If you want a happy ending, it depends on where you stop the story.
– Orson Welles
Once upon a time, several years ago, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were lolling on the couch discussing happily-ever-afters (or HEA, if you’re a savvy reader).
Writers are often told to write what they know. If that were too solid a rule, too much excellent science fiction would vanish from existence. I say, write what you care about, and great things will follow. Similarly, it’s not my aim to provide a HEA every time so much as give readers a satisfying ending.
“So maybe I’ll cry, maybe I won’t?” my wife asked.
“You may turn the last page shuddering in tears of joy and recognition,” I replied in an arch English accent (because that’s my villainous voice). “Even if the resolution turns into a Pyrrhic victory, I dole out some hope. It’s not a downer ending I’m looking for, just a real one.”
“So bittersweet, dripping with verisimilitude?” SWMBO asked.
“Yeah, but not too much.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because fiction should be an entertaining escape. Real life is too harsh. In real life, our endings are all too tragic and full of fear. Take this moment,” I said. “You and me are on the couch, and the kids sleeping peacefully in bed. This will all end in tears, but right now is our happily ever after.”
Her eyes widened.
“This is it, baby,” I said.“Our happy ending! Are you happy?”
The murder of a health insurance CEO in New York is an interesting moment in American history. It is a little surprising (but not shocking) how many people don’t care that this person was killed. (Read reactions to Brian Thompson’s killing on Huffpost here.)
I’m not condoning murder. However, the more you learn about the practices of his company, the more you understand the impulse to dismiss the crime with, “Oh, well.”
I write stories about vigilante justice.
I prefer those stories to stay within the confines of fiction.
I spoke with an American friend recently who needed medical tests. They had insurance, but the co-pay was usurious. Another American friend had a series of worrying symptoms. He couldn’t afford to visit a doctor. He had to choose groceries and rent over the possibility of a horrible death.
I see my doctor a few times a year. I couldn’t afford to be a hypochondriac in the United States. Medical bankruptcy is not a thing in Canada. Here, there are no such things as pre-existing conditions. We just call that your medical history.
Non-Americans look at the richest country in the world and wonder, “How are you okay with this?”
We rarely visit the United States. We wouldn’t consider stepping south of the border for a moment without medical travel insurance. Going without insurance is one thing. Paying for insurance and still not being able to access healthcare anyway is especially galling.
People feel the way they do about this murder for genuine reasons. This one rich man’s death will get much more attention than the deaths of others. His company’s policies deny care to people in need, but that is already known. It doesn’t seem the demise of so many patients will be investigated with half as much vigor as the CEO’s death.
I am so grateful for universal healthcare.
I have had surgery to save the vision in my left eye. In 2023, I had two hips replaced. The care was excellent and timely. The most I had to pay for all that excellent care was parking fees. There is nowhere on Earth where universal healthcare is perfect. I prefer less-than-perfect to the confusion and deceit present in the American healthcare system.
What does that murder mean, though?
This murder, this moment, is not a cultural shift on its own. It’s a symptom of a sick system. When justice fails, people give up on norms.This has been coming a long time. In the middle of a stump speech to a conservative crowd years ago, Ron Paul spoke of providing healthcare to the poor. “Should we let them die?” Paul expected a resounding no. Instead, someone yelled, “Yes!” The assembled burst into a round of applause.
This is an increasingly dangerous time. When empathy disappears, society fails.
Every exercise, diet, and brain performance guru tells you to prioritize sleep. Where their advice often falls down is the how of it. Last night, I had the best sleep since the womb. I’m going to tell you how. I’m not a doctor. Consult your own. I can only tell you what worked for me.
I have two sleep disorders, so when I went to a sleep specialist, I was hoping for easy answers. He had lots of answers, and they were easy. They just weren’t entirely effective.
