Okay, so ... I'm only 10k or so (give or take a k) into my newest WIP, so this is probably a bit premature. But ... I'm gonna post it anyway. Why? Because my MC is a male, and he wants to make sure I'm getting his voice right. He says I can't post chapter 1, though, because he doesn't want that info out of the bag just yet.
So, here's 200'ish words from Chapter 2. Any feedback (yep, even if you hate it) would be great.
I know guys aren’t supposed to care about this kind of stuff, but orange really isn’t my color. I look like a pumpkin, my pale skin glowing in the dark, my cheeks hollowed out from missing seven straight meals.
Bracelets don’t suit me, either. At least not the unbreakable metal variety.
“No issue with probable cause, sir,” some frump in a suit says.
No issue? Geez, way to bend over and take it. I hope my guy is better than this one.
The grim reaper narrows his brow, beady eyes stern as he glares at the twelve-year-old prepubescent who spray-painted the high school gymnasium with half naked men. (Guess which half?) I was impressed. Thought he deserved a round of applause and a moment to take a bow. The court? Not so much.
“Twenty-one days in a secured detention center,” the reaper says, his voice spitting gravel. He glares at the half-chewed pencil on legs. “What do you have planned for your life, kid?”
Kid shrugs. Mumbles something about how he doesn’t know, hasn’t thought about it. Which is a bunch of shit, really, because I’ve seen the graffiti. I’ve seen the property he made palatable but is now accused of defacing.
“State versus Cleary,” says a woman with shoulder pads almost as big as her hair.
The rent-a-cops puff out their green polyester chests and close in on me.