When that front door swung open, I felt as though I had been shot in the heart. I may as well have been—I already felt dead. Being rousted from the only home I had ever known still came as a shock to me even though I had been expecting it for months. Throughout the trial of my father, I had been living with my best friend’s family, and I have to admit that I held the tiniest flicker of hope that I could stay there permanently. I was also hoping that dad wouldn’t have to serve time. But he did. Five years for assault. He was taken to jail and in a very real sense, so was I.
Unfortunately, I wasn't grabbed by the first sentence. When in first person, avoid using the word "felt" at all cost. It distances your readers from the character. This first paragraph feels very info-dumpy/back story to me.
It was the County, in all its wisdom, that decided that it would be better to uproot me yet again to go live with my mother. It didn’t matter that I was nearly seventeen and hadn’t heard from her in over thirteen years. And I know for a fact that it wasn’t mom’s idea that I was there at her doorstep, cradling my sad little garbage bag of ragged possessions in my arms.
Mom stood rigidly at the door, scanning me over as though I were a virus burgeoning in a warm Petri dish. Then she stepped aside, allowing me entry into her house.
After some uncomfortable small talk with my caseworker, I was left alone with my mother, this dour stranger who viewed me more of an interruption than her spawn.
It was the County, in all its wisdom, that decided that it would be better to uproot me yet again to go live with my mother. It didn’t matter that I was nearly seventeen and hadn’t heard from her in over thirteen years. And I know for a fact that it wasn’t mom’s idea that I was there at her doorstep, cradling my sad little garbage bag of ragged possessions in my arms.
Mom stood rigidly at the door, scanning me over as though I were a virus burgeoning in a warm Petri dish. Then she stepped aside, allowing me entry into her house.
After some uncomfortable small talk with my caseworker, I was left alone with my mother, this dour stranger who viewed me more of an interruption than her spawn.
Like the first paragraph, the first page felt very info-dump/backstory to me. I think you could tighten this up by jumping straight to her mom opening the door and her reaction to that. You could intersperse in the little details (like not seeing her mom in 13 years and going to live with her etc) IN the action, instead of piling on all the details of why we should care about her up front.
That said, I love the line about how her mom looked at her. Your voice is shining through there, but it is lost underneath the info dump from before.
Thank you, Shelley. You have no idea how much I appreciate this feedback! I totally get what you are saying and just this litle bit of info gave me some great ideas!--Sharon
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