Under the Microscope extra: Rex

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Microscope_icon-84816.jpg Under the Microscope

Read the promising opening to a young writer's novel and our suggested rewrite

Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's first 300 words and for the full critique, see the October issue of Writing Magazine.

Rex - original, by Raya Tiger Hotter

“What is wrong with you?!”

He lay sprawled on the ground, head laid on the grass; gawping up at me as I smirked down at him.

“Everything,” I replied smugly.

Toby Noteworth had certainly learnt his lesson when he made the big mistake of declaring girls can’t fight, and then deciding to try and beat me up. And I don’t know about you, but I certainly wasn’t going to let that happen.

He had come charging at me like an angry elephant, flailing his arms around, and nearly flicking himself in the eyes. It was easy to duck out of the way, and obvious that he’d never fought someone before - even his thumbs were tucked into his fists (I mean - come on! Everyone knows you can’t punch like that! I bet even Stepfather knows you can break your thumbs if your fists are like that - honestly). I punched him swiftly in the stomach, stunning him; and was getting ready to put him in an arm lock, and then let him go with an angry hissed warning; but I should have known better. He, being the ugly cheat that he is, began summoning his magic, knowing fully well that because I’m a girl, I don’t have any. His eyes turned yellow, his hair crackled with electricity, and yellow sparks spat in his hands... but I swung my leg and tripped him up, shocking his magic to a stop. He landed on his back with a sickening crunch. His friends, who had all been laughing and cheering, suddenly scattered, scurrying as fast as they could away from the park.

Right now, he was lying helplessly on the grass, his previously yellow eyes faded blue, and his face pale with fear. I looked scornfully down at him.

“See? Girls can fight. Take it back,” I told him fiercely.

 

Rex - McCredited version

“What is wrong with you?”

He sprawled on the ground in the park, head lying on the grass, his friends standing silently around, and he gawped up at me as I smirked down at him.

“Everything,” I said.

Toby Noteworth had certainly learnt his lesson, having made the big mistake of declaring girls can’t fight and then attempting to beat me

up. And I don’t know about you, but I certainly wasn’t going to let that happen.

He had come charging at me like a madman, flailing his arms around and nearly jabbing himself in the eyes. It was easy to duck out of the way. He’d obviously never fought anyone before. His thumbs were even tucked into his fists (I mean – come on! Everyone knows you can’t punch like that! I bet even Stepfather knows you can break your thumbs if your fists are like that – honestly).

I punched him decisively in the stomach, winding him, and was getting ready to put him in an arm lock before letting him go with an angrily hissed warning. But I should have known better.

Ugly cheat that he is, he began summoning his magic, knowing full well that I don’t have any because I’m a girl. His eyes turned yellow, his hair crackled with electricity, and yellow sparks flashed in his hands . . . but I swung my leg and tripped him, shocking his magic to a stop.

He landed on his back with a muffled crunch. His friends, who had soon stopped laughing and cheering, suddenly scattered as fast as they could.

He was now lying helplessly on the grass, his previously yellow eyes faded blue and his face pale with fear. I looked scornfully at him.

“See? Girls can fight. Take it back,” I said.

For the full critique, see the October issue of Writing Magazine