SKETCHES Page 1 of 3
Critique by Robert l. Bacon
Critique by Robert l. Bacon
May 24, 2010
Hello Darryl.
I don't know if you researched this prior to beginning work on SKETCHES, but the publishing world seems to have a special affinity for novels that involve art, as in painting and its subsets. Yet there has not been a lot of material written with an art plotline, at least that I'm aware of. What I do know about began with David Ramus' success in 1995 with THE THIEF OF LIGHT.
I lived in Atlanta at the time, and Ramus was a Buckhead art dealer who went out of business because of shenanigans he was purportedly involved in. He decided to take a creative writing course at Emory, and then wrote a book about the art industry by the title I just mentioned. Larry Ashmead, who was head of Harper Collins back then, bought the book for $1,000,000, to my knowledge the most ever paid up to that time for a novel by an unpublished writer. Agent Molly Friedrich handled the deal, and if you get SKETCHES in order, she is who I suggest you query first (she is one of the very few ultra high-end agents who still accepts unsolicited queries).
But based on the opening chapter you sent me, I respectfully suggest that you consider working on the areas I'll be discussing. However, before I begin my critique, my standard disclaimer: I'm certain, like all writers, you at times can get too close to your work and things slip by that you would easily pick up in someone else's material. Happens to me all the time. Second, this might've been an early draft and you were just testing the waters. Or, you could feel the plot is so strong that you didn't need to be quite as careful as you would be in other situations. Whatever.
I checked your bio and noticed you majored in journalism and that you're also an attorney. You don't have attorney's disease, in that you draft doesn’t read like a legal brief. (Over the years many attorneys have attended my writing workshops, and seldom do I get one who can write creatively. I'm still waiting for the next Grisham, Turow, or Baldacci to walk through the door). But you do suffer from one aspect of what I call journalist's syndrome, and this is the clipped sentence. Once in a while it works, and while some might consider the technique to be stylistic, incomplete sentences tend to drive people crazy if they appear throughout a narrative. When you read my line edit of your work, you can compare it with what you sent me and make your own decision as to which makes the most sense solely from the perspective or readability. I also strongly suggest you use more standard connectives: and, but, however, yet, and so on, to make your prose read with more rhythm and better overall pitch.
Next on the list, please use transitioning elements whenever possible. When the action in a paragraph ends or begins too abruptly, this makes for choppy text that jars the reader. I added transition words or phrases in several spots for you to consider, but this particular "naked" line of yours that begins a new paragraph illustrates my point: It was time to sketch Morgan James. I added this sentence to precede it: Miko sat back and took a deep breath. Miko needs to do something to set up her action, which is sketching James, and quite poignant considering the circumstances. Her sitting back and taking a deep breath is certainly not the best thing she could do, but some activity has to take place to transition what is about to occur. The same as
SKETCHES Page 2 of 3
Critique by Robert l. Bacon
May 24, 2010
James hunching over the table in another scene. Something has to happen to enable this action to seamlessly mesh with the paragraph that preceded this activity. If you go to the Articles Page on my web site at theperfectwrite.com, you can scroll through the articles for one I wrote on transitioning. It might provide you with some ideas on this very important writing element.
Material that follows other material should not contradict, even by the subtlest of nuance, what it succeeds. Please consider these lines: ....he turned to cast those eyes in the direction of the twelve men and women who would decide his fate----they were to remain sequestered for the duration of the trial and their identities kept secret…. I understand what you are implying, but you have James looking at the jurors, and then the reader is told they are being sequestered. I had to read the paragraph several times. Most readers won't be as patient. You will see my suggestion for a revision, and you can decide for yourself if this line would benefit from a touch up.
Then there is this: ….the most wanted poster in every post office and federal building across the country. Yet in the next paragraph you write that a tourist in the foreign city of Ibiza turns James in. I suggested this revision: not only across the country but around the world.
