I write fantasy and science fiction. It’s what I like best, and what I’m best at. But sometimes I veer away and try to write something contemporary and dramatic—I tried to become the next Tolstoy around the age of 15 and failed miserably—or comedic and quirky. However, I can safely say that the biggest failure of my young non-career was my not-brief-enough foray into chick lit.
To give you some background, my full experience consuming chick lit comes from watching about five minutes of Bridget Jones’s Diary, reading the first page and a half of Devil Wears Prada, and reading most of Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing when I was too young to really understand it.
Definitely a good jumping-off point into chick lit stardom, no? Yeah, I don’t know WHAT I was thinking.
Luckily, the like three pages I actually wrote seem to have died with a previous computer, but here let me give you a taste of what you and the rest of humanity are missing due to my early retirement from the genre…
The story was a first-person point-of-view of some ordinary NYC girl named Susan or Sarah or whatever. Susan/Sarah/Susah lived in a hilariously-large Manhattan apartment with her gorgeous possibly-Latina friend Marguerite (I know guys, I know).
The opening scene was Susah reading the newspaper and bugging Marguerite about getting a job so she (Susah) does not have to pay the entire rent. Susah helpfully offers to look through the help-wanted section, so she flips to the classifieds. Buried there—in what section God-only-knows—is an ad directed at HEARTBROKEN LADIES which reads something like:
Did your boyfriend leave you? Is your husband having an affair? Do you want to get back at the bastard? Hire a gorgeous and totally not-interested woman to BREAK HIS HEART as much as he broke yours!
Susah is reading this aloud for hilarity when she gets to the phone number and realizes… dun dun DUN… it’s theirs! (because this story was set in the quaint time pre-personal cell phone when there were actual home phone numbers)
So Marguerite says languidly, and probably sexily, “Yes dahling, I meant to mention that. I’m starting a new business!”
The title of this epic was… wait for it… Mankiller.
(You know, like “ladykiller” except… for men… you know…)
Yes. A great chick lit talent in the making, I was.