Jennifer Crusie's Blog, page 178

What If Happiness

So another chapter in that how-to-be-happy book is headed, “Don’t think ‘what if?'” And I thought, “Why not?”  I mean, I think “What if?” a dozen times a day.  “What if I put basil in the frittata?”  “What if I just mulched the beds along the fence?”  “What if I had Nick and Nita get married?”  Then I read the paragraph that explained it and saw that it was only about the past, as in “What if I’d done that instead?”  Okay, with that I agree wholeheartedly.  The past is prologue, and you know how I feel about prologues.

“What ifs” about the past are useless beyond learning from the experience, as in “I did that and it didn’t work, so I won’t do that again.”  It’s the “What if I hadn’t been so damn stupid?” thoughts that are the futile happiness killers, futile and dangerous because the past informs the present, it’s part of who we are.  “What if I hadn’t married the wrong guy?”  I wouldn’t have the best daughter. “What if I hadn’t been so stupid about real estate?”  I wouldn’t have lived in such marvelous places and had such great memories.  “What if I hadn’t been born where I was to the parents I was in the time I was?”  I wouldn’t be the fabulous me.  Every time I do a Q&A, somebody says, “What do you regret about your writing career/your life?”  And every time I say, “Nothing” and mean it.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t make mistakes, I’ve made huge mistakes, dear god, I’ve lost fortunes and friends, cried bitterly and raged fiercely, left wreckage in my path and then wrecked the path itself.  BIG mistakes.  But all of those things were done by earlier Jennys who didn’t know what I know now, who were just doing their best, and I need to honor those earlier versions of me, not disown them, not only because I’ll be negating my own past, but if I spend all my time regretting the places I tripped and fell, I’m not living in the now.  Every minute I spend regretting the past, I’m wasting my life in the present, filling it with regrets instead of joy, I’m blaming my past selves and cheating my future memories by making them about things I cannot change.   The only thing that thinking “What if?” about the past does is damage the present and kneecap my happiness.

Also, I’m not putting basil in the frittata, I think I’m gonna mulch those beds, and I’m still up in the air about the marriage, but I’m starting to really love the idea that they get the license and it makes the next three days more complicated.  

So what are you contemplating for future happiness?  (Obviously you have no what-ifs about the past, you’re much too happy for that.)

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Cherry Saturday, August 25, 2018

Today is Banana Split Day.  

I have to admit, I don’t see the appeal here (give me extra credit for not putting “a-peel”) here but then the only way I like bananas is in banana bread.  Why mess up good ice cream with blah fruit?  But then I remembered I like Chunky Monkey, so never mind.

Happy Banana Split Day.

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Discovery Draft: Why I Was Researching Las Vegas

Since I opened that can of worms by mentioning Las Vegas, here’s the discovery draft of that scene.  You’ll notice that it’s completely unstructured, starts abruptly, rambles, and then just stops; that’s because it’s a discovery draft.  I know it’s terrible.  I haven’t revised it even once.  This is raw Crusie.  And I may decide to cut the whole thing and write a new breakfast scene (there are a lot of breakfast scenes, six I think) with no proposal, so it’s just a placeholder for now.  But this is what happened while I was writing, and why I researched Las Vegas and then discarded it.  

“There’s a white power group on the island,” Nita said over her eggs.  “How in the hell did I miss that?”

“Why was Lilith here?” Nick said.

“To seduce you?” Nita said.

“I’m dead,”  Nick said.  

“You need a t-shirt with that on it.”  Nita picked up a piece of bacon and looked toward the sunny bay window.  “It’s really nice here.   I’m going to talk to Vinnie about moving in.  After I put a lock on the door to keep Lily out.  Syrup please.”

Nick passed her the syrup.  

Nita frowned at her French toast as she sloshed the syrup on.  “Marvella is running a white power group to kill demons.  Did she kill Jimmy?”

“No idea.  We’ll put it on the list.  Pass the syrup please.”

Nita handed back the syrup.   “I can’t put it on a list, I have to figure this out now, and I don’t have much time, I have to get to work.”

“Not today.”  Nick got a second orange juice out of the drinks carrier.  “We have work to do here.”

“Look,” Nita said.  “I have a job.   Which pays my rent.” She looked down at the plate full of eggs and French toast that Nick had given her.  “And the few crusts of bread needed to sustain my existence.  So as soon as I’m done here, I have to go work or get fired. Which would be bad.” 

