#3 - You Keep Using That Word. I Don't Think it Means What You Think it Means.

This time I decided to choose romance and I confess, I'm regretting that a little right now. Frankly, there's very little to say about this one except: Ye Good God, I hope this wasn't actually sent to any agents. I really, really, really do. If you tend towards high blood pressure I strongly recommend you reconsider trying to read this one.

No amount of italics can save you!

Lee sat on the hospital chair, gently holding the hand of the man who lay so still on the bed beside her.

Hey, wow. Author got the use of “lay” correct. Nice. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

As she spoke soothingly to him his eyes remained closed as the many pieces of equipment around his bed had blinked and beeped in a manner which both fascinated and frightened her.

Oookay, allow me to retract my previous statement. Whoa. “His eyes remained closed as she spoke soothingly to him. The equipment around his bed blinked and beeped in a manner which both fascinated and frightened her.”

A little more coherent that way. Perhaps a bit mundane, but knowing how Lee feels is a plus, and I think her emotional reaction is a realistic one.

Jim Donovan was a good friend of Lee’s, and news of his accident had shocked her, particularly when she had found that he lay in a comma,

OMG, you didn’t. Author, you started out okay. Did you really just use “comma” when you meant “coma”? I hope that’s a typo.

lucky to be alive after his car had swerved off the road and hit a tree.

Some might argue being in a coma is only so lucky.

Right now you’ve got some really long, really wordy sentences. You might want to try something like: “Jim Donovan was a good friend of Lee’s; news of his accident had shocked her. He was lucky to be alive after his car swerved and hit a tree.” Don’t worry, we will get to the coma part.

The nurse she had spoken to had been comforting, telling her that his injuries were not life threatening, but adding that it was too early to tell what damage might have been done to his brain until he came out of the comma, quickly adding as she had seen how the young woman’s eyes had opened in shock that initial indications where positive, smiling as she told her they would just have to be patient.

I...I...what? No, really, WHAT!? You’re going to drive me to drink. Did you really just use comma instead of coma again, Author? How do you use “lay” properly but not know it’s supposed to be C-O-M-A?

Oh, that sentence. I have no idea where to begin. I can’t help but think it would have made more sense to have the book open on her conversation with the nurse, rather than just telling us all of this. But if you must:

“The nurse she spoke to had been comforting, telling her his injuries weren’t life-threatening, though it was too early to tell what damage might have been done to his brain, or whether he would come out of the coma.

Seeing Lee’s shock, the nurse had smiled soothingly and added, “But initial indications are positive and we think he has a good chance of making a full recovery.”

What? I do what I can, but I’m no miracle-worker here.

That had been two days ago and she had each day after work made the hour journey to the hospital, to just sit there talking to him, holding his hand and telling him in as upbeat a voice as she could manage, about their friends, hoping that somehow he would hear her, nobody really knowing when or even if he would ever come out of it.

Holy cow! Calm down, would you? Don’t worry, you will get all the details down before Armageddon, I promise. Just ease back on the long sentences; they need to tell the story, not do temp work for Jörmungandr.

“That had been two days ago. Every day after work, Lee made the hour long journey to the hospital. She would sit beside Jim’s bed, holding his hand and speaking in an upbeat voice, telling him about their friends. She hoped he would hear her, somehow. Nobody really knew when or even if he would come out of the coma.”

But weren’t initial indications positive...? Also, I am not rewriting every absurdly long sentence, I’ll be here for the rest of my damn life.

As she had sat there on the second day, her chin resting on the hand which held his, Lee had shivered, suddenly feeling the prickly sensation of being watched, and looking up, she had been surprised to see the man standing at the door.

Does she break out in hives when someone’s talking about her, too? This isn’t that common in real life. And what’s with all the “had done this,” “had done that”? Not necessary. Yes, true you’re telling this in past tense, but...oh why do I even bother?

Tall, incredibly handsome and exuding a raw masculine power she had held her breath as their eyes had met,

So Lee is tall, incredibly handsome, and exudes a raw masculine power? Okay, now this story is totally not going where I expected it to.

the sight of him sending an instant bolt of lightning through her tired body, which was both unexpected and instant,

It’s official. The staff running the Department of Redundancy Department are the most overworked people in the entire world.

her stomach flipping in a most disconcerting manner , making her quickly drop her gaze shocked and confused by her own reactions.

