Sean Thomas's Blog

I recently decided to revisit a novella (too long for a short story, too short for a novel) I wrote during college, mostly to see what was on my mind thirteen or so years ago (just how angsty of a teenager was I?) and how my writing style has changed since then.

The novella is about five friends who spend the night before their high school graduation driving around their hometown in suburban New Jersey to revisit their familiar haunts and to simply spend time together before they go their very separate ways. Because I was reading a lot of James Joyce and Virginia Woolf at the time, I decided to convey the memories and anxieties of these characters through stream-of-consciousness, which I hoped would allow readers to get to know these characters intimately by letting them in on their deepest, most private thoughts.

Thirteen years later, I'm surprisingly happy with how "Leaving Moorestown" has held up, so much so that I decided to throw it up on the Kindle Shop in case anyone is interested. I had to do some stylistic clean up in a few places, but I'm still satisfied with how the stream-of-consciousness works in allowing you to get to know these characters I loved writing about so much. Their griping about Moorestown, an upper-middle class town (and yes, where I grew up), seems a bit "first world problemy" to me now, but the issues these characters face--racism, homophobia, depression, sexism--certainly are not.

What's most fascinating and worth the few hours it would take to read this novella (it's only 65 pages), is how the characters worry that the internet is crippling our ability to communicate in genuine ways. "Leaving Moorestown" is set in 2004 (I wrote it in 2005), so they're mostly talking about AIM (AOL Instant Messenger), which is incredibly quaint by today's standards and doesn't even exist anymore (it was discontinued last year). At the time, I had no idea that smart phones were just around the corner and that communication, as we know it, would change forever--for the worse I would argue. I can't remember a single time scrolling endlessly through Facebook or Instagram brought me any kind of happiness or satisfaction, and yet, how many hours have I wasted on them when I could have been writing, reading a good book, or going for a hike with my wife?

At a certain point, in talking about the internet, a character says it's so human that we created something with so much potential only for it to screw everything up. I couldn't help but think of the ways social media has been inundated with endless and mindless political memes, disinformation, and hate speech. I'm sad how right I was all the way back in 2005.

In any case, please check out "Leaving Moorestown" in the Kindle Store and enjoy. I apologize I couldn't make the price any lower than $2.99, but you can also read the book through Kindle Unlimited if you are a subscriber.

Thanks for your support, everyone!

Leaving Moorestown: A Novella

My wife and I finally had a chance to watch the film "Love, Simon" (2018) which is based on a book called "Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda" by Becky Albertalli. (At first, I didn't know that the movie was even based on source material, but I loved the movie so much, I just added it to my "must read" list.)

The story is about Simon, a closeted high school senior who befriends, and eventually falls in love with, a fellow student from his high school. The problem is, they connected online and their true identities are a mystery to each other. Because both Simon and "Blue," his online love, struggle with coming out--afraid of how friends and family might react and the homophobic bullying it could unleash--neither is comfortable revealing his true identity to the other. So while this is a coming-of-age story, filled with sweet moments, heartbreak, and emotional scenes that had us bawling, it's also set up as a bit of mystery as Simon tries to figure out the true identity of "Blue" over the course of the school year. The movie is brilliantly acted, well directed, and features a fantastic soundtrack courtesy of The Bleachers.

I was initially surprised to learn that "Love, Simon" is the first major Hollywood release to feature a gay teenager as the protagonist. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. For so many decades in pop culture, gay characters were treated as nothing more than a joke. Movies like "Love, Simon" give me hope that those portrayals of LGBT characters will be relegated to the ash heap of history and that the success of the movie/book will lead to more stories about dynamic, fully-realized gay characters whose struggles and inner-lives are just as rich as those of the many fictional straight characters we know and love.

I know these are troubling times in our world and in our country, but if I may offer a bit of optimism: I feel good knowing that my wife and I will be raising our daughter in a world with stories like "Love, Simon," the kinds of stories that encourage you to appreciate the important parts of life, especially family, friendships, love, and acceptance.

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

As a lifelong Nintendo fan, I've come to realize that writers and artists (yes, a video game is a piece of art, but that's a subject for another time) might be best-served not listening to their fans. If you had told me a year and a half ago that Nintendo would spurn the pleas of their diehard fans begging for a return to a traditional, "gimmick"-free console, only to double-down on the concept of the misconceived debacle that was the Wii U, I would have sighed, shaken my head, and resigned myself to Nintendo's sad but inevitable demise.

