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Week Six Homework Assignment:

I left the classroom, giddy in the knowledge that once I got to my girlfriend Bronwen’s apartment, I was going to pop a can of Diet Dr. Pepper, kick off my shoes and delve into the chapter from Natalie’s memoir.

Throughout the subway ride down to Chelsea, I could barely sit still. Twice, my hand opened the zipper to my knapsack, and twice my brain made my hand zip it right back. Though my hands were like a child who only knew “NOW!”, my brain understood I must resist. I knew this was something to be savored, something to be read sans distractions, something I’d remember where I was when I read it – the way people remember where they were when Kennedy was shot or when Duke beat Kentucky with a last second shot in the 1992 NCAA East Region Championship (well, I remember). So I waited.

When I got to Bronwen’s apartment, she’d left a note that she’d taken a late yoga class and would be a while. Perfect. That would give me time to read my manuscripts in peace. I took out Natalie’s…and then put it down. I decided to read the others first – I needed something to look forward to. So I turned to Lucy’s story.

Manuscript Number One – “The Holiday in Raleigh” was Lucy’s essay describing a visit to her brother, who had brain cancer, at Christmas.

As far as I could tell from class, Lucy was a very nice woman...pleasant...always a smiling...nothing bad to say about anyone. She was like the group’s mother…the type of person I would give the benefit of any doubt. Unfortunately, there was no doubt.

Her writing was brutal. How brutal? I'd swear she was another English as a Second Language student if it weren’t for her Long Island accent.

She insisted on changing tenses, not paragraph-to-paragraph but sentence-to-sentence – “We are now pulling into the driveway of the development. I saw Robert looking out of his window. We are ringing the bell. Robert greeted us and we walked in.” This was the first time I’ve ever gotten dizzy from just plain reading.
It was also written with what I’ll optimistically call a childlike enthusiasm. Some examples…

“He met me in his kitchen with a hug. Hugs are just the best!!”

“We bought a tree and decided it is LUNCHTIME! Yay for lunch!”

“We all laugh because wreath hanging had become a major event! Robert’s attention to detail runs in the family!”

As you could guess, exclamation points outnumbered periods in her story.
Onto the next manuscript!! YAY!!!

Manuscript Number Two -- Timmy’s coming of gay-age tale. He hadn’t titled it, so I wrote in the margin to suggest “My So-Called Gay Life.”

It kept my interest even though the grammar was poor. Timmy must’ve been out sick from school the day he was supposed to learn about commas -- and I quote, “His friends were crazy especially Tina. She was to be honest a bit of a tramp always looking for a new lay. She thought nothing of going up to a seated guy in a bar sit in his lap and just start talking to him.”

He also didn’t mind getting rather graphic with his experiences. I could only imagine how many “Oh dear’s!” Lucy would utter while reading it.


Manuscript Number Three – Last but not least was Natalie’s story, “My Sister.” As I alluded when glancing through this during class last week, Natalie had truly outdone herself. It was as if she’d read all the crap we had been forced to read thus far and had decided to incorporate the worst elements of each (though she’d had the good sense not to include a porn scene involving eight year olds), AND do it in her version of the English language. Though I was looking forward to this for a chuckle or two, I had no idea it would be so mesmerizing. It was like American Psycho, the rare case when the movie actually improves upon the book. Sure, this was no movie, and no, there was no book, but you get the idea.

Thinking about it, I realized it could be a movie, released by Troma of course….

In a World of boring stories with no point and poor grammar...<picture me reading Skeletor's story with annoyed look on my face and then throwing it into a nearby receptacle. >....

In a Land where metaphors are used to kill a mood rather than enhance it...<picture me reading Rhonda’s story about Mr. Velvety Arms and throwing it in the garbage>....

In a Place where stories are seemingly written by eight year olds.... horny eight year olds...<picture me reading Juanita’s story while shaking my head in disgust before throwing it in the trash.>...

There lived One Woman...<brief picture of Natalie>.... who dared to dream.

One Woman.... determined to "outdo" the rest...One Woman...with the will to write the most unreadable tale imaginable...One Woman...whose life was no longer her own.... living on the edge.... the only way she knew how <imagine furious montage of pictures in slow motion set to a fast, jungle-like drum beat - pictures include Natalie getting idea and writing it.... Natalie distributing it to class...Me reading it with confused look...Gail reading it while holding her forehead.... Timmy reading it while painting his toes>

Homework complete. Click here to return to class.