To print this page, select "Print" from the File menu of your browser salon.com > Books Nov. 9, 1999 URL: http://www.salon.com/books/col/keil/1999/11/09/midlife_crisis Murder, she wrote The victim in my wife's latest mystery looks suspiciously like me -- a middle-aged man who left his wife for a younger woman. - - - - - - - - - - - - By Garrison Keillor Nov. 9, 1999 Dear Mr. Blue, A couple of years ago, I had one of those midlife crises and left my wife for a younger woman who I thought was my soul mate, my lost half. Well, it didn't work out. I came home to my wife, who was pretty sporting about it, and life went back to normal, only now I appreciate "normal" much more. The problem is my wife's new book. She's a pretty successful mystery writer, and I just got a look at the first chapter. It's about a middle-aged woman whose husband dumps her for someone younger. The someone younger has a name close to the name of my someone younger. Out of the husband's mouth comes a lot of nonsense about soul mates and lost halves. And he's the one who gets murdered. I don't know what to do. What if this becomes a bestseller? All our friends will recognize the situation. The husband resembles me enough that I think even our children might guess. I really thought she'd forgiven me. This is just bringing up all the mess again. Foolish Man Dear Foolish, You are the victim of a very witty joke, a delicious and clever and richly deserved one, so smile, be sporting, and when the time comes, tell everyone that you think this is your wife's best book ever. Hard feelings are never good form, especially in this situation. Your wife was gracious about the nasty deed you did her, but she is also clever. And how better to forgive you than to make the nastiness into an amusing read. Hope for a bestseller. If it sells well, send her a bill for research assistance. Dear Mr. Blue, I always thought of myself as a good writer and editor of workaday reports, not a creative writer, and now I find I have a sort of knack for writing pornographic stories. In my humble opinion, my stories are better than most things out there, stylish and very naughty without being disgusting. Does writing porn make me a bad wife? I love my husband a lot and I don't want anybody else, but I feel guilty about the fantasizing that is involved in this kind of writing. Second: How can I get published? I wouldn't mind getting paid for what seems to me like a pretty fair talent. And third: How can I keep this a secret, and should I? I'd be mortified to have my husband, or anyone else I know, read what I've written, but I've mentioned to him that I wouldn't mind getting paid to write porn and he seemed fine with it. Scheherezade Dear Scheherezade, Having an active sexual fantasy life doesn't make you a bad person, or a bad wife, and as for the morality of the writing, each writer needs to decide this for herself. If you believe that your writing can dispel shame, offer pleasure to mature people, perhaps give courage, then you needn't apologize for it. You get published by sending a chapter, or a story, to a legitimate book publisher with a reputation for sexually explicit writing and waiting for an answer. And you create a pen name, like Sharon DeSade. Eventually, if you sell your work, your husband will suspect what's up and you'll want to tell him. Good luck. Dear Mr. Blue, I am a chronic procrastinator. I just can't follow through. On anything. This has been going on for years, and I can't seem to stop, maybe because I've always gotten away with it. I have a master's degree, a good job and plenty of friends and colleagues who like and respect me, but I have an overdue assignment at work, my apartment is a mess and I can't bring myself to clean it. I put things in envelopes with stamps but don't take the final step to drop it in the mailbox, even though I sit and look at the damn envelope for days. I'm wondering if I'm acting out some sort of quiet, childish defiance, but against what? It makes no sense. I'm scared it will come back to kick me in the ass. How do I make myself complete tasks? No Follow Through Dear N.F.T., I'd like to feel concerned about you, but I'm afraid everybody suffers from this to some degree. Everyone has stamped envelopes sitting around their messy apartments. My desk is so messy I can't even find my envelopes. You seem to be doing OK. You remember to pay your rent, right? You bathe, you stop at stoplights, you go to the dentist, you file your tax return more or less on time? Sorry, but if this is your major problem, you haven't been getting in enough trouble. Dear Mr. Blue, I am eking out a living as a painter at the tender age of 24. Every grant I apply for requires that I furnish a little piece of prose called an Artist's Statement. I am absolutely flummoxed. My work contains no elephant dung, it does not portray my alcoholic father hanging on a cross made of American flags, it's representational and it doesn't require explanation. If I could