And yet here we are, nearly a year after the launch of the Switch, and Nintendo is looking at its most successful console launch ever. It doesn't mean that the Switch is a perfect console or that Nintendo doesn't face challenges this coming year (although, as a 31 year-old-man, I can still say with all self-respect that Nintendo Labo looks incredibly cool), but ultimately, by not listening to us, Nintendo gave us something we didn't know we wanted. And now we have portable "Breath of the Wild," which could be my favorite, most jaw-dropping video game experience since running around outside Peach's castle in Super Mario 64.

There are also cases when writers have listened to their fans a little too much and, as a result, have potentially spelled trouble for themselves.

I am a huge "Song of Ice and Fire" fan. I love "Game of Thrones" too, but the books, of course, can immerse you in ways the TV show simply can't (as was Martin's hope when he wrote the novels). I adore the world, the characters, the writing so much, how could I possibly complain about the expanding plot-lines in books 4 and 5? Now, I doubt Martin decided to keep widening the scope of his story when he should have been winding it down because of any clamoring from the fans, but I also doubt many fans would have been upset to learn that the books were going to get longer and that Martin may even need to go beyond the originally planned 7 books in order to properly conclude his massive tale.

But now, because the story has become so bloated, with so many subplots that need to be resolved, the wait for "Winds of Winter" will soon enter its 7th year. And beyond that? It's possible we may never get the final book (or books) in the series. We'll know the ending, or a version of it, when the final season of the TV show airs next year, but for us book-readers? It won't be the same. If Martin had begun moving toward a resolution in book 4, or skipped ahead in time as I had read he once planned on doing, fans may have complained about not getting enough content: but at least they would have gotten a proper ending (which is much more important).

I've also loved "Star Wars" ever since the "special edition" of the original trilogy was released in theaters back in 1997. I tried to like the prequels but, like everyone, walked away ultimately disappointed. So when Disney announced that Episode VII was coming and that J.J. Abrams was helming the project, I was thrilled. And sure enough, Disney listened to the fans. "The Force Awakens," in its dogmatic adherence to the story beats, character types, and aesthetic of the original trilogy, is practically a rebuttal to Lucas' much-maligned prequels.

As I've mentioned before on this blog, I enjoyed "The Force Awakens." But, because it was so familiar, I can't say I loved it the same way I love the original trilogy. "Rogue One" was a better film, and "The Last Jedi" took some fascinating risks that I mostly appreciated, but it's hard to shake the feeling that, in an attempt to avoid the ire unleashed on the prequels, Disney has crafted a franchise that, while competent and entertaining, is unnecessary and stuck rearranging increasingly tired tropes.

There's also the possibility of "Star Wars" burn out. Not only does "Star Wars" licensing now cover everything from Campbell's Soup to Nissan Cars, but Disney has lined up a steady stream of movies for years to come. We've gotten three movies over the past three years, plus another one on the way in 2018 (the Han Solo standalone film) followed by Episode IX in 2019. Unlike during the Lucas era, it's hard to get too excited for a Star Wars movie when there's another coming just a few months later.

While the prequels still wouldn't be my first choice to watch on movie night, the wheel-spinning of the Disney trilogy has given me newfound appreciation for Episodes 1-3. There's no getting around their flaws--wooden acting, stilted dialogue, and over-reliance on green screens and CGI--but it's clear Lucas took a huge risk with those movies. Regardless of how successful he was, Lucas created a Greek tragedy wrapped in a political allegory about the death of democracy. Say what you will about the prequels, they do not constitute typical blockbuster fare, and they certainly feel very different from the original trilogy.

So, all you story-tellers out there concerned what your fans might think about your latest work? Tell the story you want to tell...because half the time, we fans, despite our passion and overwhelming internet presence, really have no idea what we actually want.

In these times of dire and unrelenting bad news and political strife (which have made it increasingly difficult to fall asleep at night...I've even been choosing to run outside, through the chilly early darkness rather than subject myself to the row of TVs at the local Planet Fitness, all displaying various cable news networks), I've decided to take a respite from the heavy, bleak literature I typically enjoy and to pick up the Harry Potter series again. I'm not usually one to reread books, but I figured escaping into Rowling's lovingly-crafted world of magic, humor, and heroism would do my soul some good.