Jim: My commas! Mine! You can’t have them. Neener, neener, neener! My preciousssss...

He too had stopped a look of surprise in his, almost black eyes also, as he had watched her, those inscrutinable eyes flicking over Lee, before flashing her one of the most dazzling smiles she had ever seen.

Feeling vaguely dizzy now. Also, inscrutinable? What, did you write this out on a napkin and type it in AOL mail? It’s called a spell check and it so happens that Word has an automatic one. Does a plumber work without a wrench? No! Use the tools of your trade, damn it.

“Hello, I am sorry I did not realise Jim had a visitor” he said gently his voice tinged with an accent which ran down her spin so pleasantly like warm trickling water

Uh, guys? Did anyone see where the punctuation got off to it? It seems to have flrd.

Lee had slowly placed Jim’s hand back down onto the white starched hospital sheet, half standing

“No…please” she said as the man had turned to leave

The punctuation! It are teh flee! Why???

“I really have to go anyway…. I’m sure he would like the company” she said looking softly back down on him, before bending down and kissing her friend’s forehead

“Wake up soon Jim” she murmured before moving towards the door

What is this I don’t even. Quick, someone hook me up to an IV of brandy and opium, stat.

As the large man had moved aside allowing her to pass, she had thanked him with a small shy smile, enjoying the smell of his aftershave which enveloped her, its intoxicating aroma so pleasurable, as she had fought to stop her eyes closing with that pleasure, aware of how she had shivered softly as an awareness of him had once more shot through her.

Must...critique...Can’t let...brain stop functioning...

Okay, if something is pleasurable, her reaction probably will involve pleasure. But why are we just told all of this? They’re talking to each other; this is what dialogue is for. And you’re saying “the large man” but all we know is that he’s tall. Large implies more. And again with the long sentences. And...and...oh, someone please save me.

As she stepped out of the room he had followed her, his deep voice questioning

“I am sorry, are you Jim’s girlfriend”

Just because you say he’s questioning doesn’t mean you don’t need at least some goddamn form of punctuation!!! How does this even happen? Why...why does your punctuation, which admittedly is crap to begin with, completely go AWOL when you’re writing dialogue? It does not work that way.

Lee had turned around in surprise her large soft hazel eyes looking back politely at him,

Hey, a comma came back. Do you suppose it’s Jim’s?

“No….just a friend, we work together….I just try to look in on him that’s all” she said gently

For the record, Lee sounds like a total sheep. Everything about her is “soft” or “polite” or “gentle”. She seems like the kind of ridiculously sweet character that makes me want to barf.

The man had once again smiled at her

No, I did not cut that off in midsentence. The punctuation is just not there!

Wow. I mean, wow. I didn’t even get a chance to go into things like how you can tell someone doesn’t know how to write when they don’t even use contractions in dialog. Author, please tell me you didn’t actually try to send this to agents. Please. I work so hard and so do they. Don’t waste their time if you can’t be bothered with punctuation and don’t take their time away from me.

#2 - Cliche Epic Fantasy: It's Not Magically Delicious

If you read what's known as high or epic fantasy, you're aware of what doorstoppers these books tend to be. Heck, if you've ever looked at a shelf with fantasy books on it, you might have wondered how it holds up to all that extra weight. Anti-gravity binding glue? IDK.

Unfortunately fantasy of this sort has a reputation among the uninitiated as being bloated and wordy. Largely because much of it is. The real problem, though, is when the writers are convinced it needs to be bloated and wordy. It doesn't. Yes, they're longer than most books due to the fact that an entire world needs to be established. Too bad some authors think this means they can load their sentences down with a cubic butt-ton of extra adjectives and adverbs.

Today we have a truly demonstrative example of this phenomenon. Just in case you're wondering, I'm the one in italics going completely nutso over this wreck:

“Young man! Have you lost your mind?” A stern voice called out as a powerful hand reached over, pulling the boy back onto the castle rampart from where he leaned far out over the battlement.

Whoa. Holy Long Ass Sentence, Batman. At least, it should be a long ass sentence. For some reason the ‘A’ is capitalized even though that sentence isn’t finished yet. Or if it is, it shouldn’t be.

