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    Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style
    Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style
    Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style
    Ebook472 pages6 hours

    Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style

    By Kurt Vonnegut and Suzanne McConnell

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    “A rich, generous book about writing and reading and Kurt Vonnegut as writer, teacher, and friend . . . Every page brings pleasure and insight.”—Gail Godwin, New York Times bestselling author
     
    Here is an entirely new side of Kurt Vonnegut, Vonnegut as a teacher of writing. Of course he’s given us glimpses before, with aphorisms and short essays and articles and in his speeches. But never before has an entire book been devoted to Kurt Vonnegut the teacher. Here is pretty much everything Vonnegut ever said or wrote having to do with the writing art and craft, altogether a healing, a nourishing expedition. His former student, Suzanne McConnell, has outfitted us for the journey, and in these 37 chapters covers the waterfront of how one American writer brought himself to the pinnacle of the writing art, and we can all benefit as a result. 
     
    Kurt Vonnegut was one of the few grandmasters of American literature, whose novels continue to influence new generations about the ways in which our imaginations can help us to live. Few aspects of his contribution have not been plumbed—fourteen novels, collections of his speeches, his essays, his letters, his plays—so this fresh view of him is a bonanza for writers and readers and Vonnegut fans everywhere.
     
    “Part homage, part memoir, and a 100% guide to making art with words, Pity the Reader: On Writing with Style is a simply mesmerizing book, and I cannot recommend it highly enough!”—Andre Dubus III, #1 New York Times bestselling author
     
    “The blend of memory, fact, keen observation, spellbinding descriptiveness and zany characters that populated Vonnegut’s work is on full display here.”—James McBride, National Book Award-winning author
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateNov 5, 2019
    ISBN9780795352836
    Author

    Kurt Vonnegut

    Kurt Vonnegut was a master of contemporary American Literature. His black humor, satiric voice, and incomparable imagination first captured America's attention in The Siren's of Titan in 1959 and established him as ""a true artist"" with Cat's Cradle in 1963. He was, as Graham Greene has declared, ""one of the best living American writers.""

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      Book preview

      Pity the Reader - Kurt Vonnegut

      Kurt Vonnegut, Barnstable Bay, Massachusetts, 1969. Photo: Suzanne McConnell.

      Pity the Reader

      Copyright © 2019 by Trust u/w of Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

      Previous publication acknowledgment, see Permissions

      Electronic edition published 2019 by RosettaBooks

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

      ISBN (epub): 978-0-7953-5283-6

      Book design by Stewart Cauley

      www.RosettaBooks.com

      FOR ALL MY STUDENTS, PAST AND FUTURE, AND FOR ALL OF KURT’S.

      Write like a human being. Write like a writer.

      kurt vonnegut jr. to his students at Iowa Writers’ Workshop, 1966

      Contents

      Introduction

      Chapter 1

      Advice for Everyone on Writing Anything

      Chapter 2

      About Writing Fiction

      Chapter 3

      The Prime Mover

      Chapter 4

      Detouring Forward

      Chapter 5

      Dead Ahead

      Chapter 6

      Breakthrough

      Chapter 7

      Fear of Finding a Worthy Subject or A Dearth of Death

      Chapter 8

      The Last Word on the Prime Mover or Fear Not

      Chapter 9

      Soul Growth

      Chapter 10

      Sanctuary

      Chapter 11

      What Makes Great Art or Art and Soul

      Chapter 12

      Agents of Change

      Chapter 13

      Writers as Teachers or The Noblest Profession

      Chapter 14

      Vonnegut in Class

      Chapter 15

      Heft and Comfort

      Chapter 16

      Talent

      Chapter 17

      Diligence

      Chapter 18

      Pitfalls

      Chapter 19

      Methodologism

      Chapter 20

      Materializations

      Chapter 21

      Propagation

      Chapter 22

      Regeneration

      Chapter 23

      The Mother of All Pearls

      Chapter 24

      Beginnings

      Chapter 25

      Plot

      Chapter 26

      Character

      Chapter 27

      Prose, the Audial

      Chapter 28

      Prose, the Visual

      Chapter 29

      The Joke Biz

      Chapter 30

      Black Humor

      Chapter 31

      Much Better Stories: Re-vision and Revision

      Chapter 32

      Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Moe or Choice

      Chapter 33

      Making a Living

      Chapter 34

      Caring for Your Piece in the Game

      Chapter 35

      Farting Around in Life and Art

      Chapter 36

      Love, Marriage, and Baby Carriage

      Chapter 37

      Better Together or Community

      Acknowledgments

      Permissions

      Bibliography

      Notes

      Introduction

      Here we go again with real life and opinions made to look like one big, preposterous animal not unlike an invention by Dr. Seuss, the great writer and illustrator of children’s books, like an oobleck or a grinch or a lorax, or like a sneech perhaps.

      —kurt vonnegut, Fates Worse than Death

      Iwas a student of Kurt Vonnegut Jr.’s at the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop in the late ’ 60 s, and we remained friends from those years until his death. I gained a great deal of wisdom from him as a writer, as a teacher, and as a human being. This book is intended to be the story of Vonnegut’s advice for all writers, teachers, readers, and everyone else.

