I’m participating in the Show Me The Voice Blogfest over at Brenda Drake’s blog. Here’s how it works (taken directly from Brenda’s blog).
Post the first 250 words of your finished manuscript (any genre) on your blog to get critiques from your followers and then hop around to the other participants’ sites and give critiques. Polish those 250 words and email them to me [Brenda].
All entries submitted before the cut off time will be considered. The first round will be judged by a chosen panel of your peers (agented and unagented). We’ll pick the best 20 entries and post them on my blog by March 24. The 20 entries we pick will be judged by Natalie [Fischer]. The winners will be announced on or before Monday, March 28.
So, without further ado, here’s my first 250(ish). Please, let me know your thoughts, especially the sentence I’ve marked. (In your comment, please specify if I should keep it as it reads now, or change the sentence to the version at the bottom of the post)
Name: Christi Corbett
Title: Along the Way Home
Genre: Historical Fiction
Wednesday, April 5, 1843
Every Wednesday Kate stood on the same front porch, her hand poised inches from the door, willing herself to finally do the unthinkable—walk away without knocking. However, during the hesitation, her courage inevitably fled.
Wednesdays were a long-standing tradition, and one she couldn’t disrupt.
*Stiffening her spine and her resolve, Kate rapped her knuckles on the wood.* Familiar footsteps clicked toward the other side of the entry and she forced a smile as the door opened to reveal an overdressed, overfed, overbearing woman.
“Katherine Davis, how dare you appear at my doorstep looking like some commoner? Get that bonnet on your head this instant!”
Her smile faded. “Yes, Aunt Victoria.”
Kate pulled the velvet cage over the mass of auburn hair secured in a knot at the nape of her neck, knowing full well she’d only remove it after stepping across the threshold. Under the guise of propriety, her aunt had tortured her for years.
From etiquette during afternoon tea to running a household, Aunt Victoria enforced her opinions over Kate’s every move. Recently she’d expanded her teachings to include the fine art of manipulating men. Snaring a husband was the ultimate goal.
Kate followed the perfume cloud into the parlor. Cream and gold wallpaper, the best her father’s money could buy, adorned each wall. Marble-topped tables stood between overstuffed chairs and a matching sofa. Polished mahogany frames held paintings of stern men and sweeping mountain ranges. A buffet displayed a china tea set adorned with red roses.
Taking a seat on the sole wooden chair in the room, Kate prepared for the upcoming interrogation. The bitter spinster didn’t disappoint.
*(I need some advice. Should the line above stay as is, or instead read Steeling herself for what she would endure over the next two hours, Kate rapped her knuckles against the door.)*