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Looking for Critique Partner(s)


Greetings fellow scribes,

I've finished about 11k words of my WIP which will likely end up at 20-22K words (so shading into a novella rather than a novelette or short story). I've come far enough that it would be nice to find some really brutal critique partners to tell me all the problems and tear my work apart. Needless to say I'd be pleased to critique in exchange.

I've posted an excerpt below to give a flavor of the story. This is from the end of Chapter 6 and is about as far as I've progressed to date.

Any and all feedback on the excerpt is deeply appreciated if signing up to critique 11K words is too much to take on! I've posted this to the Showcase for that purpose as well.

Quick Note: I'm fairly new to the critiquing process though I have participated in critique groups as part of a writing class while in college.



The Riddle of the Sphinx - Chapter VI - Excerpt

Twenty-one men survived from the Lord’s Company. Of Galen and the Lancers there was no word.

Evening found them camped in the olive groves above Harmunder, a small village on the coast some ten miles south of Coleridge Town. They went without a fire, but there wasn’t much they could do about the bright light of the moon or the nickering of the horses. Hestos reassured them that the surrounding area was loyal even if Mayor Costinos had taken Coleridge Town over to the usurper. Chapel didn’t know if Hestos was right, but he resolved to sleep lightly regardless.

They’d found some abandoned sheds in the groves that gave a bit of shelter. Men were scattered about them in small clumps, talking, tending wounds, or just sitting quietly. Lord Moneghal lay sleeping in a makeshift cot, his injured leg bandaged and strapped with wood. It was a nasty break but he would live.

Chapel was surprised to find himself unhurt. A full day of warfare and not even a scratch. Sometimes the luck just goes your way.

He left the sheds to find the Lady.

She sat at the cliff end of the groves beneath the twisted boughs of an old olive tree. Her hair almost glowed in the moonlight, a soft, ethereal white. She watched the sea and the rolling waves from her place at the cliff and when he drew near she signalled him to sit. He crouched on his knees beside her.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Chapel.” As she was the White Lady, he waited for her to say more.

“Chapel,” she repeated. “It’s a good name. You did well today – you’re a good fighter.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

“I call them like I see them.” She looked out at the sea again and watched the curling black waves. “You know, someone like you… brave, takes initiative, good in a fight – I could use someone like you in my unit. What’s left of it.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You do me honour, Lady.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Lady.”

“Good.” She laughed then, as if remembering something. “You know, why don’t you ask your friend who can’t ride if he wants to sign up too.”

Chapel smiled. “I’ll do that, Lady.”

They were quiet for a while, there under the moonlight in a peaceful little grove by the sea. Neither felt a need to fill the silence.

Finally Chapel spoke. “You sent those men to their deaths today. The Ceti Lancers. Galen and Caltos. Everyone but us.”

“Yes,” she said. She didn’t try to defend herself.

He considered it for a while. “It must be hard.”

“Yes. It doesn’t get easier.”

He nodded and they were quiet again. The crickets chirruped in the grove and the wind blew and the waves rolled far below.

The Lady pulled at the bandage on her arm. “Pardon. I should change this.” The effort was awkward one-handed and she struggled a bit.

“Allow me, Lady.” She held her arm out to him and he unwound the blood-stained cloth.

He paused when he saw the wound. The cut should have crippled her for weeks, but it was nearly healed, the flesh already knitting together and fading from red to pink. Aside from the cut, the rest of her skin was pale white and very smooth.

“You don’t have any scars,” he said.

“No. Tans and sunburns don’t last long either.” Her lips quirked, not quite a smile.

He cleaned the wound and secured the fresh bandage. Her skin under his hands was soft and warm. He thought perhaps the light was bad that first time he’d seen her at Ricer’s Fort, because she seemed very pretty after all.
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Hi Nebuchadnezzar,

I'd be more than happy to take a look at your writing and provide you with some critique. I actually have a WIP and am in need for some extra "eyes" on it as well.
If this sounds good to you, fell free to send me a PM!



Hi, if you're still looking, please let me know. I just started a thread looking for critique partners myself. Thanks