Be careful with repeating statements. Carrie would be an interesting subject for Miko to draw and paint, is followed in the next paragraph with, This drawing would not be for the media, but rather for Miko's own consumption as material to paint someday. Also, I would be reticent about telling an action and then showing it for the reader, such as: ….the recognition of himself was obvious. Wide smile, wide eyed, he turned to his mother…. Your latter exposition shows the little boy's reaction quite well. The reader doesn't need to be told what to expect via the sentence preceding it.
Also, while you can't and wouldn't want to do anything with the extensive use of the word sketches, be cognizant of words or their derivatives that repeat in close proximity to one another and which aren’t provided as an exact match for effect; i.e., straight and straight, wide and wide, etc. In the same vein, watch for repeated words that stand out, such as "collagen." This sort of "loud" identifier works only once per story unless it's an integral aspect of the plotline, such as the aforementioned sketches.
You might want to trim the adverbs from your narrative and substitute action verbs. An example of this is when you wrote: Miko moved uneasily in her seat. I suggested: Miko squirmed in her seat. You can come up with whatever you prefer, but squirmed serves the purpose of showing the reader what Miko's uneasy movement happened to be. Adverbs are often considered a sign of lazy writing, which I'm not implying applies to you, but this is how their usage is viewed in many literary quarters. Simply, leave adverbs for Romance writers.
SKETCHES Page 3 of 3
Critique by Robert l. Bacon
Critique by Robert l. Bacon
May 24, 2010
In the second to last paragraph, which involves the little boy and Miko's sketch of him, you refer to "the" woman sitting to his right, and to him as "her" little boy. Since there is no prior clear identity established for the little boy for the reader, the indefinite article "a" should be used and not the definitive article "the." It also follows that the woman could not claim the child as "her" little boy, since the child's parentage likewise has never been established. Via the pronoun "her," however subtle it might be, this also creates a POV shift. You had another POV shift in the fourth paragraph from the bottom of the second page: He obviously felt her stares. POV shifts can be tough to catch, but they need to be ferreted out. You'll see how I revised the latter from James' POV to Miko's.
There were a substantial number of instances when the past perfect verb tense was necessary. I emboldened the changes in the raw revision that precedes the clean draft (both drafts follow this critique). These oversights generally occur when a writer changes or shifts a clause and then only sees what was written previously. We all have this gremlin to deal with, but please try to be on the lookout for syntax in which a "had" or "have" is required to indicate a past event prior to another definite past period of time.
The most important element you have to pay attention to is punctuation. You certainly know how to use commas, and that double and triple em dashes don’t belong in your narrative (like the triple em dash I used in the second paragraph on the second page of this critique to indicate a string of missing words). And I'm positive you're aware that a quotation mark goes outside a period or comma in all but unusual circumstances, none of which occurred with what you sent me. So I'm going to revert to my earlier comment and assume this was a very early draft and you just wanted to get me to look at it, which is fine, but if you desire having SKETCHES considered by a major royalty publisher, I think you'll want to pay attention to each of the issues I've identified.
If you would like me to work with you during this developmental process, let me know. I'll be happy to read your entire draft and provide you with a formal critique that will tell you what I feel you will need to do to get your manuscript in order. You can then decide if you would like me to work with you from a line-editing perspective. Whatever you decide, you've got a premise that has diamond dust sprinkled on its edges, and this is the reason I spent so much time on this critique (and line edit). So please don't give SKETCHES short shrift. If you don't like my suggestions, find another editor, but work with someone you respect who knows what he or she is doing and understands the current state of the publishing industry at the major levels.
As I stated earlier, both the rough and clean revisions of your draft follow this critique.
Regards, and best of luck with SKETCHES.
Robert L. (Rob) Bacon, Founder
The Perfect Write®
_______________________________________________________
SKETCHES
By Darryl H.
Miko studied the face, which was pocked and craggy, like a meteorite-peppered moon. That face, a roadmap to death, and the incredible carnage he had brought with it, appeared just as she’d drawn him. Carrie Santana, his victim, and the only one that who had gotten away, should be given all the credit. Her horrific description had helped Miko to draw portray the man as the monster he really was.
