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Chapter Five
Chatterbox: Inkwell
Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Last NaNo, I wrote a book called Chapter Five (I think a few of you have actually read a couple chapters of it, actually) and what with having mild writer's block, four chapters of my ski lodge to write in four days, and also an itch to finish something, I'm trying to polish it up and make a semi-worthy rough draft. And since so many of you are fantastic writers, I was hoping you'd be able to look over it and give me some critiques. I wrote it over half a year ago and haven't actually read most of it since then, so it's probably pretty terrible, and I know the pacing is bad because I was convinced that I had to make each part five chapters long, which forced me to cram too much stuff into a small space.
But. Anyway. I would really appreciate if a few of you would look over it and criticize it strongly. Even though I honestly hate when people say stuff that isn't gushing praise of stuff I write, I hate it even more when they say it's perfect, because it certainly isn't, and I want it to be better. Some specific things I would like to know about in each chapter is:
1. If the plot is too confusingly laid out
2. If the pacing is too slow or too rushed
3. If the emotions and reactions seem genuine
4. If the charries seem real and three dimensional
And anything else, obviously, but I think those or my greatest flaws. And, since the plot IS a bit odd, for the first part at least, I'll explain a little bit without giving away too much.
So, part one is basically a collection of the fifth chapters of random books that I made up. These three books and their main characters have been trapped in their fifth chapter by the evil queen Ymina (I adore evil queens) because they have the power to overthrow her throne in the kingdom (queendom?) of Daldyvere. And the rest of the book after part one is basically a race between Ymina and the characters to claim Daldyvere. Each part has a different person it focuses on, and it flutters around a bit oddly.
I feel so inarticulate when I describe the plots of my books, sorry. Anyway, here is the first chapter. I'm pretty sure this is one of the really bad ones, forgive me.
The Memoirs of Apple Seabury: Chapter Five
In my many years on this earth, now numbering thirteen, my humble heart has worshiped at the shrines of many goddesses, from the glamorous star of my favorite television series to my beloved sister's friends. But no passion, no love has ever been so strong as my adoration for Charlotte Heathe of the golden locks and green eyes.
It has been many years since the first time I saw my dear Charlotte's face, but I remember the moment clearly. I was just five years old, walking to school for my first day of kindergarten. Fright had overwhelmed my, and I clung tightly to the freckled hand of my older sister. She was, I believed, more full of knowledge and wisdom than any other person on earth after her two previous years of school. As was logical, I looked up to the wisdom of my elders and trusted in them to keep me safe. And if the only available elder was my seven-year-old sister Kat, then I would have to take what I could get.
As was customary for her, ever since she had begun walking to school in kindergarten, accompanied by one of our parents, my sister took a detour from our leisurely stroll to pick up her best friend, Jennifer, with whom she enjoyed the pleasure of walking to and from school with. I knew Jennifer intimately. She had been there, standing by my sister, though every stage of both of our young lives. As I became toilet trained, and learned to speak the alphabet or count to ten, Jennifer had been by the side of Kat and I. When she opened the door of her family's home, I expected to see nothing more than her familiar, ruddy face, framed with dark hair already falling from its braid. I thought that nothing extraordinary could come from the walk. But, instead, I stared unprepared into the eyes of perfection.
During our walk to school, Jennifer explained to my sister and I that, over the summer, her family had agreed to foster a child. They had heard of the atrocities committed against young people throughout our country, cruelty veiled behind a mask of love. They could not live with themselves without knowing that they had done something to fight back. So, they became the foster family of Charlotte Heathe, a five-year-old girl whose parents had left her out on the streets of Chicago to suffer because her voice did not work.
Charlotte was a small girl. Even back then, when I, Apple Seabury, came only up to my mother's knees, she was smaller than me. Her nose was delicate and gently pointed, the tip lifting toward the sky. Tumbling over her shoulders was a cascade of ringlets, purer than gold, more precious than titanium. When I glanced over at her, drinking in her elfin face, I saw her wide green eyes looking into my own, speaking volumes without a sound. And, at that moment, as my young, innocent self looked into her wise eyes, I knew that my soulmate had been found.
