All installments of the analysis have been included with their dates.
March 19th, 2013:
Just found out that Mark-Paul
Gosselaar and Mario Lopez write their own series of Saved by the Bell fan
fiction. I've ordered all of them and will be analyzing them here, with excerpts.
March 20th, 2013:
This is the first paragraph of
Mario Lopez's first book in his Saved by the Bell fan-fiction series, [Saved by
the Bell: the After Years] entitled "Diamonds in My Pocket."
>>When The Max burned to the ground, we thought that was the end. Our memories burned away with the walls, our laughter vanquished with the ceiling, our youth carried away in black smoke. Our old friend Max, previous owner of the restaurant, unseen in years, joined us in our candlelight vigil for the place. You could see in his eyes he was happy to see it go, still vilifying the new owners as the lecherous scum they were. But you could feel in the beat of his heart he knew it would signal the final days of the ol' Bayside gang, and for that he was as sad as us. But that wasn't the end. No. The end came with Mr. Belding's retirement and his erasing of all our high school transcripts. No records of us ever having attended Bayside, much less graduating. As far as our employers knew, we hadn't graduated high school. And for me, a college wrestler who never finished college, this was certainly the end.
Mario Lopez writes his fiction from the first person, as A.C. Slater. Note the dismal tone. I can tell this is going to be a great book. But let's compare and contrast this with the first paragraph of Mark-Paul Gosselaar's first installment in his Saved by the Bell fan-fiction series [Saved by the Bell: Sun and Satisfaction], entitled "Saved by the Belly."
>>It's never easy picking a honeymoon destination when one lives in the sunniest of all states -- California. What should one expect, coming from a state named for a fictitious island so close to Earthly Paradise? No place on Earth can compare. This will be repeated by all true Californians to any who dare listen. But the honeymoon, as all romantics are aware, is not about the destination, but about the company. Zack and Kelly, having close to a decade of romanticism in their hearts, sprawled across leather seats as the limo carried them to some glorious land of plenty. Glorious not of its own qualities, but of its promises to the newlyweds of everlasting togetherness in the ripe Spring of the heart's ardency. No event, no surprise, no person or thing could ruin this unmatched moment. So when Kelly sat up, hair a mess, makeup a silly smeared artifact of intimacy, and told Zack that she was a month pregnant, Zack could only laugh in his signature California chortle. A chortle close to Earthly Paradise.
It's interesting to note the very different tones these pieces of fan-fiction have right off the bat. Mario's is depressing, dark, setting a scene for uncharacteristically negative SBTB themes. Mark-Paul's is comparatively cheery, sunny, like the state in which it takes place, similar to the show, and promises the gift of new life to two of our beloved characters. And while Mario engages the reader with a first-person narrative, well suited for the foreboding path he suggests the story will take, Mark-Paul takes a backseat approach to the narrative, third person, separate from the action, closed off to the emotion of its characters, but observant and insightful. I can't help but wonder, when both men finish their respective series, which, if either, will be accepted into official Saved by the Bell canon. Or do they both deserve inclusion into canon, if, as I may later discover, neither directly contradicts the other, and both seem to take place in the same universe, consistent with the show? Hard to tell anything from first paragraphs, but I'll keep everyone posted.
>>When The Max burned to the ground, we thought that was the end. Our memories burned away with the walls, our laughter vanquished with the ceiling, our youth carried away in black smoke. Our old friend Max, previous owner of the restaurant, unseen in years, joined us in our candlelight vigil for the place. You could see in his eyes he was happy to see it go, still vilifying the new owners as the lecherous scum they were. But you could feel in the beat of his heart he knew it would signal the final days of the ol' Bayside gang, and for that he was as sad as us. But that wasn't the end. No. The end came with Mr. Belding's retirement and his erasing of all our high school transcripts. No records of us ever having attended Bayside, much less graduating. As far as our employers knew, we hadn't graduated high school. And for me, a college wrestler who never finished college, this was certainly the end.
Mario Lopez writes his fiction from the first person, as A.C. Slater. Note the dismal tone. I can tell this is going to be a great book. But let's compare and contrast this with the first paragraph of Mark-Paul Gosselaar's first installment in his Saved by the Bell fan-fiction series [Saved by the Bell: Sun and Satisfaction], entitled "Saved by the Belly."
>>It's never easy picking a honeymoon destination when one lives in the sunniest of all states -- California. What should one expect, coming from a state named for a fictitious island so close to Earthly Paradise? No place on Earth can compare. This will be repeated by all true Californians to any who dare listen. But the honeymoon, as all romantics are aware, is not about the destination, but about the company. Zack and Kelly, having close to a decade of romanticism in their hearts, sprawled across leather seats as the limo carried them to some glorious land of plenty. Glorious not of its own qualities, but of its promises to the newlyweds of everlasting togetherness in the ripe Spring of the heart's ardency. No event, no surprise, no person or thing could ruin this unmatched moment. So when Kelly sat up, hair a mess, makeup a silly smeared artifact of intimacy, and told Zack that she was a month pregnant, Zack could only laugh in his signature California chortle. A chortle close to Earthly Paradise.
