Dianne is right. You don’t need to apologize for your work. You’re doing a great job, as is everyone who posts here, and Sterling Editing is always a safe space for people to “work in public.” Everyone will get honest feedback, and it will also always be respectful feedback (and we certainly aim for it to be helpful!).

I understand what you’re saying about Ava being a softie, and you’re the writer, so you’re in charge. But I encourage you to think about always having high emotional stakes for your characters. A scene in which someone is disappointed is fine, as long as their disappointment is significant for some reason — a last straw, a case of really bad timing, the behavior is putting everyone in some kind of bad position, etc. In this case, Ava’s internal thoughts are about “blackmail” (which is a nice strong emotional choice) and “stealing” (also a strong choice). I’d like to see her interaction with Letta reflect more of that emotional turmoil — or, conversely, I’d like to know that she’s struggling not to show Letta how strong her internal turmoil is. When you make the stakes higher, your readers see not just this one interaction, but also get a sense of the history of the relationship and the conflicting values of the characters.

I’ve had a lot of caffeine today (smile) so let me know if this doesn’t make sense, and I’ll clarify.

Your writing is good, so stop apologizing for your work ahead of time.

One thing I’d recommend is try to be consistent with your verb tenses — either past or present. It’s rare that an author can pull off flip-flopping back and forth. (The book of Mark from The Bible is an example.)

Most of this selection is in past tense: “I clutched my sword hilt and turned quickly,” but “I admire her curves as she tends to the sleeping Gwen,” is present tense. Go with “admired” and “tended.”

Try to find specific action verbs to tighten up your writing. Words like “looked,” “walked,” “went,” are generic and don’t tell us a lot, so we have to use extra adverbs and adjectives to explain how they looked, how they walked, etc.

Here’s how I might do it, but when you rewrite, use YOUR voice, not mine.

I walked through patrolled the small village, constantly on the lookout for anything suspicious ever wary, ever vigilant. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a smear of black. I clutched my sword hilt and spun. It was Eletta slipping back into the cottage.

(either put a space here to indicate this is a new scene or write a sentence to indicate that Ava has followed her inside)

I admired her curves as she tended to the sleeping Gwen. “Letta dear, what are you doingwhere’ve you been?”

“Um, nothing Ava!” I noticed her tense up, and She tensed,stiffened as she trying to hide something from my sight.

“Damn it, Let! Did you pilfer another cloak for her?” How many times did I have to tell you stealing is wrong? warn her about stealing?

“Well Ava, darling, love, we have no money. to buy this stuff that she needs! Poor dear is freezing to death!”

I sighed and shook my head, felt my jaw clench “Letta, That doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry would You would rather see her die then?”

I stiffened, of course I would never want a child to die, much less her daughter who Gwen was like my own child as well flesh and blood. Yet, I couldn’t let her go on stealing. Her Eletta’s blackmail was cutting me to the core.

“Besides, who are you going to turn me in to? Are you going to cut my hand off?” I wanted to wipe the smug grin from her face. Your lover? Please, you’re under my finger when it comes to this. “You may be the face of justice, but you wont do a thing against me.”

I walked through the small village, constantly on the lookout for anything suspicious. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a smear of black. I clutched my sword hilt and turned quickly to see Eletta sneaking off into the cottage.

“Letta dear, what are you doing?”

I admire her curves as she tends to the sleeping Gwen.

“Um, nothing Ava!” I noticed her tense up, and stiffen as she tried to hide something from my sight.

“Damn it, Let! Did you pilfer another cloak for her? How many times do I have to tell you stealing is wrong?”

“Well Ava, darling, love, we have no money to buy this stuff that she needs! Poor dear is freezing to death!”

I sighed and shook my head, “Letta, that doesn’t make it right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry would you rather her die then?”

I stiffened, of course I would never want a child to die, much less her daughter who was like my own child as well. Yet, I couldn’t let her go on stealing. Her blackmail was cutting me to the core.

“Besides, who are you going to turn me into? Are you going to cut my hand off? Your lover? Please, you’re under my finger when it comes to this. You may be the face of justice, but you wont do a thing against me.”

I’m so new to this story that I’m not yet sure of Lucy’s level of security – it’s something I’m still debating. Playing around with writing her different ways is helping. I know that she has a bit of an attitude problem with straight men, and a definite attitude problem with Christians. Lucy is pretty live-and-let-live until you try to tell her how she should live, at which point she gets belligerent and bull-headed. I know she has a couple of deep insecurities, but they’re a bit buried and at the beginning of the story she’s unaware of them. I also know that at the beginning of the story she believes that her spirit cannot be broken. The rest I’m still working on . . .

I definitely like your rewrite. There are a couple of small things I think I would alter but I’m not sure yet. I need to let it gel a bit.