“No problem.  I’ll marry you.” Nick peered into another carton.  “I don’t even know what this stuff is.”

“Marry?” Nita said, for once not distracted by food. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Nick passed her the carton.   “You need money to survive.  I have money.  If we’re married, you get my money.”

“You want me to marry you for money,” Nita said, putting her fork down.

Nick shrugged.  “I don’t need it.  The Devil has his own account on Earth and it’s huge, so once I take office, I won’t need mine any more.  I only used mine when I came to Earth and wanted something that wasn’t official.” He looked at the table.  “Like a flat surface on which to eat eggs.”

“Marry,” Nita said again, trying to be calm.  The Devil just proposed.  He’s an old-fashioned guy, he should have asked  the Mayor’s permission for that.  Or Satan’s.

I’m losing my mind. 

He looked up.  “Nita, I can’t give you money to live on because the US government gets interested if you give anybody more than ten thousand a year.  If we’re married, you get it all, no problem.”

“Well, there might be a few problems,” Nita said, trading confusion for annoyance.  “Like you’re dead and you live in Hell.”

“Yes, but my money is here,” Nick pointed out.  “You don’t need me, you need money.”

“This was some kind of inheritance from your grandfather?” Nita said, ignoring the not needing him part because of course, she didn’t.

“No.  I swindled a demon out of $260,000 in 1934.  I put it in a bank for the next time I needed money, and then when I came back in 1986, the interests rates were insanely good, so I switched banks. Compound interest did the rest.” He chewed on a piece of bacon thoughtfully.   “Look, it’s a simple solution with no drawbacks.  You’ll have complete freedom, and the money’s just going to sit there and rot once I’m Devil.”

“Uh huh.”  Nita picked up her fork and cut into her French toast.  French toast was normal.  “So how much money are we talking about here?”  She bit into the toast, thinking, Why am I having this conversation?

Because the Devil asked me to marry him.

She was having a really weird week.

“What?” Nick looked up from his eggs.  “Sorry, missed that last bit.”

“How much money do you have?”

“A little over forty-three million.  What is in that carton?”

“Grits,” Nita said. “Forty-three million dollars?”

“Compound interest is a wonderful thing.  What are grits?”

“Forty-three million dollars,” Nita said.

“Yes,” Nick said.  “Do I want to try grits?  Because my instinct tells me no, but then I’m dead.”

“Forty-three million dollars.”

Nick looked over at her. “Well, a little less since Rab’s been burning the card to set up the bar and Sadiel bought Demonista and a baph with it, but generally, yes.”

“That’s a lot of money, Nick,” Nita said, and then caught her breath as her voice rose.

“Yes, I know.  So we get married, you get the money, and if you get fired, it doesn’t matter, you’re covered.  Problem solved.  I’m going to put the boys back on the Hellgates and you and I can focus on whoever’s sending demons to kill you and Jimmy.”

Nita sat back.  “You want to give me forty-three million dollars.”

“Focus.”  Nick sloshed syrup on his toast.  “Don’t get hung up on the money.  Trust me, the Devil’s Earth accounts makes that look like chump change.”

“I know this is a bad idea,” Nita said, forking up a chunk of toast.  “I’m trying to think why.”

“Well, you might want to marry someone else.”

Nita looked up to find him watching her.  “No.  According to my mother, the women in our family don’t marry, and since I’ve never wanted to, I’ve been good with that.”

“So your mother will stop you from marrying me,” Nick said, not sounding as if he cared.

“If my mother finds out you’re worth forty-three million, she’ll get ordained and marry us herself,” Nita said.   “She’s independent, not nuts.”  She frowned at him.  “Marrying for money is bad.”

“Not if both sides know that’s what it’s about.”

What if I wish it wasn’t about that?

No, that was ridiculous.  She was still rocky from the day before. 

Forty-three million dollars?  Holy hell.

Nick waved his fork at her while he chewed.  “You could buy the bar from Vinnie and run it.  Live up here.  Pay Jeo a huge salary to run the place.”

“Jeo’s staying?” 

Nick shrugged.  “He wants to.  There’s no point in forcing him to go back if he’s serious about it.  I’ll  make him an envoy so he can report back to Hell.  Ambassador to Earth.”

“That’s nice of you,” Nita said. 

“So where do people get married here?” Nick pushed his empty plate away and looked at hers.   “You’re not eating your breakfast.”

“I’m dealing with a lot of thoughts, okay?” Nita rubbed her forehead.

