FANTASYLAND

by John M. Floyd

Who said fiction writers are strange? Well, it doesn’t matter — whoever said it was probably right. To paraphrase Lawrence Block (I really like Lawrence Block), anyone who spends most of his or her waking hours in the company of imaginary people — people that he or she invented — almost has to be a little crazy.

But I don’t consider that a bad thing. I prefer to think of it as the offbeat-and-amusing kind of crazy, rather than the straitjacketable kind.

A second opinion . . .

I was once informed that in order to be a successful writer of fiction, an author should be:

(1) an alcoholic, and/or
(2) the product of a dysfunctional family, and/or
(3) generally weird.

When I was told this, I didn’t bother to point out that one of more of those conditions could possibly be caused by one or more of the others. Mostly I just nodded and made note of the qualifications and tried to evaluate my chances.

I decided the outlook was encouraging. Granted, I had two strikes against me — I don’t drink a lot, and I had a pretty normal childhood — but that last item in the list might be enough to get me into the party. I mean, one out of three ain’t bad.

Consider the bright side

Author Joseph Epstein says: “Certainly weird people are a subset of the writing corps, but it doesn’t follow that all writers must be weird, or substance abusers, or bipolar, any more than all guitarists must be any of the above, or sculptors, or actors . . . One could argue that it’s not the act of being creative that makes one weird, but rather that since society expects creative people to be a little bit nuts, it cuts them more slack when they do stupid things.” He adds that writers might welcome the use of this “Get Out of Jail Free” card. That’s good advice: I need to use mine more often.

In fact I could have used it the other day, when I did one of the stranger things I’ve managed lately. I had stopped by one of our local libraries and was browsing the “sale” shelves, where books that have been donated to the library are sold to the public for a dollar or two. One of the novels I spotted was an old Michael Connelly hardcover that I had read and enjoyed years ago. It was only a dollar, so I bought it, along with ten or twelve others. (My wife hates to see me go to library book-sales almost as much as she hates to see me go to Borders with one of those Rewards coupons. She’s also not thrilled when I go to the video store, but at least most of what I bring home from Blockbuster gets taken back in a few days.) Anyhow, I bought the Connelly novel, drove home, and only realized the next day that it was one of the many books I had donated to the library a few months earlier. Good grief. I had bought my own book. Twice..

I know what you’re thinking: That’s not a result of being strange, that’s a result of being dumb. Actually, I think it’s a little of both; if I weren’t strange I wouldn’t have been buying a dozen more books when I already own about two thousand. Maybe I should donate that same book to the library again, and after I’m careful not to buy it a third time I’ll feel better.

Rationalization

In closing, here’s another possibility. Even if it’s true that fiction authors are a bit off-center, maybe writing isn’t the reason. Maybe writing is our therapy for that pre-existing condition.

As Stephen King once observed, it’s better than having to pay a psychiatrist.

Last batch of answers to my 3/15/08 movie quiz (final 20 quotes):

31. Nobody ever won a war by dying for his country. You win a war by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.
PATTON (George C. Scott, during the opening speech)

32. I wish they wouldn’t land those things here while we’re playing golf.
M*A*S*H (Elliott Gould to Donald Sutherland, referring to incoming chopper)

33. Oh Captain, my Captain.
DEAD POETS SOCIETY (Ethan Hawke and others, to fired teacher Robin Williams)

34. I don’t reckon I got no reason to kill nobody.
SLING BLADE (Billy Bob Thornton, in answer to reporter’s question)

35. Goodnight, you princes of Maine, you knights of New England.
THE CIDER HOUSE RULES (Michael Caine, and later Tobey Maguire, to the orphans)

36. Sometimes nothin’ can be a mighty cool hand.
COOL HAND LUKE (Paul Newman to the other poker players, after bluffing)

37. Today I saw a slave become more powerful than the Emperor of Rome.
GLADIATOR (Connie Nielsen, referring to Russell Crowe)

38. Talk to her, Dad. She’s a doctor. / Of what? Her first name could be Doctor.
SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE (Tom Hanks’ son, and Hanks’ reply, while they’re on hold)

39. Come on, Hobbs, knock the cover off the ball.
THE NATURAL (Coach Wilford Brimley to Robert Redford)

40. Way to go, Paula! Way to go.
AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN (Lisa Blount to Debra Winger, at the end)

41. I see you’ve been missing a lot of work. / Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it.
OFFICE SPACE (downsizing team to employee Ron Livingston, and reply)

42. I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man.
TRUE GRIT (Robert Duvall to John Wayne, before the shootout)

43. Docta Jones, Docta Jones! No more parachutes!
INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM (Jonathan Ke Quan to Harrison Ford, in their pilotless plane)

44. Now you run on home to your mother, and tell her everything’s all right. And there aren’t any more guns in the valley.
SHANE (Alan Ladd to Brandon de Wilde, after the shootout)

45. I’m thinking your head would make a real good toilet brush.
HEAVEN’S PRISONERS (Alec Baldwin to thug, in a New Orleans dive)

46. Left early. Please come with the money . . . or you keep the car. Love, Tommy.
THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR (Steve McQueen to Faye Dunaway, in a note at the end)

47. Active is pinging back something really big.
THE ABYSS (sonar operator Chris Elliott, to commander)

48. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
PULP FICTION (Samuel L. Jackson to a doomed Frank Whaley)

49. I need a ride in your el trucko to the next towno.
THE MEXICAN (Brad Pitt, thumbing a ride from the locals)

50. This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.
ALIEN (Sigourney Weaver, after a really hard day)