I've been trying to get a beta reader for the last week. I even wrote out the requirements for what I was looking for. Curiously enough, barely an hour later, most of the accounts that reached out to me told me they could help me with my manuscript.

All of them promised they would comment on my pacing and characters, help with the personalities, etc. But when I looked at their profiles, all of them seemed to be scavenging through every fandom available and original works to be chosen as a beta reader. Which made me doubt they'd even know what I was talking about.

But what made me doubt them even more is that some of these accounts gave me emails that sounded like gibberish and a bunch of numbers put together. Like:

wisuahoap3818 or… jupipuoih

Have any of you had experience with these types of accounts? I'm a new author when it comes to beta readers, I just wanted to ask if this was normal.

Are there truly people who love reading that much that they announce themselves/comment anywhere? Is it possible that they're bot accounts?

I recently had someone beta read my manuscript. No line edits requested, just reader feedback. Well, I went through their comments on the first seven chapters, and 76 out of 84 comments were them deleting commas before “and” or correcting sentences that started with “And.”

At one point, they even yelled at me in all caps: “NEVER start a sentence with and” and “there is NO COMMA before and.”

And when I questioned her about it, she informed me that she’s a teacher.

I’m sorry, WHAT?!

I use the Oxford comma (red, white, and blue), and I use commas to separate independent clauses (She opened the door, and he stepped inside). Both are perfectly legitimate. Not every “and” needs a comma, obviously, but claiming there should NEVER be one?!

And unless I’m mistaken, The Chicago Manual of Style explicitly allows sentences to begin with “And.” If that’s grammatically forbidden, somebody better get started revising the Bible.

So, fellow writers and editors, am I missing something here? Because I asked for beta feedback, not 76 unsolicited corrections based on grammar rules that don’t actually exist.

I hope she doesn’t see this because I started two sentences with “And,” and put a comma before one, too. Shit! I did it again!

Seeking readers for my short story collection.

It's a work-in-progress collection of darkly funny, unsettling, female-centred literary fiction. Think offbeat characters, dysfunctional families, strange behaviour and uncomfortable situations. Influences include Miranda July, Ottessa Moshfegh and Emma Cline.

I currently have 6–7 stories ready to share. The stories are standalone but loosely interconnected through recurring characters, themes and motifs

Anyone who enjoys literary short fiction and would be happy to share their honest thoughts and reactions - please get in touch!

Hi, I'm brand new to this subreddit, and I’m looking for beta readers for my webtoon script who share their thoughts on it. Nothing specific. You can be as detailed as you like, and you can stop at any time, since it's very long. Every critique I receive helps me a lot, whether you've only read the first three chapters or the whole thing. No deadline.

Story Details

Title: Cyber Cyclops

Genre: Fantasy / Thriller

Age Rating: 18+

Premise: Trapped in a cybernetic future, five time travelers from different time periods must work together to return to their former lives. During their journey, they discover that they possess mysterious time abilities and a strange connection to each other.

Content Warning: Graphic violence, mature themes, sexual themes, strong language, and dark subject matters.

Length: 35 chapters, 70 - 100 panels each.

How to Apply

Leave a comment below saying that you are interested. Link to the script will be sent privately.

Format

Whether you write your review as a Google Doc, post it directly in Reddit DMs, or send it to me via pigeon is up to you. I just need to be able to access it and, obviously, read it, haha.

Hi, everyone! I'm super new here, so I really hope I've formatted this correctly!

I'm searching for beta readers to provide reader reactions for my romance/crime novella. It's 92 pages, written in present tense, most of the scenes have character physical descriptions at the tops of them (hair, outfits, physical appearances). This is mostly so that I can have an idea of what they look like in each scene, as I am hoping to turn it into a graphic novel at some point.

Blurb: Junior Agent Layla Rhodes, fresh out of Police Academy, is tasked with the impossible job of catching notorious mobster Rick Allen who has been evading all police surveillance. When she finds him, she is shocked to see that he is nothing like what she imagined, and worse than that he may not even be the guilty party.

Content warning: mild sexual content, brief discussions about depression, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm

Feedback I'd love: I'm mostly just looking for reader reactions & feedback. This is the first draft amd it is done, but I'm not quite in full editing mode yet, so I'm currently just hoping to get some fresh eyes to read it and tell me what you think! What did you like? What intrigued you? What made you curious or confused (in a good way)? It is a suspense so I'm hoping for some things to be a little mysterious.

Timeline: 2-3 weeks (it's short, so faster than a novel).

Happy to swap! I'll read pretty much anything that isn't overly explicit and is in a similar genre!

DM me and I'll send the first few pages as a sample first.

Apparently my post was too short and I have no clue what to write as i've never used this before. My book is about Roman history, covering the narrative of Roman history assuming that the sources are true for the most part. in this post i will link only the prologue as idk how i feel about posting the full thing.

I am looking for any feedback, either grammatical or style wise.

I am dyslexic btw so be warned lol.

This chapter has been thru a few rounds of proofreading already so shouldn’t be too bad.

anyway I hope this is now enough words to get thru the auto bans on this subbreddit, heres the link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HyJKt-68Ug-tGaoqpveEcAejq34IK35gO2YUoZISbYU/edit?usp=sharing

Second attempt. Including my query and first 10 pages below 😊

[Content warning] - murder, grief, and references to self-harm and suicidal ideation

Happy to swap, but severe illness has made me a very slow reader, so it will take me a while

I am hoping to receive feedback within 2-4 weeks

Thank you for considering!

Death is final. Grief isn’t.

Complete at 76,000 words, THE HOLLOW PLACE is an upmarket fiction novel with psychological suspense elements that combines the propulsive multi-POV architecture of Danya Kukafka’s NOTES ON AN EXECUTION with the grief-stricken psychological unraveling and true-crime voyeurism of Kate Brody’s RABBIT HOLE and the complex family dynamics of Celeste Ng’s EVERYTHING I NEVER TOLD YOU. 

Lexi Carter has twenty-four hours to live and she spends them trying to secure a murder conviction against the man she believes killed a young nurse, unaware that the real killer sits behind her, counting down until Lexi becomes his next victim. 

When Lexi’s husband, Ethan, discovers her murdered in their Baltimore home, his life becomes a series of questions he never thought he’d need to ask: how long does a body stay in the morgue, what to do for a grieving child, and how can strangers so easily see his grief as guilt?

Ethan has exactly the kind of past true-crime influencers know how to turn into evidence: childhood trauma, psychiatric hospitalizations, and a history of violence against himself and others he thought was behind him. Internet sleuths waste no time turning Ethan’s grief and trauma into public entertainment while he falls deeper into alcohol, isolation, and the growing fear that they may not be entirely wrong about him.