It's interesting to note the very different tones these pieces of fan-fiction have right off the bat. Mario's is depressing, dark, setting a scene for uncharacteristically negative SBTB themes. Mark-Paul's is comparatively cheery, sunny, like the state in which it takes place, similar to the show, and promises the gift of new life to two of our beloved characters. And while Mario engages the reader with a first-person narrative, well suited for the foreboding path he suggests the story will take, Mark-Paul takes a backseat approach to the narrative, third person, separate from the action, closed off to the emotion of its characters, but observant and insightful. I can't help but wonder, when both men finish their respective series, which, if either, will be accepted into official Saved by the Bell canon. Or do they both deserve inclusion into canon, if, as I may later discover, neither directly contradicts the other, and both seem to take place in the same universe, consistent with the show? Hard to tell anything from first paragraphs, but I'll keep everyone posted.
March 21st, 2013:
The third chapter of Mario
Lopez's first book in his Saved by the Bell fan-fiction, entitled
"Diamonds in My Pocket" is already getting gritty. Here's an excerpt:
>>The cloth burned faster than I expected. I spotted my target: the ground-floor window of the modest house of a cruel man. My arm was still a chiseled tool of perfection from my years of wrestling and drumming, and I lobbed the Molotov cocktail through the glass. The ear-piercing shatter was followed by an abrupt explosion of yellow flame. I was filled with a fire much like the one that glowed before me, a fire for justice.
Sam and Duffman went scurrying into the field. They never thought I'd do it. They didn't believe the rage inside me was strong enough. Now they did.
A commotion came from a house across the street. I turned to see a man standing at the front door. Belding! What was he doing across the street? I looked for the house number, and when I found it was hit with a gust of awakening wind. I had set fire to 626. Belding stood across the street, staring in horror at the fire, and at me, from his home: 627. I had the wrong house.
In the glow of the flame, Belding's face lit up, his eyes incendiary pearls of loathing. I didn't know if he could see my face. It was dark. In all likelihood, he only saw my muscular silhouette. But somehow I knew that, for Belding, that would be enough.
>>The cloth burned faster than I expected. I spotted my target: the ground-floor window of the modest house of a cruel man. My arm was still a chiseled tool of perfection from my years of wrestling and drumming, and I lobbed the Molotov cocktail through the glass. The ear-piercing shatter was followed by an abrupt explosion of yellow flame. I was filled with a fire much like the one that glowed before me, a fire for justice.
Sam and Duffman went scurrying into the field. They never thought I'd do it. They didn't believe the rage inside me was strong enough. Now they did.
A commotion came from a house across the street. I turned to see a man standing at the front door. Belding! What was he doing across the street? I looked for the house number, and when I found it was hit with a gust of awakening wind. I had set fire to 626. Belding stood across the street, staring in horror at the fire, and at me, from his home: 627. I had the wrong house.
In the glow of the flame, Belding's face lit up, his eyes incendiary pearls of loathing. I didn't know if he could see my face. It was dark. In all likelihood, he only saw my muscular silhouette. But somehow I knew that, for Belding, that would be enough.
This story has become truly gripping, as I knew it would. I'm three chapters in and already Mario has made numerous references to fire, and his character, A.C. Slater, has used it more than once for his own purposes. You can feel the anger boiling inside him, his aimlessness in the wake of wasted years. This is the first time we've seen ex-Principal Belding in the story. I can't wait to see where the tale goes from here. Let's take a look at an excerpt of the third chapter of Mark-Paul Gosselaar's first book in his Saved by the Bell fan-fiction, entitled "Saved by the Belly."
>>"Albert? You want to name him Albert?"
"Relax, Zack! It's just an idea." Kelly responded assertively. "It's too soon to know if it's a boy or a girl."
"Or twins, or triplets," chimed in Screech, still dipping his hands in chocolate frosting.
"And I guess you want his middle name to be Clifford?" said Zack, swooshing his fingers through his perfect shoulder-length hair.
"Slater will be so happy!" Screech's mouth was spilling with chocolate.
"Albert Clifford Kapowski-Morris is a beautiful name. Don't you think Slater would approve?"
Zack was tongue-tied, Kelly was starry-eyed, and Screech's mouth was brown with frosting. The bamboo bedroom was cramped, so Zack stepped outside, into the warm Filipino air. The chatter of foreign tongues in his midst brought his pulse to a calm cadence.
He pulled out his cell phone, dialed, and held it to his ear.
"Slater," he ejaculated, "Wait 'til you get a load of this!"
A little drama in the Kapowski-Morris temple, but nothing they can't handle. We see Screech has shown up unexpectedly on their honeymoon (is Screech ever really expected? Choke on that for a bit.) And like always, he doesn't seem to have much to offer. It looks like Slater's about to make an appearance in the novel, and this could be the first glance at whether or not Mario and Mark-Paul are writing their fiction in the same SBTB universe, or in wholly new worlds of imagination, where canon is thrown to the wind, and the sail of ideation is raised to drag the reader through a maelstrom of new adventures. I can see both of these becoming VERY enticing in the next few pages. I'll keep ya posted.
