The Amazing Thing About the Way It Goes: Stories of Tidiness, Self-Esteem and Other Things I gave Up On by Pearl-McPhee Stephanie

Author:Pearl-McPhee, Stephanie [Pearl-McPhee, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781449452995
Publisher: Andrews McMeel Publishing
Published: 2014-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

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I’ve been working on an amazing secret fantasy for a good long time now, and I’ve thought very carefully about whether or not to reveal it. I know that by writing it down here and making this deep desire public, I am removing my ability to ever actually make this fantasy a reality. I don’t know if you’ve ever developed a really, really good plot, but if you ever do, it makes little sense to release the plan into the wild. At best, you expose yourself to the risk of plot theft, and, at worst, you lose plausible deniability. Think about it: If you were planning to murder someone, or at least have the option of murdering someone in the future, you would be a fool to openly say something like, “Bob? Are you kidding me? I hate Bob’s stinking guts. I dream of having him to dinner so I can just get a little rat poison in his food.” You’d be far wiser to say all sorts of complimentary things about Bob, about how amazing Bob is, and how you don’t see why anyone could ever want to live in a world that didn’t contain him. Then you murder him in a way that looks like an unexpected accident. The fact that you hadn’t revealed your plan might at least slow the police down enough to let you make for Cuba.

Revealing that I think this way probably makes everyone I’ve ever effusively complimented a little nervous, and understandably so, but you see my point. I’m not planning to dispatch Bob; I’m just saying that if you’re contemplating a crime, it’s absolutely best to say nothing about it. Even fantastical plans that aren’t quite crimes are best kept secret. There’s always a chance that things won’t work out the way you thought or that you’ll be badly misunderstood. Choosing to keep my plans in my secret heart means that, when and if I do execute them, I can pretend they weren’t plans but more like accidents, and I can’t be blamed for those. All that said, I am still about to reveal a really good plot.

In my happiest dreams, the following happens. I come downstairs in the morning and limp into the kitchen to make coffee. While it brews, I tidy up the kitchen, as is my habit, and stare at my desk, working toward accepting that it and I will spend the rest of the morning together. The coffee machine eventually beeps, and I pour myself the first of many cups and go into my little office adjacent to the kitchen. I open my laptop, pull out my keyboard, and, as the computer wakes up, I note the time and make my daily commitment to my e-mail. I get a lot of e-mail, and I try hard to remember that I’m a writer, not an e-mail manager, because if I don’t set a time limit for e-mail I can watch all my writing time swirl down a virtual toilet.

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