It's been two decades since I first read "The Sorcerer's Stone" (I was in middle school at the time), but I may be enjoying it even more this second time around. Knowing how the seven-part saga ends, I can appreciate the thoughtfulness and intricacy of the plot that Rowling begins constructing within the very first few pages of the novel. Her world-building and characterizations are ingeniously written and carefully integrated into a well-paced plot. Most impressive to me now is how she appeals to and captures the imagination of such a wide audience, perhaps one of the most difficult feats for a writer.

I know the series eventually sheds its sense of warmth and wonder for a darker tone and some weightier themes, but for now, I'm thoroughly enjoying my return to Hogwarts--and I'm even finding myself sleeping a little better at night.

**Spoilers within this post**

As the penultimate season of "Game of Thrones" winds down, fans of both the show and source material seem torn (at least based on my visits to the "Song of Ice and Fire" reddit community). If I can attempt to identify a consensus, it would be, "GoT is still entertaining television, but it feels more like a tropey Hollywood summer blockbuster than the GoT we know and love, especially seasons 1-4."

The reason for these mixed feelings has to do with the unprecedented territory show-runners Benioff and Weiss find themselves in: "adapting" a literary saga that remains unfinished and will, most likely, never be finished (I put adapting in quotation marks because, starting with season 6, the TV show has essentially passed the books, so the show-runners have entered the terrain of original story-telling...or "fan fic" if you want to be a bit more salty about it).

Apparently Benioff and Weiss have a bare-bones outline of how the story ends, but are now obviously responsible for creating the specific details of getting to each point. With 13 episodes (seasons 7 & 8 combined) to reach the ending, the plot has accelerated drastically. And because the characters now serve in producing the plot rather than the other way around, beloved characters are becoming useless or uncharacteristically idiotic, hence making illogical decisions that other once-intelligent character don't question.

The worst example of this is clearly the "Suicide Squad" mission to kidnap a wight beyond the wall. The plan makes absolutely no sense, and the way that plan resolves even had the director of episode 6 admitting that the show is defying its own logic; however, you can almost picture the roomful of writers trying to connect the dots in GRRM's original outline and doing their best to make it work in a very limited amount of time.

So that brings us to the fan reaction, which seems to be breaking into two distinct camps: 1) those who blame the show-runners for rushing the ending and potentially botching the conclusion to one of the best television shows in history, and 2) those who blame GRRM for his slow writing process that has many doubting whether "The Winds of Winter" will ever be released. Because, after all, Benioff and Weiss never really signed on to create an original story. Back in 2009, they probably thought Martin would be finished the series well before the TV show would catch up to it. Oops.

So where do I stand? I guess I agree with the consensus from reddit I mentioned at the beginning of this post. I remember reading in an interview that GRRM got the idea for "A Song of Ice and Fire" after many years of writing for TV. Feeling burnt out by the medium, he wanted to write a series of novels that would essentially be unadaptable. With that in mind, I'm going to continue to watch and enjoy GoT for the final 8 episodes while recognizing the show has lost quite a bit of what made it special. But that's ok, because until "A Dream of Spring" gets published (which may never happen), it's kind of the best we've got.

Netflix's newest true crime docu-series, directed by Ryan White, is about the cold case murder investigation of a nun in 1969 Baltimore. Her name was Cathy Cesnik, and she disappeared in early November while out shopping for an engagement present. Her body was discovered miles away in early January. No one was ever charged with the murder. No one was even arrested.

The documentary follows a group of women, primarily Gemma Hoskins and Abbie Schaub, who were taught by Sister Cathy at Seton Keough High School, as they try to solve her murder these many decades later.

A compelling but disturbing theory pursued by the documentary is that Cathy was killed as part of a cover up to hide rampant and horrific sexual abuse at Seton Keough. A chaplain and school counselor at Keough named A. Joseph Maskell abused dozens of children at the high school and other parish assignments. Some of his victims believe Sister Cathy knew about the abuse and confronted him about it, thus making him a prime suspect in her murder.

One victim, who quite understandably suppressed memories of the abuse for two decades, says Maskell took her to see the decomposing body of Sister Cathy as a kind of warning to keep her quiet.

This is an extremely well-made and important documentary. There is one weak episode in which the filmmaker explores two other possible suspects whose connections to the murder are pretty far-fetched and highly anecdotal (albeit creepy), but overall White does an admirable job of not only exploring the mystery of Sister Cathy's death, but of giving voice to the victims of sexual abuse.

