Editorial Suggestions and Revisions

So, as most of you know, my book Witch Ways was picked up in the Kindle Scout Competition, which is exciting and wonderful. A couple of days ago, two developmental editors from Amazon contacted me with a few recommended changes. All were easy fixes, but when they first suggested them, I was, momentarily, stumped. Now that I've finished them, I love them, and think that each make the book stronger. But I thought I'd see what, if anything, others think. Because two of the changes occur toward the end of the book, I can't share those without major spoilage, but here's an excerpt from Chapter Three and its revision. The first is my original chapter.  

Bree nodded. Standing, she threw one leg over the sill.

From inside, I heard Bree fall. I ran to the window to watch her flailing arms and hands searching for a hand-hold. Branches and twigs snapped beneath her weight.

CHAPTER THREE

“Bree! Are you okay?”

She gaped up at me, her mouth a perfect O as she tumbled backward. She landed on the grass.

Josh and his friend, followed by the Henderson’s three dogs, sprinted across the lawn.

“Gabby! Go get Mom!” Josh called to his little sister over his shoulder right before he vaulted over the hedge separating our yards. He landed with a one-footed thud.

Feeling a little like Rapunzel, I leaned out my window. “Bree?”

She moaned without opening her eyes. With her arms spread out wide, she lay flat on her back. If not for her left leg sticking out at an odd angle, she looked like she could be taking a nap on the lawn.

Her brother and Dylan stared at her as if she was a strange fish washed up on shore. Josh looked up and frowned at me. Dylan met my gaze with a smile.

“Hi,” he mouthed without noise.

I waved. Heat crawled up my neck, and I hoped he couldn’t see my blush. We stared at each other until the back door screen opened and shut with a bang.

“What happened here?” My dad strode onto the porch and stopped when he saw the two boys and three mulling dogs surrounding a moaning Bree.

Riddler, the German Shepherd mix, tried to snuffle in Bree’s hair, but Josh pulled him away and held him by the collar. Joker, the half-terrier with pieces and bits of lots of other breeds, poked Bree’s hand with his snout. Without opening her eyes, she swatted at him. Gabby, her baby sister, grabbed Joker and Penguin, an ancient black and white Boston Terrier, and hauled them back a few feet.

A door slammed shut at the Hendersons’ house, and Bree’s mom, raced across the grass, barefoot. She stopped short of Bree, worry and anger battling in her expression.

“Mom?” Bree peeked open an eye. “I-I-I think my leg is broken.” She stuttered through obvious pain.

“For once, we agree on something,” Mrs. Henderson said as she squatted down beside her. “We need to get you to the doctor.”

Bree rolled her head so she could see Dylan. Batting her eyelashes, she looked at him through her tears. “Will you take me?”

“Don’t be silly!” Mrs. Henderson said, placing her hands on her hips. “Josh, go and get the van. Then call your father. Tell him to meet us at the emergency room. Again. Honestly, that place needs to name a wing after our family.”

Josh shot his sister a pitying look before he turned and jogged toward the barn where the Hendersons kept their collection of motley cars. All three dogs followed, because, obviously, Josh was the leader of the pack.

But Dylan stayed. He grinned up at me, but his smile faltered when he met my dad’s glare.

Dad shot me a glance before returning his attention to Bree.

“Want me to help you up?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, please,” Bree said through white lips. She tried to smile at him, but it looked painful and off—lots of teeth, but no happiness.

“Let’s wait for the van.” My dad sounded growlier than any of the Henderson dogs. He focused on Dylan. “Who are you? You weren’t in my daughter’s bedroom, too, were you?”

“Huh, no sir.” Dylan brushed off his hand on his jeans before extending it. “Dylan Fox.” He nodded at the Henderson’s house. “I was hanging out with Josh when we saw Bree fall.”

My dad grunted.

Mrs. Henderson knelt on the ground and brushed the hair out of Bree’s face. “Sweetheart, you’re going to be okay.”

“Oz-z-z,” Bree moaned.

