For this blogfest, I have until March 22 to craft the perfect first 250 words of my book and send the exerpt to Brenda Drake. Between now and then, people critique each other. You don't have to be a writer to tell me what you think; I'd be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.
I know, I know, I've posted the beginning of my manuscript before. (Thanks for all the advice, by the way.) I have to do it again because this time, the prize is a critique with agent Natalie Fischer.
As usual, I promise to critique everyone who critiques me.
Name: Teralyn Rose Pilgrim
Title: Sacred Fire
Genre: historical fiction
The sun set over the river Tiber and turned the currents into flowing pink ribbons. Tuccia clutched the edge of her seat. Whenever their carriage passed over the Tiber, she knew Rome was close.
She squealed and jumped onto her pater’s lap. “We’re almost there!” she cried. This trip was a rare and anticipated treat. Their villa was half a day’s journey from the city, so her family only traveled to Rome to see the bustling festivals that turned the city into a glowing spectacle.
“Which festival are we going to?” Tuccia asked as she pulled on her pater’s toga.
“I told you, we aren’t going for a festival,” he reminded her.
“Then what are we going to do in the city?”
Tuccia’s mater sat close to her pater and watched him with a cold, emotionless face. He opened his mouth to answer, stopped, and glanced at her. Mater’s expression didn’t change, but she shook her head and mouthed the word “no.” He cleared his throat. “It’s a surprise,” he said.
He picked Tuccia up and sat her back down. She stared out the window and fidgeted in her seat.
They crossed the river and massive buildings rolled into view. The city was so large that it looked like it rested in the sky. Buildings hung in the air and almost leaned forward, on the verge of toppling over from their magnitude.
The carriage crossed through the city gates and descended into the crowded cobblestone streets. They were surrounded by rows of thick columns hefting up heavy, towering ceilings of marble. Tuccia felt small in a way that was breathtaking.