And look, even if you want to keep that one sentence, some things are unnecessary. A “powerful” hand? Well I hardly think a weak, trembling hand is going to do the trick. And what other building has a rampart and a battlement? This one has the opposite problem of the last one: it wants to tell us everything right now without concern for making things unfold sensibly.

“Do you wish to meet your Maker before your time?”

Strike “before your time.” It doesn’t add anything. Obviously if a boy is leaning out over a battlement, the risk of meeting his Maker before his time is self-evident. He’s only a boy.

“No, my lord, I mean to save a life.” The boy answered as he pointed down. “See… A bird lies injured on the ledge.”

“No, my lord, I mean to save a life,” the boy answered as he pointed down. Haven’t you ever read a book before? And just how old is this boy? Who, especially a boy, talks like that? Also, he was leaning over the battlement, down is a bit of a given here.

Edging closer to the boy’s side, he peered out over the side of the battlement.

Wait…he? Who is he? Obviously not the boy, since the boy can’t edge closer to his own side.

There indeed rested a falcon. In a crumpled heap of ruffled feathers, aside from its rapid breathing, the bird lay still; its beak agape as the weary creature panted heavily.

Gah! What? Try Version 2.0: Less Labored: “The bird lay in a crumpled heap of feathers, still but for its rapid breathing, its beak agape as it panted.” Trust me, it doesn’t sound prettier twisted around like that. And it’s obviously in a sorry state, so details like “ruffled” are just padding. Same for “weary.” It’s laying in a heap on a ledge beneath a battlement, it’s hardly likely to be perky. And yes, “heavily” is unnecessary too, though I suppose I could forgive it if the rest of the sentence was cleaned up (but on the whole, panting is heavy by definition).

Its right wing dangled limply by its side.

What, it’s standing up? You need somewhere to dangle from. Consider carefully what something looks like when it’s lying in a crumpled heap.

“You risk your life for that of a bird?” he asked, reprimanding the boy.

Hey author? I still don’t know who “he” is. Why not?

“It is a foolhardy risk you take, Ewen Vatel!”

Oh, now I know who “he” is. “He” is Captain Bloody Obvious. One’s life is going to be a foolhardy risk every time. If you really need to stick in the Vocabulary Word of the Day, have Cap’n tell Ewen Vatel here what a foolhardy boy he is. Try that and maybe I won’t ask why he yelled out “young man” when he knew the kid’s name.

For an instant, the boy cringed inwardly. The only time he was ever addressed by his full name was when he was in big trouble.

“With all due respect, my lord, it is not my place to judge whether my life is of more value than that of the bird,” responded Ewen, in a meek voice as he politely addressed the Prince.

How old is this kid!? For that matter, who is he? Why does he speak like a man with 30-40 years of the best education available? Is he even old enough to be aware of the concept that something might hold more value than his own life? I don’t know because you haven’t bothered to tell me.

Thank you for finally giving me some clue who “he” is, though. But you address a prince Your Highness, generally, FYI.

“What I do know for certain is that falcon is in need of help. And I do not have the heart to deny it of aid, when it is the one thing I know I can offer.”

Holy Ravioli. Who are you, Terry Goodkind? George Lucas? Yes, you’re writing epic fantasy, but that doesn’t mean your entire cast of characters needs to speak like unrealistic cheesy ninnies.

“So be it! Your heart is much too large for your body, my young friend. Fetch a servant to aid you and then call upon the Wizard.

Not just any wizard, but the Wizard. We’re off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of ARGH!

Have Lindras Weatherstone tend to the falcon’s injury.

If Lindras Weatherstone turns out to be the wizard—excuse me, the Wizard—I’ll scream. Dialog is not meant to be abused like this.

When you are done, report to the King’s great hall.” With that said, the Prince of Carcross promptly turned away, disappearing down a long, gloomy corridor.

And there goes He, the Prince of Carcass!

…didn’t think that one through very hard, did you, Author?

*****

In the solitude of his small, dim-lit quarters, Ewen Vatel watched with an equal measure of fascination and concern as a tall, lean figure draped in a great, dusky blue-gray robe toiled by the light of the candle.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on, back up. That’s *counts* there’s at least nine adjectives in this one sentence. I don’t even know where to begin.