“I know, sweetie,” Mrs. Henderson said.

“She can’t be in the play!” Gabby squealed, as the thought hit her. She rose to her toes and twirled. “I can be Dorothy!”

Mrs. Henderson silently shook her head.

“Whoever heard of an eight year old Dorothy?” Bree said through gritted teeth.

Gabby stopped spinning. “But—who else can step in—into the red shoes—at the last minute?”

“We don’t need to discuss this right now.” Mrs. Henderson climbed to her feet as Josh pulled the jacked-up van down the driveway.

“Mom,” Bree grabbed her mom’s hand, “promise me, you won’t let Gabby be Dorothy.”

“Let’s just see what the doctor says,” Mrs. Henderson said.

Dylan knelt down beside Bree and gathered her into his arms.

She winced and blinked. Tears rolled down her face.

“You’ll be okay,” Dylan said, smiling down at her.

Mrs. Henderson pulled opened the van’s sliding door and moved aside so Dylan could load Bree into the back seat. He fussed over her leg, propping it up beside her. Backing away, he shot me another glance and his smile went from being pitying and kind, to something else, something warm, smooth and promising.

Mrs. Henderson climbed in the passenger seat and rolled down the window. “Gabby, you’re responsible for getting dinner on the table,” she said. “Meredith will be home from swim at five. Lincoln isn’t done with soccer until 5:30. The twins are at piano until almost six—Mrs. Rochester will drop them off. I don’t know where the boys are. I’m sure they’ll show up when they get hungry. You can cook a couple of frozen pizzas, but make sure you put out some sort of vegetable.”

Gabby put her hands on her hips. “Okay, I can do all that, but only if I get to be Dorothy.”

Mrs. Henderson rolled her eyes, and Gabby seemed to realize she’d gone too far. Her shoulders slumped as she headed toward home and frozen pizza.

Dylan, his confidence stuttering under my dad’s glare, said, “Maybe I should go and help her.”

“That would be good,” my dad said.

Seconds after the Henderson’s van pulled away, a strange car, maybe even older than Uncle Mitch’s T-Bird, turned down our drive. Baby blue and white and as long as a hearse, the car looked a lot like the one I’d seen in the film clips of JFK’s assassination, which meant it was about the same age as my dad.

“This day just keeps getting better,” my dad mumbled, watching the car approach. He turned to me. “You better get down here, Petunia.” Then with about as much enthusiasm as he would say the city is overrun with rats, he said, “Your grandmother is here.”

I leaned out the window, resting my forearms on the sill. “Don’t you think you should have told me about her before now?”

He grunted and turned away.

“No! You don’t get to be mad at me! I’m mad at you!” I called after him.

He didn’t answer, but banged through the back door.

I ran down the stairs, wanting to confront him before the mysterious grandmother arrived.

I stopped short when I saw her standing in the almost never used living room. She stood on the tapestry rug, small, trembling, fuzzy-haired, and bright-eyed. Despite the warm autumn air, she wore a long crimson velvet skirt, a brown wool blazer, and a pink feather boa. She came to me with her arms extended.

“There you are, beautiful!” She pulled me in for a warm, lavender-smelling hug. She felt fragile and brittle in my embrace, and the boa tickled my nose. “You must be very brave, dear,” she whispered in my ear.

Her words fanned my neck, and a trill went down my back.

Pulling away, she took hold of both of my hands. “You look just like your mother did at your age.”

“Sophia has strawberry blonde hair,” my dad said. He stood in the center of the room, frowning at us, and looking, for once, awkward.

“And Evelynn’s hair is the color of honey,” my grandmother quipped without looking at him, “both delicious and edible.”

Uncle Mitch, who must have shown up some time during the hug, snorted.

My grandmother threw him a nasty look over her shoulder. “What’s that, Mitchel?”

She said Mitchel, but for some reason, it sounded like Michelle. I had never noticed how similar sounding the two names were until just that moment.

Uncle Mitch bit his lip and looked away.

“Shall we all sit down so we can discuss my granddaughter’s education?”