This was the first time she’d actually laid her eyes on seen him in person. Her drawing not only captured his physical likeness, but the evil in his face had been apparent on the sketch pad. It was something she felt. Beyond the usual five senses, like that third eye kind of stuff mystics talk about. Clairvoyance.
Carrie’s words had guided Miko’s hand. She remembered how the young woman’s body trembled as she described those eyes. “Mirrored the devil’s own,” she'd told Miko.
Now, months later, she was looking at the back of his head, or an occasional view of his profile whenever he turned to cast those eyes of his in the direction of the twelve men and women who would decide his fate. Miko quickly drew an outline of the defendant and his three lawyers. She sketched the prosecutors, the judge, and the bailiff; but not the jurors, They were to remain sequestered for the duration of the trial and their identities kept secret. whose identities were to be kept secret.
Judge Straum’s order, "No cameras allowed!” had placed Miko there in the courtroom, where she was drawing courtroom illustrations for all of the media people. This work paid her a modest income--but certainly not as much as she once made as a detective and a police sketch artist for the Atlanta Police Department.
Her fall from grace enabled her to work only a few days a month, sketching courtroom scenes from Atlanta to LA--and everywhere in between--and selling her drawings to television and the AP to earn enough money to pay her bills. After that she was free to create art, collect art, and appraise art; for Miko it was all about the art.
Her studio was her sanctuary, the lab where she’d sometimes authenticate or refute a painting brought in by some novice collector. Part historian, part forensics
Page 2
investigator, Miko knew a real Basquat orJacob Lawrence or Charles White from a copy. Her art history studies at the Sorbonne in Paris made her a rising expert in the area of forensic authentication and the verification of art and objects d'art or FAVA. Miko was as passionate about verifying an artistic treasure once lost in obscurity as she was about uncovering a counterfeit work of art. And there were a lot of pieces like the latter that were out there.
Page 2
investigator, Miko knew a real Basquat or
In fact, she was looking forward to meeting with a prospective client that evening. A man had called her after reading an ad for her appraisal services on Craigslist. Like most, he had given limited information and just wanted her to see the work, without any pre-determinations or thoughts.
Miko returned from her preoccupation. She focused on her subjects sitting in the courtroom, beginning with Carrie Santana, whom the local press had labeled as “the lone survivor." Her identity, like that of the murdered victims, had been stripped away by the media, as meticulously as the person who had killed the women had stripped away their clothing.
Carrie was young and pretty, like the other women who had become known simply as “victims." She had an oval face that was devoid of any hard angles which "life" had started to bring to Miko’s countenance. Carrie would be an interesting subject for Miko to draw and later paint.
She went to work, with lead pencils, on the sketchpad that she balanced on her lap, while hoping to catch the young woman’s expression when she could be both vulnerable and stoic at the same time. This drawing was not for the media, but rather for Miko’s personal consumption, perhaps as material for a painting someday.
She continued her sketch of Carrie, who didn’t seem to notice Miko’s hurried movements. The young woman seemed to be absorbed in the court proceedings, probably recalling her own experience with the monster and her testimony that was highlighted by her tearful statement on cross-examination: “No, I can’t say beyond a doubt that the defendant was my assailant! I was blindfolded much of the time! He had his face covered when he put me in the gas chamber!”
Carrie’s silent contemplation for the moment was a good time to capture her on paper. Miko drew in Carrie’s full, rose petal lips, narrow chin, and her delicate, equine-like neck. Next came the hair that was pulled straight back with a slight and natural wave rising across her otherwise straight hair.
Finally, Miko approached Carrie’s anomalous eyes: one blue, the other brown, like there had been a tug of war between the genes passed on to her from each side of her racial divide. The end result was obviously a stalemate, where for which neither the Caucasian-American nor the African-American aspects of her heritage completely dominated the other. Miko would later match Carrie’s eye colors along with her cream-colored skin, that which held a hint of brown.