March 24th, 2013:
I'm on the 8th chapter of both
Mario Lopez's and Mark-Paul Gosselaar's first novels of Saved by the Bell
fan-fiction. If you're just tuning in, I've been offering snippets of each
actor-author's work, along with a minor analyses, while comparing &
contrasting the two. Mario's "Diamonds in My Pocket" (book 1 of Saved
By the Bell: The After Years) doesn't slow down. It's red hot, through and
through. Check out this excerpt from chapter 8.
>>"Zack and Kelly? Zack and Kelly? Why should I ever care what Zack and Kelly might think?" I was hardly able to hang on. My grasp of right and wrong, dark and light, pain and pleasure, and any other duality of life's senses and concepts was growing weak. What I thought started with Belding's actions had actually started earlier. Before college, before Bayside. Something pre-high-school. Something through my father's unending judgment and expectations. Somewhere along the line, some part of my consciousness snapped. For years there was another duality my mind couldn't process. The Zack and Kelly dichotomy, the two entities most vital to my survival at Bayside, the two people who evoked the most primal urges within me. Always I considered them as one. Two parts of the psychic tapestry that covered the walls of my vacant mind. Zack, the good-looking, trouble-making, street smart, social-savvy leader. Kelly, the great-looking, cheerleading, romantic redeemer. Together they became that which I yearned to be. But in the dark days after Belding's retirement, I found all my hatred, all my violence and loathing focused on these two people I should have loved.
>>"Yes, Slater," said Mr. B. "Zack and Kelly. Zack has become such a stand-up gentleman of honesty, and Kelly's charm has grown exponentially through her years of dating men young and old. You have to think about what they'd think of all this. How would they react to what you've done? Screech is in a coma, Jessie's still recovering from the amputation, and Lord only knows if Lisa's family will be able to bail her out. This is all on you. If they weren't on their honeymoon right now, who knows what kind of mess you'd have caused for them!?"
>>Belding was right. My friends were hurting, and I was the cause. Like an angel of death, I had swooped in and selfishly taken them all for a hellride of vengeance they'd never forget--or remember. In my tirade of violence and destruction against the one man I thought was my darkest enemy, I had learned he might be the only light still willing to illuminate my path.
Wow! It's getting heavy. We've learned a lot about Slater in this novel, including some darker aspects of his history before he went to Bayside and met the rest of the SBTB gang. What I notice most about this excerpt is that it answers the question I raised early on about which, if any, of these fan-fictions of ex-SBTB stars will be accepted into SBTB canon. It's clear now that Lopez's work conflicts with Gosselaar's work in regard to Screech and the honeymoon of Zack and Kelly. In both novels, Z and K are on their honeymoon, but in one, Screech is in a coma due to Slater's negligence and hunger for chaos, and in the other Screech is accidentally on the honeymoon with Zack and Kelly, always eating chocolate frosting and other messy sweets.
Let's see how Gosselaar's novel is progressing in the 8th chapter. Here's an excerpt.
>> Screech's mastery of the Filipino language proved useful with the locals, something Kelly admired, and something Zack envied, due to his own inability to learn languages as swiftly as his peers. When Zack's generic rip-off Filipino version of a Toyota Tacoma broke an axle on the rocky road leading to their bamboo Honeymoon Hut, his difficulty in communication led to him pushing his hands through his hair a little faster than usual, and nostril flares that did not do his frustration justice. The local mechanics could fix his truck, no problem. It was the communication of ideas, and Zack's flair with manipulation that suffered. Screech's presence, Zack finally decided, was a Godsend. Screech haggled, argued, negotiated, and even laughed with the strange-tongued mechanics, and got Zack a spectacular deal on brand name axles.
>> "Yes," said Zack, throwing his wet bag onto the bed. "I admit, Screech makes himself handy."
Kelly stood from her bamboo chair, her orange and yellow dress spilling like inverted fire onto the bamboo floor, her tanned leg peaking out from its openings like a child from a curtain, and rubbed Zack's shoulders as he sprawled on the bed.
"He was your Best Man, Zack. He's proving it to you now that he's more than just a best man, but a best friend."
"I guess you're right." Zack removed his shirt, complaining of heat exhaustion, and laid his lips upon Kelly's butter-smooth thighs. The room, unaided by the modern blessings of air conditioning, was becoming a sauna. Passion's moist bucket overflowed into the veins of the young lovers, and clothes quickly found themselves upon the bamboo floor.
"Zack, I--" Screech walked into the room, without knocking, as was his habit, and finished his sentence only with, "ZOINKS!" before taking a seat in Kelly's bamboo chair, and watching the Kapowski-Morris love positions before him.
"Screech!" Zack shouted, short of breath. "Get out!"
"Wait!" Kelly said, brushing her and Zack's hair out of her eyes. "Maybe he could uh... stay?"
"What the--?"
"Well, you did say he makes himself handy..."
Again, notice the stark contrast in tones between these marvelous works. Mario's plays it dark, dangerous, and deep. Mark-Paul's plays it silly, sweet, and sunny. Sometimes even funny. We get the impression that the two actors, influenced by their respective places in the hierarchy of the SBTB cast, had very different outlooks on the show they were performing in for all those years. Perhaps because he was a Top Dog, an Alpha Male, a leading man, Mark-Paul saw the world through sunshine tinted glasses, palm tree speckled panoramas of pleasure and plenty, while Mario, being second guy, number two, muscular machizmo but without the success of his blond bud, saw things with a bit of animosity, bitterness, and resentment. This is the impression I'm getting. Very interesting stuff, here. As usual, I'll keep everyone posted with reading updates.