Interesting, officially the house belonged to my dad and uncle, and yet this tiny woman acted like she owned the place. She had the two grown men, both well-respected and exceptionally successful, shuffling into their seats. What was there about her? She had to weigh less than a hundred pounds. She looked about as old and as harmless as Penguin, the Henderson’s Boston terrier. Sitting on the sofa, she smiled at me and patted the cushion beside her.

“Now, my dear, why don’t you tell us where you would like to go to school?”

I looked at the two nearly identical brothers. My dad wore a pin-stripe suit, a heavily starched shirt, and burgundy tie. Uncle Mitch had on his khakis and a button-down cotton shirt. But they both wore matching scowls.

“I want to go to Norfolk High School,” I said, smiling into my grandmother’s dark eyes.

“The public school?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Uncle Mitch gave a small shake of his head.

“Why not?” I demanded, jumping to my feet.

Uncle Mitch met my gaze. “They won’t take you.”

“They won’t take me?” I echoed. “What do you mean, they won’t take me? They’re a public school. They have to take everyone.”

“No, they don’t have to take those who may put their students at risk,” Dad said.

“Put their students at risk?” I repeated, feeling woozy. I sat back down on the sofa and, as if to complain, it let out a puff of dust. “They think I’m dangerous?”

“Do you know anything about this, Beatrix?” Dad asked.

“And if you can’t go to the public school,” my grandmother pressed, completely ignoring my dad, “what would be your next choice?”

“Well,” I shot both my uncle and dad quick glances, “then I guess I would want to be homeschooled.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I wanted to go to Faith Despaign, if only to see Dylan again.

“You must call me Birdie,” my grandmother continued, “Faith Despaign is a wonderful school. Your great-grandparents both attended there, as well as your grandfather, your mother, and me.”

She must have read the surprise on my face. “Your mother never talked about Faith Despaign?”

“She never talked about you!” I blurted.

“Oh, naughty Sophia.” Birdie tsked her tongue. “And what does my daughter say about this turn of events?”

The two brothers exchanged glances.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of her,” Uncle Mitch said.

“Well, aren’t you a couple of pansies?” Laughter softened Birdie’s words.

Both men bristled.

“I tried calling her lots of times,” I said. “She must be somewhere without cell service.”

“With awful Fred, I suppose,” Birdie murmured.

“You know about Fred?”

Birdie fixed her dark eyes on mine. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, but…”

“This is settled,” Birdie said. “Evelynn must attend Faith Despaign.”

Dylan’s smile flashed in my mind again. If he was Josh’s age, he’d be two grades ahead, so we probably wouldn’t share classes, but I could still see him…at least more than I would if I was homeschooled and stuck in my bedroom alone with a computer. I thought about all the stuff I’d miss if I was homeschooled—the prom, the games, the clubs.

Tears sprung in my eyes, surprising me. I tried to blink them back, but a few fell down my cheeks and landed on my hands clenched in my lap.

“I will pick her up tomorrow.” Birdie lifted herself off the sofa, and smoothed down her ruffled feather boa.

“Why?” Dad asked.

“So I can take her to school, of course. Mrs. Craig is quite looking forward to meeting her.”

“She is?” I asked.

Birdie cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, she is. She’s intrigued by your powers. We all are.”

Powers?

Bree nodded and squeezed my hand, sending me a shot of sympathy. Standing, she threw one leg over the sill.

I heard more than see Bree fall. I ran to the window to watch her flailing arms and hands search for a hand-hold. Branches and twigs snapped beneath her weight.

 

CHAPTER THREE

“Bree! Are you okay?”

She gaped up at me, her mouth a perfect O as she tumbled backward. She landed on the grass.

Josh and his friend, Dylan Fox followed by the Henderson’s three dogs, Joker the German shepherd and Penguin the ancient black and white Boston terrier,  sprinted across the lawn.

“Gabby! Go get Mom!” Josh called to his little sister over his shoulder right before he vaulted over the hedge separating our yards. He landed with a one-footed thud.