Miko took a deep breath. It was time to sketch Morgan James.
Page 3
Page 3
She sketched an outline of his profile with a graphite pencil. Later she’d fill it in with colors, wash the illustration board in deep, dark blue hues to match his Armani suit, and mix orange and brown for copper. Then splash that on his face and hands for that Euro-trash look--an obvious aftereffect of his lounging at various places
His physical appearance had been altered by a surgeon’s knife since she'd first sketched him almost eighteen months earlier. Some doctor in St. Tropez had done a pretty good job on James. Heightened cheekbones and collagen-filled lips, to go along with blonde hair and prophylactic eyeglasses, would have fooled most people. But when the APD displayed his photo array, his victim picked him out of from six other men. She said it was his eyes, and said she’d never forget his eyes, and that Miko had drawn them like as perfectly as if she had been the one who’d been gassed, stretched, tormented and left for dead.
Morgan James hunched over the defense table and used his arms and hands to hide whatever he was writing. His shoulders shook in short, unnatural jerks, and Miko could only assume that he was laughing. Then she saw that he was.
Sick bastard, she thought.
Humor was the incongruent measure of this serial killer's audacious posture. With James' freedom and probably his life on the line, she wondered what was so funny. Somehow she knew she’d find out.
He shifted in his chair slightly, enough so that Miko could see that his profile again, then he held up the paper on which he had been writing. She could see make out a drawing of something that looked like a woman. Stick figure with disproportionately large breasts. Wild hair.
It was supposed to be her.
Miko moved uneasily squirmed in her seat. She wondered if Morgan James knew that her rendering of him became was on the Most Wanted posters in every post offices and federal buildings across the country and around the world. It was a different kind of gallery, her artwork displayed for function and not as an for aesthetics.
A telephone call to the local police in Ibiza from a tourist on vacation had led to Morgan James’ arrest. The caller, from upstate New York, said he'd had drinks with an American, and he but didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop looking into the man’s eyes. Those eyes, like black tar from some prehistoric pagan death pit, had an unshakeable familiarity. He, the tourist, was an art collector. He remembered the poster. Said that was real art.
The caller wasn’t exactly enamored with James’ Neo-Nazi ideation ideology, and this was further motivation for turning him in. When the authorities searched his home, they found some confirmation of his fascination with The Third Reich, but those who knew him said he was only a collector of memorabilia, and nothing more. Besides, his estranged wife was from Uganda
Yet since all of the his victims were African-American women, the prosecutors used were using race as his motive, even though an his African negro wife seemed to betray the notion that it color was the reason for James’ killing spree. And his defense attorneys made certain that the jury and everyone in the city knew--not only was there no DNA to link him to these horrific events crimes--there was also no reason logical explanation.
Miko felt a pair of eyes coming from nearby glanced at someone who was staring in her direction from nearby in the galley. He was looking at her drawing board and the images she’d put on the paper. He smiled, and in a near whisper said asked her, “Can you draw me?”
She nodded and put up one finger, as if to say give me a minute. She drew quickly. His large expressive eyes, brown like chocolate wafers, were easy to draw sketch. She drew displayed them like she was drawing two almonds, set wide apart, then colored in his brown pupils, adding a round face, puffy cheeks, button nose, lips full like a the collagen enhanced starlet’s on the big screen; but natural in his case, all topped off by black ringlets the texture of wool and coarse wire.
Miko finished the sketch drawing in less than three minutes, tore it off the drawing pad and handed it to the little boy. His recognition of himself was obvious. Wide eyed, he smiled and turned to the a woman sitting to his right and showed her the artist’s rendition of his physical essence. She looked at Miko and smiled along with her little boy.
Morgan James was taking it all in, as well, watching Miko intently with his deadened eyes and almost prosthetically enhanced face, except there was no little-boy smile.
__________________________________________________
SKETCHES
By Darryl H.
