First Five- YA Thriller with paranormal elements

[gabrielkt]

I've rewritten the start of my MS more times than I can count. I'd love any overall feedback regarding whether or not this pulls you in and whether or not you can get the sense of my MC's voice (an amnesic dead girl). Is this enough to hook you? Thank you all for the help!!


#1-My Awakening

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was and not to trust it.

I found myself standing barefoot on my grandparent’s white dock. Its grainy wooden slats felt like sandpaper beneath my feet. Behind me, a rope methodically chimed against the flagpole. Someone had recreated every detail of a place I’d once loved as if they wanted me to feel comfortable for the devastating news I’d hear. The only difference between the living world and this knock-off version was the sky. Drenched in shades of blue, pink, and orange, it looked like an artificial, painted backdrop. Whoever wanted me to believe I was in Oshkosh, Wisconsin had botched the sky.

“You used to spend hours out here.” My grandfather stepped beside me wearing the same red, checkered shirt he’d worn in nearly every picture I’d ever taken with him. “No book. No fishing pole. You’d just look out over this lake and spend time with your thoughts.”
It had been five years since I’d last seen him. I should have hugged him or told him how much I missed him. Either of those would have been the normal response, but I couldn’t get over how different he looked. His back was no longer hunched. He didn’t cough or wheeze when he spoke. Everything about him looked younger – I didn’t like it.

“I asked you one time what you thought about out here. You looked me straight in the eye and said you’d be an investigative reporter one day. Someone who exposed the bad people in this world.” With his hands tucked in his pockets, he looked at his feet and chuckled.

“I don’t remember that.” I didn’t want to hear it either. As it turned out, considering anything beyond high school ended up being a giant waste of time.

There was a sadness to his expression as he smiled at me. “Let’s sit, shall we?”


We sat at the dock’s edge for what seemed like hours. His feet kicked boyishly back and forth beneath the dock while mine hung like weights pulling me towards the lake. I searched the water for a glimpse of my own reflection. There wasn’t one.

“This place has many possibilities,” he offered as if trying to convince me of its potential. “From here we can watch just about anything – the past, the present, even glimpses of the future if they allow it.” He indicated three Lights shining above us in a perfect row like stars.

“Who are they?” I wasn’t sure who or what they were, but their presence was powerful. I wondered if they were to blame for what happened to me.

“They want you to hear a message.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Keep your eyes on the lake,” he said as if there was anything else to look at.

The lake water started glowing. It swirled and shimmered like an oscillating diamond top. Then, for a quick spilt-second, everything around us radiated a brightness so intense, it forced my eyes shut. When I opened them, the lake was a sheet of glass where images of a girl and her mother appeared real and lifelike.
   
A five maybe six-year old girl insisted that her mother take her to the hospital so doctors could stitch her tooth back in. The mother tried to reason with her, but she was stubborn. She said she’d walk to the hospital herself if she needed to and stomped out the front door only to fall asleep on their porch swing.
   
“So what, we sit around and watch people?”
   
My grandfather squeezed my hand as another image, only slightly more interesting, appeared. The same girl with a younger version of my grandfather sat on the concrete stairs of his neighborhood church. They shared an ice cream cone after she’d apparently cried so loudly during mass he’d escorted her outside. When her mom came out, she was furious to see he had “rewarded her poor behavior.” My grandfather apologized, then winked at her when her mother wasn’t looking.
   
I didn’t see the end. Spying on other people’s intimate moments felt too weird.
   
When it was over, my grandfather put his arm around me and drew me in. “Do you remember the house you grew up in?”
   
The question was ridiculous. I didn’t know how to respond when I suddenly realized I couldn’t picture my parents’ home. I racked my brain for a glimpse of the house I’d lived in for fifteen years. Images of houses scrolled through my head, but none of them seemed to be mine.

“Do you remember how you died?” he continued.
   
Again, my mind blanked – the final moments of my life, gone. He grabbed my hand to steady the uneasiness. “Do you remember your name?”
   
I felt as if someone had punched my stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I doubled over and tried to focus on the murky water rippling below. My arms shook. My mind spun with questions – one more prominent than the rest: How could I not remember my own name?
   