Feeling a little like Rapunzel, I leaned out my window. “Bree?”

She moaned without opening her eyes. With her arms spread out wide, she lay flat on her back. If not for her left leg sticking out at an odd angle, she looked like she could be taking a nap on the lawn.

Her brother and Dylan stared down at her as if she was a strange fish washed up on shore. Josh looked up and frowned at me. Dylan met my gaze with a smile.

“Hi,” he mouthed without noise.

I waved. Heat crawled up my neck, and I hoped he couldn’t see my blush. We stared at each other until the front door opened and shut with a bang.

Dad.

He stomped up the stairs and entered my room, the GQ version of Uncle Mitch, handsome, but in the way that said he knew and it mattered, as opposed to Uncle Mitch’s good looks without intention or effort. He joined me at the window, concern for Bree obviously over-riding, for the moment, our mutual frustration with each other.

 Mr. and Mrs. Henderson came running from their house across the field. Gabby, Bree’s little sister, followed, and tried to rein in the dogs fussing over Bree.

“This day just keeps getting better,” my dad mumbled, turning his attention from the Henderson Family circus to the giant baby blue Cadillac approaching the house. He turned to me and said with about as much enthusiasm as he would say the city is overrun with rats, “Your grandmother is here.”

“Don’t you think you should have told me about her before now?”

He grunted and turned away.

“No! You don’t get to be mad at me! I’m mad at you!” I called after him.

He didn’t respond, but pounded down the stairs to the living room.

I ran after him, wanting to confront him before the mysterious grandmother arrived.

I stopped short when I saw her standing in the almost never used living room. She stood on the tapestry rug, small, trembling, fuzzy-haired, and bright-eyed. Despite the warm autumn air, she wore a long crimson velvet skirt, a brown wool blazer, and a pink feather boa. She came to me with her arms extended.

“There you are, Beautiful!” She pulled me in for a warm, lavender-smelling hug. She felt fragile and brittle in my embrace, and the boa tickled my nose. “You must be very brave, dear,” she whispered in my ear.

Her words fanned my neck, and a trill went down my back.

Pulling away, she took hold of both of my hands. “You look just like your mother did at your age.”

“Sophia has strawberry blonde hair,” my dad said. He stood in the center of the room, frowning at us, and looking, for once, awkward.

“And Evelynn’s hair is the color of honey,” my grandmother quipped without looking at him, “both delicious and edible.”

Uncle Mitch, who must have shown up some time during the hug, snorted.

My grandmother threw him a nasty look over her shoulder. “What’s that, Mitchel?”

She said Mitchel, but for some reason, it sounded like Michelle. I had never noticed how similar sounding the two names were until just that moment.

Uncle Mitch bit his lip and looked away.

“Shall we all sit down so we can discuss my granddaughter’s education?”

Interesting, officially the house officially belonged to my dad and uncle, and yet this tiny woman acted like she owned the place. She had the two grown men, both well-respected and exceptionally successful, shuffling into their seats. What was there it about her? She had to weigh less than a hundred pounds. She looked about as old and as harmless as Penguin, the Henderson’s ancient terrier. Sitting on the sofa, she smiled at me and patted the cushion beside her.

“Now, my dear, why don’t you tell us where you would like to go to school?”

I looked at the two nearly identical brothers. My dad wore a pin-stripe suit, a heavily starched shirt, and burgundy tie. Uncle Mitch had on his khakis and a button-down cotton shirt. But they both wore matching scowls.

“I want to go to Norfolk High School,” I said, smiling into my grandmother’s dark eyes.

“The public school?” she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Uncle Mitch gave a small shake of his head.

“Why not?” I demanded, jumping to my feet.

Uncle Mitch met my gaze. “They won’t take you.”

“They won’t take me?” I echoed. “What do you mean, they won’t take me? They’re a public school. They have to take everyone.”

“No, they don’t have to take those who may put their students at risk,” Dad said.