“Is the reverend at the Church of Satan ordained?” Nick said.  “There’s a kind of poetry in that.”

“Yes,” Nita said.  “But there’s a three-day waiting period in New Jersey after you apply for the license.  And to apply for the license you have to go to the local registrar.  Who works for my father.  You remember the Mayor.”

“I remember your mother, too,” Nick said, hitting the cartons again.  “But I am fearless in the face of homicidal in-laws.  I won’t be spending the holidays with them.  Eat something, Detective Dodd, we have a big day ahead of us.”

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The Closed Setting

Elizabeth asked me if I was researching Las Vegas weddings because Nick and Nita were going to get married there, and I posted a long reply that made me realize that they weren’t going to because that would disrupt my closed setting.  And I like closed settings, I think they add immeasurable to a story.  This is one of the many reasons I love Argh: you ask questions and in answering them I figure out what I need to do.  And in this case, I need the claustrophobia of a closed setting, so, no, Elizabeth, they’re not getting married in Las Vegas.  There’s a bullet dodged.

So what’s a closed setting? 

 It’s a geographically limited setting that the characters can’t or won’t leave.  It’s a small town (Eureka), it’s an island (And Then There Were None), it’s a business (Office), it’s a house (The Haunting of Hill House), it’s a very small country (thinking Leverage’s “Let’s steal a country” here), it’s any setting where the characters cannot go somewhere else because the problem is HERE.  Bob and I had an argument about this on Wild Ride; he wanted Ethan flying all over the world. I said, “They’re trapped on the island, the problem is on the island, if he starts flitting sround, the tension goes.”  Obviously I won that one, but in general, Bob likes global stories, the whole world in peril, a huge canvas  to work on.  I want my characters as limited as possible, in a crucible setting and under a time lock, life and death in my version of Austen’s two inches of ivory.

The time lock is key to a closed setting, I think, because it increases the pressure and can help define the space.  I was thinking of Around the World in Eighty Days, which you’d think would be a global story, except Phineas Fogg cannot go anywhere, he has to stick to his itinerary to make the trip in eighty days, so that itinerary becomes a kind of closed setting due to the time lock.  I think the real key to time in a closed setting comes from the nature of the conflict: the problem is here, the problem is pressing, we don’t have TIME to go anywhere else because this mother is going to blow up at any minute.  So confined space + time lock + high stakes conflict = successful closed setting.  Which means no Las Vegas wedding. 

To get back to Nita’s closed setting, Nita is dedicated to her island, not comfortable off it.  Nick is there just to solve a problem and then go back to Hell, but he won’t leave until he’s fixed things.  The demons on the island can’t leave because there’s iron at the bridge and airport.  The humans on the island don’t want to leave because it’s their home.  At the climax, Nita goes to Hell, but she does it to save her island and then she says, “See ya” and goes back to Demon Island because that’s where she belongs.  I like the fact that they’re trapped there by both physical things and by emotional ties, that the island itself is a motivation.  Plus I like islands.  

Here’s the answer to Elizabeth’s question that made me think this through:

“I’m trying to figure [the wedding problem] out. There’s a logical (not romantic) reason they would, but it takes them off the island and I don’t want that, I like closed settings, and I’m not sure it doesn’t take too much pressure off Nita in some ways. OTOH, if she’s married to him and then he starts cycling through different lifetimes, that adds pressure. If she doesn’t bring up a problem, he doesn’t have to suggest that as a solution, plus it does solve a problem she has, and she should have as many problems as possible to keep fueling the story. Right now, she brings up the problem to refute something he’s saying, not to ask for help, and he says, “Oh, I can fix that, I’ll marry you.” And that would fix her problem. OTOH . . .

“It’s a plot thing. I just have to figure out how to negotiate it. I should look at Kentucky, too. At one time, you could elope to Kentucky and not have a waiting period (which my college roommate did and I was her maid of honor so I know that one for sure), but I have no idea if that’s still true. The problem with Las Vegas is that I’d have to deal with Las Vegas, and that takes too much emphasis off Demon Island.

“I wonder if there’s a way I could establish a no-waiting period on Demon Island. They’re in New Jersey so they can’t contravene state law, right? That’s a three-day waiting period. Of course, if they had to apply for a license on Demon Island and then try to keep it a secret from her parents (impossible) that could ADD pressure. Hmmmmm.”