Since my sleep apnea was under control, the sleep specialist gave me the same suggestions to improve sleep that you’ll find on any listicle:
Exercise, but not too close to bedtime. When you’re sleepy, go to bed like an adult (or a toddler forced to go to bed). Keep the bedroom cool and dark. Cut off screen time a couple of hours before bed. Avoid excess stimulation in the evening. Wind down with a book. (As a writer, I highly encourage this.) Ditch heavy meals late in the day. Avoid caffeine after noon. Try a warm shower an hour or so before bed. If you can’t sleep, get up, move to another location, and read something until you’re sleepy Reduce stress.
Try again.
I am a hot sleeper, so I’ve tried cooling blankets and all manner of cooling pillows. None of them stay cool for very long. I’ve even tried ice packs in the bed. All to little or no avail.Every morning, two of my four pillows are on the floor, the sheets are twisted into nooses, and it looks like I lost a fight with ghosts and demons.
What worked for me.
I upped my magnesium intake, including a magnesium cream 30 minutes before bed.
I had a CBN edible. (This one has no THC or CBD in it, though I’ve found that can help.)
The newest additions to my sleep strategies were (a) noise-canceling earbuds made of silicone, and (b) silicone tubes in the nostrils.
The noise reduction was significant. All I could hear was my own breathing. I’d tried nose strips before, but they did nothing for me. With the tubes in my nose, my sinuses opened up to nice cool air. I could sleep with my mouth closed, and I slept deeply. I also knocked out for much longer than usual without interruption.
I will grant you, these are not sexy strategies. However, I woke up refreshed and greeted my wife with, “It’s a beautiful world, full of beautiful people doing beautiful things!”And I had a productive day. It was a good day. Good days are sexy, especially when you are unused to good days.
It’s early evening as I write this. I have enough time and energy before bed to go over suggestions from beta readers for my next novel. It’s nice to have more energy for that, too.
Shoveled twice again this morning. It’s beautiful, but the snow on either side of my driveway is beginning to get so high, I’m throwing snow high in the air and getting quite a workout.
Never ask a writer which is the best book they’ve written. That’s like demanding they choose their favorite child. It’s mean. However, gun to my head, here are my personal top five (and why):
The global pandemic begins with a killer flu that brings down civilization as we know it. You’re shown how our systems collapse in a very real-world scenario. (This is also my most popular series.)
It’s a slow burn as the virus continues to evolve. New species rise and things get weird. The supernatural toys with the survivors of the cull and our champion, Jaimie Spencer, is a radical departure from the usual heroes in the genre. He’s a selective mute on the spectrum whose special interest in dictionaries and Latin proverbs.
As battles between Good and Evil go, this is genre-bending. TPOD is complex and expansive. No red shirts!
Everyone who reads this prodigal son story loves it (but many haven’t read it). On a medical discharge from the Army, Ernest “Easy” Jack returns home to rural Michigan to train German Shepherds with his father. His high school sweetheart needs help. His dad’s on the shady side of a conspiracy involving dirty cops and a murderous real estate mogul.
The Night Man‘s plot is packed with action, but it’s Easy’s complex issues with war wounds, PTSD, and a checkered family history with his hometown which makes the story work on every level. If suspenseful thrillers are your thing, please do read this next.
This makes my top five now because, though it’s set in a near-future dystopia, the story feels too relevant to what’s going on in the United States today. Kismet Beatriz comes from a military family but her nation has forgotten them. Democracy has collapsed and the hyper-wealthy (AKA the Select Few) have turned the Atlanta into a fortress.
Against a backdrop of food shortages, unemployment, secret police, and massive income disparity, Kismet must journey to New Atlanta. All she wants to do is feed her family, but fate has bigger plans for her.
Despite the grim premise, Citizen Second Class has funny and hopeful notes. The book I’m writing now is in the same world, earlier in the timeline. The next novel is darker, more like Crime and Punishment set at the end of the world. I’m often cynical and paranoid. Given the events of 2020, I wasn’t cynical and paranoid enough.
Man, this was fun to write, and it’s fun to read! A powerful book falls into the hands of an Air Force officer. Passages from the book can punish the guilty and work wonders for the innocent. This one book could set the world right. It might also condemn humanity to destruction.