“It happens to many of us,” my grandfather consoled. “Especially those of us who die so young.” My body grew heavy. My head spun. “You will remember it all in time.”
   
His reassurance sounded rehearsed – an answer designed to make me feel better. My name, my death, the house I grew up in – how could I forget those pieces of my life? A sharp pain gnawed at my stomach. I nearly lost my balance as I tried to stand. My vision blurred. My legs felt numb. “I don’t belong here,” I asserted with far less insistence than I’d intended. My body collapsed, and I fell into a deep, dark sleep.

   
My dreams were vivid. They flashed through dozens of scenes revolving around eight freshmen I’d never seen before. Dominated by lies, fights, and bitterness, each scene grew progressively worse. By the time all eight kids got trapped in the science room together, I felt like I knew them – though nothing could have prepared me for what happened when the gun was produced. When the bullet pierced the first girl’s body, I screamed – I’m sure of it. Then one by one, the next five teens followed in suit, their bodies limp and dead on the linoleum floor.
   
The entire time I slept, the Lights showed me what they wanted me to do as if they were telepathically communicating with me. Eventually, my grandfather joined them in delivering different variations of the same message: that what happened in the science room wasn’t meant to be. That I could either stay here in Afterlife or become their Guardian and help all eight of them bear a second chance in the hopes that they would be saved from this fate – some of them at least. That if I chose to help them, I would have to embrace all of them, including the most detestable of them: Valerie Wittier.
   
By the time I woke, I’d made my decision. I just hoped my grandfather didn’t ask me my reasons behind it.

#2-[b]Valerie Wittier’s Awakening[/b]

Any minute now, Valerie Wittier will wake up, and I’ll remind her of what she’s done. I keep trying to picture her reaction: defiant, affronted, belligerent. Remorseful crosses my mind, but I don’t consider it seriously. Remorse doesn’t fit Valerie Wittier. While I’d like to think death has changed that, I’m not counting on it.

Open your eyes. The Lights’ unspoken demand rattles through me like a booming crack of thunder. Once again, I don’t actually hear them, but their message is clear. My heart races a little as Valerie begins to twitch. Clearly, she’s felt it too.
    
Here, the three Lights shine down from an impossibly high ceiling in an otherwise pitch-black room. They look less like stars and more like a giant spotlight. Together, they form a single cone-shaped beam and a perfect circle around Valerie’s body where she sleeps. Her face is wiped clean of her usual mascara, lip gloss, and manipulative smile. Her breathing is even and rhythmic. She looks so peaceful and innocent lying there. It’s tempting to think we are alike, or even feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine this girl liking death any more than I do. But after everything I’ve learned about her, I can only hope I was never as horrible as her.
   
Valerie rubs her lids and stretches her arms like this is some lazy Saturday morning. I could see Valerie being the kind of girl that likes to keep people waiting just because she can. If that’s what she’s doing, I can’t imagine the Lights tolerating that for long.

Open your eyes, the Lights command again.

I smirk, just a little. Thought so.

Valerie jolts upright as she finally opens her eyes beneath the blinding white light. Her hands fly to block the brightness and rub away the sting. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the glaring light shining down in a circle around her body, and only her body. Beyond that, complete darkness surrounds her like a cloak of black velvet. She gasps. Her arms and legs flail as she scrambles to stand. She jerks and spins beneath the cone of light like a caged rat desperate to escape.

[EJ]

Hi there,

So happy to see another YA thriller in the mix. As I said in another QT post, I'm not much of a copy editor so I'll keep my comments limited to voice, concept, pacing etc. Also please excuse any formatting issues - I still haven't gotten a hang of positing quotes using QT. See my comments below!


#1-My Awakening

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was and not to trust it. I like where you're going with this, it immediately drew my interest but for some reason my "ears" didn't perk all the way up. Maybe play around a little more with the sentences and see if they could pack more punch.


I found myself standing barefoot on my grandparent’s white dock. Its grainy wooden slats felt like sandpaper beneath my feet. Behind me, a rope methodically chimed against the flagpole. Someone had recreated every detail of a place I’d once loved as if they wanted me to feel comfortable for the devastating news I’d hear. The only difference between the living world and this knock-off version was the sky. Drenched in shades of blue, pink, and orange, it looked like an artificial, painted backdrop. Whoever wanted me to believe I was in Oshkosh, Wisconsin had botched the sky.