>>"Zack and Kelly? Zack and Kelly? Why should I ever care what Zack and Kelly might think?" I was hardly able to hang on. My grasp of right and wrong, dark and light, pain and pleasure, and any other duality of life's senses and concepts was growing weak. What I thought started with Belding's actions had actually started earlier. Before college, before Bayside. Something pre-high-school. Something through my father's unending judgment and expectations. Somewhere along the line, some part of my consciousness snapped. For years there was another duality my mind couldn't process. The Zack and Kelly dichotomy, the two entities most vital to my survival at Bayside, the two people who evoked the most primal urges within me. Always I considered them as one. Two parts of the psychic tapestry that covered the walls of my vacant mind. Zack, the good-looking, trouble-making, street smart, social-savvy leader. Kelly, the great-looking, cheerleading, romantic redeemer. Together they became that which I yearned to be. But in the dark days after Belding's retirement, I found all my hatred, all my violence and loathing focused on these two people I should have loved.
>>"Yes, Slater," said Mr. B. "Zack and Kelly. Zack has become such a stand-up gentleman of honesty, and Kelly's charm has grown exponentially through her years of dating men young and old. You have to think about what they'd think of all this. How would they react to what you've done? Screech is in a coma, Jessie's still recovering from the amputation, and Lord only knows if Lisa's family will be able to bail her out. This is all on you. If they weren't on their honeymoon right now, who knows what kind of mess you'd have caused for them!?"
>>Belding was right. My friends were hurting, and I was the cause. Like an angel of death, I had swooped in and selfishly taken them all for a hellride of vengeance they'd never forget--or remember. In my tirade of violence and destruction against the one man I thought was my darkest enemy, I had learned he might be the only light still willing to illuminate my path.
Wow! It's getting heavy. We've learned a lot about Slater in this novel, including some darker aspects of his history before he went to Bayside and met the rest of the SBTB gang. What I notice most about this excerpt is that it answers the question I raised early on about which, if any, of these fan-fictions of ex-SBTB stars will be accepted into SBTB canon. It's clear now that Lopez's work conflicts with Gosselaar's work in regard to Screech and the honeymoon of Zack and Kelly. In both novels, Z and K are on their honeymoon, but in one, Screech is in a coma due to Slater's negligence and hunger for chaos, and in the other Screech is accidentally on the honeymoon with Zack and Kelly, always eating chocolate frosting and other messy sweets.
Let's see how Gosselaar's novel is progressing in the 8th chapter. Here's an excerpt.
>> Screech's mastery of the Filipino language proved useful with the locals, something Kelly admired, and something Zack envied, due to his own inability to learn languages as swiftly as his peers. When Zack's generic rip-off Filipino version of a Toyota Tacoma broke an axle on the rocky road leading to their bamboo Honeymoon Hut, his difficulty in communication led to him pushing his hands through his hair a little faster than usual, and nostril flares that did not do his frustration justice. The local mechanics could fix his truck, no problem. It was the communication of ideas, and Zack's flair with manipulation that suffered. Screech's presence, Zack finally decided, was a Godsend. Screech haggled, argued, negotiated, and even laughed with the strange-tongued mechanics, and got Zack a spectacular deal on brand name axles.
>> "Yes," said Zack, throwing his wet bag onto the bed. "I admit, Screech makes himself handy."
Kelly stood from her bamboo chair, her orange and yellow dress spilling like inverted fire onto the bamboo floor, her tanned leg peaking out from its openings like a child from a curtain, and rubbed Zack's shoulders as he sprawled on the bed.
"He was your Best Man, Zack. He's proving it to you now that he's more than just a best man, but a best friend."
"I guess you're right." Zack removed his shirt, complaining of heat exhaustion, and laid his lips upon Kelly's butter-smooth thighs. The room, unaided by the modern blessings of air conditioning, was becoming a sauna. Passion's moist bucket overflowed into the veins of the young lovers, and clothes quickly found themselves upon the bamboo floor.
"Zack, I--" Screech walked into the room, without knocking, as was his habit, and finished his sentence only with, "ZOINKS!" before taking a seat in Kelly's bamboo chair, and watching the Kapowski-Morris love positions before him.
"Screech!" Zack shouted, short of breath. "Get out!"
"Wait!" Kelly said, brushing her and Zack's hair out of her eyes. "Maybe he could uh... stay?"
"What the--?"
"Well, you did say he makes himself handy..."
Again, notice the stark contrast in tones between these marvelous works. Mario's plays it dark, dangerous, and deep. Mark-Paul's plays it silly, sweet, and sunny. Sometimes even funny. We get the impression that the two actors, influenced by their respective places in the hierarchy of the SBTB cast, had very different outlooks on the show they were performing in for all those years. Perhaps because he was a Top Dog, an Alpha Male, a leading man, Mark-Paul saw the world through sunshine tinted glasses, palm tree speckled panoramas of pleasure and plenty, while Mario, being second guy, number two, muscular machizmo but without the success of his blond bud, saw things with a bit of animosity, bitterness, and resentment. This is the impression I'm getting. Very interesting stuff, here. As usual, I'll keep everyone posted with reading updates.