say it, I wouldn't need to paint it. Are writers required to submit little pencil sketches of themselves in order to get their novels looked at? Could you help me write one of these things? I need something weighty, pretentious and impenetrable. A big, leathery beefsteak of prose. You can see the paintings if you want on my Web site Bombastically Challenged in Vermont Dear Challenged, This is great, a letter from a painter, a first for Mr. Blue. I must confess to some lingering resentment toward the visual arts, based on my visits to Washington to lobby in Congress for the NEA in the wake of a big outcry over photographs of men with whips up their butts and so forth, but never mind about that. That's all urine under the crucifix now. As for the A.S., no mystery about it. Jurors like to hear the defendant testify, that's all. They sit in a committee room, wading through big envelopes of slides and prints, and their eyeballs glaze over and they'd like the bozo who committed all this art to say a word or two. I mean, you can learn so much more about a person that way. Painting is all very nice if you're into decoration and home furnishings and so on, but it's the use of language that separates the men from the boys. So sharpen your pencil and sit down and do it. You don't need to explain your work, just put forth a few lines that suggest, in a serious but not pretentious way, what is new and different about you and your work, your ethos, your sensibility. Sensibility is a good word to use. Luminous might be another. Just set down some artistic principles that your own friends could read without falling on the floor and choking to death and that would bring tears of admiration to the jurors' eyes and give them reason to award you the Hermione Loomis Gould Fellowship for Vermont Landscape Artists Under 30. Honk your horn, Brush Boy. Dear Mr. Blue, I am 33, married to a wonderful, kind, loving man, both of us writers living in the Big City. I've written fiction for more than half my life, and have had the good fortune to have a good deal of it published. Writing has gotten me through the most difficult moments of my life; I've consistently used my life experiences to draw from when writing. But this summer I miscarried our first baby, and I feel paralyzed by grief. I cannot bring myself to write about this loss. It's been four months now and everyone thinks I should be over it. I put on a brave front and no one but my husband knows how much I'm still hurting. I haven't written at all, and I've lost interest in sex. I avoid friends (and strangers) who are pregnant or have children. My freelance lifestyle only exacerbates my feelings of isolation. I'm terrified I'll never get over this. Writing has always been the most solid support underpinning my life, but now it offers no comfort and seems so trivial compared to what we've lost. How can I go back to believing in it? Home Alone Dear Home Alone, Four months is not long enough to get over this. It just isn't. You're quite normal and your reactions are normal. But you do need to talk about this with people who know what you're going through. This is the sort of problem for which support groups were invented, my dear. The death of a child is a horrible blow, but your friends can't help you through it because they never carried a baby inside them and felt it and dreamed of it and believed in it and then had it snatched away, betrayed by their own body. But a group of women who've miscarried and who meet to offer comfort and advice can be of enormous assistance. Check with a large church or synagogue near you, which may offer space to such a group. Break out of your isolation; pick up the phone; track down a group or, if you prefer, find a psychiatric social worker. You need to talk about this for as long as it's looming in front of you. As for writing about it, surely the experience will find its way into your writing, at least in some submerged form. Writing is not a comfort, it's an art, and you haven't lost faith in it; you're simply on the disabled list for a while. People have landed on the disabled list for much less than a miscarriage, believe me. I know people who've been disabled by a slighting review, rendered inert, quivering, filled with mucous. Courage. Onward. Dear Mr. Blue, My grandfather and another man founded the very successful construction company where I have worked for 25 years. I'm 48, a woman. The sons of the other man inherited the company, and I am employed by them. The oldest partner is 73 and very controlling. He lost one son to stroke (stress), and the other has had two triple-bypass surgeries. Recently I was told by a doctor to cut the stress at work. The older partner got angry at me and said he works from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day and can't understand what stress is. I don't get paid vacation. I've never taken more than three days off at a time in 25 years. I keep thinking that if I can hold out until the older owner dies, things will be different (and they will). I've tried to talk to the younger partner, but it only makes the older one angrier. How would you view this situation and handle it? On the Edge Dear Edge, You are a slave working under inhumane conditions, and the best way to deal with it is to marshal all of your inner resources and quit. Do this to save your life. You're a key employee. If they want you back, they can negotiate. But walk out the door and hold your head high and wake up in the morning and take your sweet time with breakfast and read the paper and go back to bed if you like. Take up languorous hobbies, like reading, gardening, walking, cooking, and let some sunshine into your life. Dear Mr. Blue, My husband left me seven years ago. Wrote a note and was gone. I had two children in college and a 16-year-old at home. We ran a poultry farm and I had a sewing shop in the town nearby. All had to be maintained, or so I thought, until my health suffered. My hair turned white, my skin developed patches of white and my heart doesn't always beat regular. Life has settled down now. My children have blossomed because of what they've dealt with, and I shut the shop and walked off the farm. But now, how do I start the social life? I won't go to a bar (I live in a dry county anyway). Any ideas would be appreciated. Thank you. P.S. I live out in the country. Alone Dear Alone, You know your dry county better than I, so you know if there's much social life there for single, middle-aged, white-haired ladies. I would doubt it, but what do I know. This is why cities were invented, to defend against barbarians, to form schools and libraries, to create a ready labor pool for capitalism and also to give single ladies a chance to look at a number of eligible men and see if their eyes twinkle or not. But if you are settled and feel comfortable there in the country, perhaps you should start by inviting people you like to come to your house, for supper, for coffee, for beer and whiskey, whatever you care to offer. You invite old friends, acquaintances, people you'd like to know better, old or young, single or married, anybody who interests you. It's a real skill, entertaining, and it doesn't require linen napkins and vintage wines and sirloin steaks; it's a matter of extending affectionate interest and curiosity to a number of people at once, and holding up your end of the conversation. It's like sword fighting or horse racing -- the more you practice it the better you get and the more enjoyable it becomes. You invite people to your home and they invite you to theirs, and somehow in this social pond, maybe romance will spark up, if that's what you're hoping for. Dear Mr. Blue, For 20 years I've been resigned to a life of solitude and study, a dedicated professor married to a man who passionately loves me when I see him, about 45 minutes a day. He works all night seven days a week. We have a good physical relationship, and we both work to keep our household running smoothly. Recently I've been seeing an old love who is separated and needy. We enjoy talking about books and ideas, which I have never been able to discuss with my husband, a non-reader. Our friendship has begun to get physical, and we are considering an affair. Must all deep friendships between men and women end up in bed? I love this old friend but don't want to hurt my husband. I also feel that I should be helping my friend get back with his wife and young children. Somewhere in all this, I am feeling even lonelier than ever. What is my role here? Mrs. Reluctant Dear Mrs. Reluctant, You've been maneuvered by your old love into a liaison you really don't want. You have a conscience and it's speaking to you. You care about your husband, inaccessible though he may be. So cut this out. Tell your old friend to work through his problems at home and refuse to see him until he does. The alternative is a big mess. Nelson Algren said, "Never go to bed with someone who has worse problems than you do." Meaning, neediness is not a good basis for romance. I'll bet you've already begun the affair and you're feeling bad about it. So stop. You have no role here, until your friend gets his life in order. Dear Mr. Blue, I am 18, living away from home for the first time, and have this older brother, 28, who is always telling me what to do and not do. He feels this odd responsibility to be my parent when I already have two very capable ones. I feel that I should sort out my life on my own. My brother says, "That's stupid" when he thinks I make the wrong decision (for example, about my smoking) because he wouldn't ever make that decision. I know he wants what's best for me and I love him for it, but I know what I am doing and know the consequences of my actions. How do I tell him this? Watched Dear Watched, Your brother loves you in a helpless brotherly way, watching you head into the dark forest like Gretel and wanting to take your hand, and his powerlessness only makes him edgier and more insistent. Greet this with humor. Agree with him ("Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ...") or tease him or ignore him or change the subject -- or listen to him, if he's making some sense -- but don't fight with him, for the simple reason that you have nothing to prove and nothing to gain. You're a free woman and you're strong, and so what's the prize? Play it for laughs, kid. Fighting with him can only cost you. He's a loving brother, so keep him around: You'll need him someday. Dear Mr. Blue, What to do, what to do ... I am not fond of the woman I've been dating for the last three months, but I don't want to let her go because the sex is incredible. I don't think she is fond of me either, but she just keeps me around for sex. It's making us both crazy, but that just turns us on even more! Make it stop! Froggy Dear Froggy, Keep going. You're part of an experiment. If hostility is the true cause of sexual excitement, then there are a lot of people who need to know this now while they're able to take advantage of the information. It is so much easier to find someone you dislike. You can save many readers a lot of time. Report back in six months. Dear Mr. Blue, I am a writer and a mother of four, married to a nice man, a doctor, who is supportive but busy. My days are full and happy and things around this house are going well. My father died three years ago, and my mother, who is 73, is living three hours away on a mildly slippery slope of declining health. The town in which she lives, my old hometown, is a place I have nothing but bad memories of. I want her to move to our city where she could enjoy my kids and be near a good health-care system. I know that somewhere in the foreseeable future, she'll have a serious decline and it will all fall on me, the house selling, the nursing-home placement, the everything. My mother resists the idea of moving. How do I convince her? Guilty Daughter Dear Daughter, You can plead, you can coax, you can threaten, but it's her life, her home, her town, and she is likely to hang on to what she loves as long as she possibly can. Try to respect that. Your motive is a little shaky, wanting to corral her so as to make it easier for yourself, so give this campaign a rest. Of course, eventually she'll need some assistance, and you can plan for that day, and think about which specific rock she should jump to. But she'll be less likely to come visit you and enjoy your family if she senses a plot to cut the ground out from under her. Someday, when she is teetering on the brink of disaster, you may need to get tough with the old bird, but for now, allow her her independence. Dear Mr. Blue, I'm a writer, 22, who has just dropped out of a postgraduate program that would have guaranteed admission to medical school, had I done well. I may come back in a few years, when I'm ready, but meanwhile, I have yet to tell my parents, who will be disappointed, to say the least. How do I face the next two months? Should I go home to California where I will be browbeaten by my family for being a failure? Should I spend the winter as a ski instructor in Utah? Should I get a real job in Chicago? I just need to establish some independence, squirrel away some money and clean up these short stories. Plan B Dear Plan, Don't go home, of course. And why get a real job? You're young. Enjoy your life. If you want to spend the winter in Utah, teaching New Yorkers how to navigate the deep powder, this is the year to do it. You're 22, you can live on cold pizza and Pepsi and thrive on accidental encounters and overheard conversation and a little romance here and there. Write your parents a long letter and tell them exactly what happened to you and how you feel about medical school and tell them you love them dearly. And then go off and have a good winter. Dear Mr. Blue, A simple and yet extraordinarily difficult problem. This man and I are quite mutually smitten. However, his breath is very bad. He has a host of wonderful qualities and I want to pursue the relationship, but is there a tactful way to handle this problem? Holding my Breath Dear Holding, Your question takes me back to the Listerine commercials of my youth in which the man was portrayed with stink lines spreading like sonar waves from his mouth, people shrinking from him in revulsion. Some things have changed since then, and now we accept a little more frankness between friends. You can hint around, mention garlic, express concern about your own breath, but in the end you may need to whack him with the plain truth. Give him a box of pocket-size mouthwashes and tell him, "My dear love, your breath has been sour lately, and I would like you to start using these." He may be stunned initially, but deep down he'll be profoundly grateful for the suggestion and take it as a token of your esteem. Unless he's a complete dolt, in which case he'll resent it. It's good to test him at this point for doltishness. salon.com | Nov. 9, 1999