Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas


I finished reading James Patterson's “Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas” last night and immediately wanted to talk about it. Patterson is a best seller of what seems every book he writes, so I had certain expectations. This would explain why I was somewhat surprised by how... not great it was. I looked online to see if others shared my views and I found it had very divided comments; some gave it a 5+ and have cherished it since it was printed in 2001 and others thought the best place for it was as fuel for a bonfire. Despite not really loving it, I can't agree with either of these dramatic reviews and here's why.

SPOILERS NOW

The story starts after Katie gets dumped by Matt, the man of her dreams, from what seemed the perfect relationship for no apparent reason. (It was at this point I realized I picked up a romance novel, but that’s neither here nor there.) She goes to the Hudson River to relive a date she had with Matt or something and takes note that men start eyeing her. In spite of the obvious sexual attention, she then talks about how she's too tall and "gawky" and that she genuinely believes people look at her "for all the wrong reasons."

Right away, I thought, great, another “perfect” woman who’s beautiful but doesn’t know it. This is where my main criticism of the book starts forming. She goes home and get's a package that contains a diary from Matt's ex-wife. Here we dive into the story where we learn about Suzanne and how perfect she is. And boy, she is perfect. Aside from perhaps working so hard she has a heart attack, nothing about Suzanne really stands out as a flaw. Actually, neither Katie nor Suzanne have any major character flaws. Everything they do that could be considered a flaw is endearing. Suzanne is a truly hard worker (and incredibly smart and humble to boot). Katie has a hard time telling her parents and Matt she’s pregnant... which I don’t think could be considered a flaw but is the only thing I could think to write. It’s almost as if this book was written by a man who’s heterosexual and therefore fantasizes about what traits are most desirable in women and writes them into characters. Huh.

The progression of the story I actually had no problem with. I enjoyed diving in to Suzanne’s world and coming up into Katie’s. I did find myself interested to learn what happened to Matt’s family, even though I guessed what had happened almost immediately because it was blaringly obvious. Still, I wanted to know how. So, that was neat. The love Suzanne showers Nicholas is lovely to read, even if it does continue to do nothing but highlight how perfect Suzanne is. AAND here we are again with why this book was not so awesome.

The whole time Patterson is trying to make you tear up while leading you up to a big cry. Patterson tries too hard to get you to like Suzanne and even Katie in order to make a tearjerker that whips you through the entire book. I cried a few times, sure, but when we discover what happened when Suzanne had her final heart attack I didn’t feel anything because by then  you realize how vapid the characters are and that the whole book was like a piece of toast who’s only purpose is to cram as much butter into your gullet as possible. Then there’s the ending where Matt mimics Suzanne’s kneeling for forgiveness and does it in public so the whole world can see, which is just so... cringy; especially because it’s trying to get you to cry again. I curled up inside and was done for good at that point.

Had the characters portrayed qualities that were mean, passive aggressive, irritating, just SOMETHING not cute or pleasant, I would be able to relate to them, which you could argue creates emphathy, though that may be for a lack of a better word. Now that I think about it, even the side characters don’t really have negative traits except for those who are catalysts for more tear jerking moments (like the people driving the truck that hit Gus). If I could relate to them, it would make me far more invested into the character’s emotions, rather than just curious about what happened to them in general while feeling some sympathy. Empathy creates far greater emotion by definition.

Anyway, I pointed out for the most part why the book wasn’t wonderful. However, the other aspects I quite enjoyed, which brings me to my main point for writing this. “Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas” by James Patterson doesn’t deserve a 1/5 stars or a 5/5. I’d place it at a ‘worth reading once’ out of ‘it goes in the home library’. What would that be? 2.5/5?