March 26th, 2013:
Goodness gracious. I'm on the
17th chapter of Mario Lopez's first novel of Saved by the Bell fan-fiction
(Saved by the Bell: The After Years #1: "Diamonds in My Pocket) and the
17th chapter of Mark-Paul Gosselaar's first novel of fan-fiction (Saved by the
Bell: Sun and Satisfaction #1: "Saved by the Belly"). The hellride
and mindtrip and heartpounding thrills of each of these books is something to behold, and something my simple analyses cannot do
justice. Excerpts are no substitute for the full thing, you will agree. But
with my limited power I hope to bring these obscure works of fiction to a wider
audience, and to point the curious reader to the finer points of each
actor-author's literary touchdowns. Here's an excerpt of Lopez's 17th chapter:
>> I'd forgotten the sodium-rich taste of my own tears, and the bitterness of my own blood. Not since 5th grade had I had a full cry, and it was in the privacy of my grandmother's bathroom. Not since Zack's fist dealt a respectable blow to my lip in the Bayside hallway had I tasted my own blood. But the crying, bleeding mess I found myself in on Mr. and Mrs. Turtle's living room floor was a crumpled up state of revelations and new beginnings. They stood around me, mouths agape, eyes a-staring, and arms crossed like a chain-gang's 1886 portrait by the railroad.
>>"Slater," whimpered Jessie, choking back her tears from her wheelchair, on the far side of the lavishly decorated room. "We're here for you..."
I saw very little through the blur of tears in my eyes. I could make out the bloodstained carpet beneath my head, the small black spots of burnt carpet beside my hands, and no smell in the room could take my focus from the sour tastes of defeat in my mouth. Tears and blood and failure were my late dinner.
"I didn't think her death would hit him so hard," I heard Zack whisper to Kelly. And I heard her whisper back that she "didn't think they were so close, since no one's seen her in such a long time."
>> "Screech must never know!" I cried, banging my fist into the ground. "Never tell him!"
Mrs. Turtle came to kneel at my side, and brushed my abs, trying to sooth me, calmly saying, "He has to know. He has to. We have to tell him. He loved her."
"The police have to know, too," Mr. Turtle said. The rest of the room broke into sobs and disagreement, with opinions flying like Sparrows every which way, two cents from every mouth spawned a plethora of thoughts, and my nerves quaked and shook and threw me into conniptions I was unable to quell.
See what I mean? Shit's heavier than ever. I rewatched some of the heavier Saved by the Bell episodes tonight (from my personal collection of Heavy Episodes: SBTB), and not one of them compares to the dark and tragic shit Mario Lopez is continuously throwing onto the page in this magnum opus. I respect his craft so much right now, and I have to say that, at this point in each novel, Gosselaar is losing my interest. Both authors would have made commendable contributors to the writing staff at Saved by the Bell, circa 1992-94, but it's more fitting they each use the medium of novel, for it better displays their strengths of prose and complexity. Mario kills it while Mark-Paul chills it. Here's Gosselaar in an excerpt of his 17th chapter:
>> "I don't think these are real airline tickets, Screech," said Zack, with a certain arrogance about him. "Look here, it says... it says they have an expiration date. Screech, have you ever seen an expiration date on an airline ticket?"
Screech scrunched his nose, and his eyes got wide. "Ummm... Oops?"
Kelly's sudden laugh took Zack and Nicodemus by surprise, but she stifled it with her hand and the straw of her iced lemon tequila sunset passageway summer breeze.
Zack dropped the tickets on the bartop, and Screech took a new position in his seat, a position that declared no wrongdoing, that insisted upon others with confident certitude that his dealings with the Filipino underground were legitimate. His spirit was one of helpfulness and usefulness, a recognition of his underappreciatedness.
>>"It's not funny," Zack said, the only sober one on the room, the only one sticking to the guns of his younger days, the only luminary of youth, the shining blond lion of virtue. He felt outnumbered by his intoxicated peers, and thought himself something of a saint. "We need real tickets, Screech. Lisa's fashion show and Slater's Mr. Universe competition are in two days! If we can't be there for our friends, what kind of friends are we?"
>> The bar was silent. Kelly slurped the final chunks of her iced lemon tequila sunset passageway summer breeze, and Screech said "Zoinks!" one last time, while Nicodemus spoke obscure tongues to the boy in slurred, sloppy speech. Time was running out.
Very nice! I'm having trouble caring about all the action right now, as Zack and Screech seem to be getting themselves into the same old kind of trouble they always did. It's evident Mark-Paul is playing off old SBTB tropes, keeping his characters and his plots true to the television series. This is something to respect, and it's a notable effort. But I hope in later books in the series he starts to get adventurous with his stories. Mario's already shown that he has the chops to bring some new dice to the checkerboard. I like that. No, I love that. I think both writers are superb, I just want to see them fully utilize their talents.