“Put their students at risk?” I repeated, feeling woozy. I sat back down on the sofa and, as if to complain, it let out a puff of dust. “They think I’m dangerous?”

“Do you know anything about this, Beatrix?” Dad asked.

“And if you can’t go to the public school,” my grandmother pressed, completely ignoring my dad, “what would be your next choice?”

“Don’t you think we should call an ambulance?” I asked.

“Let the Hendersons handle it,” my grandmother snapped. “I’m sure they’re more familiar with the emergency room than most.”

“You don’t even know the Hendersons,” I said, standing and heading to the door.

“Of course, I do.” My grandmother took my hand, stopping with warm tingles that shot up my warm.

She completely transfixed me.

“But right now, there’s nothing we can do to help them,” she said, “and everything we can do to salvage your education.”

On the lawn, I could see Bree making the best of a bad situation by bravely fluttering her eyelashes at a blushing Dylan as he tried to help her up despite Mr. Henderson’s obvious disapproval. In the distance, an ambulance began to wail.

“Evelynn?” my grandmother pressed.

“Well,” I shot both my uncle and dad quick glances before sitting back down on the sofa, “then I guess I would want to be homeschooled.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

Through the window, Dylan grinned at me, but his smile faltered when he met my dad’s glare. I wanted to go to Faith Despaign, if only to see Dylan again.

“You must call me Birdie,” my grandmother continued, squeezing my hand. “Faith Despaign is a wonderful school. Your great-grandparents both attended there, as well as myself, your grandfather, and your mother.”

She must have read the surprise on my face. “Your mother never talked about Faith Despaign?”

“She never talked about you!” I blurted, pulling my hand free.

“Oh, naughty Sophia.” Birdie tsked her tongue. “And what does my daughter say about this turn of events?”

The two brothers exchanged glances as the ambulance’s wail grew louder. All of the Henderson dogs began to wail. With a crunch of tires on gravel, the emergency vehicle pulled down our drive, and three paramedics jumped out.

“We haven’t been able to get a hold of her,” Uncle Mitch said.

“Well, aren’t you a couple of pansies?” Laughter softened Birdie’s words.

Both men bristled. My dad stood, walked to one side of the room, turned on his heel, and walked back.

“I tried calling her lots of times,” I said, giving Birdie only half of my attention. I felt sick as I watched Bree being lifted onto a gurney. “Can I go with Bree?” I asked Dad.

He gave a short, brisk shake of his head without breaking his pace. “They wouldn’t let you in the ambulance,” he added in a softer tone. “It’s a Henderson crisis. They’re used to those.”

 “She’s with that awful Fred, I suppose,” Birdie murmured.

“You know about Fred?”

Birdie fixed her dark eyes on mine. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, but…”

“This is settled,” Birdie said. “Evelynn must attend Faith Despaign.”

Dylan’s smile flashed in my mind again. If he was Josh’s age, he’d be two grades ahead, so we probably wouldn’t share classes, but I could still see him…at least more than I would if I was homeschooled and stuck in my bedroom alone with a computer. I thought about all the stuff I’d miss if I was homeschooled—the prom, the games, the clubs.

Tears sprung in my eyes, surprising me. I tried to blink them back, but a few fell down my cheeks and landed on my hands clenched in my lap.

“I will pick her up tomorrow.” Birdie lifted herself off the sofa, and smoothed down her ruffled feather boa.

“Why?” Dad asked.

“So I can take her to school, of course. Mrs. Craig is quite looking forward to meeting her.”

“She is?” I asked.

Birdie cupped my face in her hands. “Of course, she is. She’s intrigued by your powers. We all are.”

Powers?

She turned and headed for the door. “I shall be here at noon,” she said over her shoulder.

From the window, I watched Josh, Dylan, the dogs, and Gabby walk across the field that separated the Henderson’s property from ours. I really wished that I could go with them. Birdie’s car followed the ambulance down the drive.

When both vehicles disappeared and our lawn was once again empty of anything other than trees and fallen leaves, I turned back to my dad and uncle. “Powers?” I asked.