“You used to spend hours out here.” My grandfather stepped beside me wearing the same red, checkered shirt he’d worn in nearly every picture I’d ever taken with him. “No book. No fishing pole. You’d just look out over this lake and spend time with your thoughts.”

It had been five years since I’d last seen him. I should have hugged him or told him how much I missed him. Either of those would have been the normal response, but I couldn’t get over how different he looked. His back was no longer hunched. He didn’t cough or wheeze when he spoke. Everything about him looked younger – I didn’t like it. 

“I asked you one time what you thought about out here. You looked me straight in the eye and said you’d be an investigative reporter one day. Someone who exposed the bad people in this world.” With his hands tucked in his pockets, he looked at his feet and chuckled.

“I don’t remember that.” I didn’t want to hear it either. As it turned out, considering anything beyond high school ended up being a giant waste of time.

There was a sadness to his expression as he smiled at me. “Let’s sit, shall we?”

We sat at the dock’s edge for what seemed like hours. His feet kicked boyishly back and forth beneath the dock while mine hung like weights pulling me towards the lake. I searched the water for a glimpse of my own reflection. There wasn’t one.

“This place has many possibilities,” he offered as if trying to convince me of its potential. “From here we can watch just about anything – the past, the present, even glimpses of the future if they allow it.” He indicated three Lights shining above us in a perfect row like stars.

“Who are they?” I wasn’t sure who or what they were, but their presence was powerful. I wondered if they were to blame for what happened to me.

“They want you to hear a message.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Keep your eyes on the lake,” he said as if there was anything else to look at.

The lake water started glowing. It swirled and shimmered like an oscillating diamond top. Nice description, so pretty! Then, for a quick spilt-second, everything around us radiated a brightness so intense, it forced my eyes shut. When I opened them, the lake was a sheet of glass where images of a girl and her mother appeared real and lifelike. Again nice descriptions!
   
A five maybe six-year old girl insisted that her mother take her to the hospital so doctors could stitch her tooth back in. The mother tried to reason with her, but she was stubborn. She said she’d walk to the hospital herself if she needed to and stomped out the front door only to fall asleep on their porch swing.
   
“So what, we sit around and watch people?”
   
My grandfather squeezed my hand as another image, only slightly more interesting, appeared. The same girl with a younger version of my grandfather sat on the concrete stairs of his neighborhood church. They shared an ice cream cone after she’d apparently cried so loudly during mass he’d escorted her outside. When her mom came out, she was furious to see he had “rewarded her poor behavior.” My grandfather apologized, then winked at her when her mother wasn’t looking.
   
I didn’t see the end. Spying on other people’s intimate moments felt too weird.
   
When it was over, my grandfather put his arm around me and drew me in. “Do you remember the house you grew up in?”
   
The question was ridiculous. I didn’t know how to respond when I suddenly realized I couldn’t picture my parents’ home. I racked my brain for a glimpse of the house I’d lived in for fifteen years. Images of houses scrolled through my head, but none of them seemed to be mine.

“Do you remember how you died?” he continued.
   
Again, my mind blanked – the final moments of my life, gone. He grabbed my hand to steady the uneasiness. “Do you remember your name?”
   
I felt as if someone had punched my stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I doubled over and tried to focus on the murky water rippling below. My arms shook. My mind spun with questions – one more prominent than the rest: How could I not remember my own name?
   
“It happens to many of us,” my grandfather consoled. “Especially those of us who die so young.” My body grew heavy. My head spun. “You will remember it all in time.”
   
His reassurance sounded rehearsed – an answer designed to make me feel better. My name, my death, the house I grew up in – how could I forget those pieces of my life? A sharp pain gnawed at my stomach. I nearly lost my balance as I tried to stand. My vision blurred. My legs felt numb. “I don’t belong here,” I asserted with far less insistence than I’d intended. My body collapsed, and I fell into a deep, dark sleep.
   
