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Did they have couches??

When I was in high school, I for some reason had the bright idea to write a Steampunk-ish novel called The Silk Top Hat Society. It was going to be an action/adventure with a touch of magic and mystery in which a group of old-timey people come across several magical silk top hats, each of which would give the wearer a specific otherworldly ability. I believe there was super speed, invisibility, super strength… maybe teleportation or something.

I decided to write this novel… despite not knowing a single damn thing about history other than like… George Washington did exist at one point, but he’s definitely dead now. To give people an idea, I often say, “I’m so bad at history that I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast this morning.” My “research” for this novel was various movies and TV shows I’d seen (historical accuracy unconfirmed, but definitely unlikely) as well as my best friend, Liz. This led to one of the more memorable exchanges I had with her using the relic known as AOL Instant Messenger or AIM during which I type-shouted at her, “Did they wear hats??”

I was thinking about how old-timey people often wore hats as a rule—not just the magical ones they encountered of a summer day, but like… regulation hats and bonnets that people are always wearing in things like The Crucible and Pride & Prejudice. But when did the practice of wearing hats start? When did it end? Did they wear them indoors and outdoors? Was it a hard-and-fast rule, or up to the preference of the individual? Those questions didn’t even take into account that the answers would definitely vary by country, and probably several other factors. I knew none of the answers to these questions, but I’d decided it was a good idea for me to write a novel that was set in a time period that occurred previous to “present day.”

Cut to… well… present day.

I find myself in the privileged position of not knowing what, if anything, I can share about my upcoming works. This has never happened before. I used to vomit my ideas onto this blog with abandon, sharing sample pages and intimate details of my writing process. Now that I AM GOING TO BE PUBLISHED (SPECIFICALLY IN MAY 2026), I’m pretty sure I can’t do that anymore. So I’m going to be really, really vague.

I like satire. The book that IS GOING TO BE PUBLISHED (SPECIFICALLY IN MAY 2026) is satire. So was one of the other ideas I pitched to my editor. I had one more idea for a satirical novel beyond the aforementioned two, but I knew I could never write it because it was historical in nature. That, and I was concerned people would think I was cribbing from Nimona and Shrek. I wasn’t. The similarities occurred to me only after I came up with my book idea, but who wants to deal with the headache of smugly and self-righteously saying, “There’s no such thing as an original idea anymore” over and over again? Not me!

Anyway, since I thought it was a good idea, but a touch derivative and also WAY out of my wheelhouse to write (“Did they wear hats?” haunts me to this day), I made myself accept that it was only ever going to exist as a concept in my head.

For reasons I’m pretty sure I cannot get into, things changed, and I am now writing pieces of that book. Just pieces.

And it happened again! I was writing a scene that takes place in a sitting room, and was absolutely stymied by what words to use to describe what the characters were sitting on. Which means, you guessed it, I now have to scream into Google: Did they have couches?? (I suppose I could ask Liz again, but she is very busy opening a book shop and also it just wouldn’t be the same without AIM. RIP AIM.)

NOTE TO MY SISTER: I will absolutely be bothering you about this at some point. You’re just working full time and running after a freshly-walking baby. You’re probably not busy.

When was the couch invented? The sofa? The divan? What did people sit on to eat? To relax? To pray? What were the things they sat on made out of? Did rich people have more cushions than poor people? Did they have some sort of old-timey word for couches and chairs that no one uses anymore?

What the fuck is a settee??

Needless to say, I am not well-equipped to write historical fiction or any form of fantasy novel (fantasy novels always seem to have their roots in historical time periods from the real world). This will likely be my one and only foray into the genre, and I hope I don’t flub it too badly. I also hope that if I do flub it, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go Google the history of couches.

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Donald Trump is the Wrong Genre

There is a section of the Passover seder that has been circling around in my head called “Dayenu” or (read right to left) דַּיֵּנוּ‎. It translates to, “It would have been enough.” Part song, part call-and-response, a reader lists the miracles and wonders God enacted during the exodus from Egypt. After each item listed, the responders say, “Dayenu” to acknowledge that He had already provided, and they would have been grateful even if He had stopped there.

For example, “If He had taken us from Egypt, but not parted the Red Sea… Dayenu.”

It would have been enough.