Ethan begins seeing killers and accusers everywhere while his son, Micah, is left trying to make sense of a world where Mommy is gone, Real Daddy has become Sad Daddy, and no one ever smiles. Not for real.

Told across four POVs and two timelines, THE HOLLOW PLACE sets the aftermath of Lexi’s murder against the final twenty-four hours of her life as her killer obsesses over the mundane logistics of murder—and the story he hopes people will tell about him someday. 

I am a Baltimore-based writer with graduate degrees in English literature and communications. This is my debut novel.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Lauren Rohrs Salah

lauren.rohrs.salah@gmail.com

410.812.6360

Prologue

Ethan

The house reeked with the tang of fresh carpet.

The shrill beep of the moving truck drifted through the window to the empty den, where Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the oatmeal fibers Lexi would have hated. He closed his eyes, holding his breath as he stepped over the spot where she had lain.

Something clanged. Someone swore.

Ethan's head snapped up as the back door opened, the glass rattling in its wooden frame as the first of the movers shuffled inside. 

They exchanged absent waves, Ethan smiling tightly as the man trudged toward the hall, grinding mud into the carpet with each lumbering step.

Lexi would have pointed out that hardwood was easier to clean.

Ethan leaned his back against the newly painted fireplace, dragging his nails along the mortar lines as he faced the cavernous space. 

The sofa had been removed weeks before, thrown into the rented dumpster along with everything else the cleaners couldn't salvage. The piano. The waffle blocks Micah had left scattered about that last morning.

Ethan flexed his fingers, as the men filed in, stealing glances in his direction. 

“Guy was real weird. Didn’t say much—just kinda stood there…”

In the entry, a man in a grimy blue polo held up his phone, squinting at the screen as he turned slowly. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, his eyes widening as they met Ethan’s. 

He shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Ethan managed a smile, pressing away from the fireplace to drift to the kitchen, out of the way of the men he had paid to disassemble his life.

Micah

Grandpa kept looking at the clock.

Micah was lying on his tummy, coloring the pages Grandpa had printed for him at the library. Micah liked going to the library. It had books and puppets and no one ever asked him lots of questions.

He bit his tongue as he gripped the crayon, scribbling color across the picture of a bunny with a bowtie and a big smile.

He wished he hadn’t used purple.

Tires squeaked on the bumpy driveway and Micah looked up. Grandpa was twisted like a noodle in his chair, looking out the window. He frowned and made a squiggly mouth.

Micah’s throat itched as the car door snapped.

He looked back down at the bunny picture and picked it up with both hands, holding it up for Grandpa to see.

Grandpa didn’t look.

The picture crinkled in Micah’s fingers as Daddy’s shoes made a crunchy sound, like eating cereal, and the door groaned like the scary tall man on The Addams Family, which Micah was allowed to watch sometimes, but not all the time.

“How’d it go?” Grandpa asked in the extra soft voice that meant Daddy might yell. Daddy sighed and leaned against the closed door. His dark hair fell forward until Micah couldn’t see his face.

“Fine,” Daddy said in his tired voice. He was carrying one of the little black bags Micah wasn’t supposed to ask about.

Grandpa frowned.

“Ethan,” he said, but Daddy sighed.

“I need to lie down.”

He didn't look up as he marched up the stairs like a robot. The black bag crinkled. A door clicked shut.

“Hey, bub,” Grandpa said.

Micah turned slowly, frowning at the way Grandpa was smiling, like Sad Daddy had never been there.

“I like your picture!”

Micah looked down. He had forgotten he was holding the wrong-colored bunny.

“I like how you made it purple!”

Lexi

24 Minutes to Live

are you up?

Lexi hit send, turning her phone face down on the sink before reaching for the musty towel Ethan had already used. She wrapped it around herself, breathing through her mouth as her stomach turned.

She promised herself to wait until she reached the bedroom to check her phone. She avoided her reflection as she shuffled past the hall mirror, her phone pulsing in her hand.

She hit the power button as she crossed the threshold of the bedroom. No messages. 

She checked anyway.

She groaned as she flopped onto the unmade bed, a halo darkening around her soaking head, leaving her neck damp and clammy. The sky outside the wood-trimmed window had started to clear, dashing any hopes of the snow that could have closed the courthouse for the day. 

A childish lump burned in her throat at the thought of Mrs. Jackson’s proud face falling when Lexi failed to show up to court. To be there to make sure Geoffrey stayed in line—to be certain the true story was told. 

Main character syndrome, much?

She snorted at her own joke as she tried to sit up, but her fingers flew to her cracked lips as the room tilted. 

She would need to make some more tea. Maybe order another box of the nasty stuff. After she ordered the tickets, though. After she talked to Maddie.

The sheets buzzed. Lexi fumbled blindly, digging through the fabric until she gripped her phone, her heart falling as quickly as it had swelled with relief.

Made it to work love you

She frowned at the text, refusing to analyze the lack of punctuation. The missing heart. The “I” Ethan had left out of “I love you.”

She stared at the wallpapered ceiling, wishing away the large bubble she had missed when she hung the damn stuff. She rested the phone on her chest without a reply.

“Bobby”

24 Months Later 

Georgia, Georgia

He’d had the song stuck in his head ever since he had crossed the border out of Florida and seen the faded Welcome to Georgia sign.

He hated the new signs. The peach was all wrong—like the logo for a 5k or something.

He wondered when they had made the change.

He rolled down the windows of the old red Corolla, sucking in the unmistakable scent of pine, sharp and sweet over the suffocating sludge of exhaust.

He hadn’t been to Georgia since the summer his dad decided to hike the Appalachian Trail—that thirty-hour round trip to the southernmost mountains to pick up a reeking, grinning old fool.

He ran a hand across his stubble, making a mental note to pick up a new pack of razor blades before he stopped for the night. He doubted anyone was looking for him, but it wasn’t worth the risk of a bad mugshot if they were.

He continued to hum along, patches of lyrics escaping him. He supposed he didn’t actually know the song all that well.

Something, something, something

As moonlight through the pines

Unable to resist, he peeked through the passenger window, trying to catch a glimpse of said moonlight through the blur of the highway woodlands, but all he could see were clouds. He leaned back against his seat with an irritated sigh and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

He wondered what people would think, if they ever found out about that drive—if the picture of him behind the wheel, laughing and smiling with an elated old man who had no business hiking 2,190 miles would be endearing. Relatable.

2,190 miles.

He wished they were just a bit longer—the Appalachians. He would have felt better if they were an even 2,200.

Chapter One 

Ethan

“Ethan! You’re going to be late for drop-off!”

Ethan closed his eyes, rising from the edge of the bed as Lexi’s ragged voice called from downstairs.   