>> I'd forgotten the sodium-rich taste of my own tears, and the bitterness of my own blood. Not since 5th grade had I had a full cry, and it was in the privacy of my grandmother's bathroom. Not since Zack's fist dealt a respectable blow to my lip in the Bayside hallway had I tasted my own blood. But the crying, bleeding mess I found myself in on Mr. and Mrs. Turtle's living room floor was a crumpled up state of revelations and new beginnings. They stood around me, mouths agape, eyes a-staring, and arms crossed like a chain-gang's 1886 portrait by the railroad.
>>"Slater," whimpered Jessie, choking back her tears from her wheelchair, on the far side of the lavishly decorated room. "We're here for you..."
I saw very little through the blur of tears in my eyes. I could make out the bloodstained carpet beneath my head, the small black spots of burnt carpet beside my hands, and no smell in the room could take my focus from the sour tastes of defeat in my mouth. Tears and blood and failure were my late dinner.
"I didn't think her death would hit him so hard," I heard Zack whisper to Kelly. And I heard her whisper back that she "didn't think they were so close, since no one's seen her in such a long time."
>> "Screech must never know!" I cried, banging my fist into the ground. "Never tell him!"
Mrs. Turtle came to kneel at my side, and brushed my abs, trying to sooth me, calmly saying, "He has to know. He has to. We have to tell him. He loved her."
"The police have to know, too," Mr. Turtle said. The rest of the room broke into sobs and disagreement, with opinions flying like Sparrows every which way, two cents from every mouth spawned a plethora of thoughts, and my nerves quaked and shook and threw me into conniptions I was unable to quell.
See what I mean? Shit's heavier than ever. I rewatched some of the heavier Saved by the Bell episodes tonight (from my personal collection of Heavy Episodes: SBTB), and not one of them compares to the dark and tragic shit Mario Lopez is continuously throwing onto the page in this magnum opus. I respect his craft so much right now, and I have to say that, at this point in each novel, Gosselaar is losing my interest. Both authors would have made commendable contributors to the writing staff at Saved by the Bell, circa 1992-94, but it's more fitting they each use the medium of novel, for it better displays their strengths of prose and complexity. Mario kills it while Mark-Paul chills it. Here's Gosselaar in an excerpt of his 17th chapter:
>> "I don't think these are real airline tickets, Screech," said Zack, with a certain arrogance about him. "Look here, it says... it says they have an expiration date. Screech, have you ever seen an expiration date on an airline ticket?"
Screech scrunched his nose, and his eyes got wide. "Ummm... Oops?"
Kelly's sudden laugh took Zack and Nicodemus by surprise, but she stifled it with her hand and the straw of her iced lemon tequila sunset passageway summer breeze.
Zack dropped the tickets on the bartop, and Screech took a new position in his seat, a position that declared no wrongdoing, that insisted upon others with confident certitude that his dealings with the Filipino underground were legitimate. His spirit was one of helpfulness and usefulness, a recognition of his underappreciatedness.
>>"It's not funny," Zack said, the only sober one on the room, the only one sticking to the guns of his younger days, the only luminary of youth, the shining blond lion of virtue. He felt outnumbered by his intoxicated peers, and thought himself something of a saint. "We need real tickets, Screech. Lisa's fashion show and Slater's Mr. Universe competition are in two days! If we can't be there for our friends, what kind of friends are we?"
>> The bar was silent. Kelly slurped the final chunks of her iced lemon tequila sunset passageway summer breeze, and Screech said "Zoinks!" one last time, while Nicodemus spoke obscure tongues to the boy in slurred, sloppy speech. Time was running out.
Very nice! I'm having trouble caring about all the action right now, as Zack and Screech seem to be getting themselves into the same old kind of trouble they always did. It's evident Mark-Paul is playing off old SBTB tropes, keeping his characters and his plots true to the television series. This is something to respect, and it's a notable effort. But I hope in later books in the series he starts to get adventurous with his stories. Mario's already shown that he has the chops to bring some new dice to the checkerboard. I like that. No, I love that. I think both writers are superb, I just want to see them fully utilize their talents.
April 2nd, 2013:
It brings me to tears to say this
is the final installment of my comparative analysis of the first works of Saved
by the Bell fan-fiction penned by Mario Lopez (TV's A.C. Slater) and Mark-Paul
Gosselaar (TV's Zack Morris). Both have done an incredible job putting their
hearts, their souls, their blood, their sweat, their spit, their tears, all
their juices into these stories. Each have created remarkable works of fiction matched by few great writers since
the 17th century, spellbinding me with tales of unimaginable imagination. I
recently finished both books, Mario's Saved by the Bell: The After Years #1 --
"Diamonds in My Pocket", and Mark-Paul's Saved by the Bell: Sun and
Satisfaction #1 -- "Saved by the Belly." I will keep the spoilers to
a minimum with these excerpts and expert opinions. Mr. Lopez's final chapter
has this marvelous piece of writing:
>>Screech's second coma in six months. Like the first one, also my fault. This time, we didn't know if he'd recover. Doctor Tom said there was a chance. If he survived, he'd never be the same. An artificial stomach and reconstructed throat can change a man, even an indomitable spirit like Samuel Powers. He wanted to die. That's why the bucket of bleach was half empty when Zack found him. The gang knew if Screech survived, no fiber of his being would allow him forgiveness toward me. Not after Lisa. No. Not at all after the incident. That Lisa's parents were able to find peace and offer me forgiveness was the closest thing to a miracle I'm likely to see in my lifetime. My self-destruction had cost us a life, and possibly another. Casualties were piling up, with only myself to blame. Physical and emotional scars are burdens my friends will carry to the grave.
