I love to beta read. It’s a sick pleasure of mine. If I don’t have a book to beta read on my iPhone, I beg for one on twitter.

Most of the time I find something I love in the story. I’ve even made some great friends from it. On occasion, I’ve even read a book or two right before a big publisher bought them. I love doing that, and I love being able to help a fellow author find the flow in the story.

But, on very rare occasion–I’ve read books that suck.

Now, before you boo me, and I understand if you want to boo me–just hear me out.

When I read these books, it’s hard to tell the truth. I mean what am I supposed to do? Send them a quick email explaining that I think their never has any chance of ever seeing publication?

Um, no. That’s the worst idea ever. Don’t do that. Don’t be a pompous butt head. Because, let’s face it–Who am I to say that? I’m just an unpublished author myself, and I have no right to tell anyone their stuff sucks, and guess what.

Unless you’re Stephen King… you don’t either.

Now, I’m not saying you can’t tell them their manuscript needs work, but you need to tell them what’s good too.

Find the diamond in the rough.

Who knows, maybe they rock at dialogue, maybe they do a fabulous job describing a fancy palace, heck… maybe they have superb comma placement. Whatever it is, tell them about it.

Now, about the fact that their book sucks, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell them why it sucks, and what you would do to make it better. Just remember: a little bit goes a long way!

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Please continue to critique the queries and first five hundred words. If you have any rewrites from the critiques, authors, feel free to post them in your comments.

Here are the links.

Query + 500 # 1

Query + 500 # 2

Query + 500 # 3

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Query:

Dear (Agent’s name),

Seventeen-year-old Samantha Sanders has vivid nightmares—which take her inside the mind of a killer, as she dreams of murders that actually happen…while they’re happening. She discovers a connection between her dreams and an ancient line of Cherokee Protectors, who fight Flesh Eaters—monsters that look like us, but come straight from the depths of legend.

Sam finds herself, not only attracted to another Protector, local hottie, Sheriff’s Deputy Andrew Clearwater, but also to one of the monsters. And this man-monster has the power to control her dreams and influence her feelings.

Though I believe LEGEND OF THE PROTECTORS will appeal to the readers who love the romance in Twilight, it is not another vampire story. Loosely based on the Cherokee Legend The Stone Shield, this edgy, young adult urban fantasy LEGEND OF THE PROTECTORS is complete at 95,000 words.

A registered Cherokee, I enjoy studying the history and legends of my people.

If you would like to consider my novel, I can be reached at (email address) or phone #. A completed manuscript is available upon request.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sarah Jensen

Mailing address

Phone #

Email address

Websites or blogs

Chapter 1
Weightless and fast, I bolt through the deep woods. Hunger—unquenchable. The tent is a welcome sight. My outstretched hands are cold. Steel. They slice through the nylon with ease, making no sound. A man and woman sleep, backs to each other.

She’s too large, his liver will be healthier. I wonder where that thought came from. Why am I looking at these people like they’re food?

With no more effort than it would take to drag a doll across the floor, I pull him from the tent.

#

I leaned back in the booth and scanned my grandpa’s favorite diner. Not much had changed since the last time Paw-pa had brought me here. Old wagon wheels and lanterns on the walls, the concrete floor stained to resemble stone. Homey. Or was that homely?

Four men at the counter joked and acted obnoxious. Before their roaring laughter got any more out of control, a man, well over six feet, rose and sauntered over to them.

Wow.

My palms sweated and my leg started twitching. I felt compelled to run my fingers through his rich black hair, a little long on top with a hint of curls. He wore a brown deputy’s uniform.  His tanned muscles, visible beneath the short sleeves of his shirt, sent my heart into a frenzy. He placed a hand on the back of one man and spoke.

I twirled a strand of chestnut hair around my finger and smiled. He didn’t seem to notice me at all.

“Sam, pay attention. This concerns you.” My best friend’s dad, Brian, tapped his fork on the table in front of me, but I didn’t respond.

My stare was glued to the hottie in the uniform. The men smiled and quieted down and he returned to his booth, where another officer sat.

I still didn’t look away. “What?”

“Don’t snarl at me, young lady. We all have adjustments to make. Don’t take your frustrations out on us.”

I bit my lip, turned my focus back to my table, and smiled in an attempt to be pleasant. He was right after all, it wasn’t like he or Paw-pa were responsible for the accident. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” He took my hand and said something about a file box with important papers in it at Paw-pa’s house.

Whatever.

I looked back at Officer Hotness.

I didn’t know if Brian gave up talking to me, or if I just stopped listening, but that was pretty much the end of our conversation. He paid our bill, and I tried to walk out seductively, shaking my hips with a slight exaggeration, until I almost tripped over Paw-pa in the attempt.

Okay, not my most graceful moment. But maybe Tahlequah won’t be such a bad place to live after all.