This is twisty and fun, but readers often find it thought-provoking. If you’ve ever dreamed of being king or queen for a day, Amid Mortal Words is your next binge read.
Readers often identify me as a zombie writer, but I only have two zombie trilogies. This Plague of Days was the first. After TPOD, I thought I’d done everything I could do in the genre that would feel fresh. Then along came AFTER, and I received new inspiration.
Artificial Facilitation Therapy for Enhanced Response was supposed to be a medical miracle based in nanotechnology. Weaponized, we get zombies.
The twist: The AI infecting our brains is evolving and wants to understand and improve humans. The action is non-stop, but underneath it all the infected are still conscious humans, horrified at what they are forced to do.
This Plague of Days is a supernatural horror epic. AFTER Life is the journey where science fiction curves right as humanity goes awry. It ends up in a fascinating place at the end of the trilogy. Love it! I hope you will, too.
~ I am Robert Chazz Chute. I write killer crime thrillers and suspenseful apocalyptic epics. My faves might not be identical to yours and that’s okay. I’m proud of all my work.
Also, I must add that I love my children equally and that fact drives them both crazy.
1. Don’t eat lobster at a restaurant. That’s all butter, no sea lice taste. You get lobster off the boat. You eat the whole lobster, not just the claws and tail. Suck the juice from the legs because you’re a goddamn savage and don’t want anything to go to waste.
Always comment that you ate it all except for the poison sac behind the creature’s brain.
2. Do not wince as you tear into dulce. Don’t call it seaweed if you expect to go undetected. As you chew, always comment that it’s full of iodine.
3. Acceptable banter for any dining occasion: “I’m so hungry, I’d eat the ass out of a skunk.” If in a rural area, you may call the utensils forks and knives, but call them “eatin’ irons” and they’ll never suspect you weren’t born in Caledonia.
4. Don’t say you love fish. Say halibut, trout, or smoked salmon. When someone smokes you a salmon, by law you are required to say, “Tastes like cake!” Do not ask for a Montreal bagel to put under said salmon. It’s not the same thing and you’re in Nova Scotia now.
(Note: It tastes great, but it does not, in fact, taste like cake.)
You will be attending many bean suppers to support your local volunteer fire department. The towns may be small, but they’re decked out with firefighting equipment to rival any major city. The firehall siren will go off each day at noon to (a) test it, and (b) let you know it’s noon.
5. You do not go to the store. You go down to the store or up to the store. Also, locations are not “across the street.” They are always, “right across the street.”
Nova Scotian roads wind, so however long you think any trip will take, it’ll take longer and maybe all day in the winter. In rural areas, you will be required to navigate your route by barns, as in, “Take a left at the old Seliq barn and turn right again before you see the Rawding’s place.”
Yes, getting a direction by a landmark you do *not* see is considered helpful and neighborly. Be careful about asking for directions. You live here. You should already know who everyone is and where everything is, anyway.
6. You go to the woods, not the bush. At a beach party, you will be required to comment that a campfire smells better using driftwood for fuel. If by the Bay of Fundy, you will have to mutter, “highest tides in the world.”
7. Sure is not pronounced “Shur.” It’s pronounced “shore,” with emphasis on the “ore.”
When agreeing with an Acadian, don’t say, “Oui,” as if you’re in Paris. In Acadian French, it’s pronounced more duck-like. “Wheh, wheh, wheh!” Always thrice, and sell it with enthusiasm.
To appear agreeable after any assertion, say, “Yeah,” once or twice, but rising on the in-breath. This takes practice, but you’ll hear it everywhere.
You’re trying it right now, aren’t you?
Note: While always acceptable to appear agreeable, new information is to be treated with suspicion. A good rule is, if you haven’t heard something many times, don’t introduce a new thought. You’ll blow your cover.