I have a different version of Dayenu in my head for Donald Trump, a man I hope never to write about ever again after this.

What can I say about this orange-lacquered sack of fart vapor that hasn’t been said already? The man’s brain is a half-eaten pudding cup that has been left out in the sun for a week. And the most complimentary thing I can say about him is that, at one point, it’s possible his brain was a half-eaten pudding cup that hadn’t yet been left out in the sun.

But he never had a full pudding cup! I’m sure of that!

I’m confident he cannot now, nor could he ever, name the three branches of the U.S. government. I think, if someone wanted to, they could tell him the president is the “Execution Branch” of the government, and he would believe it. He’d probably like it! This just hit me as I was typing, and I feel such… resignation. He’d like the sound of being the “Executioner.” I’m certain of it.

I don’t know how to speak Hebrew, so I don’t know if “It should have been enough” can be translated accurately into one word. But that’s what it is.

In my head, it goes like this:

When he bragged about using his status as a celebrity to sexually assault women…

It should have been enough.

When he mocked a disabled reporter…

It should have been enough.

When he watched hundreds of thousands of Americans die from a highly contagious virus while spouting misinformation, inciting violence against Asians and Asian-Americans, and failing to provide necessary medical supplies and aid to doctors, nurses, and hospitals…

It should have been enough.

When he incited a riot on Capitol Hill…

It should have been enough.

When he was charged and convicted with 34 counts of felony document falsification…

It should have been enough.

When he claimed immigrants were eating people’s cats and dogs, once again blithely stirring up hatred and violence towards a vulnerable population…

It should have been enough.

When he watched a man sieg heil on stage two times at his inauguration, and did nothing…

It should have been enough.

When he began trafficking people to a torture prison in El Salvador, and did not stop when he was ordered to by the courts…

It should have been enough.

When he refused court orders to bring an innocent man back to his family…

It should have been enough.

When he, a man who has made full use of due process of the law time and time again, claimed there wasn’t time to give people due process…

It should have been enough.

When he was told that stores would soon have empty shelves due to tariffs, and responded by saying American children would have to make do with “two dolls instead of thirty”…

It should have been enough.

I could go on. And on. And on. That’s the problem, isn’t it? For all I’ve listed here, there are five hundred things I didn’t list. Children in cages at the border? Saying Kamala Harris “suddenly” became Black? Canada as the 51st state? Thinking “transgenic” mice were transgender??

I would be the proverbial monkey at the typewriter, banging on the keys to infinity, never able to stop because there would always be more. Except I’d never get around to accidentally producing Shakespeare’s plays because I’d be too busy listing crimes and atrocities.

Not to mention stupidities. Donald Trump regularly commits stupidities.

Any one of the things listed above should have been enough. It should have been more than goddamn enough!

This all came about because of a very real question I felt the need to ask my editor a few weeks ago. Before we got into the meat of our um… meeting… homophones are weird… I had to ask her for her opinion on including or excluding politics in the novel. Because Trump’s presidency, his existence, does not work for the Romance genre. And, if I’m being honest, it doesn’t work for reality.

If you met someone who woke up from a ten-year coma today, and listed every major point of Trump’s political career from start to finish, I bet you wouldn’t actually get to finish. I bet they’d stop you pretty quickly. You wouldn’t even be able to get to D.O.G.E. But if you did, that’s where they’d stop you for sure.

“Enough!” they’d yell. “You’re making this up. It doesn’t even sound like good fiction. It sounds like a poor attempt at parody.”

“You’re right, learned ex-coma-patient,” you would respond. “It does sound like the worst kind of parody. Now let’s get you back to bed. I probably should’ve taken your vitals before trying to catch you up on what you missed.” (You are a medical professional in this scenario.)

I mean… can you imagine what would happen if I acknowledged our current reality in the fiction I constructed? It occurred to me that the moment a character brings up Donald Trump, that would be the moment when the book becomes exclusively about Donald Trump. How could they ever talk about anything else?

So I got permission from my editor to not bring up politics. Not anchor the book in any given time period. Not mention who is president. Just not. Full stop.

Because our current president belongs in parody. In farce. In heavy-handed satire.