Miko studied the face. It was pocked and craggy, like a meteorite-peppered moon. That face, a roadmap to death, and the incredible carnage brought with it, appeared just as she’d drawn him. Carrie Santana, his victim, and the only one who had gotten away, should be given all the credit. Her horrific description had helped Miko portray the man as the monster he really was.
This was the first time she’d actually seen him in person. Yet her original drawing had not only captured his physical likeness, but the evil in his face had come to life on her sketch pad. It was something she had felt, beyond the usual five senses, like the third eye kind of stuff that mystics talk about.
Carrie’s words had guided Miko’s hand. She remembered how the young woman’s body had trembled as she described those eyes. “Mirrored the devil’s own,” she'd told Miko.
Now, months later, she was looking at the back of his head, or an occasional view of his profile whenever he turned to cast those eyes of his in the direction of the twelve men and women who would decide his fate. Miko quickly drew an outline of the defendant and his three lawyers. She sketched the prosecutors, the judge, and the bailiff too; but not the jurors, whose identities were to be kept secret.
Judge Straum’s order, "No cameras allowed!” had placed Miko in the courtroom, where she was drawing courtroom illustrations for the media. This work paid her a modest income--but certainly not as much as she once made as a detective and sketch artist for the Atlanta Police Department.
Her fall from grace only enabled her to work a few days a month, sketching courtroom scenes from Atlanta to LA--and everywhere in between--and selling her drawings to television and the press to earn enough money to pay her bills. After that she was free to create art, collect art, and appraise art; for Miko it was all about the art.
Her studio was her sanctuary, the lab where she’d sometimes authenticate or refute a painting brought in by some novice collector. Part historian, part forensics investigator, Miko knew a real Basquat or Lawrence or White from a forgery.
Page 2
Page 2
Her art history studies at the Sorbonne in Paris had established her a rising expert in the area of forensic authentication and the verification of objects d'art. Miko was as passionate about verifying an artistic treasure lost in obscurity as she was about uncovering a counterfeit. And there were a lot of pieces like the latter that were out there.
She was looking forward to meeting with a prospective client that evening. A man who had called her after reading an ad for her appraisal services on Craigslist. Like most, he provided limited information and indicated he wanted her to see the work without being influenced in any way.
Miko returned from her preoccupation. She focused on her subjects sitting in the courtroom, beginning with Carrie Santana, whom the local press had labeled “the lone survivor." Her identity, like that of the murdered victims, had been stripped away by the media as meticulously as the killer had stripped away each woman's clothing.
Carrie was an interesting subject for her to draw. She was young and pretty, the same as the other women who had become known simply as “victims." She had an oval face that was devoid of any hard angles which "life" had started to bring to Miko’s countenance.
With lead pencils Miko went to work on the sketchpad she balanced on her lap, hoping to catch the young woman’s expression when she could be both vulnerable and stoic at the same time. This drawing was not for the media, but rather for her personal collection, perhaps as material for a painting someday.
She continued her sketch of Carrie, who didn’t seem to notice Miko’s hurried movements. The young woman seemed to be absorbed in the court proceedings, probably recalling her own experience with the monster and her testimony that was highlighted by her tearful statement on cross-examination: “No, I can’t say beyond a doubt that the defendant was my assailant! I was blindfolded much of the time! He had his face covered when he put me in the gas chamber!”
Carrie’s silent contemplation provided a good time to capture her on paper. Miko drew in Carrie’s full, rose petal lips, narrowed chin, and her delicate, equine-like neck. Next came the hair, which was pulled back with a slight and natural wave rising across the otherwise flat lines.
Finally, Miko approached Carrie’s anomalous eyes: one blue, the other brown, like there had been a tug of war between the genes passed on to her from each side of her racial divide. The end result was obviously a stalemate, for which neither the Caucasian-American nor the African-American aspects of her heritage dominated the other. Miko would later highlight Carrie’s eye colors so they accented her cream-colored skin, which held a hint of brown.
Miko sat back and took a deep breath. It was time to sketch Morgan James.