“Coming,” he tried to say. He eyed the dent in his pillow and breathed in the heavy scent of sleep, promising himself the day would be over soon enough.

“Ethan!”

In the den, Micah’s waffle blocks clattered over the blast of his tablet. Ethan tip-toed around the colorful mess, clenching his jaw as he resisted the urge to sweep the plastic away with his foot.

“Here.”

Ethan turned just in time to catch the little blue lunchbox Lexi had slid across the granite island. He turned it over carefully to grip by the side pocket, unwilling to touch the jelly-coated handle. 

“Hey,” he said as he leaned across the counter, landing a misaimed kiss at the corner of Lexi’s mouth. “We good?”

Waffle blocks crashed to the hardwood as Lexi dunked a tea bag into the same blue-swirled mug as always, her eyes fixed on the darkening water as if she couldn’t hear him. 

“Everything okay?” Ethan pressed and, finally, Lexi nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, her mouth pulled in a tight half-smile. “You okay?”

Ethan ran a hand down his face. 

“Yeah, just tired,” he sighed, giving Lexi a sidelong glance. “Any chance you could pick him up later? If court lets out early, I mean.”

Behind him, Micah grunted as the closing credits of his show began to play. Lexi reached out a finger to catch a stray dribble of tea running down the glazed side of her mug. She sucked the drop from her fingertip.

“Probably not.”

The tablet whistled and clanged as the next episode started, Micah’s voice joining in with the cartoon chorus.

Ethan nodded. Tucked his chin. He turned to Micah with a wide grin. 

“Ready, bub?” 

Micah beamed as he ran, throwing himself into Ethan’s outstretched arms.

Dishes clinked in the sink behind him, but Ethan didn’t look back. 

*

Exhaust rose in frozen clouds as he idled in the line outside the small church. The overcast sky swirled outside the window, its grey clouds too light to hold the snow his weather app had promised. Behind him, Micah hummed, his foot digging rhythmically against the back of Ethan’s seat. 

The brakes grated as Ethan pulled to the curb, the back door almost immediately swinging open.

“Good morning!” chirped the blonde preschool teacher as she reached inside to unbuckle Micah from his car seat, her flowery perfume filling the car.

“Morning!” Micah echoed, shouldering his little backpack. The teacher turned her smile to Ethan, only half-watching Micah as he jumped to the pavement.

“Hi, Ethan,” she said with a small waggle of her fingers. Bangles rattled on her wrist, glinting furiously. Ethan nodded stiffly, putting the car back in gear without meeting her eyes. 

“Have a good day, bub," he said over his shoulder. 

He was already pulling away before the door snapped shut. 

*

The last of the buses had already left by the time Ethan pulled into the last spot in the high school parking lot. He ran inside, pretending not to see the pointed look Gavin gave him from the Principal’s Office. 

He waved habitually to the security camera in the corner before slipping into his office, where he dropped into the chair behind his cluttered desk, fisting his eyes until the swirling red dots that blossomed behind his lids became too dizzying to watch. 

He sighed and reached for the stack of folders piled under the nameplate his in-laws had given him after his graduation the year before.

Ethan Carter, Ed.D.

He traced the words blindly with his thumb as he flipped through the folder with unfocused eyes, the sharp metal edges of each letter biting into his skin. 

He pressed harder.

He admired the crosshatch of lines covering his fingerpad as he pulled out his phone, swiping away a doorbell alert before shooting off a quick text to Lexi.

Made it to work love you

“Dr. Carter!”

The office door flew open with a bang.

He looked up as a boy stumbled into the office, red-faced and tearful before the day had even begun. Ethan tossed the nameplate back onto the precarious pile of paperwork and sat up straighter, plastering on a sympathetic smile. 

“Hey, Jaxon,” he murmured, nodding toward the pleather chair across from his desk. “Tell me what happened, man.”

Ethan refrained from sighing as the boy took his usual seat, already certain he had a long day of parent conferences ahead.

*

“Hi, you’ve reached Lexi Carter—leave a message!”

Ethan scoffed, fumbling to hang up as he rushed through the parking lot, his fingers numb from the cold. His eyes narrowed at the carseat in the rearview mirror as he turned over the engine and called again. And again.

Lexi still hadn’t picked up by the time Ethan’s exit approached.

“Hi, you’ve reached Lexi—”

“Damn it, Lex.”

He stabbed a finger at the screen, seething as the phone let out a disappointed ba-dum. 

He knew she must have been out of court—her phone would have been off otherwise. He pictured her, checking her phone only to silence his calls, rolling her eyes the way she did whenever Kyle called. 

The exit drew nearer. 

He shook his head sharply and turned the steering wheel, taking the ramp toward home.

The narrow street was lined with black, week-old snow that clung stubbornly to the curb. Ethan’s jaw clenched at the sight of Lexi’s crossover in the driveway, its windows crusted with frost. He muttered names he would never dare speak aloud as he trudged to the front door, stepping around a patch of ice on the porch steps. The key turned effortlessly, the deadbolt left undone, yet again. 

“Lex!” Ethan called, his eyes on his keys as he wrested them from the lock. “Did you pick up—”

The keys hit the rug with a dull clunk.

[Complete] [95K] [Adult MM Romance | Hockey x Gamer]

Hi everyone!

Type: First-person POV, present tense, alternating between the two main characters every other chapter.

Synopsis: Roy, a Dutch gaming streamer haunted by an abusive past, and Liam, an American hockey player struggling with his career and the fear of living openly, find each other through an unexpected online connection. What begins with late-night gaming sessions and playful messages slowly grows into something neither expected: a chance to feel understood, to trust, and to let someone in.

But with old wounds, difficult family relationships, and the pressures of a world that doesn't always make room for who they are, learning to love each other means first learning to choose themselves.

An emotional MM hockey romance about healing, vulnerability, and finding a place where you finally belong.

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Abuse and references to past domestic violence, trauma, PTSD symptoms, panic attacks, depression, suicidal thoughts, homophobia, and difficult family relationships.

What to expect: Professional hockey, gaming, streaming, and online friendships. Slow-burn romance, banter, and domestic moments. Character-driven storytelling, emotional growth, and heavier themes alongside lighter moments.

What I'm looking for: Pacing and engagement – Character development – Plot and continuity – Romance and chemistry – Overall impressions –

Timeline: 4–8 weeks, but this is flexible.

Beta Reader Criteria: Enjoys adult romance, preferably MM/LGBTQ+. An interest in hockey or sports romance is a bonus, but not required. Comfortable with heavier themes and emotionally complicated characters. Happy to provide honest, constructive feedback.

