James Patterson, author of the Women’s Murder Club Novel, The 6th Target which I am currently reading, is great at describing things, place, and people.
When depicting the main detective Lindsey Boxer’s cramped office he says, “My office felt overcrowded, like a shot glass stuffed with a fistful of crayons.” Think about it- a shot glass stuffed with a fistful of crayons. That office must have been severely overpacked! If I ever find myself in a Question and Answer session with Patterson, I will ask him what color crayons he thought of stuffing into the shot glass. If he does not recall what I am referring to, I will tell him the sentence can be found on page 42 in Chapter 14 of The 6th Target book. He will then know, for sure, what I am talking about. If I am presenting the question to him via virtual chatroom, he will know, for sure, what I am typing about.
I stole crayons from a store once- the only thing I’ve ever stolen [besides countless numbers of human hearts…wink. And, I do not mean I went into hospitals across the country and stole human’s organs] Getting back to my thievery- I was approximately four years of age- I was sitting on the low shelf of the magazine rack that lined the checkout aisle, eyeing a 96 pack of Crayola Crayons. I opened up the thick paper flap and discovered the section of neon colored crayons. My eyes lit up as if I were a pirate opening a chest of treasure, or as if I were a leprechaun opening a chest of treasure, or as if I were a thief opening up a chest of treasure [which is basically the situation I was in].
I pulled out the four electric colored crayons [orange, pink, green, yellow] and put them in my pocket. I wanted them so badly but the 24 pack that I had at home did not contain these hot colors. I don’t remember what happened next, or if my mother ever discovered that I stole them [I would have pleaded insanity], but I do know whoever brought that 96 pack of crayons opened the carton to a sight of shock and horror as if he was a kid who received coal on Christmas morning, or a chef who opened the refrigerator to find it stark empty, or a magician who pulled ajar the door to his magic rolling suitcase to find a note from his white dove saying, “I flew away to live a magic free life.”
By now, those four crayons I stole have been long used. The only thing I could ever give back to the person who never got them is a countless number of stick figure hot colored drawings.
I had a nice long weekend at the Jersey Shore, getting to the beach house wednesday night.
Kristen visited Friday with her puppy, Frieda.
Frieda is such a good dog. She follows by Kristen’s legs and doesn’t need a leash. Kristen came onto the porch and greeted each person with a whisper.
Soon after, we went on a bike ride to the “Heights” which is the amusement park rides/games/food. It was very windy. I contemplated the meaning of life.
Then James Patterson contemplated the meaning of life. [he looked directly into the camera lens]
Apparently, James Patterson was doing an impromptu book signing on the pier. We got up to the front of the line and Patterson squinted into my eyes. I felt a nervous rush shoot up the back of my spine. I was meeting the man of whom I read over 15 of his mysterious detective books.
“What color did you have in mind for the crayons?”, I blurted out.
“Excuse me, Miss”, He inquired.
“You described Lindsey Boxer’s cramped office ‘like a shot glass stuffed with a fistful of crayons’…page 42 in Chapter 14 of The 6th Target book.” He flipped to the page in the book I was having him sign.
“Ahh yes”, he said pursing his lip. He paused for what I assumed to be dramatic effect. “I imagined the colors to be neon orange, pink, green, yellow.” The wind began to pick up, tousling the hair sticking out of the sides of his hat.
“You see, I once purchased a 96 pack of crayons and those four colors were missing. Emotionally, I never got over it. I was as disappointed as a magician who looked in his rolling suitcase to find a note from his bird saying, ‘I flew away…
“…to live a magic free life”, I finished his sentence. “What a beautiful metaphor”, I told him. I started backing away slowly with a look of realization on my face. I bumped into Kristen. She was all KINDS of confused.
“I owe you some stick figure drawings”, I told Patterson. His hat flew off into the wind revealing a hard drive coming out of his head. Gentlemen and Ladies…James Patterson is a computerized robot.