Friday, May 13, 2016

On Hold

                "Uhhhh!" Sarah yelled as she threw a particularly bright red plastic cup across the living room, hitting the wall with a loud clunk. Jeremy, who was absorbed in his final research paper of the semester, jumped. 
                "Oh, Sarah!" He said, closing his laptop and placing it under the coffee table for safe keeping. Sarah was known to throw anything within her grasp and at quite an impressive velocity.
                "Come on, sis. Jeremy said as he softly, but firmly grabbed her by the arms and walked her to her room as she groaned. A situation like that could go south very fast if not interrupted, something Jeremy learned over and over again with his autistic sister. She was non-verbal and needed a lot of gentle attention to calm her sensitivity to sounds, sights, textures, anything she perceived with her senses that might overwhelm her. Her condition demanded constant supervision.
                Sarah's room was very tidy, no litter on the aqua-coloured carpet, well-groomed lavender linen with white teddy bears and toy bunnies resting on the pillows, a small desk with some crayons for colouring, a few textured stress balls, and a hamper with Sarah's dirty clothes near the exit. Aside from sleeping, this was her recovery room to prevent or manage a meltdown.
                "Look at this, Sarah," Jeremy said as he showed her a yellow and blue toy made of connected small, soft beads. Sarah took the toy, threw it into the hallway, and immediately started pounding her head with her fist as she yelled at the top of her lungs. Jeremy pulled her into his chest and wrestled her arms away from her head, getting bitten in the process. He shut his eyes for a few seconds to calm the bubbling feeling in his head and stomach. Anxiety had been building up the past few days and not just over finals. He was getting ready to move on.
                Once Sarah had stopped trying to hit herself, Jeremy let go.
                "How about we just lay down for a while?" He said, shutting the blinds. This removed shadows cast in the room as well as the overwhelming brightness of daylight, much to Sarah's relief. He walked back to her and laid down, making sure not to move around too much. Sarah was still kicking, but no longer hitting herself, so Jeremy let it go.

                It was getting darker in the room and Sarah was examining the squishy toy she threw out of the room earlier, but Jeremy was still in the bed, having gazed at the ceiling for over an hour. Sarah may have recovered, but the bubbling in his head had grown worse. It felt like tiny bugs were swimming through his veins and trying to take over his brain, a feeling he associated with anxiety. For seven years, he had been taking care of Sarah. Seven years he gave up his personal life, said goodbye to his friends or the other way around, left his girlfriend, quit pursuing his dream of being an architect, and devoted his life to taking care of his younger sister. Yet the thought of leaving her in a facility, if he could even get her a room in one, wrenched his heart like a wet rag and made him nauseous.
                He could barely remember what life was like before his sister (he was five when she was born) but he remembers it was a simpler time for everyone. His parents would take him swimming at the lake in summer and he would splash around in the water for what seemed like hours until his dad or mom suggested ice-cream and hot dogs for dinner. After brushing his teeth and a hot bath, his mom would tuck him in and sing him songs till he fell asleep, warm and quiet. But then Sarah was born and they stopped going to the beach. They tried once, but Sarah had a meltdown and cut her lip on a rock, smearing blood all over her face as she lashed out. The image never left Jeremy's mind, his sister crying, screaming, bleeding; his parents, a nervous wreck.
                "Uh," Sarah said, having walked over to Jeremy. She was holding the textured toy in her hands near Jeremy's face. Jeremy took the ball and smiled. The bubbling feeling had disappeared, leaving a heat in his chest that wasn't there a moment ago.
                "Thank you, Sarah," he said, sitting up and giving her a hug. "Do you want some dinner?"
                "Uhhh," she said, jerking her head around in a way Jeremy learned to interpret as a yes.
                "How about some ice-cream and hot dogs?"

Standing up, he placed his arm around Sarah and walked with her to the kitchen. 