It is easy, though, for one person to discover perfection, yet for the object of their adoration to have no idea. Charlotte attended the same school as I, even sharing a teacher. I spent my days gazing dreamily towards her, imagining in vivid detail our future together. Attending kindergarten graduation hand-in-hand, venturing past first grade and towards the seniority of fifth in the protection of each other's arms. Going to parties with each other, dancing in the moonlight to the sound of Beethoven's Fifth and the Star Wars theme. And, eventually, forming the strongest bond known in our world. Marrying.
I could imagine it already. I could see my Charlotte garbed all in lacy white, her sweet face covered by a gauzy veil. Walking delicately down the aisle of a cathedral, light by the glowing jewel-tones of the stained-glass windows. She would be surrounded by beautiful, both the physical sight of a bower of flowers and our family dressed in rosy hues, and the sound of music, the scent of her own bouquet and our wedding cake. But, even amongst all of the matchless beauty, she would have eyes only for me.
My days were spent thus, dreaming and mooning over my future with this most perfect of girls. I did everything I could to catch her attention, from tagging her at Duck, Duck, Goose to offering her my leftover cookies from lunch. But, no matter what I did, Charlotte could never see me as anything more than her sister's friend's brother. When asked by our teacher to name her greatest friends, Kat was amongst the names on her page. I was nowhere to be found.
Then, I met June, a new girl in my second-grade class. She was flawless, beautiful and clever and laughing. But, most important of all, June liked me. On the third week of school, she walked up to me, holding a piece of grape flavored saltwater taffy. I had no idea how she knew that was my favorite kind of candy, but, when she handed it to me, I fell head-over-heels in love, and, at last, my devotion was repaid. June and I spent all our days together, smiling and planning our life together.
After being shunned for so many times by Charlotte, that elusive butterfly of a girl, that year was spent in a dazed rapture. I believed that I had, at that moment, found my true soulmate, not Charlotte at all, but June. For those few months, my heart sang.
But then summer rolled along once more, and I spent all my days with my sister, Jennifer, and Charlotte. Together, the four of us attended a day camp. I loved the activities, basketball, arts and crafts, and marshmallow making. Kat and Jennifer, too, were absorbed in all that the camp had to offer, and I followed them wherever they went, not noticing Charlotte's absence until one day at lunch. I was hot and sweaty from racing Jacob, a boy I had met, from the "circus tent" to the outdoor dining pavilion. That was when I saw her, perched on a small stone wall, her legs swinging above the ground. She was immersed in reading her book, Tuck Everlasting. I watched, mesmerized, as her green angel's eyes flitted over the words, drinking in her beauty. And, once more, I fell for her. I could not understand what had made me think for a moment that there was any girl more wonderful than this flawless fae-child.
For the third grade, my entire life was spent once more in dreaming of Charlotte, loving Charlotte, trying to get Charlotte to notice me as more than an object, a fixture, a part of her life that had always been there, tedious and unchangeable. That was the year when Jennifer's family officially adopted her. She had lived with them for three years, and, at last, the foster care system had allowed her to become a legal part of the family. I had high hopes for this time. Perhaps, now that there could be no fear of being taken away, Charlotte would be able to spread her roots, to become less distant. Perhaps this was the time when she would, at last, fall in love with me, to become as devoted to me as I was to her.
My hopes were wasted however. After the adoption, Charlotte took no more notice of me than ever before, although I did, at times, see her listening, enraptured to my best friend, Jacob, as he told jokes and stories. This, I hoped, was a step in the direction. If she had begun to notice other boys, she would eventually come around and see that I, more than anyone else, was perfectly suited to her.
Of course, my fickle mind could never stay fully faithful to my love, although I do believe that my heart was never swayed. In fourth grade, Asmee, Jacob's cousin, began to flirt with me incessantly, and for some time, I was infatuated with the girl. Two years later, in sixth grade, I began to "officially date" Winter Crest, with whom I shared my first kiss and many pizzas. But, no matter what else happened, I drifted back towards Charlotte Heathe, year after year. No other girl could hold my sight for more than a year, but Charlotte would always live within the deepest regions of my heart.