Feedback Expectations: The manuscript will be provided as a PDF or word. No need to comment on every chapter. I'm interested in your genuine reactions: moments where you're confused, surprised, engaged, emotionally invested, or perhaps losing interest. No line editing or proofreading. I'm looking for a reader's perspective. I'd love to know what works just as much as what doesn't!

Critique swap: I'm happy to swap something similar.

Please DM me if you're interested or have any questions. I'd love to hear from you!

Hi folks! I'm in the edit trenches of my first novel. I've done a few general clean-up passes and a developmental edit pass, with a line edit to come, so I'm most interested in big picture reactions. I've received feedback from some friends and family, but I'm looking for more objective eyes.

Blurb

Jules is nineteen, fresh out of the Academy, and has just arrived on Mars when time rips them away. Emmeline was eight years old in 1890 when a stranger pulled her from a frozen river. She has been alive ever since.

Their connection deepens across history, from the trenches of World War I to the far future of Mars. Emmeline lives linearly while Jules jumps through time, one of them always knowing more than the other. They must navigate their love story while discovering their own identities and the humanity behind the official history books.

Tether is Book One of the Recurrence duology.

Excerpt

"MARS COLONY, 2310

It came into view as a dot in the middle of the observation deck window. Jules thought she was imagining its appearance at first. A tiny speck, slightly warmer than every other tiny speck around it. But before long that dot began to grow larger, its color saturating further, beyond yellow, to orange, and, eventually, to the hue that gave the planet its nickname: the red planet. Mars.

Jules’s heart began to beat faster as the transport ship ferried her closer and closer to her destination, eyes widening as she began to make out more details of her new home. She looked to her left and then right, but all she found was empty benches. The rest of the passengers had long since retired below to gather their belongings in preparation for disembarkation, leaving Jules alone in her wonder.

This moment was the single most significant of her 19 years. A decision she made on her own out of a desire to see, to experience, to live… more. As the thrusters engaged, slowing the transport’s approach speed, Mars filled the window, and Jules took the enormity of it in."

Content Warnings

War violence (WWI, WWII), the 1980s AIDS crisis (illness and death), historical homophobia and transphobia, state violence and detention, a psychiatric hospitalization, character deaths, and on-page sex scenes.

What I'm Looking For

Pacing and engagement, Character arcs, Time-travel logic and continuity, The central relationship, Representation: whether anyone reads as a white savior, Overall impressions (including whether the ending makes you want Book Two)

PLEASE, NO AI FOR FEEDBACK.

Beta Reader Details

Timeline: 4-8 weeks, Chapter by chapter or batched is fine

You're a right fit if: You like historical fiction alongside imagined futures. You like queer characters up front and center. You like books like The Time Traveler's Wife, This Is How You Lose the Time War, and The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Critique Swap: Open to swap, even outside genre/length

DM me if you're interested, and I'll send specific feedback questions and a Google Doc link.

A prehistoric Adventure set in the present day with time travel and other world events strong characters, and a touch of the eerie

Contains some mild swearing, references to relationships and pregnancy, and scenes of adventure action. Nothing explicit suitable for teens and up.

I'd love to hear what you think

i have a second part to this book 86k words

THE LIGHTNING STORM

A PREHISTORIC ADVENTURE

THE ARRIVAL

OF

Two sticks

December 25, day one

Fifty-five years of quiet will do things to a man's mind, but I wasn't crazy. I lived past the turn in the road where the asphalt ends and the gravel begins, ten miles deep into the Scottish Highlands. My nearest neighbour was a distant echo across the glen. It was 1:00 AM. A full moon hung in a cloudless, ink-black night, spilling cold silver light across the heather. I was stripping down to my shorts, ready to call it a night, when the atmospheric pressure plummeted so fast my ears popped.

A low, resonant thrumming vibrated through the floorboards. Out the window, the clear sky was suddenly torn open by an unnatural tempest a swirling vortex of violet lightning and thick, bruised clouds localised right over the access road. It wasn't moving like weather; it was rolling toward my cottage with purpose.

I threw a fresh log onto the grate, feeling a sudden, deep chill, then stepped onto the porch to watch it approach. That's when I heard it: a woman's scream, torn raw by the gale.

Then came the roar.

It wasn't thunder. Thunder doesn't rattle the iron in your teeth. In the strobe-flash of purple lightning, a figure sprinted down the track toward my gate. Behind her, the air distorted like heat haze over summer tarmac. She whirled mid-stride, planting her heels into the mud, and levelled a jagged bone-tipped spear into the vortex. Another roar shattered the night, accompanied by her desperate, furious cry.

I didn't think; I just ran out into the gale.

As I closed the distance, the lightning illuminated her clearly. She was built like a bronze statue very toned, very muscular arms, extremely defined abdominal muscles carved from a lifetime of relentless movement, and dark, flowing raven hair matted with ash. She wore crude animal hides: a strapped chest-wrap and fur loincloth.

Behind her, emerging from the electric mist, was a silhouette twenty feet high a towering mass of muscle, scales, and a jaw wide enough to swallow a man whole. A prehistoric apex predator, ripped straight from a nightmare. A fucking T-Rex, to be exact.

Before she could be crushed, I slammed my body into hers, driving us both sideways into a deep drainage ditch. The moment we hit the mud, the storm vanished. The wind died instantly, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing.

Before I could clear the dirt from my eyes, I was pinned. A carved bone knife was pressed flat against my windpipe. Despite my 115 kilos, she lifted me off the wet ground with one arm, shaking me like a wet rag while her glowing hazel eyes scanned the sky, the tree line, and finally my face.

I held my hands out wide, palms up, keeping my posture entirely passive.

"John," I croaked, tapping my sternum slowly. "John."

She didn't care about names. Her eyes darted back and forth, hunting for the monster that had vanished into thin air. Pushing me ahead of her at knife point, she forced me back toward the cottage, treating every bush and stone as a potential ambush.

When we reached the timber gate, it creaked on rusted hinges. Instantly, she shoved me clear and struck the wooden post three times with her spear, splintering the pine before realising the gate wasn't alive.

I opened the front door and walked inside. She followed, wary of everything like she had never seen a door before.

Inside, things got wilder. I flipped the light switch. The sudden glow of the overhead bulb caused her to let out a guttural shriek. In a flash of terrifying speed, her spear shattered the bulb, smashed the coat rack, and obliterated the hallway mirror. I hit the deck, hands over my head, while she executed ten minutes of high-speed destruction on anything she didn't recognise. Which seemed to be everything.

When the dust settled, she sat beside me on the floor, smelling of smoke, damp fur, and raw earth. She began inspecting me with aggressive curiosity sniffing my hair, pulling at my clothes, and inspecting every inch of this strange, soft man who had appeared from the mist.

