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Subtext & Dialogue: Hidden Emotion

A work-in-progress, the following piece is a writing assignment produced for The Center of Fiction’s Active Storytelling course taught by Judy Sternlight.

An Innocent Banter

“I forgot.”
Silence.
“It’s not that big of a deal, really …”
“Yeah, right.”
“So, what now?”
“Uhm, I’m not sure.”

Subtext Version 1

Clutching the calendar with today’s date circled in bright blue and highlighted in yellow marker, Mallory felt her stomach drop.

“Oh God, I forgot,” she mumbled. He’s going to hate me, she thought as she dialed Jack on her phone. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail.

“Hey Jack, it’s Mallory. I’m so sorry about this afternoon. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately with work, and …” She paused then, trying to collect her thoughts when prompted for a call waiting on the other line. Mallory clicked through.

“Hello, this is Mallory.”

“Hey, Mallomar, it’s me,” said Jack. His voice sounded jovial despite the echo on the line. “Don’t stress, it’s not that big of a deal, and everything actually worked out for the best. My flight landed an hour early and I was able to make it to Dan’s graduation after all.”

“Oh Jack, that’s such great news,” Mallory heaved a sigh of relief, she hadn’t missed him at all.

“Yeah, right, I know how that goes,” Jack said with a chuckle. He was notorious for being late but since his divorce it seemed he had turned over a new leaf.

“So, what will you do now?” Mallory asked.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Jack replied, “Do you have time to grab a drink with your kid brother?”

Subtext Version 2

“I forgot,” Mallory retorted. “What’s the big deal?”

“Mallory Michaels, we’ve gone over this before. You cannot walk out in the middle of group therapy without asking for permission,” Dr. Jack Lyons replied.

His words were met with a stone cold silence and a roll of the eyes. This was the second time Mallory had been reprimanded for breaking the rules, one more time and she good kiss her scholarship good-bye.

Mallory surveilled Dr. Lyons from the corner of her eye and with a dramatic sigh replied. “Lyons, I’m sorry, really I am but I’ve got a lot on my mind lately, what with tests and applying for college and being here, without my family.”

“Yes, yes, well of course, and about that,” the doctor’s voice trailed off.

Mallory’s parents had filed emancipation papers this morning. This was the first time he and his team of therapists had ever witnessed such a thing; everyone was scrambling for what to do next.

“Oh man,” Mallory grumbled, pushing herself to stand up and face the sandy-haired administrator. “What now? Did something happen to my brother?”

“No, nothing like that, Marcus is okay. But Mallory I have something to tell you, and I’m not sure how you’re going to take it exactly. Your family, all of them, including your brother, have filed separation papers against you.”

Word Count: 472

The Backstory on Eloise Frump

A work-in-progress, the following piece is a writing assignment produced for The Center of Fiction’s Active Storytelling course taught by Judy Sternlight.

Summary Character Development

Eloise Frump, a 27-year-old socialite from Water Mill, NY. She lives with her fraternal twin, Marcus at a condo development in Bushwick, one of her father’s pet projects. Marcus manages the sales office in the building, interfacing with new owners. Eloise works in the back office fielding concierge requests from residents and coordinating moves in and out of the building.

One of Eloise’s guilty pleasures is watching The McMasters, an elderly wealthy Scottish couple’s movements from the closed-circuit webcam in their private elevator bank. Shy and quiet on the outside, her brother and parents are completely unaware of her hidden talent for hacking into security cameras. And more importantly, her side-hustle working with local gangsters to pull off jewelry heists at buildings in developments nearby.

The twins take after their mom with their sallow complexion and sparkling green eyes. Eloise is the younger of the two by 10 minutes. One of her most discerning features is a tattoo of her name written in Hindu on the inside of her left bicep. In the crime world, she’s known as Lucky-mi a play on the name of Lakshmi the Hindu goddess of wealth, love, prosperity.

Where in the timeline would I start the story?

