by John Warner
Leaving the table broke the spell, though, and in the bar, the others picked up the conversation, airing typical workplace complaints about nonunderstanding bosses and stupid managerial moves. Norman, feeling wobbly, was rooted to a stool, afraid to stand. While he cringed a little at the criticism rained down on his longtime friends and colleagues, Norman felt flattered they would air these grievances in front of him, making it clear that he, Norman, was one of the good guys. He tried his best to nod or smile at the right spots without seeming too eager. One by one they excused themselves for the evening, until Norman was alone with Gina and she came to his stool and put her knee between his legs.
“I guess I’m just not tired yet. Are you?” she asked.
Norman shook his head. He was not tired; he was exhausted. He’d long ago lost track of the time, but he was certain he hadn’t been up this late in years. It was a joke between him and Ellie that they celebrated New Year’s on Greenwich Mean Time. Norman’s hand clutched an empty glass that he didn’t remember drinking from. He’d never been close to this drunk. The alcohol churned in his stomach.
“You know what turns me on?” Gina said.
Norman shook his head. He felt emptied.
“I love it when I know that someone really wants me. It’s just the biggest turn-on. Don’t get me wrong, you’re not a bad-looking guy, Norm, but it doesn’t matter because I see the way you look at me. It’s like you don’t want to admit how much you want me, but you can’t contain it. It’s just pouring out of you, and that drives me crazy.”
Norman nodded.
“I had a shrink who called it a pathology. Can you believe that?” Gina said. “He said I mistook sex for love, but I don’t even know what that means. You know?” Gina had pulled a small compact out of her purse. She examined herself in the mirror and frowned briefly before snapping it shut.
“I better go freshen up,” she said. “You’ll be OK here, won’t you?”
As Gina turned for the bathroom, Norman’s stomach flipped and he was sure he was going to vomit. It was imperative that he make it outside. He clamped his hand over his nose and mouth and ran, knocking into people, but even as he crested the door it came forth, spurting between his fingers out of his mouth and nose. The second and third and subsequent waves hit as he hunched over the curb. Strings of drool reached from his mouth toward the ground, and the stomach acid burned his nasal passages. He couldn’t bear to have Gina see him this way, but neither could he move from the spot.
After a while he smelled her behind him, her fresh application of perfume penetrating even the smell of the upchuck. “I got sick,” he said.
“Yeah, wow,” Gina replied. “I can see that.” After a long pause filled by only the sound of Norman spitting into the gutter, she said, “Is there something I can do?” in a way that made clear she didn’t want to do anything.
“I’ll see you in the office on Monday,” Norman said, never turning around. He listened to her heels click away down the sidewalk, gaining speed with each step. He remained hunched until he felt strong hands tugging under his armpits, and he turned and saw the one in the lime-green sweater helping him upright.
“Upsie-daisy,” the man said.
Norman cupped the coffee mug in his hands, not yet able to make himself drink.
“Go on,” the lime-green-sweater said. “Drink up, you’ll feel better.”
They were in a diner, Norman across a booth from the one in the lime-green sweater and one of the ones that looked like just about anyone. Norman’s tie was crusted with puke, ruined. He took it off and shoved it in his pocket. He’d drop it in the garbage on the way out.
“Ellie’s got to be worried,” Norman said.
“She’s OK,” lime-green-sweater replied.
“How do you know?”
“She trusts you.”
Norman humphed at the irony and tried a sip of the coffee. It burned on the way down, and he added some cream from the little tin container on the table, swirling it through with his spoon. “So what do you want?” Norman said.
“What everyone else wants.”
“And what’s that?”
“Legal recognition of our bond. The state’s seal on our love.” The one with the lime-green sweater placed his hand gently on his partner’s arm as he said this. They leaned together and touched heads. Nor-man thought it wasn’t a bad-looking picture. He knew what that was.
“Love doesn’t need official recognition,” Norman grumbled.
“You’re right,” the one in the lime-green sweater replied. “Love is love is love. We don’t need recognition, but we want it.”
“Not everyone gets what they want.”
“But why should we be denied our wants when they’re the same as everybody else’s?”
“Because it’s not natural?”
“And who’s to say what’s natural?”
Norman tried to think, but his brain wasn’t working quite right. It was late and he was confused and they were taking advantage of that and they kept touching each other in tender ways, which was distracting. “I’m sure there’s an answer,” he said, “but I can’t think of it right now.”
Both men smiled at Norman, the kind of look you give a child, and the one in the lime-green sweater spoke. “Well, you let us know when you do. We’ve been waiting a long time.”
Norman nodded. He was tired of looking at them. They’d seen what happened with Gina, and that meant they reminded him of his shame. No one did any more talking. Some food Norman didn’t remember ordering arrived, steak and eggs over easy, crispy hash browns that the yolk dripped through. Norman was suddenly hungry, so he ate, eyes on the plate, shoveling it in. The men must’ve left at some point because when he looked up, they were gone.
Making sure of sobriety, he slept in his car for an hour before driving home. He showered in the dark, slowly. He knew Ellie wasn’t asleep when he slipped under the covers, but neither of them said anything.