Solitude is a poor choice here considering its connotations; if you must, try privacy. A candle is obviously a dim light; strike one of those. Or just strike this all together ‘cause why the hell is a Wizard tending an injured bird in a small, dimly lit space? “In the privacy of his small quarters, Ewen watched, fascinated and concerned, as a tall, lean figure toiled by the light of a candle.” And even that’s pushing it. Forget the robes for the moment, they’re really of limited importance now.

The Wizard’s long fingers and large hands worked with uncanny dexterity and care.

We’ve obviously never heard of piano fingers, have we?

They were lined with many wrinkles - worn and tanned against his cascading whiskers.

*blink* Wat. His hands grow out of his face? And am I the only one who finds it slightly creepy how fascinated Ewen is with the Wizard’s hands? If this were a hot female Wizard and Ewen a fifteen-year-old boy, then I’d believe the intense scrutiny. Here it’s just fluff to make your novel longer than it needs to be.

Ewen smiled as he watched Lindras Weatherstone,

I knew it.

the great Wizard of the West

OMG I WAS KIDDING ABOUT THE WIZARD OF OZ THING!

as he set to work, thoroughly absorbed in the task at hand. Lindras grumbled just under his breath as his flowing, silvery beard dangled in his way as he attempted to neatly fold a narrow strip of clean cloth to use as a bandage.

You’re making me lose my ability to critique coherently. That sentence is a mess. “Lindras grumbled under his breath. His beard dangled in his way as he attempted to fold a narrow strip of cloth to use as a bandage.” Less is truly more. I mean, he’s a wise old wizard in a cliché epic fantasy, of course his beard is flowing and silvery. And unless he’s utterly incompetent, he’s hardly trying to sloppily fold a dirty cloth, is he?

Grabbing a hold of this silvery mane by the band of gold that held his whiskers neatly together,

Wat. A mane goes on the top of the head, not on the chin. Just because a lion’s goes all the way around does not make a beard a mane. “Grabbing hold of his beard by the band of gold that held it neatly bound” makes a lot more sense and isn’t padded with as much extra wording. Hint: you already told us it was silvery during the last sentence.

he casually tossed this beard over his shoulder and out of his way.

*hand raising*

Ah, yes, you over there from the Department of Redundancy Department. What’s your question?

DoRD Rep: Um, yes, we were just wondering, does the Wizard have a beard? We weren’t quite clear on that…

Sweeping his long, white hair from his face so he may better see, he tucked the stray wisps behind his ears.

Why is the great Wizard of the West playing with his hair like a bored teenage girl in algebra class? What’s next, is he going to write “Wizrd of the West waz here” on his notebook? And might, not may. Agents and editors generally prefer to pick a tense and stick with it; you should too.

Ewen could not help but notice this Wizard’s

This Wizard’s. This beard. What’s up with all this…this…THIS? The wizard. The beard. A beard. A wizard. Something other than this, it doesn’t even make sense like that.

ears were pointed like that of an Elf,

Oh man, you said the E-word. Look, even Tor is sick of elves and they published Robert Jordan. Chosen farm boys and magical swords cannot salvage this wreck, not even to the eyes of those who normally go for this crap.

however, what was just as conspicuous was that these ears were aged and tattered.

What’s conspicuous to me is that you’re wasting your first two pages on this nonsense. The state of the Wizard of Argh’s ears have no bearing on anything and I don’t care. If I cared about Argh and Ewen then maybe I’d give a damn. But all you’ve done is give them some cliché traits and really bad dialog, which doesn’t make me care.

To Ewen, these old ears looked like they were formed from thick pieces of worn, weathered parchment torn from an ancient book that a dog had chewed on.

Do me, you, and everyone else a favor and strike that. Please. It’s not poetic, it’s not pretty, it’s not profound, it’s just puke-inducing. Stop trying to write prose like a genius until you learn to actually be one.

“It is done,” announced Lindras, wiping his hands clean on a rag.

Oh god, finally.

With the falcon’s eyes shielded by a leather hood, the bird remained calm in this enforced darkness as the Wizard set its wing in place.

Since at this point it’s pretty obvious that I think your writing structure is made of fail, allow me to shift gears here. You fail animals forever, Author. The hood might keep the bird calm in certain situations; the excruciating pain of having a wing set is not one of them.

“That was fast,” commented the boy.

“That is because I know what I am doing,” responded Lindras, his words matter-of-fact.