8. To throw minor shade: “He’s come from away.” This means, “not a Maritimer for two generations.” You could be born in Toronto and live in the Annapolis Valley for 20 years and you’ll still be “that Tronna fella.”
More shade: Call someone an S.O.B. (*not* son of a bitch). This is never to be said to someone’s face, always behind the back. That would be considered impolite unless they’re family, in which case you can be as cruel as you want and call it “just teasin’.”
Highest compliment, “He did well.” “Did well,” means somebody is an S.O.B., but with money.
9. Speak quickly from the back of your throat. Acceptable topics: The weather and town gossip. Until you die, throw in, “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” (This is the height of hilarity.)
That’s about it for topics, though knowing the names of several varieties of apples not commonly found in stores is good. Talk about grafting and you’ll end up marrying someone from Nova Scotia who wears tall rubber boots every day.
10. To really fit in, memorize “Farewell to Nova Scotia.” Sound wistful. Call it God’s Country a lot and enthuse about foghorns. They’re also suckers for Stan Rogers singing “Barret’s Privateers.”
Okay…*everybody* should be a sucker for this song. It’s great!
If the mortal threat is not real until the pandemic affects you personally, that’s a failure of empathy and foresight. I don’t know if empathy can be taught. Leading by example is good (wear a mask!) but we must fine selfish assholes who refuse to comply for no other reason than performative belligerence.
Feel no urge to protect the herd? Pow! Here’s a ticket. Still no mask? Pow! Here’s another ticket. How’s your wallet feel now? Still nothing? We’re impounding your car. Ready to participate in society, be a hero and save lives yet? No? I’m taking your phone and you’re grounded. Go to your room.
What else can we do when science is not believed? I have some ideas.
Appeal 1: Patriotism
This is a war. We’ve suffered casualties. For this conflict, rifles and Blackhawk helicopters won’t help. We’re all drafted and on the line, saving lives. Your mask is your armor. Gear up, Citizen Soldier!
Appeal 2: Self-interest
The life you save might be your own. Do you care for somebody? Anybody? You could spare them pain, suffering or death, too.
Appeal 3: Vanity
New Zealanders can do something you can’t? Wimp.
Appeal 4: Religion
You may not want to wear a mask because if you die, you’ll just get to heaven sooner. Cool, but wouldn’t Jesus want us to look out for each other? Do unto others, etc.? If someone dies before they know Jesus because you found a mask too inconvenient… Well, do selfish assholes go directly to heaven? Or do they have to wait in shame for a while at the back of the line?
Appeal 5: Shunning
You broke the social contract. We are enforcing our mask policy. No, you cannot enter the store. No goods or services for you.
Make the crisis personal. Shun them until they feel enough social pressure to save lives.
Appeal 6: Conspiracy theory
“Don’t wear masks to defeat Bill Gates’ contagion and tracking vaccine. Wear the mask to defeat facial recognition technology.” And/or: “The globalists don’t really want you to wear a face covering. It’s a fake out. They created and released the virus to kill you so they can steal your vote. Besides, masks destroy the effects of 5G. It’s been documented.”
Note: A conspiracy theory doesn’t have to make sense. You don’t have to science it up. Just tap into the sap’s need to feel targeted and victimized. “They’re out to get you so you have to do X, Y, Z,” is a reliable formula.”
Appeal 7: Economics
I get that you want to get back to normal and get the economy going again. Me, too!
Mass death and the looming threat thereof seems bad for the economy, though, right? It’s not enough to declare it’s safe for everybody to go back to work. It has to actually be and feel safe. Put a ref on the field and get the rabid tigers back in their cages or we aren’t playing.
Appeal 8: Civility
We wear masks here because we care for each other. Pretty please?
Appeal 9: Sexiness
Damn! You’re lookin’ like a snack in that mask! Those eyes! And looking so mysterious and alluring! When the pandemic is over and the borders open, I want to make sweet love to you in Paris.
Or:
I pledge to never bless anyone with my fine naked self if they refused to be a decent person during a global pandemic. I’ve got too much self-respect to even deal with anyone so careless.
