Lisa P Writes

Step right up to the holiday shopping season!

The novel I’m working on is tentatively titled The Pink House. It’s a revised version of the now retired Burp Factory with the same premise as a school to either learn how to have fun in life again (for those who have found themselves too serious) or to learn how to bully (to elbow their way to success). Here’s a brief snipet of today’s political climate. Um, er, ah-hem a political debate . . . Marlon is teaching this class how to bully.

The television popped back to life and this time it was two politicians in debate. They were recognizable because in fact it was the presidential debate. The moderator had a clown nose and party hat on. She cheerily announced, let the games begin! What do you think of each other’s hair? One of the men smiled warmly and then said that igloos were shaped like helmets. He then took scissors and snipped the loose strings hanging from his jorts. The other man shook his head. As he rolled his eyes his false eyelashes fell. This irritated him even more. He most definitely believed that all dogs should have the opportunity to learn to drive. That comment roused the other man as he waved his scissors in the air and threatened to cut the air. Only dandelions should have that privilege. The man being threatened snickered. He reached into the tin pail beside him and threw a handful of confetti. He perhaps was not amused by the rising tide, which had now reached the tops of his Mary Janes. The clown moderator snapped the fingers of both hands and said that she wished she had finger cymbals. Both men stood silent. How would you tackle a tackle box? The man with the scissors said that he would put a stop to the over consumption of blue string. With each word he snipped the air. The other guy wore a sly smile and nodded. You see, if there wasn’t so much dessert, then we could cut spending on ant rodeos, he proclaimed.
Marlon turned to look at his class and noticed the color running out of their faces and eyes glazing over. Jacob tugged at the neck of his t-shirt as beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. He tried to maintain his composure in the eyes of his teacher. Sunshine rested her head on the desk. She wasn’t even watching anymore. It was too much for this group who were new to bullying. But Marlon pressed on because they needed to build up their tolerance. He fast-forwarded the program to the last question. The moderated asked, what do you propose to do with the melting of raspberry popsicles? Popsicle juice was running down both of their arms. The man with the confetti had the colorful speckles covering his hand like it had been salted with sweet sprinkles. They immediately took to slurping and biting their popsicles. No biting! The moderated rapped. They sucked the color right out of the ice. Once the polar caps had dissolved the man with the scissors was declared the winner.

Almost everyone seems to be so serious nowadays, serious about money, jobs, relationships, family, health, religion, politics, jeez I could go on. I even found myself serious. So I’ve started working on a novel in which the characters learn how to play games and have fun again, just like when they were kids. It’s tentatively titled the Burp Factory. The Burp Factory is summer camp meets addiction center (addicted to being serious) for adults. In this snipet, the new guests, Pinky, Julie, Cameron and Mel, are getting a tour of the kitchen from Alexa, the head chef . . .

Part of their program would include cooking classes. Julie rolled her eyes.
“What?” Pinky whispered.
“I already know this crap, I’m a chef.” Julie fogged Pinky’s sterling pendant necklace as she breathed out. Pinky was turned off by Julie’s abrupt behavior and hot air. Plus she believed that Julie must not have been a successful chef because all the good ones were fat.
“I’d love your input.” Alexa overheard Julie. “We’ll talk later and if you’d like you can help with the training.”
“Yeah, but I’m juliennian,” Julie crossed her arms over her chest and proudly announced.
“Yes, I heard and a good one.” Alexa smiled and Julie puckered her lips. It was then that Pinky realized why Julie wasn’t plump; she was shaped like her food. It all made sense. No whip, fluff, or mash, just sticks. Pinky couldn’t even imagine eating like that. Julie pondered the idea of helping and then decided she would do it. After all, she had been named ‘Top Chop’ at the Regional Julienne Chef Awards for the Western United States.
“A what-a-e-what?” Mel dropped his mouth open.
“It’s because her name is Julie.” Cameron bit his cheeks trying not to smile. Mel and Pinky roared. Alexa held her fingers to her mouth to hide her amusement.
“I’m adept in the art of shaping food.” Julie danced on her words. She was not amused by the comment but was not going to let it affect her. Mel looked confused. “It’s cut in such a way that it helps with the digestion of food.”
“I guess I’ll just have to try it.” Mel shook his head. He was used to fine dining on his expense account but had never come across that type of food.
“It’s food shaped like a matchstick or shoestring. You know, like shoestring potatoes.” Pinky chimed in. Mel still did quite grasp it.
“French fries.” Cameron stated.
“Oh, I’d like that,” Mel rubbed his belly. The saddles under his eyes drooped as his mouth curved up. Julie rolled her eyes. They had whittled her down to a fry cook. She did not pay six figures in the culinary arts to be deemed short order.

Dennis and Amy headed south towards the Chicago River. The sidewalks had cleared with most already at work. As they crossed the bridge over the muddied river, Dennis stopped and rested his elbows on the railing. Amy did the same. They faced east, towards the lake. She closed her eyes into the sun as it glared down and thawed her from the cold winter. Dennis took in everything about the scene. The architectural structures, decades apart, that fit mindfully together to create the great city of Chicago. He framed the city through an artist’s eye, catching things that a person might miss. But then again he had paused to really look around and pointed out little details about the river, streets and city to Amy. She had been so used to numbly walking to work, that she had lost her curiosity about the vast city and about life. It appeared that Dennis absorbed the environment whereas Amy tiptoed through it. This caught her off guard, really waking her up to the magnificent city.

Dennis was flapping his arms up and down, animated, as if he were a chicken . . .

“Little bitty tear let me down, spoiled my act as a clown, I had it made up not to make a frown. Oh, but a little bitty tear let me down.” He mumbled and then started humming the song, lightly in and out of notes as he stared straight ahead looking through the train car window. It was a bright day in late spring. A slight hint of sandalwood drifted through the air. His arms were crossed over his cream-colored button down shirt and light blue tailored suit coat. The voice was familiar. He tapped his brown loafers rhythmically on the solid floor. As she appeared to look down into her magazine, she noticed the man next to her seemed youthful in his dark blue jeans. But his voice had the weathered feel of age. No one on the train spoke. The only noise, other than this man, was the screeching of the train wheels from time to time and the overhead announcements of the conductor. People all around either spaced out, had earphones plugged in or like her, were buried in their reading. But this man, sitting next to her was humming and tapping out loud.