The next morning, Norman slept late, and when he got up and went to the kitchen he saw Ellie scrubbing at the sink. “You hungry?” she called out without turning.
He went to her and pressed against his wife from behind and she stopped scrubbing, clutching the brush in her hand. Norman paused until he felt their breathing join, and he slipped one hand around front and through her robe and cupped her breast and Ellie dropped the scrub brush. Norman’s other hand rested on Ellie’s buttocks and then began to bunch the robe higher and with it the nightgown. He ran a finger along the inside of her thigh. Ellie sighed softly under his touch.
“What’s got into you?” she said.
“Something,” Norman replied.
My Best Seller
I’m going to write a best seller.
Because women buy most of the books, my best seller will have a female protagonist.
I’m going to call her Greta because I’ve always thought Greta is a pretty name.
In addition, I have become aware that the supernatural is hot, that people enjoy elements of mystery and magic in their best-selling books, that otherworldly creatures have a romantic appeal while also providing avenues for surprising turns of plot since supernatural creatures, by definition, are not bound by our natural world. However, the most common supernatural creatures—werewolves, vampires, witches, elves/orcs, and dragons—while “hot,” are also said to be potentially “overdone,” or “spent.” Above all, my best seller will be original, so my best seller will not have any werewolves, vampires, witches, elves/orcs, or dragons.
Therefore, the protagonist of my best seller will be a female yeti, also known as a Sasquatch, by the name of Greta. The working title (tentative) will be Bigfoot Woman.
Greta may or may not have a pet unicorn.
It has come to my attention that a good strategy for a best-selling book is to write in a way that will appeal to young adults and adults alike, primarily (though not exclusively) women. This makes sense when one realizes that adults are just grown-up children, most (but
not all) of whom would prefer to return to their childhoods because deep inside we all retain a child’s sense of wonder. If there’s any doubt about this, go to the Fourth of July fireworks and tell me there aren’t plenty of grown-ups going “ooh” and “ahh” at the rockets’ red glare and bombs bursting in the air.
So the protagonist of my best seller is now a teenage yeti named Greta who may or may not have a pet unicorn. For obvious reasons, the working title has changed from Bigfoot Woman to Bigfoot Girl.
All good books have conflict, and one form of conflict is internal conflict, something that goes on inside all of us, unseen but also unavoidable. Often, writers draw on their own experience when developing conflict. An example of an internal conflict is a writer trying to decide what kind of book to write. I have decided to write a best seller, so I have no more internal conflict, thus I will have to look elsewhere for Greta’s conflict. Since Greta is a teenager, and teenagers often struggle over issues of identity, I’ve decided that this is what Greta will struggle with. In order to make this struggle more apparent and accessible to my reading audience of young and not young— primarily but not exclusively—female readers, my protagonist will be a teenage half-yeti, half-human female named Greta.
I’m starting to have strong doubts about the pet unicorn, unless it can also talk, or perhaps read minds, or maybe change colors depending on Greta’s mood, which would be an interesting way of symbolizing Greta’s conflict come to think about it.
What you’ve seen right there is what we writers call “creativity,” real seat-of-the-pants invention-type stuff where you’re just letting your mind go and seeing what connections it can make. I was about to ditch the pet unicorn, but instead I made it many times better. It’s an incredible thing. This is one of the chief pleasures of writing, second only to getting official notification that the book you’ve written is a best seller. You should try it.
My half-human, half-yeti teenage protagonist Greta will be struggling over her identity: Namely, is she human, or is she yeti? Some reviewers will surmise that this internal conflict is analogous to someone’s struggle over their sexuality or racial identity, and because I am savvy (a prerequisite for writing a best seller), I will let them say these things, even though they’ll be wrong. Greta’s internal struggle will be over whether she is human or yeti and nothing else.
Some things just are what they are.
My best seller will need a setting, a place for my character to engage in action. I am choosing the setting before I develop the action because good writers know that action does not come first. Action flows out of character, conflict, and place. The story of a half-yeti, half-human teenage female named Greta in outer space would entail very different actions than the story of a half-yeti, half-human teenage female named Greta in Mumbai, India.
I have decided that the setting for my best seller will be high school.
Instinctively I know that this is a good choice, for several reasons. One, my audience of young and not young—primarily but not exclusively—female readers will either currently be in or have been to high school and will instantly relate to the various goings-on in my best seller about the story of a half-yeti, half-human teenage female named Greta.
Two, I have been to high school and am therefore familiar with the setting, limiting the need for research, which would be intensive and time-consuming if my setting was something like outer space or Mumbai, India, places I’ve never been, nor particularly want to go.
Third, this adds an exciting new element to my best seller’s continually evolving working title, Bigfoot Girl Goes to High School.