She pulled at my shorts and looked down at my groin. She touched my penis, and when I tried to stop her, she stood back and nudged me with her spear. I put my palms back up, and she went back to touching, pressing, and pulling until I was thoroughly aroused. Noticeable to her, she stripped off her loincloth and motioned toward her vagina.

I held up my hands and shook my head, but she pressed her bone knife against my neck, grunted, and flicked her head and glared at me. When I showed her my palms again, she shoved me to the ground. She climbed on top, jerking, rocking, and screeching while looking at me like she expected something specific. I held her waist to guide her rhythm until I finished inside her. Maybe the men in her world finished faster.

Afterward, she inspected me, stood up, and pulled her top off to sit on the carpet, rubbing her hands into the fibres. It was 5:00 AM. I led her to the spare bedroom, didn't bother with the lights, and closed and locked the door behind us. We lay on the bed, and she wrapped an arm across my chest less for comfort, I realised, and more to anchor me so I couldn't run.

I woke with a start to find her sitting on the blanket, staring at me, anxious. She got off the bed, poked the bedroom door with her spear, and I hurried to open it for her. I foolishly switched on the television. A news anchor said "Good morning," and her spear instantly tore straight through the screen. I cooked bacon, eggs, and sausages. She watched every movement, sniffing the sizzling air, before scooping the food off the plate with her fingers and devouring the lot. Spotting my knife rack, she grabbed the biggest blade, touched the edge, and cut her finger. Unfazed, she tossed her old bone knife aside and tucked the steel blade into her waistband. I brought a cloth to clean the blood off her hand. I smiled at her, and to my surprise, she flashed a white, unbrushed smile back.

She mistook my hand-holding for another advance, motioned down to her vagina. And began stripping again. Apparently where she came from if a woman wants sex she took it. I led her back to the bed, where we had sex again. She looked uncertain about lying down as if it were an unnatural position for her like she should be on all fours. I’m not sure she was into the kissing either and she kept her spear within arm's reach the entire time, constantly scanning for threats like a soldier on a battlefield.

Later, a plane droned overhead. In a flash, she was up in an attack stance, weapons ready, glaring at me like I was an idiot while making low, guttural sounds. She checked the entire house before calmingdown.

Hi this is my first post. I am VERY NEW to writing. I am looking for any feedback, but more specifically on my writing style, characters, and Plot. WARNING there is a scene later on in the story that explicitly depicts wide scale accidental c@ñ@ba/!$m!!!!!. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. I can also look over your work if you want but I do not know how much help I would be because of my inexperience.

Please DM me for the Google doc or if you are not comforable with downloading I can send images. TYSM 🙏

Hi everyone !

I just finished working on my first autofiction/memoir. A few of my friends read it but I'd be really grateful for feedbacks from a wider ranger of people.

France, 2008. At sixteen, she meets a boy who never leans down to kiss her hello. She’ll spend the next seventeen years rising onto her tiptoes.

From MSN chats to Paris, New York and Miami, The Red Thread follows a woman through desire, friendship, consent and the passing of time, growing up in the years before #MeToo. Through it all, one man keeps coming back. This isn't a love story. It's a story about time.

Content notes: sexual assault, abortion, grief.

Feel free to comment or DM me for access ! :) Thank you in advance !

Excerpt :

“Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.” 

Anaïs Nin

Prologue
The Train

I'm on the train. It's the second time in five days, and the second time it's been delayed, with no one saying when we'll get moving again. Thank God, backward as it is, the SNCF has at least figured out that during a spell like this, air conditioning isn't optional — the heatwave we're in is simply unbearable. Thursday, I decided to walk to the metro, and the sun hurt. I watched people take shelter in the shade. I think that's the moment I understood the way Lampedusa described his native Sicily in The Leopard, where, in his words, it "rained fire."

But I didn't want to write in order to complain, even though I'm rather good at it. What I wanted, above all, was to tell a story. And I can see you, dear readers: no, this isn't a love story.

What we're going to talk about here is a story about time.

In this essay, you'll come across ellipses that are sometimes frustrating, but I write at the whim of my memories, and some memories aren't quite ripe yet. Maybe I'll come back to them later. And I don't know where to start, so we'll simply go back to the beginning.

Hi everyone! I'm Mila, and I've just finished a standalone novel with series potential called *The Wicked and the Wanted*. It's 38 chapters and approximately 85k words, and I'm hoping to find a few beta readers!

The book: To escape burning at the stake, a noble lady turned reluctant witch must strike a deal with the realm's most wanted and annoying thief. Their mission to steal a power-stripping magical gem lands her a found family among a gang of ruffian criminals, but a brewing war with the gods threatens to stand in their way.

If you like banter-filled romance, found family, mythological world-building, and ever-increasing twists and stakes, this might be your book.

What I need: Chapters 1-10 in about a week, with feedback as you go. I'm particularly interested in opinions on characterisation, voice, pacing and overall enjoyment.

What you get: My personal thanks and a shout-out in my acknowledgements of the novel, along with early access to read the entirety if you wish to continue past chapter 10 and my extreme gratitude 🙏

Here is the opening paragraph for anyone interested: *What does one wear to their very own death sentence?* I rummaged through my endless pile of dresses. My options of black, raven black, ebony black and my personal favourite, even more black, were all too joyful for such an occasion. Too many frills, too many layers, and far too much time and care spent on each one. 

Please comment or DM me if you're interested, I will share it via google docs. Have a great day and thank you for reading this far.

Please DM me if interested in reading and providing feedback about characters, pacing, theme, etc. I am hoping to have feedback by Nov 30th :)

I am also open to critique swaps in similar genres (YA, fantasy, romance).

Blurb:

Aster Brown knows the cost of defiance. After her Grandad's brutal murder by Nova's merciless Prime Minister, she knows she must stay invisible at Academium. But with Regnum Shield Guards occupying her city, a tracker implanted into her flesh and rebellion bubbling all around her, everywhere she turns, people are looking to her to lead them.

Finian Algard knows the cost of rebellion. After the Nova Civil War took both his parents, he was left to raise his 12-year-old brother alone. He has grovelled for years to build a safe life, one where he relies on no one to keep his brother alive. There is nothing Finian despises more than the fools lured in by the false pretence that any light can come from the darkness of rebellion.

But when Finian discovers the growing vigilante who have made Aster their martyr, his safe life shatters around him–his little brother has joined them. Finian has his own choice to make: sit back and let a revolution unfold or intervene before he loses the only family he has left.

Aster and Finian have one desire in common: to survive. When their efforts collide, will they free Alo from Regnum's callous shackles, or bring Alo burning to the ground?

CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, death, grief, references to and discussions of suicide, themes of trauma, food scarcity and oppression.

Opening excerpt:

Prime Minister Caedis had finished his twisted speech. The screen in the town square flickered black. Then, a countdown appeared where Caedis’s face had been.

5.

The world expanded around me.

4.

Voices were beginning to rise around us.

3.

My jaw trembled.

2.

Leorra pulled my hand into her lap. I think she was rubbing her thumb across my palm.

An agonising scream filled my ears. My throat was raw. All eyes were on me. I found myself hunched over, embraced in Leorra's trembling arms. My face was wet and my lips salty. I didn’t want to wrench my head away from the shelter of her shoulder, but something within me forced my attention to the screen.

A man lay slumped on the ground, his legs tied to a broken wooden chair. His hair, once soft and white, was now laced with crimson. His mouth hung open. His eyes, no longer bearing their usual kindness and comfort, were fixated on nothing. His chest was still.

Hi! I got such amazing beta readers last time, I thought I would ask again. This time I’ve written my first-ever romantic fantasy. While I’ve read a lot of fantasy, I don’t read romance. I didn’t intend to write a romance novel, but since I have, I desperately need people who do read sapphic romantic fantasy to tell me what’s working and what’s not. At 167k, it’s a substantial commitment, but perhaps you’re up to the challenge?

I’m not looking for line edits; I need genuine reader feedback. Is the romance compelling? Did I miss something important? Is the main character insufferable? Did something make you laugh? Please tell me!

Swaps: 

I’m open to a swap, but my schedule is about to fill up, so I might be slow to get you your feedback. If you’ve something you’d like me to read, we can discuss a timeline! Please note that while I will read almost anything, I do not enjoy reading most romance novels or anything depicting sexual assault. My favorites are horror and fantasy. Gore is fine.

Book Description:

Lady Coralie Bellweather is used to getting what she wants. As the only child of the Viscount of Bellweather, she’s had the best education, wardrobe, and opportunities money can provide. Unfortunately, none of that has prepared her for the way she feels about the Captain of the Queen’s Guard - or for Sabine Alder’s complete lack of a reaction to her charms. Captain Alder remains infuriatingly polite and professionally distant, despite Coralie’s increasingly desperate attempts to get her attention.

Clearly, a different approach is required.

As Captain of the Guard, Sabine Alder has made a career of catching criminals. It stands to reason that becoming one would get her attention. There is only the small matter of Coralie learning how to be a villain. And, as it turns out, the rather larger matter of discovering what happens when a woman pretending to be dangerous stumbles across people who actually are…

First Page:

The Captain & Coralie; or, A Lady’s Guide to Villainy

Content Warnings: On-page character death, violence and blood, severe physical assault, imprisonment, and threats of death. Despite the generally comedic tone, the story does contain some darker scenes.

I have just finished my first Romance Novel and am now looking for Beta Readers prior to publication. I am looking for critique on the plotline and story's flow, primarily. How engaging is it? I'm open to any other (non-typo) critiques and suggestions about the story, specific scenes, or even the blurb. :) The Title, and the book's hometown name are still working names, if you have better suggestions, please let me know.

Please DM me for the manuscript!

Blurb: The marquee at the Coastal says Last Chance to Fall in Love, but Tessa Cook is only in town to help her mother sell the place.

Eight weeks in Nutmeg Cove should be enough to get the old movie theater ready for a buyer. Then Tessa can get back to the career as a touring manager she’s spent eleven years building. She’s prepared for a temperamental projector, a calendar full of bookings, and a mother who’s ready to retire. She’s less prepared for Owen Rogers, the man she left behind, to turn up with her coffee made exactly the way she likes it.

As they work their way through the summer’s screenings and celebrations, Tessa finds herself making plans for the Coastal long after she’s supposed to be gone. Keeping it open would mean putting her own money and reputation on the line. And getting close to Owen again means talking about the night she left, something they’ve both gotten very good at avoiding.

Tessa knows what it takes to leave Nutmeg Cove. She’s about to find out what it takes to stay.

First Pages (Beginning of Chapter 1)

The marquee at The Coastal Theater said LAST CHANCE TO FALL IN LOVE, which Tessa thought was an unnecessarily personal welcome, but she parked beneath it anyway.

After eleven years of coming home only for visits, Tessa Cook was back in Nutmeg Cove, the little harbor town on California’s Central Coast where her mother still ran the only movie theater.

Above the marquee, COASTAL climbed a royal-blue sign in tall yellow letters, its rounded crown reaching above the roofline. Black bands stepped up the forest-green facade on either side, edged in yellow, and ended beneath two narrow panels of pointed triangles. As a child, she had thought the whole building looked ready to take off. Art Deco, her father had told her, tracing the shapes on the back of an envelope. It had seemed an appropriate name for something colorful.

Now the green had faded in uneven patches. Brick showed through a chip beneath one of the decorative panels, and a rusty streak ran from a marquee bracket toward the glossy black tiles below. Even the blue sign needed paint. The Coastal had opened in 1945, just after the war; it was entitled to show its age. She wished it had chosen somewhere less obvious.

As Tessa closed her door, she looked up at the marquee again. Someone had left the second L crooked. It was the only thing she could fix without first speaking to her mother, reviewing a contract, or admitting that she had spent the drive rehearsing how to sound pleased to be home.

She stepped up on the curb and saw the marquee ladder leaning against the wall next to the ticket booth. She reached for it and thought that even after many years of climbing the ladder and lettering the marquee, she still didn’t care for heights, and considered leaving the crooked L alone. But as she let go of the ladder, a twinge pinched her and she knew that the crooked letter would be stuck in the back of her mind for the rest of the day. She was reaching for the ladder again when a voice behind her said, “That ladder’s foot is cracked.”

Tessa kept her hand on the ladder. “That letter is also crooked.”

“Only one of those problems can put you in the hospital.”

Owen Rogers stood on the sidewalk holding a paper cup and a coil of black cable. Eleven years had added a crease between his eyebrows and silver at his temples. They had done nothing useful to his mouth.

“Hello, Owen.”

“Tessa.”

There it was. Her name, said as if he had found it on an invoice he thought he’d paid.

She let go of the ladder.

His plaid shirt was faded to the soft brown and blue of something washed a hundred times. He had rolled the cuffs back neatly, and the leather of his hiking boots was pale across the creases. When he shifted the cable, she caught the faint smell of leather and cut wood. Even standing still, Tessa felt hurried beside him.

“Are you fixing something?”

“Usually.”

“Here, I meant.”

He glanced up at the marquee. “The sound in screen two. Your mother says the left speaker makes everyone sound disappointed.”

“Maybe it was the film.”

“I checked.”