Charlotte was still the same girl as she had been so many years ago, walking to her first day of kindergarten, clutching her foster sister's hand. The same girl who had sat on the stone wall at camp, immersed in her book and ignoring me. The same girl who began to smile at Jacob's jokes. She was still silent, still golden haired and green-eyed. But now, I am older, and I am able to look past that. The wisdom of years has allowed me to see her heart, the kindness and compassion that lives there.
I was there when she saw the tiny bird lying in the middle of the street where it had fallen from its nest. I watched as she picked it up, cupping the tiny thing in her hands. It was me who accompanied her to her house, knowing that I would be tardy, to help her convince her parents to take care of the bird, which she called Aiko, beloved child. I saw her as she nurtured the bird, slowly coaxing it back to health, loving it. Kissing it every night, smoothing back its rumpled feathers. Crying softly as she released it back into the wild, her large tears rolling down her cheeks and wetting the color of her favorite robin's-egg-blue dress.
Her cleverness, too, was visible to my newly unclouded eyes. As she played the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys, composing her own new music and playing the ancient tunes, I saw that she, the girl who could make no sound, had found her own voice, and she knew how to use it to sway others. The music she created was powerful and lovely, full of longing for something, something I did not know. Even though I did not know what her heart dreamed of, I could tell that it was something great. I could see that someday, this girl would change the world. This only made me love her more. I know that, when she achieved greatness, I could bask in her light, warmed by her love and loved by the world because of her. I knew that once Charlotte saw me, the world would as well, and then there would be nothing more needed to complete my rapture. This was the vision that kept me going through the tortures of adolescences. The vision of the future, of Charlotte and I, together, joyful, loved by all. But, most importantly, loving each other.
Finally, as the last shreds of my childhood were thrown away, as I entered eighth grade, the doorway to high school and adulthood, I began to understand her. For the first time, while she attempted to speak to her dying grandmother over the phone, I saw the anguish of her voicelessness. Never before had I realized that Charlotte cared about her lack of a voice. She was always so lighthearted that sorrow was not something that I would ever dream of associating with her. But, as I saw her weep over the phone, I also saw the pain she suffered every day, and, at last, I truly knew why she loved her piano so fiercely.
While the days passed by, even as I grew away from the all-consuming passion of my childhood and into a healthier, gentler love, I watched her more closely. I saw the tilt of her head as she laughed her silent laugh, the glint in her eyes when she saw an opportunity to surpass Selene Mitchel, the smartest girl in the eighth grade, the sigh of peace that she let out whenever she sat down at a piano or picked up her favorite book. At last, I felt that I truly knew Charlotte. I knew that, no matter what happened, I would love her.
And someday, I know, Charlotte Heathe will love me back.
submitted by Morning, yonder
(June 6, 2021 - 6:17 pm)
(June 6, 2021 - 6:17 pm)
(June 6, 2021 - 10:23 pm)
(June 7, 2021 - 10:30 am)
I love this! The whole concept of this book sounds so cool (I remember reading the synopsis on NaNo and being very intrigued), and it's really good so far! The chapter makes sense, and it definitely reads like a memoir. I think the pacing is good, too. I'd love to read more!
(June 8, 2021 - 2:08 pm)
Gremlin: Chapter Five
In which Parkyr most definitely does not believe in monsters.
"I do not believe in monsters," Parkyr insisted, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger. Annoyed, she saw that the coat of shiny, black polish she had applied on her nails only that morning had already started to chip, merely adding on to her bad mood. Just because her Aunt Geraldine worked in the Monster Investigation and Research Center did not mean that Parkyr herself thought that the things were real, or that anyone could ever confirm their existence.
"But, Miss Klen," her teacher protested, "it would be such a good exhibit for the school fair. An analysis of where a monster might most likely be found. How it could be tamed. You could interview your aunt. And," Ms. Klinkit continued, her voice becoming wheedling, as if she had an actually good argument in store, "I know how much you enjoy math. Surely you could create an algorithm that could find a possible location of a monster. You have the most advanced knack for mathematics that this Institute has ever known. You might even make a breakthrough."