I mention all of this because I think setting often gets kicked down the road as a default, but I think setting is very important in escalating a plot and shaping characters in a story.  So now I’m sure it would be a major mistake to send Nick and Nita to Vegas.  Nope, not going to happen.  The closed setting is too important.

ETA: Since people are confused about where Las Vegas came front, I posted the discovery draft of the scene:

Discovery Draft: Why I Was Researching Las Vegas

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This Is a Good Book Thursday, August 23, 2018

Okay, the next time I forget a Working Wednesday because I haven’t realized it’s Wednesday, somebody say, “Jenny, it’s Wednesday.”  Here, have a Good Book Thursday:

This week I read . . . I forget.  I read a lot of stuff, though, including web pages  on how to get married in Vegas.  Don’t get married in Vegas.  Currently reading Catherine Aird again.  So what did you glom this week?

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The Argh Card

Since Kim was worried about losing her card, I’m sending a replacement.  Anybody else who needs one, feel free.

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Random Monday

I have no post for today, just random thoughts.  Although that would probably also describe my regular posts, so never mind.

I read a romance by a new-to-me-but-famous author last week, and I’m still puzzling about my reaction to it.  I thought the sex scenes were unmotivated, and I could see the strings behind the plot–threatened cute kids, snobby inlaws, dastardly relative–so I didn’t get the emotional surge I should have, but mostly it seemed thin.  And the thing is, even though I could tell myself it was thin, I couldn’t figure out why.  The stakes were strong, the plot moved, there were complications.  Of course, I knew how it was going to turn out, it’s a romance, but that’s a feature not a bug.  It wasn’t that there wasn’t a Theme because if I can easily see the theme in a novel it’s trying too hard.  I’m wondering if it wasn’t too much of a pinball plot: send the characters bouncing off these standard obstacles to get the ding-ding-ding at the end.  I mean, there’s a reason those things are standard in plots, they work.  Maybe you need to do something new and twisty with them?  As somebody once said, Shakespeare stole all his plots, he just did a better job writing them than anybody else.  Must think this through.

In 1983, I had colon cancer and was given about six months to live.  I was surrounded by lovely, caring people who would ask me, “How ARE you?” and after a while I just wanted to say, “Dying.  And you?”  Because I was not my disease, thank you, stop measuring me for a nice shroud.  I’m starting to see some of the same things again now.  These are lovely, lovely people–my neighbors, my family, my friends–but every day they ask me how I’m doing.  I’m terribly tempted to do the Not-Dead-Yet scene from Monty Python: “I’m feeling much better, I think I’ll go for a walk.”  Yes, I know my odds aren’t good.  You could get hit by a truck tomorrow.  Do I ask you how it goes on the street?  But the thing is, these are really good people who care about me and really do want to know, so I don’t say, “Dying.”  I say, “I’m great” because that’s also true.  Thank god for Krissie, who basically said, “You succeed at everything, bitch, you’re gonna live forever.”  

My favorite game as a kid was Park N Shop.  The board was a town with a lot of stores and you drew cards that told you what you had to buy and then you moved through the board as efficiently as possible to get all your shopping done in the shortest possible time.  To this day I still plan my multiple stops so that they move on the same side of the street, so that I’m not turning into traffic, so that I never back track.  This game probably had a bigger impact on me than my parents.  So this afternoon I have to go to the doctor.  On the way is the diner.  So I should eat at the diner.  Now do I stop on the way there or after?  I think after because then I can hit the deli, too, and I don’t want to leave deli stuff in a hot car while I’m at the doctor.  I’m pretty sure I’d lose points for that.  But between the doctor and the diner is a farm stand.  So maybe the doctor, the farm stand, the diner, and then the deli.  Except then I’ll have tomatoes and corn in a hot car.   I may be overthinking this.  Maybe I should have played Clue.

My neighbor Carl is a sweetheart, as is his dog, Jackson.  Jackson weighs about four pounds dripping wet and most of that is fur; he’s some kind of tiny, fuzzy terrier, and even though he’s now sixteen and a little cranky, he’s still the cutest thing on paws.  He runs Carl’s life.  One day shortly after I moved here, Milton got away from me and met Jackson.  They didn’t bond but  Milton being Milton made friends with Carl.  Carl gave him a chew bone, and that was it for my afternoons.  Every afternoon, we go down the road to get the mail, and the box is beside Carl’s house, so Milton goes to Carl’s door and waits for a treat.  I have bought many packages of dog treats and handed them over because Milton was snarfing all of Jackson’s cookies.  And then came this summer, when Mona discovered that Carl is the easiest touch in dogdom and started tagging along with Milton.  And now I’ve noticed that Carl’s wife is an equally soft touch so that if Carl is asleep, she comes across with the goodies.  I have incredibly nice neighbors, but my dogs are scamming them something fierce.   

