Catch Me If You Can Blogfest

We've all heard it a million times: 

If your book doesn't catch the agent/publisher's eye quickly, they'll probably reject it. 

So, I'm sure at one time or another we've asked ourselves, 

"Does my WIP catch people's attention right away?" 

Catch Me If You Can Blogfest 

is an opportunity to share the first 550 words or less of a current manuscript and get instant feedback from your blogging friends, fellow writers and, if you're lucky, a publishing professional or two.

I've chosen the first 400 words of a new book I just started,

J.A.N.E.

Please leave your critique in the comments below, then click on the blogfest button above to visit others who have joined me in seeking a quick review of their work.

Enjoy!

* * *

 There is no memory of me. No swing sets or sand boxes. No slumber parties. No prom dress or first kiss. No first anything. Nothing but the rote memory of objects that surround me, and a language that stumbles over my tongue with unfamiliarity.

My first new memory? The throbbing in my head when I wake. The searing pain as my eyes crack open to bright lights and blurred images. Muffled voices and whispers about a girl they call Jane.

Is that my name?

“Jay—un,” I try the sound of it on my lips. It tumbles out with my breath, but sounds different coming from me. I try again to form each letter. “Ja—ay—nn.”  My fingers reach for my mouth, as if prying my lips apart will help the way they form the word. “Jane.” It’s still not quite right, but it’s my first word and I feel the corners of my mouth curl into a triumphant grin.

Someone steps close—leans over me. A woman, I think. The edges of her face are fuzzy because my eyes still haven’t adjusted to the light. She has long hair that sweeps down toward me. Yes, a woman. I can smell the sweet fragrance of her perfume wafting around me as she draws even nearer.

“She’s awake.”

At first, I think her voice is smooth, but then sense a roughness about it—an authority in its tone. I blink hard and try to make her image sharpen. It helps. I can see she has dark brown eyes and brown hair. Her high cheek bones and tall slender build make her beautiful, even without makeup.

It’s odd to be thinking of such a thing when I should be asking questions. I’m having a hard time focusing—my mind that is. My vision is clear now. I take a deep breath, suck my bottom lip inside my mouth to moisten it, clear my tender throat.

“Where . . . ?” My voice squeaks.

No one answers.

Someone else is watching me now—a man with short gray hair and dark rimmed glasses. His sudden interest startles me at first, but then he smiles and I try to relax. “We should call Aaron. He wanted to be here when she woke.”

Aaron? I search my memory for a face to go with the name. There are no faces—not even my own.