A shot rang out in the forest. The hunter tripped and fell onto my path, the one that the animals dare not tread. His head snapped up, eyes met mine, and he screamed. The horrible sound. I had to snuff it out.
Like a flame, I grabbed his neck, squeezed, and snapped his brittle bones. Head lolling to the side, I had forgotten that there are men out there in the world that they parade around the streets talking into mechanical devices demanding things from one another. They are filled with poison, I can tell by the way he smells like gasoline, like the chemicals they create that made me sick to my stomach and made me trek out here to live and hunt alone. I can’t stand these things.
When I grow strong, I linger in the morning light and bathe freely in the deep waters of the lake. Sometimes there is a cougar with padded paws who creeps up to the water and laps it up. She will glance at me now and then surely wondering what I must be doing, a thing like me. The cougar sniffs the air and wanders back into the tree line. I’m not prey or a threat, I just am, like a ripple, a slick stone covered in moss, like discarded bird bones mixing in the sand.
Below the mist, I lay on wet soil among the rubble and ruin of past selves. Crisp outlines of shadows dance with the fall leaves and cascade into the still lake beside me. A scuttle of creatures, the movement of stones, as they scurry to the water’s edge to drink or clean bloody claws.
I am waiting for the moon to rise, to peak out between the mountain scape so I can join the owls and other night animals in their hunt for fresh flesh. Once, I lived in a city, now I’m just another thing gnawing on bones. What am I?
In front of the Chinatown public library, I look across the street at a garage and the Transamerica Pyramid poking out from behind.
Depending on your positioning, the slant of the hill, the gaps between passing cars at intersections, and the weather, it’s possible to gain new perspectives on iconic buildings and the Bay Bridge. These are the views I’ve been searching for for the past few months.
A cable car on Powell Street grinds by heading southward. A slight burning odor hits me when it passes; a mixture between metal and oil I still can’t figure out.
Since the start of the new year, I’ve read more, written here and there, and thought about a few poems I’ve yet to scribble down. It’s all been swimming in my head as I balance starting a new job, spring cleaning, and upcoming birthdays. And it’s already April. How did that happen? Lately, it’s felt like time slips by faster, and I’m left trying to catch up.
I walk south on Powell Street. Nag Champa floats in the air by the Buddhist and Taoist Association building, and I take deep breaths to get as much of it as possible.
The sky is blue with a few clouds, but they’re moving fast, so it might change to gray skies and a slight rainy mist. Riding out all the atmospheric rivers and turbulent winds in the city these past few weeks, I’ve been calmly waiting for Spring. I want a sunny hot day to go to the beach and read.
There are plenty of current events to talk about, but I’m somewhere between exhaustion and nausea every time I try to write about any of it lately.
I keep running out of time to process the most recent mass shooting before another one happens. As hateful rhetoric spreads and takes hold in multiple states, as reproductive rights are stripped away, and as fascism continues to grow – I worry about the future.
How can I write about it all? How can I process what’s happened in the U.S. in the past few years? I’m struggling to grasp how other writers have done it.
So I take moments to look at the city, I take moments to sit and eat lunch in a park, I take moments to read a book at cafes I haven’t been to before, I take moments of peace because I’m not sure how many of them I’ll have in the future.
I make it to California Street and hear the rhythmic grating of another cable car, this one coming up the hill and heading north. Small groups of tourists, families, and couples crowd near the stops on the street corners, waiting to jump on.
Crossing the street, I glance at the Bay Bridge down below, framed by the layered buildings downtown. It’s unbelievably beautiful.
Over my shoulder, the Transamerica Pyramid is hidden by a strip of grayish clouds; the ever-present giant I imagine to be a hybrid symbol (modern and ancient) of longevity for the city. I hope through it all; it’ll continue to stand.
Alpha and beta readers are everywhere but finding the right reader for your writing is vital if you want to level up your manuscript. It doesn’t matter if you’re working on your first draft or draft #634. You need someone you can trust who will provide honest, detailed feedback answering all your questions and concerns. Continue reading to learn more about the pros of alpha and beta reads and how I can help you today!
What’s the difference between an Alpha and Beta Reader?
An Alpha Reader will review a writer’s initial draft, sometimes, they’re professionals with writing and editing-related jobs or experience. But they aren’t looking for grammar or punctuation errors when they read your manuscript. They’re looking at broad strokes like plot and character development. An Alpha Reader will point out what elements need work and what can be cut or expanded. If you’re looking for an Alpha Reader, you want someone who knows about the craft of writing.
For instance, I have over a year of experience interning as a Developmental Editor for a publishing house. I worked one-on-one with authors, providing them feedback and writing help on their novels’ macro and microelements. When I started freelance beta reading that I was providing a lot of alpha-like feedback (a two-for-one deal!). Now I know I can easily switch gears and be an Alpha or Beta Reader for my clients.
Beta Read Feedback to Polish Your ‘Polished’ Writing
A Beta Reader reads a more polished draft close to a final version that’s ready for publication. Ideally, they love to read the genre of the writing they’re beta reading.
Tip: You don’t want to pick a beta reader who mainlyreads Noir Novels to read your Sci-Fi Romance with a cast of otherworldly beings.
You want to find a Beta Reader who knows the genre and can focus on your story. In addition to providing answers to your questions, beta readers will let you know what they liked or disliked.
Key Takeaway: Beta Readers focus on the story and genre, while Alpha Readers look at the mechanics of your writing and execution.
Once upon a time, I was an Intern for a Literary Agent. I read full-length manuscripts (around 300+ pages) and wrote up book proposals, blurbs, and short reviews within 72 hours. Reading Nonfiction to unreleased Fantasy novels, I became familiar with various genres and knew what elements to look for and analyze. This knowledge has helped me become an exceptional alpha and beta reader.
Writing a novel is hard work. I’m writing my second book now, and it never gets old. It’s a difficult journey, but I don’t get tired of rewriting, editing, and plotting out my stories. I love writing and can’t get enough of offering writing help to my fellow authors and poets.
If there’s any advice I can give you today, it’s DON’T STOP WRITING. A draft today could easily become a published book by next year, don’t give up!
Order Your Alpha and Beta Read Today!
I want to help you so you can take your draft and turn it into a polished manuscript that’s ready to be a published book. Driven to explore new worlds, I revel descriptive writing, dive into creative nonfiction, and love helping budding writers with their first attempts at story-writing.
Are you interested in an Alpha or Beta Read by yours truly? Feel free to check out my services or leave a comment below. I can’t wait to connect and help you with your writing 🙂
What do I read? Fiction, Nonfiction, Personal Essays, Novellas, Short Stories, Poetry, and more! If you have a writing project and want to know if I can help, reach out today!
