hook.]]

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen. Haydn must find her sister [[Of course!]] and rescue the princess [[That's awfully nice of her. Why does she want to?]] before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit. [[Is that why she wants to rescue the princess? But again, what's in it for Haydn? Is the royal family going to punish her family? Her village? Why would they? Or is Haydn deeply altruistic?

[[This hook drew me right in, but as it stands, it's messy. I am taking it on faith that my confusion around Haydn's motivations and the stakes will be cleared up in the manuscript itself. Lots of readers wouldn't.]]

First 750 words:
If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake then Haydn didn’t know it. A fake smile plastered her face. And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.” [[So far I have been pronouncing her first name to rhyme with "maiden," but I just remembered the composer Franz Joseph Haydn, whose name does not rhyme with "maiden". Just an FYI.]]

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.” [[I love this blend. The maypole dance and the lute and the nickname all point to a mediaeval setting, but the way people are talking and the organized "class" feel very modern. I'm hooked into a unique setting and I totally believe Haydn's name now. ]]

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it.

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move. Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.”

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days. [[This is good. The garlandpole business gave me a picture of a child; this conversation gives me a picture of a more mature person. It melds seamlessly together. I get a picture of Haydn as a very young, very intelligent, very snarky person.]]

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. [[Unicorns! I squealed.]] They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business. [[I got a little confused. So there are three inns in town? Olde, Garlandpole and Haydn's family's?]]

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?
[[I'm hooked! I would SO read on.]]

What do you look for in a beta?
[[snip]]

· My ‘Draft Zero’ is complete, but I’d never inflict that on anyone. I’m aiming to have a more polished draft ready for beta reads by the end of the summer [[Well, rats. I'd request it, but I can't do the end of summer.]] *cough* Maybe longer *cough* [[Hey, if you need more time and could use a beta around Christmastime, hit me up then. Sage can give you my name just in case.]]

[[snip]]
###
OVERALL WHAT WORKED -
- Voice and tone. I'm drawn right in.

WHAT DIDN'T -
Based on this excerpt, I have no real crits other than my nitpicks above. My only concern is, I don't know how well it fits into the overall story, as I didn't see anything from the hook. It's interesting enough that I would read on to find that, though.

Good job!

 

[Sage]

Adjust your hide to the "rhino" setting

Manuscript Title: Ye Heroine Of Olde
Manuscript Genre: YA fantasy
Manuscript Word Count: Current 67k/Projected 75k
Is your manuscript finished?: N
Any trigger warnings? N


Hook:

After ‘liberating’ some magic berries, Haydn secretly adds them to her artist sister’s paint to enhance the texture. But hours after being painted, sharp-toothed creatures escape from their murals and terrorise Haydn’s village.

None the wiser, Tessie’s heading for the quirky Wylde Faire, intent on showcasing her art there. (sounds fun) Haydn sets off to warn her, but she’s already too late to stop more horrors. A witness to a royal kidnapping tells of a winged monster swooping away from the palace, terrified princess in tow. A monster Haydn saw once before in her sister’s sketchbook. A monster Haydn knows Tessie would never paint willingly now. (You can totally streamline that)

Haydn arrives at the market, but the Faire folk (Confused if this is "faire folk" like folk from the fair or like fairy folk. Here, it reads like the latter. But "faire" matches the spelling above, which didn't suggest fairies) deny any knowledge of Tessie. And they’re awfully cagey about their recent dispute with the queen (this is awfully cagey itself, IMO). Haydn must find her sister and rescue the princess before the royal family unleash their full might on the wrong culprit.

I think that with 100 more words to flesh it out in Queryland, this is a serviceable place to start with for your query.


First 750 words:

If ever there was a more humiliating thing to do in springtime than skip around a garlandpole (is this a real single word?) like a chubby-cheeked child hyped up on currant cake(comma) then Haydn didn’t know it ("it" doesn't work here. Maybe "what it could be." OTOH, I like this as an opening line). A fake smile plastered her face (I kinda like it now, but I had to read this twice to realize "plastered" was a verb and not an adjective that was missing a verb). And to think – this was only the rehearsal. Things would be a thousand times more demeaning when she had to do this ("things" "this" Watch out for meaningless words) for real tomorrow in front of the whole village, dressed in an infantile white dress that only served to underscore her hated nickname. She weaved her way through the other dancers, clutching her garlandpole ribbon and wondering why the other girls were hissing and gesturing at her.

“Other way, idiot!” “That’s the wrong way!” “Typical. Trust Haydn the Maiden.”

“Haydn, are you deliberately trying to sabotage the pattern?” (I mean, maybe? ) Her teacher sighed, placing the lute she’d been playing on the grass. “Class, we’ll take a break while I sort out the ribbons.”