"I am fourteen years old, Ms. Klinkit," Parkyr responded tiredly. She was so tired of this stuff. "I will not make a discovery that no scientist, not even ones who have attended university for over a decade, has not made." You would think that a teacher would have more sense. "And I would rather have my exhibit focused on pi. You know how many disagreements there have been recently about whether or not it is infinite or finite. Could I please focus on this?"
"Well, Parkyr, you may do as you please. But I would like you to understand that this would be a wonderful opportunity, and I might even award you with a few extra credit points..." the teacher drifted off. She knew very well that Parkyr had no need whatsoever of extra credit, and that once she had made up her mind, there was no dissuading her.
"Got it!" Parkyr chirped in her best chirpy-cheerful voice, the one she used with her sister and aunt, the most fervent believers in monsters she knew. It was a hard mask to wear, but it was easier than shouting random bits of evidence that proved their favorite theories wrong. She grabbed her bright yellow backpack off the desk she sat at and leapt up. "I'll see you after the break!"
"Yes." It was easy to see that Ms. Klinkit's smile was forced. "That will be lovely, Parkyr."
Sighing internally, Parkyr walked quickly out of the classroom, keeping her eyes on the clean, white tiles of the hallway floor. All around her walked the other students, brightly dressed, makeup covered peacocks. Far beneath her notice. So why did it hurt so badly when those peacocks laughed at her for enjoying math more than video games, for wearing blacks, whites, and grays instead of the colors they loved so much? But neutral colors are simple and clean, qualities that Parkyr valued far more than the loud shades of orange and green that her classmates loved. She hated her backpack. It stood out from her uniform dress, the crisp white shirt, the slate gray vest and slacks. But it was what her mother had insisted on, and what Mrs. Klen wanted was what she got.
Finally, after what seemed like far too long, she arrived at the door to leave the school. Parkyr pushed it open, wincing at the creaky sound. Outside, she knew, was the little red car belonging to her older sister Amanda. Amanda would be impatient, her perfectly manicured, red nails would be tapping at the steering wheel, and she would probably be chewing gum. The sickly sweet scent of the artificial mint would waft through the car, making Parkyr want to vomit.
"Hey, Park!"
Parkyr glanced up, confused. Standing in front of her was a man, tall and slender. He was so close that she could count the freckles that faded into the coffee-colored skin of his nose. His round glasses slipped down, about to fall from his nose, and, on instinct, Parkyr pushed them up. "Qwince? I thought you were still at university."
"Well, sister of mine, I'm sorry to disappoint you." He motioned backwards, towards the little car. Amanda's car. "We got out early. Amanda had to pick me up from the airport before she got here for you. She was so annoyed, I thought it would be better for your health if I came for you instead."
A quick grin flashed over Parkyr's face.
"Ice cream? We could stop by Fame and Fortune before we go home."
Fame and Fortune. Their favorite ice cream parlor. No matter that it was half an hour in the wrong direction. "Sure, Qwince." Parkyr clambered into the passenger seat beside her brother and opened her laptop.
"What're you working on?" Qwince's eyes were on the road, but he flashed a quick smile toward Parkyr.
"Oh. Nothing." She shut it again, blushing. She wasn't ready to share it yet. It had been over a year since she had started working on the program, a complex algorithm calculating the most likely place to find a monster. The same thing that her teachers had been pestering her to try and work on since third grade. It wouldn't do to let anyone know that the concept actually intrigued her. After all, Parkyr Klen did not believe in monsters. And yet, she was certain she was close to a breakthrough, something that even her brilliant Aunt Geraldine had never figured out. Only a few more hours, and she would have gotten it. But, no matter what, she couldn't share it, not even with Qwince. It was too personal, somehow. And definitely too embarrassing, as if she was confessing that she actually agreed with the very concept she had shunned for as long as she could remember.
"Okay, Park. No pressure. Keep working, I won't peek." Qwince winked at her and made a quick turn onto the highway. Surreptitiously, nearly certain that he wasn't looking, but careful nontheless, Parkyr reopened the computer and launched the program. Double clicking on the icon of a globe. Opening LocationSpot. She had disguised it, making it seem like a GPS app. She didn't want anyone to look over and see she was locating a monster... think that she believed in monsters. Because, above all else, Parkyr Klen did not believe in monsters. But she was so tired of her teachers thinking that because she was good at math and related to Geraldine Klen, she had to make an algorithm focusing on the location of a monster. And the only way to stop the pestering was to make it. That was the only reason.