Lost Boy [Part 1]

The flooring had mostly given out; the broken boards standing seven, maybe eight feet below like Roman spears awaiting enemy advancement. Peter felt his heart pounding quickly in his chest as he crawled along what was still intact, able to see clearly thanks to the house's missing roof and remarkably luminescent full moon. Normally he needed a flashlight or hand-held lamp just to see in front of his face. The spikey floorboards were new to him, but he continued regardless.
“Ow,” Peter yelled, scraping his finger across a splinter in the wood. His voice sounded eerily loud in the abandoned house, causing him to stop and stare towards the middle of the room. He never spoke louder than a whisper in this place, not so much because he was always there at night and without permission, but more so because he felt like he wasn’t the only one in the house.
Looking at his finger, he saw a small droplet of blood forming; a black, maroonish bead that sat on his finger like an infinitesimal globe. Once the pain had subsided, Peter pressed on. He experienced many small injuries in this place and none of them were bad enough to leave. Besides, he had already managed to escape his home without sounding the alarms, avoid the police that patrolled his neighborhood, and walk through the thick woods that bordered his area to this desolate house two miles away.
                Reaching his usual spot, a place on the upper level where the floorboards were still intact, Peter laid down and rested his head on a bed pillow he brought from one of his family’s guest bedrooms. It was slightly damp from the rainstorm a week ago and smelled like rotten dust. Peter didn’t mind it though, he considered it all a part of the experience. After settling down, he cleared his throat and whispered, “I summon Pan’s shadow to take me to Neverland,” and waited. Soon, the faintest glimmer of a shadow seemed to drift through the waving birch and oak leaves that surrounded the house, approaching Peter in a way that reminded him of a traveling wale, but much smaller and airborne.
“So, this is where you go late at night.” Peter heard a loud, tired voice behind him and whizzing around saw his sister, Wendy.
“Shhhh!” Peter hissed, “You have to whisper!”
“Why?” Wendy said, out of breath. She gingerly crawled towards Peter, a fearful expression on her face as she looked at the broken pile of boards beneath them, and laid down next to him. “Ugh! What’s that smell?” she asked, turning a ghastly face towards Peter’s pillow. “Is that the pillow from the upstairs guest room? It’s completely moldy.”
“Stop! I just called the shadow! He’s here!” Peter said, pointing at the top of the open ceiling.
“Oh, no.” Wendy said, sitting up and staring at him incredulously. “You’ve come here at least twice a week to conjure up a figment of your imagination? You could have just done that in bed! Christ!”
Peter just rolled his eyes and continued to stare at the shadowy mass, hovering expectantly or so it seemed to him.
“It’s horribly dangerous here, Peter. If you fell, you would get skewered. I won’t tell Mom and Dad if you come home right now and promise to not come back.”
“You don’t think it’s a coincidence that your name is Wendy, do you?” Peter said, ignoring her comment completely.
“I was named ‘Wendy’ because Mom and Dad thought it was cute, were obsessed with the story of Peter Pan, and didn’t realize it was a fictional name. And you” she emphasized, “are ‘Peter,’ because you just looked like a ‘Peter’ to them. Besides, I’m getting it changed when I turn 18.”
“Jeez Louise, you talk too much,” Peter said. He was still very uncomfortable about being noisy in this sacred space. “You’re ruining my chances,” he mumbled. Wendy just sighed as she looked up at the stars. It was past twelve in the morning and she had to go to her etiquette class at seven. She knew her parents would flip if she passed on going. She knew she needed to convince him to go home soon, at least to avoid falling to death.
“Peter Pan is an old legend of a man who would abduct kids at night” she said, “in England, no less.”
“That’s never been proved!” Peter said, speaking normally now. “It doesn’t matter that it started in England, anyway. Pan’s shadow can travel anywhere at night.”
“Peter,” Wendy said, speaking sternly, “This has gone on long enough. This house should have been destroyed a decade ago, so that kids like you couldn’t get themselves mortally wounded. Pan’s shadow doesn’t exist and even if it did, it wouldn’t come for you because you have a loving family.” She enunciated at the end, “You. Are. Not. A. Lost. Boy.”
Peter glowered at Wendy saying “I might as well be,” flew past her, and crawled his way out of the house before Wendy could say “don’t run.”


