Page 42 of Happy After All

“I’ve watched your show,” I say.

“Oh?” He looks surprised by that.

“Yeah, it’s really good. The lead actor is hot.”

He laughs. “I probably owe that guy a good portion of my earnings.”

“Have you been on set?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Did they invite you?” I ask.

“Yes, I’ve been invited. So I can really earn that honorary executive producer credit.”

I laugh. I’m familiar with the vanity credit sometimes given to a big-name author. I worked on a lot of adaptations before I quit LA. I decide not to mention that.

“You haven’t gone?” I ask.

“It might shock you to hear this,” he says, “but I’m not very social.”

I feign shock. “What? That is very unexpected information, Nathan.Very.Even with your lack of sociability, I’m surprised, because usually ... I don’t know. Having your books adapted is exciting. Or I think it would be for me.”

“I appreciate it. I like the show. They do a great job. I guess I like what it’s done for book sales but ... I don’t know. I don’t need to go to Vancouver and stand around and watch other people work. I do my work shut in a room by myself. I’m not a team player. That’s why I’m a writer and not in the military anymore.”

I think he might be being intentionally funny. Which is unexpected.

“I like a group project,” I say.

“You’re a monster.”

“I also like a solitary project. I enjoy writing my books on my own.”

“Well, since you were so disdainful of my one a year, how many books a year do you write?”

I offer him what I hope passes as a conciliatory smile. “I didn’t really mean that how it came out.”

“I think you did,” he says.

I sigh. “Four. Though they’re only fifty thousand words.”

“But you still come up with that many characters, that many plots, every year?”

I don’t get into how fast paced we used to work in writers’ rooms. How I got used to accepting different ideas, or feeling like things weren’t perfect because I knew the important thing was getting it done, or compromising when compromises needed to occur. All of that had been really good training for writing the way I do.

“Yes,” I say. “Though I always say ideas are the easy part. It’s actually doing it that’s hard.”

“Agreed. So you write while you run the motel?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Between fielding requests from guests. I prefer to be busy. I’m also working on a Christmas tree for our Very Desert Christmas, plus organizing the whole auction.” It’s a good time for me to get that in there. Introduce the existence of it all. “It’s a fundraiser this year, because of the fires.”

“When do you spend time alone?”

This is a genuine question. He seems honestly concerned.

“Not often,” I say. “I write in the front office between interruptions, or in the evening before bed. Generally, I’m alone then.”

AlwaysI’m alone then. But I don’t want to say that, because that reveals I’m not sleeping with anyone, and it feels a little sad.

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