And finally, even as I decided that the setting would be high school, I began to see potential for happenings that will transform Greta’s internal conflict into external dramatic action. For example, because of her half-yeti heritage Greta will be quite tall and unusually strong, but she will also hate basketball and will therefore have to deal with the constant pleas to join the team from the coach, Ms. Franchione, who is convinced that with Greta patrolling the middle, her team would have a real shot at the state championship. Ms. Franchione will also recognize that being a basketball star would help Greta with her issues of identity, since Greta would then see herself in terms of her abilities, rather than her mixed genetic heritage— like how I self-identify as “writer of a best seller,” so anything else you may find out about me becomes irrelevant.
I am also envisioning a scene where Greta is publicly and humiliatingly ostracized, not only because it would be a manifestation and intensification of her internal conflict regarding her half-yeti, half-human status, but also because at some point during high school, all girls are publicly and humiliatingly ostracized, usually, and ironically, by their friends.
All best-selling books employ irony.
I’m thinking there will be a moment when Greta and Laura, Greta’s best childhood friend and neighbor, will be entering a bathroom, and loud enough for everyone to hear, Laura will turn to Greta and say, “The sign on the door says ‘girls’ not ‘freaks.’” In the moment, Greta will be shocked and silent, since the comment has cut to the core of her own doubts about herself. On the way home, as the pent-up tears flow down her cheeks, she will overturn several cars, which will cause her mother significant trouble because she will have to make restitution to the owners.
Notice how my choices of character—a half-yeti, half-human female named Greta—and setting—high school—for my best seller have given birth to several supporting characters: Ms. Franchione, Laura, and now Greta’s mother. Of these, Greta’s mother will be the most important, and therefore she will have significant conflicts of her own. Greta’s mother will be an ex–beauty pageant contestant who retains traces of her loveliness, but has been mostly worn down by the struggle of being a single mother to a half-yeti, half-human female named Greta. Greta’s mother will be named Tammy, because this is an appropriate name for an aging beauty who works waiting tables in a restaurant that is probably a diner.
I haven’t forgotten about the unicorn. It’s going to be half the size of a Chihuahua, and Greta will keep it in her backpack. This makes sense and will be compelling to my audience of young and not young—primarily but not exclusively—female readers because I will claim that unicorns are not imaginary at all, but rather quite common, and the problem is that we don’t spend enough time looking at the ground to see them. I’m envisioning a product tie-in, which is not my area of expertise, but seems pretty obvious.
You know, plush toys.
I haven’t forgotten about plot, either. Many books are published without plots, but very few best-selling books are absent plot. Plot is not to be confused with action or story. Action is stuff that happens. Story is the sum total of the action. Plot is action that happens because one action caused another action. The classic example to illustrate this distinction is that story is, “The queen died, then the king died.” Plot is, “The queen died and then the king died of grief (resulting in his kingdom falling into disarray until his brother, Yardrick the Somewhat Fair, makes a play for the throne which starts a war and other stuff).”
To apply this to the writing of my best seller, story is, “I wrote a bestseller.” Plot is, “Because of the writing of a bestseller, I got rich and had to hire an accountant to keep track of all of my money.”
An underappreciated aspect of writing a best seller is the choice of font. I choose Garamond, a very old typeface that conveys a sense of fluidity and consistency.
It looks like this.
Romance. I’m going to need a romance, since, after all, my best seller is intended for an audience of young and not young—primarily but not exclusively—female readers who like romance and have a thirst for love. (Male readers also have a thirst for love, but they’re less likely to admit it. Very few males will purchase my best seller—or when they do, they will claim it is as a gift—but many more will read it, sneaking it off the shelves after the women in their lives have finished.)
Ro
mance comes in two forms, requited and unrequited, and my best seller will have one of each since they both provide compelling emotional reading experiences, experiences that are further heightened when placed in juxtaposition.
The (ultimately) requited romance will involve my protagonist, the half-human, half-yeti female named Greta, and the high school’s star athlete, Jimmy. In order to keep Jimmy from being a cliché he will be not a quarterback, but a running back, and also be up for the yearly science prize and an academic scholarship for his project on sequencing DNA. It is Jimmy’s prowess with genotyping that initially attracts Greta to Jimmy since he may provide a key to unlocking her true identity, but mostly she likes how his eyes are kind, and she just wants to go to prom, where she, rather than Laura, will be crowned queen and have a dance with the smartest and handsomest boy in the school (Jimmy). My audience of young and not young—primarily but not exclusively—female readers will like this because it is a conclusion that implies a kind of cosmic order, a reassurance that love can conquer all in a frequently chaotic world.
The working title for my best seller is now Bigfoot Girl Wants to Go to Prom.
The unrequited romance will involve Greta’s mother, Tammy, and Greta’s father, whose name is unpronounceable as it consists of a series of guttural noises generally not producible by the human anatomy, so we’ll call him Phil. When Tammy was in high school herself, she became lost in the woods during a family camping trip. She had left camp to gather firewood, but soon found herself trapped, her foot hopelessly pinned under a log. As night fell, exhausted from her struggles to free herself and crying out for help, she lost consciousness, wondering if she’d ever awake. As she slept, Phil came upon her and lifted the log off her foot and gently carried her back to his lair, where he laid her in a bed of leaves near the fire and placed a poultice on her swollen ankle and administered drops of water to her parched lips from a hollowed-out log.