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Query:

BLOOD PROPHECY is a 65,000 word Paranormal Romance in which fate grants a young woman the gift of love with one hand and casts her into a maelstrom of government conspiracies and vampire politics with the other.

Seventeen-year-old Akasha Hope is being followed on her nightly ventures out of the orphanage.  She wonders if it is the uniformed men who murdered her parents, or if somebody knows she beat a man to death two years ago with her government-engineered super-human strength. She never guessed that it was a vampire who watched her, and not just any vampire. He is Silas McNaught, Lord of her home city of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. His psychic powers are among the strongest of his kind and Akasha has been in his visions for centuries. To find out what part she plays in his destiny, he plans to adopt her.

Akasha’s world is overhauled like a performance engine when she is adopted four months before her eighteenth birthday. Mr. McNaught is the antithesis of her last mentor, a coarse mechanic who was arrested for running a chop shop. She is suspicious of Silas’s motives and perplexed at his odd hours. Gradually, he wins her over with his generosity and support of her dreams of college and opening an automotive business. If only she could fight her growing attraction to him and dispel his curiosity about her painful past.

Despite her foul language and oil-stained clothes, Silas falls in love with Akasha. His actions reach the ears of his vindictive ex lover who leads a vampire cult. She reports him to the U.N. of the vampire world in a scheme to topple his power base. On top of that, Akasha and Silas discover that she is the daughter of a Vietnam experiment gone awry, and government assassins are looking for her. Together, they hope to be strong enough to combat this double threat.

I am a member of the Idaho Writer’s league and have an Associate’s degree in Automotive Technology. The complete manuscript is available upon request.
Thank you for your time.
(contact info)

Chapter One

Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. October: 1999

Akasha bolted behind a fir tree at the sight of the approaching police cruiser. She held her breath as it drew near. Her slight form pressed against the rough bark. ‘Last thing I need is to be busted after curfew.

The car crawled by, resembling a predatory insect. She extracted her mass of curly black hair from the tree branches and headed for the cemetery, relieved at her success. She hated being caught right when she snuck out the orphanage window. She hoped her friend had gotten out and was able to meet her. Akasha’s thoughts on the matter weren’t entirely unselfish. She didn’t want to be alone tonight.

She’d met Xochitl, (pronounced So-she, though Akasha had no idea how you’d get that out of such a f***** up combination of letters) at the orphanage. Her mother died and no one knew what to do with her. Xochitl was fascinating, with her carefree personality, Goth clothes, and talk of her metal band. Akasha enjoyed having her as a companion on her nightly walks. Unfortunately, it ended when an obnoxious bible-thumping couple adopted Xochitl a week ago. Akasha could see the zealot’s pyre burning in their eyes and her heart went out to her new friend. The only good to come out of it was that Xochitl was transferred to Akasha’s school. They agreed to meet in the cemetery tonight.

Akasha scanned her surroundings for the slightest movement; ears pricked for the tiniest hint of footsteps approaching. All was quiet. She straightened her shoulders defiantly and flipped a few shadows the bird.

Akasha sensed that she was being followed these last few weeks. A lot of people were looking for her. Neither of the possibilities boded well. There was only one question: Was it the uniformed men who murdered her parents, or did someone find out that she killed a man years ago? Why now? I’ve been fine here for two years and now that I’m almost eighteen, this shit’s gotta happen? She pulled her knife out, reassured by the feel of cold steel in her palm. Though it would be safer if she’d forego her nightly walks, Akasha couldn’t bear the thought of staying in that shitty orphanage a second longer than she had to. If that meant facing whatever was stalking her, so be it. She’d killed to defend herself before, she could do it again. Or, at least make somebody hurt.

Her boots made no sound on the cracked sidewalk as she padded down Government Way. The canopy of maples above turned the street into a dark tunnel at night.

Once inside the cemetery, she looked up and was overcome by the beauty of the full moon, framed by a swirl of silver clouds and twinkling stars in the cerulean sky.  When she reached the marble angel monument she dug her cigarettes out of her biker jacket. If only my parents could have had a monument like this.

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Ready for the next critique? This is a big one!

Please submit your Query Letter plus the first 500 words of said manuscript to ifyougiveagirl@gmail.com. For those of you who aren’t quite ready to query, feel free to just submit the 500 words and vice versa.

Entries will be accepted until midnight Friday July 31st and posted Sunday August 2nd.

For help with your Query Letter, I advise you to refer to Elana Johnson’s posts here. There are five in the series.

So get cracking, and polish those entries!

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I’m interested in doing another critique soon and would like suggestions for what that should entail. I’m up for anything, really. Do you need help with a certain type of scene? Want us to check your opening? Just comment on the type of critique you’d be interested in participating in, and we’ll get one going in the next few weeks!

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