Eighteen months earlier, with the first encounter with Trevor, a new resident at her dad’s building, an admitted con artist and jewel thief.

The following excerpt was written during class on 9/19/19.

A chill hung in the air.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin even before the phone rang.

The driver watched Eloise intensely, motioning her to pick up the phone.

Eloise hesitated.

One ring, two rings.

“Now,” he growled.

Startled, she reached for the clunky receiver, her body shaking. The receiver slipped from her clammy hands and clattered to the floor, she gasped.

The driver eyed her from the rearview mirror, with a raised brow.

Eloise pulled the blue receiver to her lips and whispered, “Daddy?”

Word Count: 315

Plover of the Gods, A Sense of Place

A work-in-progress, the following piece is a writing assignment produced for The Center of Fiction’s Active Storytelling course taught by Judy Sternlight.

A Sense of Place: Plover of the Gods
prepared by Andrea Preziotti

Note I’ve purposely used Roman and Greek names for each god, interchangeably. (Triton, Ceres/Demeter, Neptune/Poseidon, etc.)

“Triton, come sit by me,” Ceres said as she lay down on the wet sand.

“Now? We’ve only just arrived. The others will be here soon,” the demigod responded. “We must prepare for their arrival.”

He was restless, thrashing his tail on the shoreline, crushing everything in his wake. The seashells turned to dust, and the seabirds knew better than to fly overhead. Deep in thought, Triton waded further out into the ocean, a storm cloud hovering. 7y67Lightning flashed in the sky unmasking the emotion on his face.

Ceres watched him sail from wave to wave.

“Triton, please calm down, and come sit by me,” Ceres repeated louder. The kelp awakened with her words and unfurled its long, leathery laminae.

The message from Poseidon had been clear: release the merfolk into all waterways of Earth. Triton nearly balked at the request. All of his 6000 children dispatched beyond the sea into unchartered waters oversaw by humans.

Ceres understood the bleakness of his task. Her daughter Persephone had been forced to live with Pluto in the underworld.

“Ceres, what am I to do? I cannot go against Father, and yet, I cannot watch all my children perish,” bemoaned Triton. The world saw him as a tyrant of the sea, Poseidon’s herald but Ceres knew her nephew was none of those things. He was more compassionate than any demigod worth their weight in salt as long as he was not pushed.

She had meant to ease his pain with news from the natural world but still, his quiet rage simmered. The nearby plovers, blended into the scenery preoccupied with worm hunting.

Ceres dug her hands into the sand and listened to the surf before answering.

“Triton what if you could join your children on their journey, guide them through the waterways? It has been done before, the act of taking human form, I could help you.”

He raised his eyes and the kelp sensed his intention, releasing its vines from his torso.

As Triton’s scales turned into human skin, Ceres reached out her hand.

“We will always be immortal,” she murmured.

Word Count: 384

A New Point-of-View of The Giving Tree

A work-in-progress, the following piece is a writing assignment produced for The Center of Fiction’s Active Storytelling course taught by Judy Sternlight.

A New Point-of-View of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
prepared by Andrea Preziotti

Boy, please tread softly, as your feet dance wildly across our bodies. You may be young but we are aging faster than you can breathe. Your story will continue for years while ours are individually short and finite.

Where shall we begin? In your innocence, you embraced Tree with all your heart. And how could you not, she loved you freely without expectation and enveloped you in her branches. My favorite days were those when you played hide-and-seek, your body hiding between the rocks, her leaves grazing the forest floor, rustling our blades.

To feel her love unconditionally, if only once in a lifetime, is the thing of legends. We’ve pondered days away wondering if it was the same for her, with you. There was never the right time to ask, not that she would have noticed us at all, of course, especially once you carved letters on her bark.

Tree may have lived alone in the forest but green grass is everywhere, and we have a network. We knew what was coming, all the warnings about humans were passed down from one genus to another. And even as the eight hundred and twenty-one generations of our family witnessed the hundred years of love notes shared between you and Tree, we hoped for the best all the while knowing the inevitability of Man.

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