Page 3
She drew an outline of his profile with a graphite pencil. Later she’d fill it in with colors, wash the illustration board in deep, dark blue hues to match his Armani suit, and mix orange and brown for copper. Then splash it on his face and hands for that Euro-trash look--an obvious aftereffect of his lounging at various places along the Mediterranean or the French Rivera while Interpol and the FBI were working frantically to track him down. With three murders to his credit, and probably at least one more while he was on the lam, had it not been for Carrie getting away, Miko probably wouldn’t be in a courtroom drawing his image on this day.
His physical appearance had been altered by a surgeon’s knife since she'd first sketched him almost eighteen months earlier. Some doctor in St. Tropez had done a pretty good job on James. Heightened cheekbones and collagen-filled lips, to go along with blonde hair and prophylactic eyeglasses, would have fooled most people. But when the APD displayed his photo array, Carrie had picked him from a group of six other men. She said it was his eyes, and that she’d never forget his eyes, and Miko had drawn them as perfectly as if she had been the one who’d been tormented, stretched, gassed, and left for dead.
Miko kept sketching and thinking, occasionally concentrating hard on the back of his head. He must have felt her stares, she thought, because a couple of times he stole a quick glance in her direction and smiled without showing any teeth. She didn’t respond; just kept sketching.
A short while later Morgan James hunched over the defense table and used his arms and hands to hide something he'd been writing. His shoulders shook in short, unnatural jerks, and Miko could only assume he was laughing. Then she saw that he was.
Sick bastard, she thought.
Humor was just one of many incongruent measures of this serial killer's audacious posture. With James' freedom, and probably his life on the line, she wondered what could be so funny. Somehow she knew she’d find out.
He shifted in his chair, just enough so that Miko could see his profile again, then he held up the paper with his handiwork on it. She could make out a drawing of something that looked like a woman. Stick figure with disproportionately large breasts. Wild hair.
It was supposed to be her.
Miko squirmed in her seat. She wondered if Morgan James was aware that her rendering of him was on the Most Wanted posters in federal buildings and post offices not only across the country but around the world: a different kind of gallery, her artwork displayed for function and not for aesthetics.
A telephone call to the local police in Ibiza from a tourist had led to Morgan James’ arrest. The caller, from upstate New York, said he'd had drinks with an American, but didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop looking into the man’s eyes. Those eyes, like black tar from some prehistoric death pit, had an unshakeable familiarity. He, the tourist, was an art collector. He remembered a poster with James' picture. Said that was real art.
The caller wasn’t enamored with James’ Neo-Nazi ideology, and this was further motivation for turning him in. When the authorities searched his home, they found confirmation of his fascination with The Third Reich, but those who knew him said he was only a collector of memorabilia, and nothing more. Besides, his estranged wife was from Uganda
Yet since all his victims were African-American women, the prosecutors were using race as his motive, even though his negro wife seemed to betray the notion that color was the reason for James’ killing spree. And his defense attorneys had made certain that the jury and everyone in the city knew there was no DNA evidence to link him to these horrific crimes.
Miko glanced at someone who was staring in her direction from a gallery that was next to where she was sitting. He was looking at her drawing board and the images she’d put on the paper. He smiled and leaned toward her, and in a whisper asked, “Can you draw me?”
She nodded and put up one finger, as if to say give me a minute. She drew quickly. His large expressive eyes, brown like chocolate wafers, were easy to sketch. She displayed them as if they were two almonds set wide apart, then colored in his brown pupils, adding a round face, puffy cheeks, button nose, lips full like a starlet’s on the big screen, but natural in his case, all topped off by black ringlets the texture of wool and coarse wire.
Miko finished the drawing and handed it to the little boy. Wide eyed, he smiled and turned to a woman sitting to his right and showed her the artist’s rendition of his physical essence. She looked at Miko and smiled along with the child.
Morgan James was taking it all in, watching Miko with his deadened eyes and prosthetically altered face, except there was no little-boy smile.
_____________________________________________________
Robert L. Bacon
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