>>My own health had suffered tremendously in the months following Belding's departure from Bayside. Mental anvils plunged through darkness with me strapped to their smooth sides, figurative chainsaws roaring in the hollows of the mind, lacerating the delicate nerves and synapses that kept me whole. Where I would land with these anvils guided only by gravity of the mind's eye was anyone's guess. Am I truly a monster? Am I the bigot they say I am? Was Jessie right, all those years ago? Am I a pig? I liked to think I was none of these, that I was a man of strength like iron, power like steel rods, marked by good deeds and courage, but my actions leading up to now had suggested otherwise. A coward, a narcissist, a hatemonger. An abuser of life's lesser known treats. If there was a monster within me, it was only beginning to show itself.
Holy shit, huh? Mario's novel ends with a punch, a kick, and a painful segue into something sure to be more sinister. Dark roads ahead, my friends. The reader can't help but wonder what will come of the ol' Bayside gang. Lisa Turtle is in an early grave, Jessie Spano is crippled, Screech is in a coma from a suicide attempt, his fate uncertain, Mr. Belding's early senility has a darkness all its own, and Zack and Kelly's marriage has hit a turbulence only endurable by the greatest of hearts. There truly is no telling what our beloved characters have to look forward to in subsequent installments of Saved by the Bell: The After Years. For fear of saying too much, I will say too little. Let's look at Mark-Paul's final chapter, in an excerpt:
>>"I don't care what anyone says," said Screech, as Lisa rubbed sunscreen on his pale, bony back, "California beaches are the best beaches." He dug his toes into the sand, and toyed with the seashell necklace given him by Nicodemus, a gift from across the seas.
Kelly smiled, petting Zack on his tan shoulders, caressing his blond hair. The sun glowed like an Olympic torch, floating carelessly in a blue ocean of sky. "If only Nicodemus could be here now."
"He's only an ocean away, Kelly," uttered Zack. "We'll see him again."
"I wish I could have met him. He sounds wonderful." Lisa put the finishing touches on Screech, having painted a sunscreen scene of high fashion upon the boy's back, like a Monet. Gorgeous figures of women stood tall in elaborate cloth, brilliantly designed by Ms. Turtle in a stroke of beach-induced genius.
"Oh, he was, my love!" Screech rolled over to look into Lisa's eyes, sanding up the fashion adorning his back, unknowingly.
"Screech! My pictures!"
>>The gang laughed, and a fifth laugh soon tore through the air, a laugh like bowling balls tumbling down the lane, smashing the pins, and falling into the gutter to be returned to their owners: Slater!
"Slater!" shouted the gang in what an outside observer would have surely thought to be a rehearsed response, but was, in fact, natural.
His dimpled smile carried him like a kite over the sand, until he plopped down next to Zack and Kelly, hugging the two of them.
"Slater, you're all wet!" yelled Screech, oblivious to muscle culture.
"It's oil, buddy. Makes the muscles pop out to the eye!"
"Congratulations on your title!" exclaimed Zack, seeming genuinely pleased for his friend, A.C. "Mr. Universe" Slater.
"We always knew you would rise to the stars," said Lisa, silently bemoaning her lost sunscreen painting, but also picturing Slater in a new line of fashion she would soon design, based around elite physiques. "You're such an inspiration to all of us!"
"You said it, Lisa!" Kelly clapped as she spoke, driven by excitement, and lit by an inner warmth seeded by the thrill of her friends at her side. Though the Philippines had their appeal, nothing quite matched the cool, sunny comfort of California.
"Cheers to the success and prosperity of us all!" said Zack, raising his third O'Douls.
The others raised their drinks, Slater his protein shake, Lisa her tequila longbus sunball, Kelly her carrot-cake oceanblast, and Screech his bottle of water that had been the butt of all kinds of jokes for days, and they drank to friendship, life, sunshine, and satisfaction.
I think these excerpts speak for themselves. Each novel started with a very different tone, and ended with equally contrasting moods. A spectacular ride, both of them. I am better for having read them, and smarter for having so deeply pondered their purpose in the grander scheme not of literature, but of existence. If you never bless yourself with the gift of these pieces of esteemed fan-fiction literature, at least let yourself be lifted by the hints of genius you witness peaking out from these iceberg tips of storytelling by the stars of America's favorite sitcom, rising to the ranks of the world's favorite literary figures. They take us so far from our worlds and our heads that we wonder if we ever truly were where we thought we were, or if we knew what we thought we knew, and we question not only monolithic philosophies of being, but the official canon of the Saved by the Bell Universe. Goodbye, and good day to all.