I’ve really been enjoying the political reporting this week.  Giuliani saying “Truth isn’t truth” was a high point.  The NYT reporting that the White House lawyer has spent thirty hours telling things to Mueller was lovely.  And then I found out that Republican strategists are ready to strangle Trump for claiming that there’s no blue wave, it’s a red wave.  Since Trump’s followers believe anything he says, the fear is that they’ll believe him and Fox and Rasmussen that there’s going to be a Republican blow-out at the midterms and stay home because their votes won’t be needed.   I find this hysterically funny.  Also that Omarosa keeps playing tapes on TV.  But I think “truth isn’t truth” is my favorite.  

I’m not a fan of most romcom movies, especially lately.  They seem to be so lazily written, as if the people behind them said, “You know what women like, do that.”  But there’s a new one coming out that I have high hopes for.  In fact, I would have written this if I could.  It’s called Destination Wedding and it’s about two angry people (my fave) who get stuck together at a wine country wedding.  The best part may be that they’re played by Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder, which is one of those pairings that seems strange at first and then obvious.  John Wick and Lydia Deetz.  Neo and Veronica Sawyer.  The possibilities are endless.  And it does not look thin.

I laughed pretty hard at the “a cougar maybe?”  Not quite as good as “Truth isn’t truth,” but still funny.  Also it’s now 12:30 and I’m starving so I’m going to the diner first.  Then the doctor, then the farm stand, then the deli.  It’ll mean two stops in the same parking lot and I lose points for that, but it’ll also mean I can go to the ice cream place next door and get a no-sugar added milkshake.  I think it’s a plan.

ETA: So I’m home from the doctor’s and one thing stood out.  I said, “My friends and family are driving me nuts.  I’ve looked up my life expectancy and it’s anywhere from one year to twenty, with the possibility of being hit by a truck as I leave this office.  What can I tell them to get them to stand down?”  And he said, “You’re not dying.”  I think that should do it.  I don’t know who gave Mollie my death sentence, but the cardiologist said he’s been following patients with worse numbers than mine for ten years and they’re doing fine.  I’d write more, but I have to go find the doctor who told my daughter I was on my way out and strangle him.

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Guess Positively

I bought a book called The 100 Simple Secrets of Happy People so I could crib from it for these Sunday posts.  So far, not hugely impressed.  It’s one hundred very short chapters explaining a concept from happiness research.  For example, people who sleep more soundly are happier than people who don’t, so sleep soundly.  Another indicator: being open to new ideas, which is probably why people who oppose Trump are happier than people who support his vice-like grip on the good old days when people were white and male, damn it.  

But I do like this one: “If you’re not sure, guess positively.”  I’m not sure what’s going to happen to my country, but I’m guessing the good guys will win, and we’ll come out of this more vigilant about what we’ve taken for granted.  I’m not sure what’s going to happen with the heart failure thing, but I’m guessing that I’m going to be just fine and I know that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been right now so I’m already just fine.  I’m not sure how my editor is going to react to this book–one of my agents, Meg, is freaking a little bit because it’s so weird–but I’m guessing as long as its a Crusie she’ll roll with it, and Meg says it’s definitely a Crusie (well some of you who’ve read some of it will know about that, too).   I like the “Guess positively’ idea.

What are you guessing positively about this week?

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Cherry Saturday, August 18, 2018

Happy Serendipity Day.

Serendipity means “happy accident,” so technically that’s Happy Happy Accidents Day.  

How did you trip over happiness this week?

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This Is a Good Book Thursday, August 16, 2018

I’ve decided that the end of summer is a good time to drink Diet Coke, sit in front of the air conditioner, and read.  I went through all the Gilberts I had on Kindle and went to get more only to find out that they’re no longer on Kindle at all, which was annoying, so I switched to Heyer mysteries.  Currently reading Stella and Randall, the amiable snake.  Stella could use some work, she’s a little weak at the knees, but Randall is a classic Heyer mystery hero, very much akin to Steven in Envious Casca and the guy in A Blunt Instrument. Enjoying myself immensely.

So what’s on your reading list this week?

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