Parkyr punched in a few more numbers, but she was certain. She was done this time. She had taken into account all of the variables her aunt had discovered over the years. The fact that a monster almost certainly was covered in thick fur, and would not want to go into a heated area. That they had a connection with nature, and would most likely appear near some sort of nature-y thing. There were so many facts that she had used, adding into her algorithm. No, not facts. Facts necessarily have to be true, and monsters were not true. Everything she had was theories. But, if she took all these theories and smashed them together, she would be able to come up with a pair of coordinates. The most likely place in the world that a monster might appear. And, once she had gone to that place and proved that no monster was there... well, all of her aunt's theories would be blown to the wind. It was that easy.
After that, no one would laugh at her again.
"Park. Park!" Half playfully, half annoyed, Qwince poked Parkyr's cheek. "C'mon! We're at Fame and Fortune. What do you want to get?" He pulled open the passenger door and grabbed her hand.
"Um. A hot fudge sundae?"
"Really? The home of the Delux Mocha-Caramel Banana Split, and you want a sundae?"
Parkyr gagged. "I will never understand how you can force that thing down your mouth. Coffee chocolate and caramel is delicious. But add a banana and it turns into a mess."
"Shut up," Qwince laughed, walking into the little pastel colored shop. "Hi, Noemie!"
"Qwince?" The old woman at the counter looked up, and her face, with its withered apple cheeks and tired gray eyes, lit up. Qwince had always been her favorite customer, ever since he was three years old and offered her the last bite of his soggy ice cream cone. Parkyr, who had heard the story dozens of times, could never understand what made that appealing, but chalked it down to the lady going senile in her old age. "I thought you were at college!" She leapt up from her perch and descended on Qwince, kissing him on each cheek before putting him at an arm's length. "You've grown. You must have grown."
"No, Miss Noemi. I haven't gotten taller in a few years."
"Well, then I must have shrunk." Noemie sighed. "Old age is a trial." She surveyed Parkyr's brother a moment more before gasping aloud. "Why, where are my manners? You must be wanting ice cream!" She rushed behind the counter again. "A Delux Mocha Caramel for you, I know. And the young lady?"
"A hot fudge sundae, please," Parkyr said.
"Lovely. Just a moment!"
The siblings sat at the counter, and Parkyr ran her fingers over the lines in the wood, the powder blue paint chipping off at the corners.
"So, sis, what have you been doing since I left? How's life holding up without your favorite brother."
"It's fine, I guess. Amanda is a pain. And my teacher wants me to do a monster exhibit for the school fair. I'm okay other than that, I guess."
"You guess? Have the other kids been mean again?"
"No, not really. Everyone's civil..." she drifted off.
"But civil isn't the same as friendly, right?"
"Yeah."
"Listen, Park. You just need to—"
Qwince was interrupted by Noemie's chirpy voice as she walked over, carrying a tray with two bowls of ice cream. "Order up!"
"Thanks, Miss Noemi. Can I have a bill?"
"No, honey. It's free of charge."
"But—"
"No buts, young man. College life takes a toll on your pocket, and I'm a family friend. It's on the house."
"Well. Thanks, Miss Noemi." The old woman smiled and walked back away. Parkyr waited for her brother to continue, but he picked up his bowl, and they ate in silence, savouring the flavor of the sweet, cold food. Parkyr scooped up a spoonful of the now-cooled fudge and slowly licked around the edges, avoiding her cold-sensitive front teeth. What had he been about to tell her? To wear colors? To laugh more? Probably not. That was what the school counseler was always saying, and Qwince knew how much that annoyed her. Perhaps he had been about to offer her a priceless gem of wisdom, and Noemi had ruined it. For a fleeting moment, Parkyr hated her, before remembering that she was a lonely old woman who doted on Qwince. She had the right to interupt, however it might irritate others.