No glove, no love. No mask? Don’t even ask.
Appeal 10: Fear
As the Facebook meme goes, if you don’t like wearing a mask, you’re really going to hate the ventilator. Drowning on land is a horrible way to die. And even if you survive, COVID-19 is a nasty, cold-hearted bitch. The painful effects can last a long time, maybe for the rest of your miserable life.
And if I survive, I’ll be your Meals on Wheels angel every day. I’ll bring you soup at noon and with every goddamn sip and dribbling slurp I spoon feed you, I’ll utter those same dreadful words, “I told you so.” Scared yet?
Last-ditch attempt:
It’s okay to be ignorant. Just don’t stay wrong.
If you refuse to believe in science and continue to look for ways to deny the obvious, that’s a human failing. You don’t want to be told what to do. You don’t want to be wrong. Nobody likes to admit they were wrong about anything.
Me included!
In 2010, when I wrote This Plague of Days, I believed that the protective barrier masks provide would be made useless after 20 minutes of respiration. That was generally believed right up to early this year! The science changed because more research was done. Findings change as the science improves.
Wearing masks dramatically decreases transmission of coronavirus. We have to improve alongside the science. The willfully ignorant use motivated reasoning to condemn Dr. Fauci and the CDC on this point. Yes, he was wrong about something in the past. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong now.
Rather than changing and admitting a past mistake, some double down on being wrong in the present. That’s a formula for more grieving and loss.
The way things are going, particularly in the US and Brazil now, we will all know someone who has died of COVID-19. We’ve already had too much unnecessary death and pain. Let’s stop making more. Please, wear a mask.
The most tragic last words I’ve heard were reported this week.
A young woman about to be put on a ventilator gasped her last with, “I think I made a mistake. I thought it was a hoax.”
She had not acted on better safe than sorry. Then she was sorry too late.
~ This concludes the Better Safe Than Sorry series of three posts I had to get off my chest. If you missed the first two, here are the links:
Have you noticed how many people get visibly angry and defensive when they’re asked to wear a mask? In most cases, false excuses or conspiracy theories are dragged out. I’ve tried to make sense of the conspiracy theories. If it were a hoax, damn, it’s a good one. All those crisis actors buried in coffins worldwide have really committed to the bit!
There’s no sense to be made of it. If it’s all “a liberal plot to bring down the economy,” how’s that work? Nobody has their own economy that’s exempt from the effects of the crisis. We all want to go back to the movies and eat overpriced popcorn, dude. I’ve already given that nonsense too much space here, so…
Numbers versus Celebrity Death
In the past few days, three well-loved celebrities have died. An actress succumbed to breast cancer. A young actress who performed on Glee drowned. A former co-host of Mythbusters passed away unexpectedly. You’ve seen the news stories. You can probably name at least one of these high-profile people. We say any death is a loss, and it is. My purpose is not to cast aspersions on grieving fans, friends, or the families of dead performers.
The point is that humans are lousy at conceiving of large numbers like 138,000 dead in the United States (and climbing).
But each of those who’ve fallen to COVID-19 have names. They loved their children, fought with their parents, adored sandwiches, and watched baseball. They had dreams. They will be missed by their loved ones. They’re all real, but to too many people, “I don’t know them so it doesn’t count.”
2,977 people died on 9/11 and people lost their minds. Dennis Miller’s sense and sense of humor vanished. Wars began. Many more innocents lost their lives as a result of thatoneday. We saw the tragedy on our TV screens on repeat. We saw the reactions of the witnesses on the ground. We heard the last phone calls from hostages on the planes about to crash. That made the attack real and the horror of it touched everyone.
Up the numbers some more. Medical personnel see the horror, but due to strict regulations about privacy, you aren’t seeing what it’s like to go on a ventilator day after day. Amp up the human suffering behind closed door and…numbness.
We’re numb. It’s understandable. Big numbers are hard. We can’t picture infinity, either.