No, Department of Redundancy Department, I’m not taking any more questions.

“Now, go fetch some water and convince the cook to give you a breast of chicken to feed this bird.”

A quick look on Wikipedia tells me that most birds of the raptor persuasion (i.e. hunting birds) need fur and/or feathers in their diet. A chicken breast is probably not going to meet those needs. A small bird such as a quail, or perhaps something like a rabbit would be good. Research: it’s your friend. Just because this is fantasy doesn’t mean you can (excuse the pun) wing it.

“Raw?” questioned Ewen.

“Of course, raw! It is not as though this falcon can cook up a meal in the wild,” answered Lindras, shooing the young servant away with a wave of his hand as he secured the makeshift bandage with the other.

Hey, two pages of nonsense later and we finally have some inkling of who Ewen is. A young servant. With his own room. Since this is more than likely your standard fantasy Ye Olde McMedieval Europe-alike (most of which are written by people who know jack all about medieval Europe) why would a servant boy, even one in the castle, have his own room?

“Now hurry, for I am confident this falcon will be in need of sustenance after enduring this ordeal.”

Me too, O’ Wise Wizard of Argh, me too. Wow. Overly padded with a horde of adjectives, loaded down with awkwardly phrased sentences and the worst dialog I’ve seen in a long time…Any agent or editor who makes it even this far deserves an enormous bar of chocolate. This is why you’re self-published.

#1 - Oh Lord, Not More Vampires

Some authors rail against fate. Some insist the publishing world will never understand their brilliance. Some have that good old battle cry, you know it, say it with me: "Traditional publishing is dead!"

No, actually, it's not. Just because anyone or their dog can "publish" a book these days doesn't mean traditional publishing is dead. It lives on, for a number of reasons. One of them is that self-publishing has a reputation for being crap--and with good reason. Most of it is crap. Here at This is Why You're Self-Published we'll show you the most egregious examples. Author and book titles not included; if you really want to read the rest of this mess, I won't be held responsible.

A last word: what I've critiqued here is the equivalent of the first two manuscript length pages.

She didn't scream. She should have, but the scream never formed.

First question: Why should she have screamed?

The event took only a second, but it burned into Beka's mind. She could see every detail in her mind. She still could smell the stale beer and the blood.

Um. What? Every detail of what? What’s going on here?

Her mind tried to reject what she saw. She would not let it; she had seen what she had seen.

Thank you, Department of Redundancy Department. So what about what she saw? Did she see it? ‘Cause I’m not sure that’s been made clear enough.
Sarcasm aside, what? What happened here? I have no clue. Obfuscating copiously doesn’t make your book mysterious or intriguing; it makes it annoying. If you’re not going to immediately reveal this “event” then this paragraph has no place here. You’re wasting time. I need to know why I should care enough to keep reading.

The Burgundy Rathskeller, a nightclub her brother John owned, filled up early that night. John called Beka and begged her to help out, for some extra cash. She agreed.

I’m still not caring. This is this. He did this. She did that. This isn’t a story, it’s a listing of facts. Show me what happened. If you can’t show me, it’s not important enough to warrant its own paragraph.

Even though he, her landlord as well, never had asked her to pay one bill, the extra cash was always handy.

Ouch. Twist the sentence a bit why don’t you? Try this instead: “Though he was her landlord, he never asked her to pay the bills.” Strike the last bit. Extra cash is always handy and you’re about to tell us why that is anyway.

Her disability checks did not last too long.

“Even so, her disability checks didn’t last long.” See how that works? Between the last sentence and this one, the reader can easily discern that extra cash is handy. Though if you’re going to pull out the old ‘tug the heart strings with mention of a disability’ this soon, what is said disability? Why should I care about it? What makes me root for the fact that Beka is working in spite of it?

Beka was working as a waitress and bar back.

I don’t know what a bar back is. Is she mixing drinks? Serving food? Cleaning dishes? What on earth is she doing and why isn’t waitressing enough? Is her brother’s club so unsuccessful that she can’t get good tips? ‘Cause um, club tips? Whoo boy.

She had just finished taking a tray of food and drinks to the lounge that the band was using. She was coming back through the long hallway, pushing her way through the crowd waiting to use the bathrooms, when a fight broke out.

“She had just finished taking a tray of food and drinks to the band and was coming back through the hallway, pushing her way through the crowd, when a fight broke out.” That’s all that’s necessary. A reader is going to know that she didn’t walk right up on stage to bring the band drinks. They’re going to know the band isn’t going to eat food on stage. They’re going to know the nightclub is crowded because you already said so. Unless we’re going into the bathrooms, forget about them. They’re unimportant.

Someone was pushed.

You’re still not doing anything other than tell me facts.

A cascade of bodies tumbled toward Beka. Someone stumbled into someone else, who ended up shoving her.

First: Well obviously. To all of it. What else could a cascade of bodies do? Although cascade is so not the word I’d use here. And since they’re tumbling about like a waterfall, apparently, of course someone stumbles into someone else.
Second: How does Beka feel about this? Aside from the absurd obfuscating in the first paragraph, I have no clue how Beka feels, what her emotions are.

She hit the door to Vincent's private lounge and it opened.

This could just as easily mean that she knocked and Vincent opened the door. Did she hit it or did she actually collide with it?

Beka careened in, spilling the drinks on the floor.

Well I hardly think she spilled them on the ceiling. Also, she had more drinks? I didn’t know. Hey, now that the fridge logic is catching up to me, why are the bathrooms in a spot that interrupts the servers when they’re trying to do their job? And while I’m at it, why does Brother John let Beka wait if she’s incapable of keeping her poise enough not to drop drinks? And how did she avoid dropping them when the crowd ran into her in the first place? Also-also, I can’t find a definition of careen that matches the way you’re using it.

There it was.

Oh, well that clears things up.

On the fainting couch was Vincent and the young lady he had been charming all night.

The fainting couch? Really? What century is this supposed to be, anyway? How old are you? Who under fifty uses the term “young lady”? Also, I admit to a lack of experience with clubbing but even so, I’m pretty sure it’s less faint, more pass out.

She laid on her back, eyes closed, a slight smile curved on her lips. It looked romantic, until it registered with Beka what Vincent was doing.

Hey, we finally have some inkling of how Beka perceives something. And okay look, I have trouble with this one too, though I usually operate on instinct here (which has it’s ups and downs). But in reality you want “She lay on her back”, lay being the past tense of to lie. Laid is the past tense of to lay, and something tells me you’re not looking for either meaning of that one.

Vincent laid next to the young lady on his side,

I thought she was lying on the fainting couch. Why is she suddenly on Vincent’s side? “Vincent lay on his side next to the young lady.”

holding her with one arm. His hand was cupped around her breast. His lips on her neck.

I’m not opposed to sentence fragments from a stylistic point of view. Sometimes they work. This one? Not so much. Immediately my mind goes “His lips on her neck what?” And you can use “His hand cupped her breast.” Less wordy and um, if it’s cupping her breast, it’s pretty obviously around it. That’s how cupping operates.

Beka saw his teeth piercing the woman's neck; just the tops of his teeth were visible.

If only the tops of his teeth are visible then she can’t see his teeth piercing the woman’s neck. Your semi-colon connects these two sentences but what you’re actually trying to convey doesn’t fit. Just strike everything after the semi-colon. It adds absolutely nothing of value.

Vincent pulled his lips back, in a grimace.

Strike that comma.

A trickle of blood slithered down the young lady's skin.

No, no it did not because blood doesn’t slither. Slithering implies it somehow moves from side to side. Blood drips, it trickles, it runs, but it does not slither. If you want to pretty up your prose, know what you’re talking about first.

Beka stepped back. Reaching her hand behind her, she fumbled for the door.

“Fumble” is the only indication we get of how Beka feels about this. Is she scared? Excited? Ill? Disbelieving? I still don’t see why I should give a damn about any of this.

Vincent glanced up at her. His normal sweet blue eyes were now red with a tint of yellow.

Unless “sweet” is Beka’s perception of Vincent’s eyes, that adjective has no place there. How does Beka react to Vincent? Connect the adjective to her view of him or leave it out. Because I sure as hell don’t think his eyes are sweet.

He pointed at Beka.

Why?

She stumbled back, her hand groping for the door knob.

Stumbled back to where, precisely? She’d already backed up and started fumbling for the door. Also, is she scared yet? Something? Anything?