Before she knew it, Parkyr was scraping the last drips of ice cream from her bowl. Qwince had already finished, at least five minutes earlier, and he was staring contemplatively out the window and into the street. As soon as she was done eating and carefully wiping her face with paper napkins, they walked out of the door. Back in the car, Qwince slipped into the back seat. For a moment, she was worried that her brother would ask why she wasn't sitting up with him, but he was too distracted. On an ordinary day, this would worry Parkyr, but just then, she was too preoccupied herself. She was certain that she was done. Her algorithm was as close to perfect as it could possibly. If she could press one button, the code would run, and she would see the results, a set of coordinates, a location. The place where a monster would most likely appear. The place where no monster would ever appear.
Qwince pulled into the driveway of their house, but before he had even parked, Parkyr leaped out, tumbling down. Her hands scraped against the pavement, but she was up again in an instant, racing toward the field behind their property, the place where the oak stood. her favorite spot, her thinking place. The one area in the world where everyone knew never to disturb her. The perfect spot to make a world-shaking scientific discovery. She ran, faster and faster, ignoring the blood dripping from her palms, leaving a trail of red on the dusty trail she followed.
Finally, she arrived, gasping, at the oak. She slid to a sitting position, her back against the weathered oak, and, once more, opened her laptop and clicked on the icon for LocationSpot. Tapped the red "begin button." Watched as numbers rolled across her screen. And gasped at the coordinates that followed.
A quiet panting was coming from in front of her. Parkyr looked up, expecting to see JoJo, the pesky stray dog adopted by Amanda. But, instead, she looked into a pair of softly glowing red eyes. They were, unmistakably, the eyes of a monster.
(June 8, 2021 - 5:51 pm)
Replying to the first chapter:
This is wonderful! The writing flows very smoothly and I love the style. I am amazed by the quality of your writing, I would read this just to have the pleasure of reading your wonderful writing. The story plot is very unique and intriguing. I am looking forward to reading more!
My first critique is very minor. I don't think you could really call it a critique, more of an observation. While the writing style is really good and well written it doesn't seem like the style a usual 13 year old in the 21st century would write in. It seems more fitting to the era of the Bronte sisters. I am guessing you are going for a diferent style for each chapter from each book (which is a good idea) but I would carefully choose the tone for each book. This is more of something to think about than something to change.
My second critique is also minor. It seems more like the first chapter of a book than the fith. To me it is clearly the first chapter of the book and the fith in name only. It is too much of the beginning, I couldn't think of what the first four chapters would be about. Picking the fith chapter definitely gave you some challenges (which I am absolutely sure you can over come). You have to make the story comprehensible to a reader who has not seen the previous chapters, but you also can't make the chapters seem like the first chapter. My recommendation is that you plan each book out into the chapters (this way you know where the story starts, where it goes, and where it ends), pick whatever you planned for the fith chapter and write it out. Or you could think about writing each chpater how Neil Gaiman says a good short story should be written. A short story, he says, should be able to be the end, middle, or beginning of a book (or something close to that anyways, I'm paraphrasing).
Also, in my opinion, the last sentence is a small spoiler. They know what will happen, why would the reader keep reading? But then, maybe you don't know and everything won't turn out the way you think it will.
One more thing to think about is how to keep the reader interested while reading five chapters of disjointed books. How to introduce the plot and pull them in chapter by chapter. Perhaps adding a gripping prologue with a cliffhanger would help.
Please don't be intimidated by the lenght of my ciritques. I tend to make lenghty critique posts and I worrry it will offend you. I sincerely hope I don't. I love your writing and I can't wait to continue reading more of it. Hopefully for years to come!
(June 9, 2021 - 10:21 am)
No, you're not offending me at all! What you said is actually extremely helpful and exactly what I was looking for, thank you!
Responding to the first one: Apple is a very pompous, romantically minded child, and that sort of Brontë-risqué style is pretty much his way of flexing and saying how much better he is than everyone else. What you said second, though, is very helpful! You're right, I can definitely see that it is a bit too first chapter-y, and I will do my best to fix that. Your idea about writing a prologue or something in beginning is also really helpful, I think that will help a lot.
Your advice was great, I really appreciate it!
(June 9, 2021 - 11:27 am)
(For the first one)
You said to be harsh, so I’m focusing mostly on the bad things. Sorry if this hurts your feelings; I really don’t mean it that way, and if I do I can try to reword it or delete it. Also, I love your story’s premise.