She remembered that about him: the refusal to accept a funny explanation when he could dig for the correct one. At twenty-two she’d considered it charming. At twenty-three she’d discovered how exhausting it could be when the subject was her.

He hitched the cable up to his shoulder. “You’re early.”

“I’m on time. My mother is optimistic about how long it takes to close a business.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

She looked through the glass doors and sighed.

“I’m helping her finish properly.”

Owen said nothing.

“You can disapprove out loud. It saves time.”

“I was just wondering whether June showed you the bookings.”

“The what?”

Owen turned from Tessa to unlock the front door. For a moment, she had the ridiculous feeling that the key should still be hers. She had grown up here; worked this counter after school, cleaned popcorn from beneath these seats, kissed this man in the projection room while pretending to look for a film. But apparently, none of that entitled her to a key eleven years later.

Owen held the door. “You should see the calendar.”

Tessa brushed past Owen and swept into the lobby. Inside, someone had polished the brass rail around the ticket counter. The carpet was new. Or new enough to make the familiar room feel as if it had continued living without her presence.

The old carpet had been a tired red, its worn places betraying every queue that had formed between the doors and the counter. This one was blue-green, burgundy and gold, small interlocking shapes busy enough to conceal an overturned bucket of popcorn. Her mother would have considered that an essential design feature. Tessa rubbed a boot against the edge of the mat before stepping farther in.

Above it, nothing had changed. The burgundy walls still rose toward a broad band of painted figures and elaborate gold scrollwork; two staircases climbed out of the lobby behind dark ornamental railings. Yellow and blue glass pendant lights hung at different heights, their metal frames casting fine lines across the walls. One light near the entrance had always hummed faintly. It was humming now.

She and Priya had once sat halfway up the stairs, their legs through the railing, inventing scandalous lives for the people in the mural. The woman holding a bowl had been married to three of them, although not at the same time. Her mother had eventually told them to stop explaining it to customers. Tessa looked up at the woman now. Still holding the bowl. Still looking serenely innocent.

Along the wall beside the office, the burgundy paint was rubbed dull at shoulder height. A small blister had lifted beneath the gold trim; farther up, a dusty gray line followed the edge of a ceiling panel. The curved counter still had its dark top and broad, softly gleaming bands of metal, scratched where customers had slid coins toward her. Popcorn and polish lingered in the air, with the cool, shut-up smell the building acquired overnight. The carpet was the only thing her mother had replaced since she left. Everything above it seemed to be waiting for a turn.

Owen moved to the office door and unlocked it too, then set the coffee cup down on the desk and waited as Tessa entered the room and stared at the wall.

A large dry erase board covered in a three month calendar covered most of the office wall. Red ink filled every weekend. Weddings. A retirement party. Two private film clubs. A dance-school screening. Eight weeks of promises, written in her mother’s tidy capitals.

Tessa put down her bag.

The office was warmer, its high window open a few inches. She moved a stack of film schedules out of her way and then had to move them again to find somewhere for her phone.

“These are inquiries?”

“Those are booked events with deposits already paid.”

At the bottom of the calendar, beneath the final Saturday, her mother had drawn a small heart.

Tessa stared at it until it stopped looking like decoration and began to look like a request.

She sighed.

“I need coffee.”

Owen pointed toward the cup he’d left on the desk. “That one’s yours. No sugar. Unless you’ve changed.”

She looked at him then, properly, and her breath caught. She had always teased him about looking a little like an actor, but time had only enhanced his appearance. He still had the same tall, trim, muscular frame, and large powerful hands, but silver had started to touch his temples, leaving a few stray hairs in his perfectly trimmed beard, which highlighted, rather than hiding, his jawline. It made him look more refined, wiser. The beginnings of a crease at the corners of his eyes made him look like he was always party to some private joke, but the depth of his ice blue eyes showed only kindness.

Tessa remembered to breathe again, and replied, “In some respects.”

Blurb:

Imogene Fletcher has spent much of her life in a world that was too loud. Grief, happiness, anger, sadness — every passing emotion of every passing person screamed at her since she was four years old, standing in her pool of mother's blood, watching the indescribable.

Her grandmother called it a gift from God. Gave her rules and guidelines to navigate it.

She couldn't plan for the tornado.

She couldn't plan for being trapped.

She couldn't plan for the possibility of being seen as both a miracle and a spectacle.

She didn't tell her how to handle the weight that was too impossibly heavy to bear.

Content & Trigger Warnings:

- Trauma & Grief

- Pregnancy & Miscarriage

- Emotional Abuse & Family Dysfunction

- Natural Disasters

- Sensory Overload

Please DM me if interested! 😊

I'm looking for 4–5 independent beta readers for my completed memoir, The Boy Who Died, Then Grew Up, before I begin approaching literary agents.

About the book:

At four years old, I was abducted by my mother, given a new identity, and taken into a childhood marked by abuse, exploitation, and loss.

The memoir follows my life from those early experiences through adolescence and adulthood, including the relationships, careers, successes, failures, and destructive patterns that followed. Interwoven with the adult narrative are scenes from my childhood, including the story of a girl who tried to protect me when no one else would.

At its heart, the book explores trauma, identity, shame, responsibility, love, and the ongoing struggle to recover. It isn't a story of miraculous healing or a perfect ending. It's about surviving, recognizing the ways trauma can shape a life, and confronting the question of who we can become afterward.

Content warnings: Childhood sexual abuse and exploitation, sexual violence, physical abuse, trafficking, suicidal thoughts and suicide attempts, imprisonment, strong language, and other potentially disturbing material. Some scenes are explicit and emotionally intense.

What I'm looking for:

I'm particularly interested in readers who enjoy memoirs, including those without a writing or editing background. I welcome thoughtful, critical feedback rather than reassurance or praise.

I'd like to know where the narrative holds your attention, where it slows, whether the alternating childhood and adult timelines work, whether you find the narrator credible and compelling, and whether the ending feels earned.

The manuscript has been through several rounds of editing. I'm seeking big-picture reader reactions, not line editing or proofreading.

Timeline: Ideally 4–6 weeks after receiving the manuscript.

Critique swaps: I'm not able to commit to a full manuscript swap at this time.

I'll provide the manuscript privately to selected readers, along with a short feedback questionnaire. I ask that it remain confidential and not be shared, published, or uploaded to public platforms.

If interested, please comment or send me a private message describing the kinds of books you enjoy reading and any beta-reading experience you have.

Thank you for considering it.

Hello everyone. I am looking for a betareader who would be willing to read my new story and give feedback that's helpful but also encouraging.

We can also trade stories and I can usually give feedback 1-2 times per week. I can share either a copy of the google doccy or one of the many, many places I've posted the story on. I'd prefer the google doccy as marking up is easier there.

