YA Contemporary Adventure - THE O'MALLEY CURSE

My worthless leg threatened to collapse from being overworked. Five minutes, maybe seven, before I was expected back on stage. It’d have to be enough. In a shadowy corner backstage (We already assume he's backstage, so instead, say something like "In a shadowy corner near the dressing room mirror." It'll paint a better picture.), I sat on an overturned plastic bucket, casually hooking my arms over my legs, trying to look like the other guys on break—just hanging out until the next scene.

Before I began (present tense) massaging away the pain, I assessed my surroundings, pulling at the collar of my sweaty T-shirt. By the refreshment table, a couple of girls—I think they played Rich Woman 1 and Rich Woman 2—practiced their lines. Beyond them, a young kid struggled with a dance step combo the Orphans had been taught an hour ago. No one else around.

I rubbed my leg through my athletic pants, starting with my quad. The relief was immediate, but it would be short-lived. Suck it up, Finn, I warned myself. Icing it would've been more effective, but I couldn’t risk anyone seeing I was in pain. People here didn’t know about my bum leg, and I wasn’t going to clue them in with ice packs or my doctor-prescribed leg brace.

As my fingers kneaded my muscles, I listened and watched, ready to spring to my feet if anyone came close. If they caught me like this, they’d take my part away. I was sure of it. Who in their right mind would let a crippled teen keep one of the main dancing and acting parts?

This is the least amount of feedback I've given on any entry. It's a great start to your novel, and I've got high hopes for you during Query Kombat. Good job!

**Thank you so much for any suggestions you can offer!!

My worthless leg threatened to collapse from being overworked. overexertion? Five minutes, maybe seven, before I was expected back on stage. It’d have to be enough. why, what is at stake if it isn't enough? even a hint In a shadowy corner backstage, I sat on an overturned plastic bucket. Casually hooking my arms over my legs, trying to look like the other guys on break—just hanging out until the next scene.

Before I began massaging away the pain, I assessed my surroundings, pulling at the collar of my sweaty T-shirt. By the refreshment table, a couple of girls—I think they played Rich Woman 1 and Rich Woman 2—practiced their lines. Beyond them, a young kid struggled with a dance step combo the Orphans had been taught an hour ago. No one else around.

I rubbed my leg through my athletic pants, starting with my quad. The relief was immediate, but it would be short-lived. Suck it up, Finn, I warned myself. Icing it would've been more effective, but I couldn’t risk anyone seeing I was in pain. People here didn’t know about my bum leg, and I wasn’t going to clue them in with ice packs or my doctor-prescribed leg brace. I'd rather know this up front - I care less about the people he describes above, unless one of them is a rival/love interest - also, I assume this is a regular thing that happens (unless dancing is new to the MC) so what makes this time different? 

As my fingers kneaded my muscles, I listened and watched, ready to spring to my feet if anyone came close. If they caught me like this, they’d take my part away. I was sure of it. Who in their right mind would let a crippled teen keep one of the main dancing and acting parts? I'm wanting a little more clarity on the extent of the injuries. I'm thinking a pulled muscle at first, then a "bum leg" then a "cripple" by the end of page one. Also, I want some stronger situation in time/space. I didn't know if this was dress rehearsal for the big performance, the actual performance, or an audition for something high-stakes, like a private school? 

**Thank you so much for any suggestions you can offer!!

My worthless leg threatened to collapse from being overworked. (This entry is awesome. I want more from the first sentence of this book!) Five minutes, maybe seven, before I was expected back on stage. It’d have to be enough. In a shadowy corner backstage, I sat on an overturned plastic bucket. (Consider pulling this into the very first line - might be nice to "set the stage." Pun, of course, intended.) Casually hooking my arms over my legs, trying to look like the other guys on break—just hanging out until the next scene.

Before I began massaging away the pain, I assessed my surroundings, pulling at the collar of my sweaty T-shirt. By the refreshment table, a couple of girls—I think they played Rich Woman 1 and Rich Woman 2—practiced their lines. (He'd know the roles of every actor in the play, though, wouldn't he?) Beyond them, a young kid struggled with a dance step combo the Orphans had been taught an hour ago. No one else around.

I rubbed my leg through my athletic pants, starting with my quad. The relief was immediate, but it would be short-lived. Suck it up, Finn, I warned myself. Icing it would've been more effective, but I couldn’t risk anyone seeing I was in pain. (What kind of pain is it? Burning? Aching? Fiery? Dull?) People here didn’t know about my bum leg, and I wasn’t going to clue them in with ice packs or my doctor-prescribed leg brace.

As my fingers kneaded my muscles, I listened and watched, ready to spring to my feet if anyone came close. If they caught me like this, they’d take my part away. I was sure of it. Who in their right mind would let a crippled teen keep one of the main dancing and acting parts? (Is he new to town? Would the people setting up the play not know about his leg?)

Awesome job, Rory - this was a nice read!

**Thank you so much for any suggestions you can offer!!