“And cause I was a gazillionaire, and I liked doing it so much, I cut that grass for free.” – Forrest Gump, Forrest Gump

 

Above is the (honest to goodness) real cover for The Mrs.’ book, due out in October. Yes, you’ll see this picture again. And maybe again after that. By the way, her name is what’s shown in the title, just like mine is John Wilder, and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s real name is Todd O’Reilly. That’s just the way it works.

I’ll admit that my long-term plans have me being the pool boy, spending the days toning my abdominal muscles, bathing in Propecia™, lifting weights, and working on my tan while push-mowing a forty-acre lawn.

I could be a kept man.

The story starts out about eight years ago. I’m a rather talentless fiction writer, but The Mrs. claimed she could write like Stephen King, if not in quality, than at least in volume. I encouraged The Mrs. to write, and after The Mrs. met the cannibal clown that is now her muse (it lives in the closet, The Mrs. says) The Mrs. started writing.

The original plot idea for The Mrs. first novel (The First Seal, you can find it on Amazon.com, and it has nothing to do with circuses, which enrages The Mrs.’ cannibal clown friend) was, in my opinion, really, really weak.

So, in true Wilder fashion, I encouraged The Mrs. to change the plot entirely. Sadly, when I read her original concept in novel form, some loser named Dan Brown had just finished closing his deal to buy Italy with the proceeds from his book, The DaVinci Code. The Mrs. originally didn’t have Da Vinci involved, but the plot elements in common with her original plot were so striking that I have to wonder if Dan Brown hadn’t been rummaging through our trash and found the notes somewhere under beer cans and wilted lettuce. There always seems to be wilted lettuce.

My problem was that I thought that the plot was ludicrous. Like the reader would buy that some ninja-Catholic group would want to kill people over rumors not fit for the National Enquirer®.

My bad.

Turns out that the reading public is pretty much okay with that, or some 2.8 billion copies sold must be wrong. Plus Tom Hanks bought into it. Loser.

Anyhow, I thought (and still think) that her book ended up being better. If only 2,999,998,342 more of you thought that way . . .

So, when The Mrs. announced she was taking a break writing her “Seals” series (she’s completed two, has a third in draft, and the second one should be out this year) to write some short stories.

One of the short stories ended up at about 85,000 words, which is a wee bit long for a short story, since it’s something like 350+ pages.

I utterly refused to read any of it until I could have 10,000 words at a stretch. Also, I utterly refused to comment on plot.

Turns out I didn’t need to. It’s her best work yet (not that I’m biased). She sent it out to three publishers and had a contract within a week. I had (perhaps) three minor comments, none on plot.

This angered her. She was used to such rich, in-depth ranting from me (“This sentence is longer than the preamble to the Constitution. Might want to cut it down a bit.” And “Are these guys knights or cats? They certainly seem frightened by a little water.”) that I think The Mrs. thought I was patronizing her.

Nope. Turns out, when I’m not in the picture, The Mrs. is a damn fine writer. Heck, maybe that guy who produced “Forrest Gump” will turn it into a movie. Don’t know if there’s a part for Tom Hanks, though.

Anyhow, if The Mrs. is going to be rich and famous, I certainly need to start working on the abs. And The Mrs. said something about a “bikini wax.” Although I’m not sure I know what the heck that is, she assures me I need one.

Plus, that lawn isn’t going to tan itself . . .