First Impressions - Induction Day

 Well! I survived the A - Z Challenge and now, supposedly, it's May - although if you were here it wouldn't look like it. More like mid to late March. Not spring-like. Hardly any green. Makes me want to be a snowbird.* Anyway. it's a new month, and that means it's time for First Impressions, whereby author Dianne K. Salerni and I critique the first page of your wip. Interested? We have openings in June - just scroll down a bit on my sidebar to find the FAQs. Meanwhile, today I'm happy to have the first page of PK Hrezo's YA/NA sci-fi, INDUCTION DAY - Book II of Butterman Time Travel, Inc. You might know PK, but if you don't, head over and say hi if you get a chance.

And now without further ado, here's PK's first page: 

I’m a time traveler, not a superstar. Tristan doesn’t get it. He forgets people around him aren’t used to the spotlight—with hordes of fans drooling over his every move. That’s his reality, not mine. I have more important things to consider. Such as?

His serving-droid delivers a fruit smoothie from its tray to my hand,(I might cut this, but this is purely subjective on my part) the midday sun glinting off its shiny metallic torso. “Anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“No.” I chuckle at its ultra-feminine, sultry voice and refocus on Tristan in the lounger beside me. “French, huh? I’d have pegged you for someone who prefers a Southern drawl on their cyber help.”

“Tried the Southern Belle feature. Felt all wrong, like generations of repressed slave spirits were cursing me from the shadows.” He resets the sliver of his shades on his nose and maximizes them for full coverage, concealing his twilight-blue eyes. “Gave me the creeps ordering it around.”

“But it’s okay ordering around the French?” Squeezing the orange slice at the rim of my glass, I miss my aim in the glass and ejaculate droplets onto Tristan’s cheek. I chuckle.

He purses his lips, wipes his face. “What can I say? I prefer my droids with a French accent. Rolls off the tongue like butter, Butterman.”

He seems to be studying me but it’s hard to tell. Once his lips ease into his superstar grin, I know he is.

“I do like the fuchsia stripes,” he says, referring to my hair. “Trés glam-rock.”

I brush my highlighted strands back from my face in mock supermodel style. “Magenta Marvel. Not fuchsia, thank you very much.”

He archs a brow as if to say who-gives-a-damn, and I wait for his smartass retort because that’s how we play, and I’ve been more than just a little eager to continue this flirty slow-dance on the skirt of an emotion we haven’t yet come to declare.  Like this!

***

My first thought is that I wonder how this would read to those who haven't read the first book. Is this a stand-alone sequel? If so then I think I'd want to be a little more grounded into the world and characters. These two obviously have a past together but I have no idea what it is nor anything about time traveling - yet. That said, if this is intended as a true sequel, then forget the above - mostly. Even those who might have read Book I might want a little reminding of where they are. 

I would also add that when our narrator says she has more important things to consider, I assume she means more important than having a hoard of fans, but it isn't entirely clear. I'd like this spelled out in order to highlight the differences between them. I'd also like to know what those important things are!

Lastly, I don't have a good picture of where we are though again, this is one of those subjective things. Some people want more description, some less. I'd like a little more here. The robot and the loungers are good  but other than that I have no clue where (or when!) they are. Are they inside? Out? Somewhere else? Paint me a picture - even if it's just a miniature!

Now, how about you, dear reader? What did you think of PK's first page? Care to offer any suggestions? 

And finally, the winner of my book, West of Paradise, is LD Masterson. I'll be contacting you if I haven't already to get mailing instructions. Congrats!

  

* snowbird: what we Mainers call those fortunate people who can go South for the winter. Chirp, chirp!