Thank you again.

In the rainbow glow of the Kaine’s Bar and Grill sign I watched the picket sign run and drip. ‘God loves the repentant.’ If the word of your God can be wiped out by a small April flurry, you’re in trouble.
The boy holding the sign was about my age, twenty-five, and his face shone with earnestness. “Officer, Mrs. Wright must have put her foot on the gas pedal by accident,” he said. “She is a woman of God.”
“Accident my ass,” I said. The picket crowd tittered – wicked heathen dyke! “It was a hate crime. That woman didn’t even slow for the stop sign – she plowed right into Dolphus without batting an eye.”
“So you saw the driver’s face, Ms. James?”
“Uh, no.”
“Officer,” Earnest Boy said, “we’re here to help these people, not harm them.”
The officer clicked his pen irritably at him. “I haven’t seen you with Divine Mission before. How long have you known Mrs. Wright?”
“About a week, sir.” He looked at his feet.
The officer wrapped it up soon after that and left, but when I turned to go the boy caught my arm. “Please – you don’t have to be a slave to sex and Satanism.”
I shook him off. “I’m Pagan. Satan’s your problem. I’m here to talk to a friend about a roommate.”
“But you don’t have to trade sex so you have a place to stay.”
“Let me make it simple for you – some new shovel jockey can’t afford a hotel. He’s going to crash on the spare bed in the room I rent at my friend Megan‘s. Platonically. Asshole.” He paled.
I turned, and saw Megan striding over with a less-than-happy look on her face.
“Corbin,” she said to the boy. She nodded at his picket sign. “I thought we had an agreement.”
The boy–Corbin–blushed. Megan turned to me. “Lucy James, meet Corbin McCaffey, your new roommate.”

You’ll see that the biggest changes I’ve made are to Lucy’s dialogue. In one or two places it changes her presentation (but to me she was coming across as less sure of herself than I think you intended; if you did intend her insecurity then by all means, change it back). If this were mine, I’d take those changes a lot further, but you have to make those choices. Anyway, now that it’s cut to a reasonable length, take a look, see what you think.

.
In the rainbow glow of the Kaine’s Bar and Grill sign I could see small black rivulets dripping from the picket sign’s lettering – ‘God loves the repentant’. I guess if you’re going to lead the world to salvation it’s best to invest in something better than tempera paint. If the word of your God can be wiped out by a small April flurry, you’re in trouble – or at least that’s my philosophy. The boy shifted his gloved grip on the picket. He was about my age – twenty-fiveish – but taller than me, which of course just about everyone is. His face was filled with that innocent earnestness that suggests supreme gullibility. I waited for the excuses to start flowing.

“Officer, Mrs. Wright must have accidentally put her foot on the gas pedal instead of the brake,” the boy said – earnestly of course. “Mrs. Wright is a woman of God and would never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, accidentally my ass,” I snorted. The picket crowd tittered at my word choice – see the evils of the heathen dyke! “It was a freakin‘ hate crime. Dolphus was riding his bike across the street, sir. That woman didn’t even slow for the stop sign – she sped up and plowed right into him without batting an eye.”

“Could you see the driver’s face, Miss James?”

I swallowed. “No officer.”

“Officer, we’re here to help these people, not harm them.”

The officer seemed unmoved. I knew I was. He clicked his pen irritably. “I haven’t seen you with Divine Mission before. How long have you known Mrs. Wright?” This time it was the boy’s Adam’s apple that bobbed, and I took pleasure in every second of it. Freakin’ Christians.

“About a week, sir.” The boy shuffled his feet, though whether from embarrassment or trying to keep warm I wasn’t sure.

“Thank you both, that will be all.” The officer walked away. I turned to go but the boy caught my arm.

“Please – you don’t have to be a slave to sex and Satanism.”

Un-freakin‘-believable. Where did they find these people? “I’m Pagan, thanks. We don’t even believe in Satan. Next time research your infidels? And screw sex – I’m here to talk to a friend about a roommate.”

“But you don’t have to trade sex so you have a place to stay.”

“What is it with you and sex? Let me make it simple for you – some new shovel jockey can’t afford a hotel. He’s going to crash on the spare bed in the room I rent at my friend Megan‘s. Platonically. Do you mind?” Apparently he did, because his face turned ashen. Turning, I saw Megan striding up to us with a less-than-happy look on her face. More a you’ve-betrayed-my-trust look, but I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve it.

“Corbin,” she said, and I swear the air grew even colder around us. “I thought we had an agreement?” Megan said, her eyes on the picket sign. Corbin blushed.

“Agree- oh hell, no Megan – ”

“Lucy James, meet Corbin McCaffey, your new roommate.”