Chapter 1 - Talking Food? No Thanks

Chapter 1 Talking Food? No Thanks

Sydney Cohen has always been prepared for everything in her life. Before every test, she would study until she was 110% sure she’d get full marks, and now she was the star student of the school. Back in preschool, she would mentally prepare herself for the slide, and when she slid down, she would never feel scared. At home, she would always help her mum prepare her medicine, and ever since then, Ada Cohen has never missed a dose. Sydney has always been quite the perfectionist when it came to many things, and one thing was for sure: she never gets swept off her feet. That was, until one fateful day in 7th grade, when a talking peanut butter and jelly sandwich suddenly appeared in her life.

Sydney was also a girl who didn’t wish for many things in her life. She knew she could only make things happen through hard work and sheer determination, but as of right now, Sydney really wished the talking peanut butter and jelly sandwich didn’t just burp right in her face.

Excuse you! She thought, blinking at the sandwich with dangling jelly limbs. Her face was as blank as a sheet of paper as she slowly inched closer to the exit, an empty smile pasted on her face. Stiffly, Sydney stepped out of the room and slowly closed the door shut. When it finally closed with a click!, her hand was still on the handle, and her smile was still frozen. There was a moment of silence before reality hit her, and she ran across the school hallway, screaming her lungs out.

This can’t be real, she thought. Thiscan’tbereal Thiscan’tbereal Thiscan’tbereal.

“Sydney Cohen! No running in the hallway!” Her teacher, Ms Bluebelle, called from the teacher’s lounge. Sydney immediately darted towards the room, barely able to stop herself as her body slammed against the lounge wall.

“Oh gosh, Sydney! What are you doing?” Ms Bluebelle’s hands went protectively to the mug of hot coffee on the counter. Sydney tried to catch her breath.

“The---pant---that room---pant pant---talking sandwich!”

Her teacher raised an eyebrow at her and picked the coffee mug up. She stirred a packet of sugar into the dark brown drink and raised an eyebrow. “What nonsense are you talking about?”

“It’s not nonsense!” Sydney told her, using her arms to emphasise her point. “There’s a talking sandwich in the biology lab!”

Her teacher’s eyebrows shot up even higher than before. She stopped stirring her coffee and tapped the spoon on the side of her mug three times. “Sydney…are you feeling unwell? Do you need me to call the nurse?”

Sydney shook her head rapidly. “No! Um…will you come with me for a second, please?”

Ms Bluebelle eyed her sceptically but nodded her head. Sydney immediately rushed to the biology lab. She flung the door open.

“There! That thing in the corner!” Sydney pointed at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting on top of the skeleton structure they had displayed in the corner. It rubbed its jelly hands over its bready stomach, as if it was about to let another gassy bomb loose in the room.

“There’s…nothing there, Sydney. You’re pointing at the skeleton,” said Ms Bluebelle.

“What…? I---” Sydney squinted at the skeleton. The peanut butter and jelly sandwich was still there, perched atop the skeleton’s shoulder, blinking at nothing lazily.

“There! It’s blinking!” Sydney yelped, her pigtails jumping in surprise. Ms Bluebelle only raised an eyebrow again, now rubbing the sides of her coffee mug uncomfortably.

“Miss Cohen, I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve by pulling a prank on me, but you’ve just wanted five minutes of my precious break time, and teachers do not get paid enough for this.” At that, Ms Bluebelle turned on her heels and began speed-walking across the hallway.

“But…” Sydney started to say, but her teacher was already too far away, and she heard her mumble something about how her coffee’s getting cold before disappearing around the corner. Sydney turned back to face the biology lab and closed the door. She pinched herself, wincing in pain.

Yep, okay. Definitely not dead, she thought. Then she opened the door again, but the sandwich was still there, now yawning as it lazed around in the skeleton’s rib cage. Sydney slammed the door shut. I may be alive, but I’m definitely going crazy. She opened and closed the door a couple more times (some passing students shot her weird looks, but she was too stunned to care), but the sandwich was still there. Sydney ruffled through her tote bag, not taking her eyes off the strange thing, and took out her sharpest pencil. Cautiously, she closed the door behind her and crept up to the sandwich, who was now rubbing its stomach queasily. When she was close enough, she thrusted out her pencil and pointed it at its neck, her hand outstretched and her body as far away from the thing as possible.

“What are you---”

“BUUURPP!”

Sydney tumbled backwards, landing butt-first on the ground. She gagged and coughed, trying to get the horrid smell out of her nose.

“Ewwww!” she cried, furiously waving her hand over her nose as she dramatically hid her face behind her tote bag. The sandwich looked at the girl sprawled on the ground and raised its bready eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, sorry dude. Didn’t see you there,” it said. Then, it rubbed its stomach again and Sydney immediately scrambled further away. It continued, “I’m currently suffering from some…ahem, gassy issues.”