In fact, the series at times is hard to watch. Episode 2, when "Jane Doe," one of Maskell's victims, details the abuse, is particularly brutal. Maskell was clearly a psychopathic predator, but did he kill Sister Cathy? He may have had the motive and connections in the police department to protect him, but the only proof is Jane Doe's memory of being taken to see the body.

One of the most important and enraging revelations in the documentary is seeing how the Archdiocese of Baltimore covered up Maskell's abuse by moving him from assignment to assignment while seeking to discredit his victims. The power and corruption of the Church in cases like this is terrifying.

Another main take away from the series is the difficulty, if not impossibility, of solving a decades-old case. Many of the people involved, or allegedly involved, with the murder are dead or in poor mental states. Evidence has been lost. Memories have faded. It's frustrating but I think a realistic portrayal of a cold case.

Apologies for the rambling nature of this post, but "The Keepers" is the kind of documentary that stays with you. I'm still processing a lot of what I've watched.

It's not for the faint of heart, but if you are interested in true crime stories and institutional corruption, "The Keepers" is well-worth the watch.

I loved the first season, but season two is even better. I was planning to write about two or three of my favorite episodes, but I realized it was an impossible task: they're all so good! It's great to see Aziz Ansari, an incredibly talented comedian, actor, writer, and director, get to stretch his creative wings with the series.

Also, thank God for Netflix, as it's hard to imagine any network (even HBO) giving Ansari and co-creator Alan Yang as much creative freedom as they seem to have here.

If you're looking for an excellent dramatic comedy series with tons of interesting social commentary to watch this summer, I highly recommend Master of None on Netflix.

I'm running a Kindle Countdown deal, so the book is currently only 99 cents. If you love dark mysteries and are looking for a good beach read, be sure to download the book before the offer expires!

By the way, thanks for everyone's support and kinds words for "Sattler's Woods." I had no idea what to expect when I self-published the book back in March, but the small (but growing) list of readers who've left positive feedback, both here and on Amazon, have left me both humbled and more confident as I move from the planning stages to actually composing my next novel.

Thanks again!

Sattler's Woods

A colleague recently shared this poem with me. It's one of the best poems I've read in quite a while, written by the incredibly talented Clint Smith. (I just ordered his book "Counting Descent.") The last stanza is an absolute gut-punch.

It's called "Playground Elegy"--

THE FIRST TIME I SLID DOWN A SLIDE my mother
told me to hold my hands towards the sky.

Something about gravity, weight distribution,
& feeling the air ripple through your fingers.

I remember reaching the bottom, smile consuming
half of my face, hands still in the air because

I didn’t want it to stop. Ever since, this defiance
of gravity has always been synonymous with feeling alive.

When I read of the new child, his body strewn across
the street, a casket of bones & concrete, I wonder how

many times he slid down the slide. How many times
he defied gravity to answer a question in class. Did he

raise his hands for all of them? Does my mother regret
this? That she raised a black boy growing up to think

that raised hands made me feel more alive. That raised hands
meant I was alive. That raised hands meant I would live.

This poem originally appeared in Still: The Journal.

I'm (finally) starting to catch up on last year's Oscar movies (future post possibility: how all Oscar-worthy films are released within a narrow time frame, making it nearly impossible to see all of them in theaters) and just wanted to post some quick thoughts about "Lion."

This is the story of a young boy in India who is separated from his brother and ends up on the other side of the country after getting locked in the passenger car of an out-of-service train. When he finally disembarks, he is surrounded by people who don't speak his language, and he isn't even sure what the name of his home village is. After some harrowing moments, he winds up in an orphanage where is eventually adopted by an Australian couple. Some twenty years later, after smelling a food from his childhood, the young man suddenly remembers his family and, after two years of searching, tracks down his village using Google Earth.

I loved nearly everything about this movie, which was a delightful surprise--when it was described to me, I thought the premise was intriguing, but was skeptical of how it could fill a full, feature-length narrative.

I read somewhere that the first half of the movie was inspired by, of all things, "Wall-E" which actually makes perfect sense upon reflection. (You'll see the similarities when you watch it.)

"Lion" is based on the book "A Long Way Home" by Saroo Brierley. I plan on checking out the book ASAP because the movie was excellent.