Her fingers wrapped around it and she pushed the door open. Beka forced herself to take another step back, into the crowded hallway.

Oh, so she’s not scared then. Else why would she need to “force” herself to take another step back?

She slammed the door shut as Vincent sat up.

Well she hardly slammed it open. Excuse me if I’m being a bit of a pedant here, but all the word shut does it make this redundant and more wordy. By now an agent or editor is probably wishing for a way to huck sample pages at the wall.

The press of the crowd kept her from running. Beka used her ample frame to push her way through the people standing around the hallway.

Ooo, hey, we finally have the first clue what the heck Beka looks like. Um, whoa, wait…she describes herself as “ample”? And for crying out loud, what else would she push her way through? You’ve stated more than once that there’s a tight knot of people there.

She shoved her way through the dance floor, using her elbows against the backs of the dancers.

No. Either she shoved her way through the crowd on the dance floor or she shoved her way across the dance floor. You can’t move through a floor, no matter what kind it is.

She slammed into the doors to the entry hall, squeezing her way pass Swen, the large bouncer, and outside. He spun around surprised, his dirty blond ponytail almost hitting Beka in the face.

Okay, I can maybe give you the name thing (although Swen? Really?) but why on earth would Beka notice his dirty blond ponytail almost hitting her in the face? Is she that unperturbed by the situation? Look, 1) the bouncer isn’t going to be in front of the employee exit, 2) there will be one because in most places law requires at least two modes of egress and 3) Swen’s hair is completely and utterly moot.

She stumbled out of the club and into the open street. She ran. Adrenaline took over, she forced herself to run, something her body did not want to do.

WHAT!? Deep breaths, deep breaths…The first sentence is redundant but not a major crime. It’s the rest of it. If adrenaline took over (from what? Have we gotten to fear yet?) then her body probably would have no problem with running. That’s kind of the point of adrenaline.

Beka ran a couple of blocks before her shins started to complain. Her heart felt like it was trying to come out of her chest. She tried to take in a breath, but couldn't. She choked. She collapsed on the bench at the covered bus stop and vomited.

Gah. Can’t you figure out any other way to start a sentence? Also, man, we don’t need every single miniscule detail here. Forget her trying to take a breath and being unable to; you’ve made it clear she’s exerted herself more than usual. Forget the choking bit, the vomit is bad enough. And if she’s that out of breath and ready to vomit she’s not going to notice a bench or a covered bus stop. More likely she’ll just bend over and let ‘er rip. Crude, I know, but we do want her to feel like an actual person, right?

She had ran two blocks and she felt like she was going to die.

No, really? I hadn’t noticed.

She coughed and gulped the cool night air. When she raised her head, Vincent stood in front of her.

And then she…

She wiped her face.

She wiped her face!? She didn’t jump? She didn’t feel fear? Then why the hell did she run away?

Her legs shook, her side felt like someone had stabbed her.

More words =/= dramatic tension. All you’re doing is stating yet again her physical state. How about her mental one? You’ve barely mentioned that at all.

Beka stared at him with her mouth open. She could not stop her heavy breathing, no screams or words could out.

We have this word in the English language, one that would make that wordy little sentence look like this: “Beka gaped at him.” Also, so in other words “She was breathing too heavily to get out a scream or even a word.” Though I still have no idea why she might scream. Apparently neither do you.

Vincent sat down. He looked like he always had.

Knowledge I, the reader, do not yet have. It’s called “sequence”, my friend, and it’s dreadfully important in writing.

His shoulder length brown hair, with the neat goatee and mustache, and his calming blue eyes.

Wat. His shoulder length brown hair, goatee/mustache, and calming blue eyes what? If you want to make this a stylistic sentence fragment: “Shoulder length brown hair, neat goatee and mustache, calming blue eyes.” You could even string it to the previous sentence with a colon. However I advise nixing “calming.” Blue might be a cool color and therefore soothing but it doesn’t work that way. Beka is supposed to be scared (even though you’ve done a lousy job of showing us that) so odds are good she won’t find his eyes “calming.”

He made no move toward her, instead staring off into the distance for a moment.

Vincent might just have the right idea. I’ll stop before I go cross-eyed. Now, I made it through roughly the equivalent of two manuscript pages here. I doubt an agent or editor is going to make it even that far. This is why you’re self-published.