>>Screech's second coma in six months. Like the first one, also my fault. This time, we didn't know if he'd recover. Doctor Tom said there was a chance. If he survived, he'd never be the same. An artificial stomach and reconstructed throat can change a man, even an indomitable spirit like Samuel Powers. He wanted to die. That's why the bucket of bleach was half empty when Zack found him. The gang knew if Screech survived, no fiber of his being would allow him forgiveness toward me. Not after Lisa. No. Not at all after the incident. That Lisa's parents were able to find peace and offer me forgiveness was the closest thing to a miracle I'm likely to see in my lifetime. My self-destruction had cost us a life, and possibly another. Casualties were piling up, with only myself to blame. Physical and emotional scars are burdens my friends will carry to the grave.
>>My own health had suffered tremendously in the months following Belding's departure from Bayside. Mental anvils plunged through darkness with me strapped to their smooth sides, figurative chainsaws roaring in the hollows of the mind, lacerating the delicate nerves and synapses that kept me whole. Where I would land with these anvils guided only by gravity of the mind's eye was anyone's guess. Am I truly a monster? Am I the bigot they say I am? Was Jessie right, all those years ago? Am I a pig? I liked to think I was none of these, that I was a man of strength like iron, power like steel rods, marked by good deeds and courage, but my actions leading up to now had suggested otherwise. A coward, a narcissist, a hatemonger. An abuser of life's lesser known treats. If there was a monster within me, it was only beginning to show itself.
Holy shit, huh? Mario's novel ends with a punch, a kick, and a painful segue into something sure to be more sinister. Dark roads ahead, my friends. The reader can't help but wonder what will come of the ol' Bayside gang. Lisa Turtle is in an early grave, Jessie Spano is crippled, Screech is in a coma from a suicide attempt, his fate uncertain, Mr. Belding's early senility has a darkness all its own, and Zack and Kelly's marriage has hit a turbulence only endurable by the greatest of hearts. There truly is no telling what our beloved characters have to look forward to in subsequent installments of Saved by the Bell: The After Years. For fear of saying too much, I will say too little. Let's look at Mark-Paul's final chapter, in an excerpt:
>>"I don't care what anyone says," said Screech, as Lisa rubbed sunscreen on his pale, bony back, "California beaches are the best beaches." He dug his toes into the sand, and toyed with the seashell necklace given him by Nicodemus, a gift from across the seas.
Kelly smiled, petting Zack on his tan shoulders, caressing his blond hair. The sun glowed like an Olympic torch, floating carelessly in a blue ocean of sky. "If only Nicodemus could be here now."
"He's only an ocean away, Kelly," uttered Zack. "We'll see him again."
"I wish I could have met him. He sounds wonderful." Lisa put the finishing touches on Screech, having painted a sunscreen scene of high fashion upon the boy's back, like a Monet. Gorgeous figures of women stood tall in elaborate cloth, brilliantly designed by Ms. Turtle in a stroke of beach-induced genius.
"Oh, he was, my love!" Screech rolled over to look into Lisa's eyes, sanding up the fashion adorning his back, unknowingly.
"Screech! My pictures!"
>>The gang laughed, and a fifth laugh soon tore through the air, a laugh like bowling balls tumbling down the lane, smashing the pins, and falling into the gutter to be returned to their owners: Slater!
"Slater!" shouted the gang in what an outside observer would have surely thought to be a rehearsed response, but was, in fact, natural.
His dimpled smile carried him like a kite over the sand, until he plopped down next to Zack and Kelly, hugging the two of them.
"Slater, you're all wet!" yelled Screech, oblivious to muscle culture.
"It's oil, buddy. Makes the muscles pop out to the eye!"
"Congratulations on your title!" exclaimed Zack, seeming genuinely pleased for his friend, A.C. "Mr. Universe" Slater.
"We always knew you would rise to the stars," said Lisa, silently bemoaning her lost sunscreen painting, but also picturing Slater in a new line of fashion she would soon design, based around elite physiques. "You're such an inspiration to all of us!"
"You said it, Lisa!" Kelly clapped as she spoke, driven by excitement, and lit by an inner warmth seeded by the thrill of her friends at her side. Though the Philippines had their appeal, nothing quite matched the cool, sunny comfort of California.
"Cheers to the success and prosperity of us all!" said Zack, raising his third O'Douls.
The others raised their drinks, Slater his protein shake, Lisa her tequila longbus sunball, Kelly her carrot-cake oceanblast, and Screech his bottle of water that had been the butt of all kinds of jokes for days, and they drank to friendship, life, sunshine, and satisfaction.
I think these excerpts speak for themselves. Each novel started with a very different tone, and ended with equally contrasting moods. A spectacular ride, both of them. I am better for having read them, and smarter for having so deeply pondered their purpose in the grander scheme not of literature, but of existence. If you never bless yourself with the gift of these pieces of esteemed fan-fiction literature, at least let yourself be lifted by the hints of genius you witness peaking out from these iceberg tips of storytelling by the stars of America's favorite sitcom, rising to the ranks of the world's favorite literary figures. They take us so far from our worlds and our heads that we wonder if we ever truly were where we thought we were, or if we knew what we thought we knew, and we question not only monolithic philosophies of being, but the official canon of the Saved by the Bell Universe. Goodbye, and good day to all.
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