[TO BE CONTINUED]

10 Minute Screenplay from Intro. to Creative Writing








Midnight Visitor
A Play
by
Elizabeth Sanders











Elizabeth Sanders
Thomas Maltman
Intro. Creative Writing
04/02/2016


Characters

CINDY, a professional artist in her late 20s. Recently became Shawn's wife.

SHAWN, a professional blogger and novelist also in his late 20s.Completely absorbed in his new marriage; totally in love.

Setting

Suburbs, Cindy and Shawn's master-suit bedroom, third floor, painted pink, clean, save for a few fuzzy blankets and pajamas lying in random areas around the room; a real love nest.

Time

Friday at midnight, the present

A box of opened condoms with many torn wrappers is scattered around on the bed. Cindy and Shawn are in their underwear cuddling under the covers. It's dark in the room, save for a small bedside lamp. You can hear rain tapping against their window as they gaze into each other's eyes, whispering sweet nothings. A bright red heart pillow rests under their heads. Suddenly, lightning strikes; the lights flash, their house rumbles, and a cracking sound makes them jump.

CINDY: [screams] Oh, my goodness!
[Both sit up.]
SHAWN: Are you okay, dear?
CINDY: Yeah. I was just startled.
SHAWN: Here, lay your head on my chest. I will protect you.
[Shawn gently pushes Cindy's head against his chest.]
CINDY: My superman! [Swirling her finger in large circles over his chest] You're such a stud!
SHAWN: Can you believe we've been married for a full year now?
CINDY: Has it already been that long? It feels like we got married yesterday.
SHAWN: Time flies by when you're having fun.


CINDY: Oh, Shawn! You're so cute! I mean, you’d be cuter if you would let me take a job on in France.
SHAWN: [smile fades] Cindy…
[A door can be heard opening and closing off stage. They look at each other intensely.]
CINDY AND SHAWN: [in unison] What was that?
CINDY: [terrified] Did someone break in?
SHAWN: [whispers] SH! I hear something!
[Footsteps can be heard off in the distance]
SHAWN: [CONT'D] Someone's in our home!
CINDY: Holy, fuck!
[Cindy jumps up and puts on her pajamas. Shawn then does the same. Cindy runs to the window and looks out at their backyard.]

