Real Life Diagnostics: Does This Inspirational Romance Opening Work?

Critique By Janice Hardy, @Janice_Hardy

Real Life Diagnostics is a weekly column that studies a snippet of a work in progress for specific issues. Readers are encouraged to send in work with questions, and I diagnose it on the site. It’s part critique, part example, and designed to help the submitter as well as anyone else having a similar problem.

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Submissions currently in the queue: Three

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This week’s question:

Does this partial scene opening work?

Market/Genre: Inspirational Romance

On to the diagnosis…

Original text:

Connie Pappas stepped out of Chicago’s August heat and entered her father’s restaurant through the back door, when a feeling of unease gnawed at her. The dim light and the vacant, black-cushioned chair where he sat at this time of day concerned her. Since his heart attack he worked on the books here daily without fail.

Still, she could smell the roast leg of lamb baking so the restaurant wasn’t closed, but the dining room lights weren’t on. How unusual, this close to opening The Greek Key for dinner.

With a rush of adrenaline, Connie whizzed through the swinging doors into the main dining room and switched on the lights. There near the corner table her father sat in a wooden chair, head in hands with his elbows pressed down on the blue and white tablecloth.

She hurried toward him. “Dad. Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

He lifted his head and stared straight ahead with a distant gaze. “He’s dead.”

Her pulse rose. “What?” Connie’s voice rose to a feverish pitch. “Who?” She slid into the chair next to him and squeezed his hand.

“Angelos,” he replied in a fractured voice. “Had a stroke working in the garden.”

Connie’s eyes misted over and she hugged him. “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry. Such a special man to you most of all, and so many of us.”

Grief for the sweet, gentle man she remembered in Greece, as well as for her father poured over her.

“He’s the last connection from my childhood there. The funeral’s coming up and the house and day shelter need attending, too, since they’re in my name. I called the doctor, but he recommends for me to stay home.” He opened his palms toward her. “How can I not go?”

My Thoughts in Purple:

Connie Pappas stepped out of Chicago’s August heat and entered her father’s restaurant through the back door, [when a feeling of unease gnawed at her. The dim light and the vacant, black-cushioned chair where he sat at this time of day concerned her.] feels a little tellish, but this is a good spot to add more internalization Since his heart attack he worked on the books here daily without fail.

Still, she could smell the roast leg of lamb baking so the restaurant wasn’t closed, but the dining room lights weren’t on. How unusual, this close to opening The Greek Key for dinner.

[With a rush of adrenaline,] perhaps show an internal thought here, or touch a little more on how she’s feeling to help raise tensions? Connie whizzed through the swinging doors into the main dining room and switched on the lights. There near the corner table her father sat in a wooden chair, head in hands with his elbows pressed down on the blue and white tablecloth.

She hurried toward him. “Dad. Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

He lifted his head and stared straight ahead with a distant gaze. “He’s dead.”

Her pulse rose. “What?” Connie’s [voice rose] both her pulse and her voice rose, so perhaps rephrase one to avoid the repeated word to a feverish pitch. “Who?” She slid into the chair next to him and squeezed his hand.

“Angelos,” he replied in a fractured voice. “Had a stroke working in the garden.”

Connie’s eyes misted over and she hugged him. “Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry. Such a special man to you most of all, and so many of us.”

Grief for the sweet, gentle man she remembered in Greece, as well as for her father poured over her.

“He’s the last connection from my childhood there. The funeral’s coming up and the house and day shelter need attending, too, since they’re in my name. I called the doctor, but he recommends for me to stay home.” He opened his palms toward her. “How can I not go?”

The question:

1. Does this partial scene opening work?

Almost (readers chime in here). I like the setup, there’s clearly a problem and some worry to draw readers in, and the conflict will probably come from Dad wanting to go to the funeral. All the right pieces are here. But I’m not yet connecting to Connie so I’m not feeling her fear or concern about her father or the one who died. I just don’t know these people well enough to be concerned about them. This is a great example of a book where the cover copy would likely make a big difference in how this opening page is viewed. If I knew more about the overall story, I’d probably have a different opinion here.

I’d suggest adding a little more to show Connie’s personality. A line or two of internal thought might be all you need—just something to help me connect with her as a person. I can see that this death upsets them, but as a reader I wonder why I should care. There’s not enough overall context for me yet to invest in these characters and want to root for them.

Overall, it’s well done and I wouldn’t be surprised if many commenters like this as is (this is all very subjective, so it could just be me). It has everything a good opening should, it’s just not grabbing me quite yet. But I don’t think it would take much at all to fix.

Thanks to our brave volunteer for submitting this for me to play with. I hope they–and others–find it helpful. I don’t do a full critique on these, (just as it pertains to the questions) and I encourage you to comment and make suggestions of your own. Just remember that these pieces are works in progress (many by new writers), not polished drafts, so be nice and offer constructive feedback.