Like… imagine if you were watching Wall-E, and, instead of the late Fred Willard as the live-action president, you saw Donald Trump. Would you even blink? It feels like he fits there, doesn’t it? It’s so terrifying and sad and ludicrous. It’s… terrsadicrous.

I just needed to get that off my chest. I am so excited to be published and to continue going through this process, but I also feel deeply, tragically, lost. I needed to get the sadness out of me. Now I intend to focus, as much as I can, on the happy. It feels wrong to do that, I’ll admit. I feel a kind of survivor’s guilt maybe? I am (relatively) safe. I am (relatively) secure. So many others aren’t. At time of writing, Kilmar Abrego Garcia still isn’t home with his family. How dare I celebrate at a time like this? But I must. I simply must. It won’t stop me from hurting for all the people who are not safe and secure, but I feel I will truly lose my mind if I can’t also allow myself happiness.

It should have been enough, and enough, and enough. A thousand times over, it should have been enough.

Here’s an art I did of the orange fartsicle:

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Filed under Humor, Politics, writing

I Don’t Want Your Protagonist to Be Me

Have you ever put a book down without finishing it because you find the main character(s) insufferable? I found myself doing that with an enemies-to-lovers romance I picked up the other day, and I had to ponder for a while why I had found it so intolerable. The book switched between the two love interests for narration, starting with the female lead. (I’m not going to name the book or author in this post because there’s no need to trash an indie author, y’know? She self-published. Good for her.)

The female lead spent the first two chapters complaining about literally everything in her life. Her car. Her job. Her own inability to arrive anywhere on time. Her coworkers. Her customers. The new owner of the restaurant she works at (who happens to be her love interest). She’s just this fountain of negativity from page one.

But the thing is… she’s just like me. Cynical. Sarcastic. Negative. Grumpy. Prone to complaints.

Mini Bex looking angry and saying "I'm not being cynical! I'm being right!"
I’m at the airport so I have to illustrate my blog however I can.

So why don’t I like this character? She’s just like me, so I should be able to see myself in her and relate to her, right? I’ve even had some pretty terrible experiences as a server, so this should be right up my alley.

This truly baffled me even as I put the book down, knowing I’d never pick it up again. But after a long discussion with my loving husband, I managed to weed out the truth.

I don’t want your book’s protagonist to be me. I don’t want the book to be a mirror. I don’t want to feel interchangeable with the protagonist.

I want to be friends with your protagonist.

That’s the difference. It seems like not much would change. After all, many of my friends are cynical and sarcastic, too. But if I meet someone for the first time and they spend the entire time they’re around me complaining until their lips turn blue? Yeah, I probably won’t end up inviting them to grab coffee later. I don’t even complain until my lips turn blue on first meeting someone, and I’m a champion complainer. I have the awards to prove it.

A drawing of a blue ribbon, a trophy, and a medal, all dedicated to being good at complaining.

Although, the trophy could be shinier. And the blue ribbon is made out of really cheap material. Come to think of it, the awards ceremonies always go on too long. I wish they’d cut out one of the speeches. Just one. Is that too much to ask??

The fact of the matter is, it seems (emphasis on seems; I’ll never know for sure if this is true) the author of this book had some personal feelings to vent RE: working in a service industry. Those problems and complaints might be universal, but it all has to do with presentation. Many forms of media are sought out for their ability to provide some kind of catharsis. But when you’re writing fiction based in any way on your own negative experiences, you have to ask yourself: Who is this cathartic for? Me or my thousands of potential readers?

If the answer is just you, maybe some ideas need more workshopping. You have likely had negative experiences that are relatable to the masses–air travel gone wrong, serving a demanding customer at a store, Thanksgiving dinner–but just having your character lament being in one of those situations over the course of many pages does not automatically make them relatable. (And yes, at this point I have become aware of the irony going on here. I am spending this entire blog post complaining.)

I will reiterate: Your protagonist should not be a reader-surrogate. Rather, they should be someone the reader wants to be friends with. After all, what is the reader doing if not hanging out with your character(s) for dozens of pages?

The exception that proves the rule is, of course, Catcher in the Rye. (American Psycho was too obvious to use in this case. Plus, who am I to judge if you like Patrick Bateman’s style?)

I want to talk about the concept of “saving the cat,” and how all this relates to some edits I need to make to one of my own books, but I’ve already gone on too long.

Next time!

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