There's one piece of advice the agent I'm querying gave me that I'm a little iffy on. What are you guys' opinions on it? "Henry shouldn't talk directly to the audience, nor should there be an abundance of inner dialogue. Having this as part of your story keeps the reader from being intrenched in the scene. It actually pulls the reader out of the flow." My story is a YA urban fantasy told in first person, with a big emphasis on humor. Henry talking directly to the audience ("Have you ever been sat on by an elephant? Because that's the closest thing I can imagine to how that felt.") is part of her character and her race's culture, trying to push jokes and humor into almost everything. I can edit it out no problem, but I'm just curious as to whether or not anyone else agrees with her. And what about internal dialogue? I'm not even sure if I understand what she means by that. Could she be referring to something like this? I stopped moving entirely, those words shattering my mind the way a wrecking ball demolishes a house of cards. I couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch as my family, my freaking family, filed out of the hospital room—leaving me alone with Ethan’s corpse. Slowly, I turned to look at him. To think that bedsheet mummy was him, when it felt like I’d seen him alive and well just minutes ago. I could barely bring myself to believe it. But it was true. It had to be. With that, I collapsed onto his bed, crying my heart out. I was a terrible Hunter, a terrible friend, and a terrible person. This was all my fault. And now I’d lost the only thing that gave my life meaning. My family had disowned me. My friends hated me. I should finish what the maiams at Feverdream Field had started, and do a swan dive off the roof. Eventually, I stood up. I don’t know how long I’d been crying, but it hadn’t made me feel better. All I wanted was to lie down on the floor and never move again. And maybe I would. But first, for my own peace of mind—or as close to it as I would ever get—I needed to see Ethan’s body for myself. Slowly, I walked to the side of Ethan’s bed and held out a shaking hand, but stopped. Touching him after what I’d done felt wrong. But I had to do this. I clutched his bedsheets in my hand, counted to three, and whipped them off— Or is that just considered narration?