My dreams were vivid. They flashed through dozens of scenes revolving around eight freshmen I’d never seen before. Dominated by lies, fights, and bitterness, each scene grew progressively worse. By the time all eight kids got trapped in the science room together, I felt like I knew them – though nothing could have prepared me for what happened when the gun was produced. When the bullet pierced the first girl’s body, I screamed – I’m sure of it. Then one by one, the next five teens followed in suit, their bodies limp and dead on the linoleum floor.
   
The entire time I slept, the Lights showed me what they wanted me to do as if they were telepathically communicating with me. Eventually, my grandfather joined them in delivering different variations of the same message: that what happened in the science room wasn’t meant to be. That I could either stay here in Afterlife or become their Guardian and help all eight of them bear a second chance in the hopes that they would be saved from this fate – some of them at least. That if I chose to help them, I would have to embrace all of them, including the most detestable of them: Valerie Wittier. This reads a little confusing and seems rushed. I wonder if it and this chapter gives too much away. You've given the reader the answers to a mystery right in the first chapter. How would this work if the girl's purpose wasn't so defined, if you allowed her purpose to be unwrapped slowly throughout the novel? 
   

By the time I woke, I’d made my decision. I just hoped my grandfather didn’t ask me my reasons behind it.

#2-Valerie Wittier’s Awakening

Any minute now, Valerie Wittier will wake up, and I’ll remind her of what she’s done. I keep trying to picture her reaction: defiant, affronted, belligerent. Remorseful crosses my mind, but I don’t consider it seriously. Remorse doesn’t fit Valerie Wittier. While I’d like to think death has changed that, I’m not counting on it.

Open your eyes. The Lights’ unspoken demand rattles through me like a booming crack of thunder. Once again, I don’t actually hear them, but their message is clear. My heart races a little as Valerie begins to twitch. Clearly, she’s felt it too.
   
Here, the three Lights shine down from an impossibly high ceiling in an otherwise pitch-black room. They look less like stars and more like a giant spotlight. Together, they form a single cone-shaped beam and a perfect circle around Valerie’s body where she sleeps. Her face is wiped clean of her usual mascara, lip gloss, and manipulative smile. Her breathing is even and rhythmic. She looks so peaceful and innocent lying there. It’s tempting to think we are alike, or even feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine this girl liking death any more than I do. But after everything I’ve learned about her, I can only hope I was never as horrible as her.
   
Valerie rubs her lids and stretches her arms like this is some lazy Saturday morning. I could see Valerie being the kind of girl that likes to keep people waiting just because she can. If that’s what she’s doing, I can’t imagine the Lights tolerating that for long.

Open your eyes, the Lights command again.

I smirk, just a little. Thought so.

Valerie jolts upright as she finally opens her eyes beneath the blinding white light. Her hands fly to block the brightness and rub away the sting. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the glaring light shining down in a circle around her body, and only her body. Beyond that, complete darkness surrounds her like a cloak of black velvet. She gasps. Her arms and legs flail as she scrambles to stand. She jerks and spins beneath the cone of light like a caged rat desperate to escape. The change in narrative from chapter one to chapter two is really confusing. However I like the start, "Any minute now, Valerie Wittier will wake up and I'll remind her of what she's done." To me this reads much stronger than chapter one's beginning. The voice is strong but doesn't feel consistent through the next couple of paragraphs. I would suggest starting with chapter 2 as your opener, it's much more interesting and engaging. Nice work! Looking forward to reading a revision.

[gabrielkt]

Thank you so much for your notes and suggestions. You've made some really good points! Chapter 2 is my original opening. I tend to like that one too, but the MC's voice isn't clear. This chapter also focuses primarily on Valerie, the girl waking up in death. Perhaps I need to start there but just build in more voice - and keep it consistent. Thank you for pointing that out too! I really appreciate your feedback!

[allegretta12]

I've rewritten the start of my MS more times than I can count. I'd love any overall feedback regarding whether or not this pulls you in and whether or not you can get the sense of my MC's voice (an amnesic dead girl). Is this enough to hook you? Thank you all for the help!!


#1-My Awakening

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew exactly where I was and not to trust it.

I found myself standing barefoot on my grandparent’s white dock. Its grainy wooden slats felt like sandpaper beneath my feet. Behind me, a rope methodically chimed It took me a while to figure out why the rope was "chiming", but it's a nice image. against the flagpole. Someone had recreated every detail of a place I’d once loved as if they wanted me to feel comfortable for the devastating news I’d hear. The only difference between the living world and this knock-off version was the sky. Drenched in shades of blue, pink, and orange, it looked like an artificial, painted backdrop. Whoever wanted me to believe I was in Oshkosh, Wisconsin had botched the sky.

“You used to spend hours out here.” My grandfather stepped beside me wearing the same red, checkered shirt he’d worn in nearly every picture I’d ever taken with him. “No book. No fishing pole. You’d just look out over this lake and spend time with your thoughts.”
It had been five years since I’d last seen him. I should have hugged him or told him how much I missed him. Either of those That would have been the normal response, but I couldn’t get over how different he looked. His back was no longer hunched. He didn’t cough or wheeze when he spoke. Everything about him looked younger – I didn’t like it.

“I asked you one time what you thought about out here. You looked me straight in the eye and said you’d be an investigative reporter one day. Could you connect these two sentences more somehow? Also 'You looked me straight in the eye' is a cliche. People say it, but in my opinion it makes the character less interesting. Someone who exposed the bad people in this world.” With his hands tucked in his pockets, he looked at his feet and chuckled.

“I don’t remember that.” I didn’t want to hear it either. As it turned out, considering anything beyond high school ended up being a giant waste of time.

There was a sadness to his expression as he smiled at me. “Let’s sit, shall we?”


We sat at the dock’s edge for what seemed like hours. His feet kicked boyishly back and forth beneath the dock while mine hung like weights pulling me towards the lake. I searched the water for a glimpse of my own reflection. There wasn’t one. Neat!

“This place has many possibilities,” he offered as if trying to convince me of its potential. “From here we can watch just about anything – the past, the present, even glimpses of the future if they allow it.” He indicated three Lights shining above us in a perfect row like stars.

“Who are they?” I wasn’t sure who or what they were, but their presence was powerful. I wondered if they were to blame for what happened to me.

“They want you to hear a message.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Keep your eyes on the lake,” he said as if there was anything else to look at.

The lake water started glowing. It swirled and shimmered like an oscillating diamond top. Then, for a quick spilt-second, everything around us radiated a brightness so intense, it forced my eyes shut. When I opened them, the lake was a sheet of glass where images of a girl and her mother appeared real and lifelike.
   
A fivecomma maybe six-year old girl insisted that her mother take her to the hospital so doctors could stitch her tooth back in. The mother tried to reason with her, but she was stubborn. She said she’d walk to the hospital herself if she needed to and stomped out the front door only to fall asleep on their porch swing.
   
“So what, we sit around and watch people?”
   
My grandfather squeezed my hand as another image, only slightly more interesting, appeared. The same girl with a younger version of my grandfather sat on the concrete stairs of his neighborhood church. They shared an ice cream cone after she’d apparently cried so loudly during mass he’d escorted her outside. The "apparently" stuck out to me. If they're talking about this, could you show it instead? When her mom came out, she was furious to see he had “rewarded her poor behavior.” My grandfather apologized, then winked at her when her mother wasn’t looking.
   
I didn’t see watch the end. Spying on other people’s intimate moments felt too weird.
   
When it was over, my grandfather put his arm around me and drew me in. “Do you remember the house you grew up in?”
   
The question was ridiculous. I didn’t know how to respond(period) whenThen I suddenly realized I couldn’t picture my parents’ home. I racked my brain for a glimpse of the house I’d lived in for fifteen years. Images of houses scrolled through my head, but none of them seemed to be mine.

“Do you remember how you died?” he continued.
   
Again, my mind blanked – the final moments of my life, were gone. He grabbed my hand to steady the uneasiness. “Do you remember your name?”
   
I felt as if someone had punched my stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I doubled over and tried to focus on the murky water rippling below. My arms shook. My mind spun with questions – one more prominent than the rest: How could I not remember my own name?
   
“It happens to many of us,” my grandfather consoled. “Especially those of us who die so young.” My body grew heavy. My head spun. you used this phrase in the previous paragraph. “You will remember it all in time.”
   