First, I think you should find a different “tragedy” for Charlotte than having a speech impediment. Mostly because not being able to speak isn’t a tragedy! Yes, it can be very annoying and hard, but that’s because the world is designed for people who can speak. Couldn’t Charlotte have texted her grandmother and had someone read it to her? Or she could have a device that helps her communicate. Disability being treated as a tragedy is definitely ableist. Maybe Charlotte just doesn’t realize the MC likes her, or the MC is scared to say it or something. I don’t think you meant anything hurtful and am not saying that you did, but this definitely needs to change.
Second, as the chapters are all disconnected until Part 2, I think it will be hard to execute in a non-confusing way. Generally, if you have to explain something outside of the text to make something work, it probably needs some polishing. If you got this published, readers wouldn’t have that context. You could add an author’s note, but it would a.) get in the way of connecting to the main character and figuring out what’s going on, and b.) likely be skipped anyway. It would also probably be slight spoilers. I think if this was an epistolary novel, where you tell the story through things like letters or voice recordings, it could be interesting. You could have things like documents for magic or the Evil Queen’s diary, which would also be more conflict at the start. It’s already well set-up for that, so you could just have the chapters be more epistolary. Then, as Part 2 would be a new part, I think it would be okay to change the way that the story is told and make it more standard third person or such. Although I find epistolary very fun to write.
As for the plot, I think you need more conflict and tension. First off: conflict does NOT mean that there has to be fighting. Conflict could be the MC being scared to say something or something like being scared to say something or not being able to find the ice cream shop they like. However, here the main character is fairly sedentary until the end. They're not really taking steps toward achieving a goal. I think if they had a goal, it would be much more interesting. It would also allow for a lot more character development as they tried to do things. Even though this is a memoir, since it is your first chapter, you need to hook readers. You can do this by having unresolved conflicts (again, which don’t have to be fighting!) or having lots of attachment to the characters. For this, you can make them interesting to read about, through complexity and/or distinctive traits, and/or/sympathetic. Look at what hooks, or possible conflicts, have arose from the writing, and then you can choose one or two to focus on.
I think that if there is too much stuff in too small a space, you could think about what’s really necessary for the story to work. Especially because this seems like it’s going to be a novella or novelette. For instance, if you’re writing about (uh random example) a cat flying to the moon and getting lost with a human and having to survive, maybe a side plot about said cat learning to catch balls isn’t necessary unless it helps solve or develop the biggest conflict and focus of the story (the having to survive) . Another POV from a random dog on earth definitely isn’t necessary. So just consider things carefully. If there’s something you like and it’s not adding to this story, maybe you should give its own story. That would also make it more central so you could spend more time on it. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have development or anything - just that you need to choose what you do develop, and make sure that it adds to the central plot so it doesn’t feel like wasted time. This also really helps with the focus.
I think the last sentence is a hook. However, it is slightly confusing because it changes tenses. I think it’s a hook because it gives the main character agency and tells you what the main goal is going to be.
Those are my main thoughts. Again, sorry if this is mean! And you don’t have to follow my advice - if you think it’s flawed, just ignore it. A lot of it is suggesting big changes, I know. So that’s it, and sorry this is so long.
(June 9, 2021 - 12:29 pm)
Oof, I needed to edit that a bit more... I'll rewrite the third paragraph later. I was trying to get at the MC working at a goal because of the conflict driving them, but I didn't say it well. Sorry about that; I should have looked it over.
(June 9, 2021 - 3:55 pm)
No, none of what you said is insulting at all! I asked for criticism so that I can make what I have written into something better, and everything that you said is extremely helpful. Especially what you said about how I wrote Charlotte's disability as a tragedy: you're right, that is an issue, and absolutely something that I ought to and will change.
You said a lot of stuff about how I can make the plot pacing better, less confusing, and more action-oriented, so I won't actually talk here about what I'm going to be doing with what you said, but I just wanted you to know that I appriciate all your advice, and I will be using it! And the fact that you didn't just suggest little changes is actually more helpful than annoying, because that is something I really needed help with.
(June 9, 2021 - 4:49 pm)