Formulaic
A friend recently posted that graphic on Facebook. It is, of course, the plot of virtually EVERY Hallmark movie (and not just the Christmas movies). How do I know?
While my curmudgeonly appearance, and almost every utterance, would suggest otherwise, I am a big fan of Rom-coms. My wife cannot understand this, but—when you factor in my love of PG Wodehouse books—which also follow a strict formula (albeit beautifully-written and brilliantly-plotted), it starts to make sense. Think of it as something like having a taste for limerick, ot haiku, or Petrarchan sonnet; it’s wonderful to see what new and magical things can be done while working within the rules of a narrowly-restricted genre.
But I digress.
We recently re-watched Sleepless in Seattle. It’s a classic Rom-com. And, nested inside it, another classic Rom-com: An Affair to Remember. We could go on and on about books and movies that use the formulaic reference to previous books and movies—but maybe we should save that for another day.
Did you see what I did there?
Perhaps we won’t have to wait all that long. After I finished my little book (Unbelievable: A Modern Novella) about an extremely unlikable character—Kendry Vero—I found it hard to give him up. So I continue writing stories about him, sometimes surreptitiously slipping him into the plot of another story where he doesn’t belong. That is natural, because—if you’ve been unfortunate enough to meet someone like Vero in real life—you know he doesn’t belong anywhere.
Vero does, however, appear in the following story. It’s an excerpt from the extended edition of Unbelievable.
Pennies from Heaven
Jane enters the long marble-lined hallway, still holding her purse close, and gasps at the sheer number of black and silver Art Deco elevator doors. Back home, in Wisconsin, she’d never seen a building that had more than three, and certainly none as elegant as these. She is considering the merits of paying for a visit to the observation deck on the 86th floor.
A low voice, behind her, advises, “I wouldn’t.”
She hadn’t expected a stranger to speak to her—let alone one who seemed to be able to read her mind. Besides, she’d been warned that New Yorkers were—at best—cold, impersonal, and downright rude; and—at worst—well, she didn’t want to think about that. She turns around and sees a man, not young and not old, but well-dressed. She decides to answer him.
“But Sleepless in Seattle... and you can see the whole city from there...”
“But not the best view.”
“What do you mean?’
“The Empire State Building is quintessentially New York; if you haven’t seen it, you’ve wasted your visit here.”
“What makes you think I’m not from here?”
“Well, you’re clutching your bag so protectively because someone—who’s never been here, themselves—told you to do so. Also, you’re thinking of spending money to visit one of the city’s premier tourist attractions.”
“So?”
“No native New Yorker would be caught dead going here or, for that matter, to the Statue of Liberty.”
“But you said I had to see the Empire State Building...”
“Absolutely. But you can’t see the Empire State Building from the Empire State Building, can you?”
“Good point. So... where should I go to see it?”
“I recommend Windows on the World, at the top of the World Trade Center. You can sip on something from its excellent wine list, and the floor-to-ceiling windows give you an unparalleled view of the entire city. Arrive just before sundown, when the Empire State Building is bathed in the rosy glow of the sun as it sets over New Jersey—and stick around long enough to see the lights go on as darkness envelops the city. That’s the Empire State Building you must see.”
“Thank you for the tip—I think I’ll go right away, mister...”
“Vero. Ignatius Kendry Vero. Just don’t try to hail a cab in front of this building, miss...”
“Simpson. Jane Simpson. Why not, Kendry ?”
“Very dangerous, Miss Simpson. People throw things from the observation deck—and even a penny, falling from that height, could kill you.”
“Really?”
“Think about it. The Earth’s gravity causes falling objects to accelerate at thirty-two feet per second—per second, that’s every second, going faster and faster—until, by the time it reaches the ground, from that height, a penny will be traveling at something like a hundred-and-sixty-one miles per hour. Heaven help you if they throw something heavier than a penny.”
“Oh my...”
“... so grab a cab across the street.”
Jane nods, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ again, then walks down the gray-and-multicolored marbled hall, stopping just inside the gleaming bronze revolving doors. She’s waiting for a break in traffic. Everything stops and she bolts across thirty-fourth street, her bag held to her chest in a football-like grip as she dances and dodges like a Greenbay half-back between cross-town buses, yellow cabs, and assorted delivery vans.
She reaches the other side just as the light changes and traffic begins to move. As she turns to see it, her toe catches on the curb, and she falls heavily into the navy-blue biceps of one of New York City’s finest.
“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” he demands.
“Just trying to get out of traffic...”
“You know that jaywalking is against the law, and that I could give you a ticket...”
She knows what a blue jay is, but had never heard of “jaywalking” back home. “Jaywalking?’ she asks.
“Jeeeeze, lady... what planet are you from?”
“The midwest.”
“That explains it—and I thought bridge-and-tunnel people were ignorant...”
“I’ll have you know that—even in the Midwest—we can read and write. Probably better than you can.”
“Apparently, you really want me to write that ticket...”
“No, no... I apologize... and thank you, by the way for catching me when I tripped.”
“‘To protect and serve,’ that’s our motto. Just what were you doing... running out like that, in the middle of the block? Don’t you know how dangerous—not to mention, illegal—that is?”
“Is that what “jaywalking’ is?”
“Ya’ think? So, why were you running like that?”
“I had to get away from that sidewalk... as quick as possible.”
“Was someone bothering you? I can look into that...”
“No... I was just trying to avoid being killed by falling pennies.”
“What?”
“You know... thrown from the top of the Empire State Building.”
“You’re kidding me...”
“No, really... they pick up so much speed, on the way down, that they can kill you.”
“Who told you that?’
“A nice man who explained the physics of it to me.”
“That nice man was full of... well never you mind... let’s just say the only physics he needs are laxatives. A penny dropped, from even a mile up, can’t go much faster than twenny-five miles an hour. Something about wind resistance or something. I forget which. It might sting a little, but no way it would kill anyone. That’s just an old wives’ tale... or would have been if old wives weren’t wiser than they are.”
“But he sounded so kind... so anxious to help me. It almost seemed as if we were destined to meet there today...”
“Well, it’s a good thing it didn’t go any further...”
“...because?”
“That would have been an affair to remember.”
Paid subscribers to these Substack pages get access to complete editions of two of my novellas. Noirvella is a modern story of revenge, told in the style of film noir. Unbelievable began as a rom-com that formed around a pompous guy who is conceited, misinformed, and undeservedly successful (it has since continued to grow as new stories about its anti-hero emerge). Both books are sold by Amazon, but paid subscribers get to read them for free. Also, substack pages (older than eight months) automatically slip behind a paywall—where only paid subscribers can read them. If you’re interested in reading any of them, you can subscribe (giving you free access to them), or buy them in book form should you prefer the feel of a physical book. Meanwhile, it is easy to become a paying subscriber (just like supporting your favorite NPR or PBS station). It’s entirely optional, and—even if you choose not to pay—you’ll still get my regular substack posts—I’m always happy to have free subscribers as readers.