His reassurance sounded rehearsed – an answer designed to make me feel better. My name, my death, the house I grew up in – how could I forget those pieces of my life? A sharp pain gnawed at my stomach. I nearly lost my balance as I tried to stand. My vision blurred. My legs felt numb. “I don’t belong here,” I asserted with far less insistence than I’d intended. My body collapsed, and I fell into a deep, dark sleep.

I was wondering why she wasn't going over the details of her death. Her amnesia is intriguing.
   
My dreams were vivid. They flashed through dozens of scenes revolving around eight freshmen I’d never seen before. How does she know she hasn't seen them before, if she can't remember her house or her name? Dominated by lies, fights, and bitterness, each scene grew progressively worse. By the time all eight kids got trapped in the science room together, I felt like I knew them – though nothing could have prepared me for what happened when the gun was produced. "produced" sounds so formal - is there another word you could use? When the bullet pierced the first girl’s body, I screamed – I’m sure of it. Then one by one, the next five teens followed in suit, their bodies limp and dead on the linoleum floor. Wow - shocking and powerful.
   
The entire time I slept, the Lights showed me what they wanted me to do as if they were telepathically communicating with me. I'm a little confused. The Lights are guiding her dreams? I assumed she was dreaming about how she died - are these random strangers? Eventually, my grandfather joined them in delivering different variations of the same message: that what happened in the science room wasn’t meant to be. That I could either stay here in Afterlife or become their Guardian and help all eight of them bear a second chance What do you mean, "bear" a second chance? in the hopes that they would be saved from this fate – some of them at least. That if I chose to help them, I would have to embrace all of them, including the most detestable of them: Valerie Wittier. Why is Valerie detestable? How does your MC know this? Was she the shooter? Can you give us the MC's name? (obviously the grandfather knows it...)
   
By the time I woke, I’d made my decision. I just hoped my grandfather didn’t ask me my reasons behind it.
I feel like it's unfair that I don't get to know her decision!


#2-[b]Valerie Wittier’s Awakening[/b]

Any minute now, Valerie Wittier will wake up, and I’ll remind her of what she’s done. I keep trying to picture her reaction: defiant, affronted, belligerent. Remorseful crosses my mind, but I don’t consider it seriously. Remorse doesn’t fit Valerie Wittier. While I’d like to think death has changed that, but I’m not counting on it.

Open your eyes. The Lights’ unspoken demand rattles through me like a booming crack of thunder. Once again, I don’t actually hear them, but their message is clear. My heart races a little as Valerie begins to twitch. Clearly, she’s felt it too.
    
Here, the three Lights shine down from an impossibly high ceiling in an otherwise pitch-black room. They look less like stars and more like a giant spotlight. Together, they form a single cone-shaped beam and a perfect circle around Valerie’s body where she sleeps. Her face is wiped clean of her usual mascara, lip gloss, and manipulative smile. Her breathing is even and rhythmic. She looks so peaceful and innocent lying there. It’s tempting to think we are alike, or even feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine this girl liking death any more than I do. But after everything I’ve learned about her, I can only hope I was never as horrible as her.
   
Valerie rubs her lids and stretches her arms like this is some lazy Saturday morning. I could see Valerie being the kind of girl that likes to keep people waiting just because she can. If that’s what she’s doing, I can’t imagine the Lights tolerating that for long.

Open your eyes, the Lights command again.

I smirk, just a little. Thought so.

Valerie jolts upright as she finally opens her eyes beneath the blinding white light. Her hands fly to block the brightness and rub away the sting. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the glaring light shining down in a circle around her body, and only her body. Beyond that, complete darkness surrounds her like a cloak of black velvet. She gasps. Her arms and legs flail as she scrambles to stand. She jerks and spins beneath the cone of light like a caged rat desperate to escape.

I would definitely keep reading. Well done! 
I do feel a little too much in the dark though. I don't understand why the MC didn't ask her grandfather/ the lights (are they angels?) anything about herself or her death. I also don't understand why we don't get to know what makes Valerie such an awful person. Since you've chosen the very personal 1st-person POV, I feel offended that your narrator isn't letting me in on what's going on. But this read fluidly and kept my interest growing the whole time.

[gabrielkt]

Again - thank you so much for your comments! You make some really great points. I appreciate your time! I think your feedback will strengthen my work!