Mouth agape, Sydney choked out, “I can see that! And I hate how I can smell it, too.”

The sandwich raised both hands in defeat. “I said I was sorry.”

Sydney glared at it, then she managed to say, “What are you?”

The sandwich slid down the skeleton’s spine and walked toward Sydney. She reflexively retracted her legs.

“Hey now, let’s not be racist…” It said cautiously. As if she was the weird creature here!

“I’m not racist!” Sydney protested. She fumbled for her pencil and thrusted it out again. “Answer the question! What are you?”

The sandwich mumbled under its breath, saying something like ‘and she says she’s not racist’, before answering her question. “To that, I think you mean who am I? And to that, I say: Ruthantasis.”

Sydney refused to lower her pencil. “Ruth the what now?”

“Now you’re just discriminating…” The sandwich rolled its eyes.

“Am not!” Sydney shouted. “Now answer my question!”

The sandwich sighed and repeated, “Ruthantasis. That’s my name.”

Sydney’s mind went blank.

First up: food had names? Well, at least the talking ones apparently do…for some reason.

Second up: why was she arguing with a talking peanut butter and jelly sandwich, anyway? Sydney shook her head and took out another pencil.

“Whoa, no need to bring out the weapons!” The sandwich took a step back.

“How can you talk?” Sydney asked. Its face immediately shifted into shock.

There was a moment of silence before the sandwich scoffed, shooting her a disgusted look. “Us Foods may not be ‘good’ enough for you Gradanas, but saying we can’t even talk?” It laughed in disbelief. “That is just next level!”

Sydney’s skin pricked with embarrassment. She didn't know why she was embarrassed, though. She didn’t understand half the words coming out of the sandwich’s mouth. Actually, scratch that. It wasn’t even supposed to have a mouth. “I’m being serious!” she told it, then told herself, “This can’t be real. It can't be real.”

Sydney tugged at her pigtails. Even though she was sitting on the floor, it felt like someone had just tipped her over into a freezing pool. But, instead of shivering, she was sweating at a very very gross amount.

“Now you’re just mis-gendering me! It’s a he to you! I’m not an ‘it’!” It stomped its feet. Oh, wait, no. He stomped his feet.

“Nuh-uh.” Sydney shook her head in disbelief. “I am not doing this today. I am not doing any of this on any other day, either!”

Suddenly, Sydney’s veins tugged and she stopped cold. Her blood rushed to one direction: her fingertips. Something ripped open in her just when a pop! resounded in the air. As quickly as the feeling flooded her body, it disappeared and Sydney was left clutching her arms, colour completely gone from her face.

Before her now not only stood Ruthantasis the talking peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but also a crumpled-looking salad bowl who held a fork out like a staff. It smacked its leafy lips as it scanned the room, and Sydney did what any sane person would’ve done: she screamed.

Author's Note

written: Oct 2024

Reviews

[JayG]

• Sydney Cohen has always been prepared for everything in her life.

Here's where the reader learns that we’re not living the story, we’re hearing about it, secondhand. But... Is that entertaining? Readers aren’t seeking data, they want to be made to feel and care. They want to feel like it’s happening to them, as-they-read.

It’s not a matter of talent, or how well you write. It’s that like most people, you’ve forgotten that, as with professions, Commercial Fiction Writing has lots of specialized knowledge and tricks that are needed to make it work. We don’t learn brush technique by viewing paintings, nor writing skills by reading. The result of using those tools is clear, and enjoyable. But the tools? Invisible.

In school, we learned how to write reports, which employers need from us. Anda report's goal is informing the reader. So, using rha approach you were given in school, you begin with an info-dump of backstory, instead of beginning your story where the story begins.


• That was, until one fateful day in 7th grade, when a talking peanut butter and jelly sandwich suddenly appeared in her life.

Here, without realizing it, you shoot yourself in the foot. Instead of the reader enjoying the surprise of meeting a talking sandwich, you killed that by telling the reader what was GOING to happen.

That aside, the thing you’ve forgotten is that verbal storytelling is a performance art, where HOW you tell the story matters as much as what’s said.

Think about it. Who else, in the entire world, knows the emotion you want placed into the storyteller’s voice? No one. Yet you appointed the reader as storyteller. Can they know ANY of the elements of your performance? No. Have your computer read this story to you to better understand why we can’t simply transcribe ourselves, as you've done here, and have it work.

In any case, unlike verbal storytelling, fiction writers don’t have to talk about the characters because we have them, plus the scenery, and all that’s needed to make the scene seem real...if we learn the skills needed and use them.

And that’s my point. To write fiction you need the fiction-writing skills that the pros use. They’re no harder to learn than those you use now, but they are necessary.

So, grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict from the site linked to below. It’s an excellent and gentle introduction to those skills.
https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

Not the kind of news you hoped for, I know. But since no one fixes the problem they don’t see as being one, I thought you might want to know.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”
~ E. L. Doctorow

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain