“All of your books are so dark,” I complained to my friend Peloma. She was sitting with her back to me, working on her latest novel. She still used a typewriter, not a computer. “Can’t you write a story that is less morbid?” I asked her.
“As Oscar Wilde said, ‘no artist is ever morbid’,” Peloma said, still not turning to face me.
“That might be true; I’m not saying you’re morbid though, I’m saying that your books are though. I bet that when I read your book, when you’re finished with it, I will find the same trend with doom and gloom as are in all of your other books.”
“‘An artist never really finishes his work, he merely abandons it.’ Paul Valery said that.”
“Fine, when you surrender it to the editor for publication. That isn’t the point, the point I am trying to make is that I bet that the next time I pick up one of your books it will be just as gloomy as the last couple were. Why don’t you write something cheerful for once?”
“‘It is not a fragrant world.’ Raymond Chandler.”
“So you claim to reflect society, alright then, we’ll see about that. Let’s go and find something cheerful that you can write and will still reflect the world.” I think I nearly dragged Peloma out of the house. She certainly didn’t want to leave her writing to go on this mad quest with me but I was determined and she knew there was no arguing with me when I got into certain moods.
The first thing we came to was a drunk staggering in the street, shouting wildly, he finally fell into a heap. This struck me as a ludicrous situation so I pointed it out to Peloma but she just shook her head dismissively.
“Friedrich Nietzsche. ‘Where does one not find that bland degeneration which beer produces in the spirit!’”
“Alright, so drink isn’t a good thing, I’ll admit that. I still say that someone who drinks can be funny but we’ll over look that. I don’t want to argue with you, mostly because you won’t argue; you just do what ever you want to.”
Next we came to a little boy who fell every couple of steps but would pick himself and toddle on in this cutest way. I pointed him out but Peloma gave me a scathing look.
“‘The only way to amuse some people is to slip and fall on an icy pavement.’ Edgar Watson Howe.”
We walked along and I pointed out everything we saw that made me laugh or seemed happy. People whistling while they worked, people giving to beggars, children graduating, nothing seemed to make her happy. Finally we came to a street comedian who was doing his act and not having made any progress we decided to stop and watch for a little while. I hadn’t expected Peloma to take any interest but she watched the show all the way through.
“‘Humor is richly rewarding to the person who employs it. It has some value in gaining and holding attention, but it has no persuasive value at all.’ So said John Kenneth Galbraith,” Peloma said, turning away finally.
To be continued...
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