Huffing under her breath, Haydn released her ribbon and stepped aside. She hadn’t wanted to participate in the dance in the first place; such a stupid tradition. In fact, she wished fervently that Garland Day never existed. She saw no reason that her third Garland Day in succession wouldn’t be just as disastrous as the two that preceded it. (Hope we eventually get details about those)

Across the village green, a man appeared around the side of the inn, propped a ladder against the front, and climbed up to remove the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign from its bracket. The window shutters had remained closed for the past week. Haydn scowled. Was she seeing a premonition of the fate of her own family’s tavern?

She marched over to him, still riled up about the dancing. “So it’s true that you’re leaving. Did the mayor get at you? Has he bought Ye Garlandpole Inne?”

It was no secret that the mayor of Olde coveted the building’s prime location for his own small empire. Had done for years. The only surprising thing was how long he’d taken over making his move (This line comes out as too wordy to me). Then again, he’d had other concerns this last year.

“This place will be going up for auction a week Sunday. The mayor can put his bid in then, same as anyone else.”

Haydn snorted. “You really think anyone else around here has the money to buy it? We’re all taxed to the hilt. He’ll put in the lowest bid possible and tell you he’s doing you a favour by taking it off your hands.”

The man climbed down the ladder. “You’re Arnley and Nesta’s daughter, aren’t you? A word of warning from one inn owner to another. The mayor won’t rest until you’ve been driven out too, and I’m surprised he didn’t go after you lot first. With me, it was business, because of the location. With you, it’ll be personal, because of his wife.” He hefted the ladder onto his shoulder, leaving the sign propped up against the wall. “I wish you better luck than I’ve had this past year.” (I like this analogy to big businesses putting local ones out of business.)

He disappeared around the side of the inn, and Haydn clenched and unclenched her fists several times, trying to control the hot-temperedness simmering under the surface. Anger and hostility were her constant companions these days.

“Excuse me?” a male voice called over.

"Yes?” she snapped. “What now?”

Surely the break wasn’t over already?

She turned around.

Two young men approached on horseback, leading a placid unicorn behind them. They stopped mere feet away, towering above her from their seated positions, blocking out the sun. The youngest was around sixteen or seventeen, scarcely older than her. The oldest one – by several years – glanced at the ‘Ye Garlandpole Inne’ sign.

“Is this the only inn here?” he asked.

“No, why?” Haydn said.

“We are in Olde, aren’t we?”

She nodded grudgingly.

“Then we’re looking for Ye Olde Inne,” he said. “Can you tell us where to find it?”

The cause of the humiliating Garland Day two years ago strutted around the garlandpole, directing their stressed teacher on how to unravel the ribbons. Anese Gosbeck, the mayor’s spoilt daughter, thought she owned the village. Haydn had no qualms about doing Ye Olde Inne – and therefore Anese’s father – out of some business.

“I think you’re mistaken,” she said. “About the name. We have Ye Garlandpole Inne, as you can see, but that closed recently. There’s Ye Olde Taverne, though, which must be the inn you’re after. What’s your business there?”

“We’ve got a delivery to make.”

Haydn eyed the unicorn, speculating. A delivery?


What do you look for in a beta?

· Line-by-lines are great if you can give them, and I like overall impressions on what does or doesn’t work, too (worldbuilding, characterisation, plot, etc). But, really, any feedback provided will be greatly appreciated!

· My ‘Draft Zero’ is complete, but I’d never inflict that on anyone. I’m aiming to have a more polished draft ready for beta reads by the end of the summer *cough* Maybe longer *cough*

· I have the hide of a rhinoceros now, but let me know upfront if you give your comments in a brusque fashion so I can adjust my comment-reading expectations accordingly.

· NB: Potentially, this might fall under the ‘Upper MG’ category by the time I’ve revised my messy first draft. Let me know if that’ll be a problem – no hard feelings!

Well, shucks, I didn't even get to poke at your rhino hide that much. For a zeroth draft, this is really well done. As for whether this is upper MG versus younger YA, my gut says MG, but that doesn't meant that it couldn't be pubbed as YA and just popped under my "MG pretending to be YA" bookshelf on Goodreads Don't be surprised if Sage sends you a PM with a beta request from me by the end of the day.

 

[Netz]

Thank you so much for your feedback on this one as well, folks - much appreciated!

Thanks also to the last critter - my gut is kinda heading in the Upper MG direction, too, so I'm going to complete my next draft with this in mind. This ms is set in the same world as my other entry in the Beta Project (Entry #1), albeit in a neighbouring country, so it makes sense to stick to the same age category as that one. (For those who've offered to beta, this one is a standalone, btw.)

My 750 words was hastily polished up from my Draft Zero version in a couple of days, so I get that some of the people, etc, come across as underdeveloped - I'll be fleshing things out in the next draft.