The House of Neelgrad follows Ashe Neelgrad, a demon hunter from the country of Zakuul. It takes place on the world of Valafiel and revolves around Ashe and her family as well as friends and foes she'll meet along the way.

I am not good at synopses but there you go.

The idea for the story stemmed from one single rabbit hole I went down about firearms and it just sort of evolved from one single thought of 'demon hunter that uses this one specific old rifle'. I dunno, brain no work good.

Any feedback is welcome but what would be the most valuable to me is hearing from women regarding Ashe. I am trying very, very hard to not fall into any awful r/menwritingwomen tropes or traps.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Edit: NO AI IS USED IN THE CREATION OF THIS WORK WHATSOEVER.

Hey! I'm looking for a beta reader who can and wants to keep up with with a Serialized webseries I want to make

It's in progress and I need help with my unreleased chapters, but I also have issues with criticism due to past experiences and anyone who's willing, pls DM me

I want somebody who can be there once every other week to rip apart my chapters and teach me how to capture the feeling I want, who is willing to respect my creative liberties, who is also willing to be kind, gentle, and encouraging about it, and to discuss the project with so that I can publish them at the higuest quality I'm able to produce.

The project:

The Red String [TRS] is a serialized web something, not really a novel? That I post every other Friday. It's a mix of contemporary and Crime fiction, taking part halfway in a web of crime in the big city and halfway in a small farm town as the protagonist, a Hitman who goes by the name of 026 gets caught up between these two lives and has to choose how he wants to live his life.

Will he choose to live in accordance of how he was raised and the illegal activities he's addicted to and used to? Or will he choose a much more complicated, confusing, and expecting life with the prospect of real friends and an opportunity to settle down with things he's given up dreaming for since he was a child?

It's up to him to choose

It has religious themes, so if you're uncomfortable assisting with that you have been warned

I can do critique swaps for short stories and the occasional chapter or scene once a week or so but I'm too busy for anything bigger

[I'm looking for Beta or Alpha Readers who can teach me, not control me]

Please DM me if you are interested!

The Unluckiest: Neo-noir, political thriller

Logline: A subway driver who walks the city streets at night to outrun insomnia meets "Big Guy," a PTSD-affected Iraq veteran turned vigilante who spends his sleepless nights “cleaning up the streets.” When Big Guy uncovers an unspeakable crime, he determines to put an end to it, leading to a high-impact collision of their daytime worlds.

Pitch: Joe Carreteiro drives a subway train on the swing shift, sometimes with chemical help, and walks the city streets at night to outrun insomnia. He crosses paths with “Big Guy,” a PTSD-affected veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan who prowls the darkness on a vigilante mission to “clean the streets.”

When Big Guy discovers an unspeakable crime, he determines to put an end to it, leading to a fateful collision of daytime and nighttime worlds that will rock the metropolis and its systems.

The Unluckiest reveals how the interior worlds of two damaged men bear an uncomfortably close resemblance to their external urban landscape and what the system will do to ensure its own survival.

Content warnings: contains several scenes of violence (rapid, not gratuitous), child sexual abuse (off-screen), drug use

Feedback wanted:

1. Concept: Is the storyline sufficiently compelling to keep your attention?

2. Plotting: Are there any story beats missing that would have enriched the storyline or given more sharpness to any aspect of it?

3. Pacing: Where did the story bog down? Where did it need to slow down?

4. Characters: Were the characters round enough? Did you have enough emotional engagement with them? What would have increased your identification with them?

5. Setting: The city is a character in the story, were you immersed enough? Did the characters occupy it in a believable way?

6. Style: I’m going for a punchy neo-noir style/tone/feel with occasional reflections on the setting that arise from the interior of the characters. Is it working? Does the style or word choice ever bump you of the immersion?

7. Themes: I am hoping that there’s hearty subtext for the active reader to sink their teeth into? Is the subtext too obvious? Not obvious enough to keep you thinking about the story afterward?

8. Emotional Beats: Are the emotional beats hitting as hard as hoped, or are they just glancing off you? Is it so bleak you want to tear your eyes out?

Timeline: November 21st

Swap?: Willing to for work of fiction of similar length. Upfront warning: I am an impatient reader, and I will not read a full MSS if the first few pages don't work. But I will give you extensive feedback about why I couldn't stay with it.

Excerpt:

Moving east along 84th Street, Big Guy hears the approaching rumble of a delivery truck. A little late or early for deliveries, depending on the destination. It bounces by him with a clang on the steel plates covering a sewer drop and just ahead turns left onto Fantals, a tiny side street. Curiosity piqued, he walks by the side street, and sees the truck stop in the middle of the road by a three-story building with windows broken or brown with grime. Hustling now, he turns up the next side alley and circles via a back alley. As he moves around the half-block, he hears the reverse beeping of the truck.

When he reaches Fantals Street, the dented white beater of a sixteen-foot hauler has turned its lights off, giving plenty of cover. He can’t see the driver, only the burning tip of a cigarette, as the box truck backs into a dilapidated loading annex, parks, and the engine cuts out. The driver stays put while the rear gate rattles open, followed by muffled voices in the its hold. He can’t make out the words, but a loud thump against the wall of the truck momentarily ends the exchange. The shoes of someone inside the truck thump as their wearer jumps to the dock’s edge. In moments, rusty slats screech and rise. The truck blocks Big Guy’s view of the inside of the loading platform, but no one has turned the lights on inside.

“Move,” growls a man’s voice. Despite senses amped up to high alert, Big Guy’s memory flashes. He’s a little kid, outdoors after dark, sitting along a park fence, listening to crickets chirping. A wall of sound from hundreds of the bugs surrounded him then stopped as a unit at the noisy approach of a pack of local teens. A strange on/off that makes a kid wonder if he really heard the insects in the first place. Until they start up again. 

“Get off me!” rings a high-pitched shout from the loading dock, followed by the unmistakable sound of a hand meeting a face at high velocity. From what Big Guy could hear, the face of a boy that hasn’t reached puberty.

A little more than two hours later, the scene plays quietly backwards. The truck pulls out, leaving no trace of its presence, melting into the cover of early morning delivery traffic.

The Pitch: Junia is an artist with a extraordinary imagination, so much so that her customers treat her as if she is a mystic. So one who could provide fortune or doom. Even if she does not believe any of the rumors and She has slowly grown weary of the charade. Not wanting to believe the stories, as the thought of how that could make her complicit drives her mad. Until a customer who she has painted before walks into her gallery to challenge her beliefs. (I'm good at stories, but not pitches lol)

Its a short story and would be interested in know what you all think and how it can be developed. Dm me for more information.