CINDY: [CONT'D - whispering] The back gate is open! I think they're in the basement! Shawn! What if they have a gun?
SHAWN: We need to call the police!
[Cindy searches her pockets and bedside table for her phone]
CINDY: Shit! I left my phone in the kitchen.
SHAWN: Me too.
[Both pause and stare wide-eyed at each other]
CINDY: Oh, my God, Shawn! The cat!
SHAWN: No! Mittens!
[Cindy walks over to Shawn slowly, with a light foot]
CINDY: Shawn, listen to me. You have to go downstairs.
SHAWN: [aghast] What? Why me?
CINDY: [threateningly] Because! You're the man! It'd be dangerous if I went.
[Shawn looking scared, tiptoes to the door, peeks his head out for a few seconds, then pulls back in.]
SHAWN: You go!
CINDY: Hell, no! What if it's a man? He could over-power me!
SHAWN: You take martial art classes!
[Cindy stares threateningly at Shawn]
CINDY: I’ve only just gotten my yellow belt! That means nothing in terms of self-defense.
SHAWN: Well, I won't go alone! Come with me!
[Both peek their heads out the bedroom door]
CINDY: Okay, whatever. You have to go first, though.
[Loud sounds are heard downstairs, clanging of glasses, moving of chairs, cabinets opening and closing, etc]
Shawn: [crosses his hands in the father-son-holy ghost motion] Dear Lord, please save us!
CINDY: [looks at Shawn with a confused expression] You never told me you were Christian.
SHAWN: I’m not. Just in case.
CINDY: Help me barricade the door, Shawn.
SHAWN: Oh, right!
 [Both move over to the bed and lift it, clearly struggling, but manage to block the door.]
SHAWN: Now what?
CINDY: [stares at Shawn for a few seconds] Let me go to France.
SHAWN: [uncomfortable] Now isn’t the time.
CINDY: Shawn!
SHAWN: NO!
[Another flash of lightning strikes and thunder rumbles the house. Both just stare at each other, neither flinching.]
CINDY: Why?
SHAWN: We have jobs here, in America.
[Cindy crosses her arms]
SHAWN: [CONT’D] And a cat.
CINDY: I’d only be gone six months. You can take care of Mittens just fine.
SHAWN: But we take care of her together! It wouldn’t be the same!
CINDY: That can’t be why you don’t want me to go. Come on, cough it up!
SHAWN: [avoiding eye-contact] It’s true! We have responsibilities!
CINDY: You’re afraid I’m going to find another man, aren’t you?
[Shawn looks startled.]
CINDY: Ah-HAH! I knew it! You think I’m going to leave you with some attractive Frenchman!
SHAWN: You think their attractive?
[Cindy looks at Shawn with her mouth open for a few seconds then laughs deeply.]
SHAWN: It could happen.
CINDY: It could.
[Shawn looks horrified]
CINDY: [CONT’D] But it won’t. You’re coming with me!
SHAWN: I can’t go to France!
CINDY: Why not?
SHAWN: … Because I… don’t know.
[Cindy just smiles]
SHAWN: [CONT’D] Oh, my god!
CINDY: Stop with the Christian stuff.
SHAWN: No. Oh, my God, we’re going to France!
CINDY: [squeals] Really?!
SHAWN: [grabs Cindy by the shoulders] Yes! Mittens can stay with my Mom for a few months and my work is totally online!
[Both jump up and down, making loud banging noises beneath them. The basement door can be heard opening and closing.]
CINDY: Did they leave?
[They walk over to the window and look out]
SHAWN: [fear no longer in his voice] Look! There they are!
CINDY: Wow. Trench coat and everything.
SHAWN: If you’re going to rob, I guess do it in style, huh?
CINDY: What do you suppose they took?
SHAWN: [looks at Cindy with a big smile and excited as if on an adventure] Want to go see?

[They take each other’s hands and open the door over the bed, crawl over, not acknowledging the ineffective barricade, and exit the stage.]

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Gasp



A/N: I will take suggestions on these!

One thousand year old rock,
turned to sand in minutes,
rubbing between our toes,
our bodies grinding pearls
to medicine we take orally
and otherwise.
Our hearts ,
blue whales finally meeting
after a millennium of diving alone,
coming together, aiding our desperate need
for air.

Now we are left wet and warm,
salty foam on our mouths, chests,
between our legs,
so we let the coral grow back and wait
another thousand years to inhale,
to breathe.

Raised



I

Salted lavender
soaking through her
sports bra and muscle shirt,
back from her run by 6am,
downs her breakfast of
chopped crucifers and tuna fish,
washed by fair-trade dark roast,
no sugar.

Teaching how to properly do a push-up
to a class of fourteen year old girls;
girls who'd rather wear bras
that do push-ups for them,
wishing above all else,
she could teach these young women
how to resist falling, resist the floor,
resist.

Bing,
bing,
bing.

Cheers for the bell, sudden heat wave,
a reminder that today, too
bore no fruit as her students
to head off to shower,
where they re-apply make-up
and compare breast size.

II

She goes with her fellow teachers
to Stella's Fish Cafe,
eager to discuss education for future women
over vodka in martini glasses,
glasses that stretch like crab nets
to be filled with dimly lit light
and laughter; glasses

like satellites for men
who see well toned thighs
and flat stomachs, stomachs
in which they secretly wish
to mold into
empty pillow cases.