Dear Pagel:

I believe that Dr. Johnson must have said that to an editor who was trying to coax him into submitting work for publication for a pittance, and then, struck by his own brilliance, he repeated it to Boswell, who was buying the drinks at the time. Dr. Johnson lived in the days before gigantic advances were paid to blockheads, and if he had known what was to come, he might have thought twice.

Dear Mr. Blue:

In the past months, my dad died; I got kicked out of my house; I turned 50; the hotshot software company I'm working for has been dragged in the gutter by certain misguided but influential members of the Swedish press; and only strangers call me on my recently upgraded, Microsoft Internet Call. Can I expect my writing to improve?

Just Wondering

Dear Just:

Sorry to hear that you've run onto this rough patch. Trouble is supposed to come in threes, and you've exceeded your quota. But trouble has some good to offer anyone, writer or not. Most of life's big lessons can be learned no other way than through calamity and grief. Thoreau said that more than anything else, we crave reality. With the death of your father, you are given the gift of reality, and a clearer vision of things, which is preferable. You might apply this in your writing, if you're a writer, or you might simply become a better friend. When a person's heart is broken and his spirit cast down, you come out of it feeling more clearly the delicacy of things and this emboldens you. As for your Microsoft Internet Call, Thoreau got along without one and so could you, probably.

Gospadine Blue,

Why did God pitch the tools of love in the throne of excrement?

Martin

Dear Martin

Some people think that God used subcontractors in designing the human body, and that it was civil engineers who put the waste disposal system through the major recreational area. I myself have no problem with the design. Do you?

Dear Mr. Blue:

I recently received e-mail from a fellow TT'er telling me I should get my haiku published in hard copy. Is he crazy or what?

Mike

Dear Mike:

My love of haiku
Was small as a cicada
And then got smaller.

Dear Mr. Blue:

After four years in New York, I am back in Chicago, where I was born and raised. I loved NYC. Three months ago, I came back to Chicago because I have brothers and sisters here and I got an extremely cool job offer. But now I have this feeling like I have to get the heck back to NYC. New York had its flaws, but it was honest about them, whereas Chicagoans live in subdivisions 50 miles away from their job, drive everywhere they go and spend more time in shopping malls than they do walking around their neighborhood. Should I move back, even though I'll be giving up possibly the greatest job a 26-year-old writer ever had, or stay where I am? Which is worse: a great job in a city that makes you feel inhuman or a terrible job in a city that makes you feel completely alive?

Kate

Dear Kate:

Nothing wrong with being in love with New York, but three months is a short time to spend in Chicago working at a great job and feel restless. Give it more time. New York will be even more dazzling and wonderful when you get a big offer to go back there in a couple of years. Meanwhile, enjoy your hometown.

Dear Mr. Blue:

I am living in Mexico and recently met a woman to whom I have become quite attracted, who is from South Africa, currently married to a Chilean. She is vibrant and quick at erupting into laughter. She is perplexed at what she describes as my "inability" to laugh out loud at what she perceives humorous. She believes it is not natural. I explain to her that one does not necessarily need to guffaw to appreciate comical things. But is this something I should work at? Is it important for two soul mates to be able to laugh out loud together?

Peter

Dear Peter:

So you're not a big guffawer. Neither is Mr. Blue. You can't change this. Laughter is spontaneous. It's not up for discussion. If this lady is seriously giving you a hard time about the way you laugh, or don't laugh, drop her. Do it simply and swiftly and gently. Send her a bouquet of flowers and a note, "My darling, I have come to the conclusion that I am not worthy of you and can only bring you pain, etcetera etcetera." If she is only kidding about this, OK, but it doesn't sound like it to Mr. Blue. You and she don't sound like soul mates. You two sound like a formula for misery. This woman has a critical mind that can drive you nuts if you want to be driven. Mr. Blue says, bag this.
SALON | June 2, 1998

Garrison Keillor's "Lovers and Writers" appears every other Tuesday in Salon.