      Vonnegut was not famous when he started teaching at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. He’d published four novels. He was working on Slaughterhouse-Five. He was forty-two years old.

      The first time I saw him (and I didn’t know who he was), he struck my funny bone. He stood in front of a lecture hall with the other writers who were to be our teachers. He was tall, with curving shoulders (a man shaped like a banana, as he once described himself), and he was smoking a cigarette in a long black cigarette holder, tilting his head and exhaling smoke, with a clear awareness of the absurdity and affectedness of it: in other words, he had—as Oscar Wilde said is the first duty in life—assumed a pose.

      He was, I learned later, seriously trying to reduce the effects of smoking by using the cigarette holder.

      The Iowa MFA was a two-year program, long enough so that students eventually gravitated, as if by osmosis, to teachers with whom they had an affinity. I found my way to Vonnegut’s workshop classes by my second year.

      Meanwhile I read Cat’s Cradle and Mother Night, the two books he’d most recently published. So I became acquainted with him as a writer through those novels at the same time as I was getting to know him as a teacher and a person.

      I lived next door to the Vonnegut family my first year, in a place inhabited by grad students called Black’s Gaslight Village. Our geography continued to be adjacent. I visited Kurt in Barnstable, saw him in Michigan when I first taught and he lectured there, moved to New York City about the same time he did, and for the last thirty-five years have spent summers an hour from where he lived for two decades on Cape Cod. Kurt and I had lunch occasionally, wrote letters, spoke on the phone, ran into each other at events. He sent a lovely blown-glass vase as a wedding present. We never lost touch.

      You probably met Vonnegut also through reading his books, assigned in high school or college or read independently, depending on your age. If you read Slaughterhouse-Five, the most well known, you also know the experience that drove him to write that book because he introduces it in the opening chapter: as a twenty-year-old American of German ancestry in World War II, he was captured by the Germans and taken to Dresden, which was then firebombed by the British and Americans. He and his fellow prisoners, taken to an underground slaughterhouse, survived. Not many other people, animals, or vegetation did.

      That event, and others, fueled his writing and shaped his views. (It did not, however, as is often assumed, initiate it. He was already headed in the direction of being a writer when he enlisted.) I intend to guide you through the maze of his advice like a director-puppeteer, relating experiences from his life when they shed light on how he obtained the wisdom he imparts; specifying, insofar as possible, from what point in his life a piece of advice derived—as a beginner, mid-career, or a mature writer; and telling anecdotes about him and from my own life, when relevant.

      I was asked to write this book at the behest of the Vonnegut Trust. Dan Wakefield was supposed to do it. But exhausted from compiling two other marvelous books of Vonnegut work, Letters, an annotated selection of letters, and If This Isn’t Nice, What Is?, an anthology of speeches, and yearning to return to his own fiction, he phoned me. You’re the perfect person to do this book, he said, persuasively. You’ve been a teacher of writing, you’re a fiction writer yourself, you were his student, and you knew him. It’s a great fit.

      About 60 percent of it had to be the words of Kurt Vonnegut. Otherwise, how it was composed would be entirely up to me.

      All I had to do, Dan said, was write an introductory proposal, and send it and the profiles I had published on Vonnegut in the Brooklyn Rail and Writer’s Digest, as evidence of my capability and writing style, to the head of the Vonnegut Trust, Vonnegut’s friend and lawyer Don Farber, and the e-book publisher Arthur Klebanoff, head of RosettaBooks. Dan Wakefield had already told them about me.

      A month later, while volunteering at the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library table at the Brooklyn Book Fair, the library’s director, Julia Whitehead, introduced me to Dan Simon, the founder of Seven Stories Press, who had published the final two books by Vonnegut, and knew him well. I explained this project. Simon murmured, I’d love to publish that book. The result was a new contract between the Vonnegut Trust, RosettaBooks, Seven Stories Press, and myself. Voilà. Whatever form you’re reading this in, we’ve got you covered.

      Wilfred Sheed said of Vonnegut, He won’t be trussed up by an ism, even a good one. He preferred to play his politics, and even his pacifism, by ear.¹ Vonnegut was prone to seeing the other side of the coin, ambiguity, and contradiction.

      He had, after all, been captured, imprisoned, and forced into labor carting corpses by an enemy regime rotten with idolatry, decayed by a people’s desire for easy, authoritarian solutions.

      He would appreciate this palindrome by Swiss artist André Thomkins: dogma i am god.

      For my part, I want to avert, as much as possible, my own and the reader’s impulse to make dogma out of Kurt Vonnegut’s advice. One way I hope to accomplish that is by adopting the concept of endarkenment.

      It’s borrowed from Profound Simplicity by Will Schutz, published in 1979, the one book that gives meaning to the Human Potential Movement, according to the cover. Schutz, a leading psychiatrist in that movement, lists his credentials early on: he’d explored every mind-, body-, and soul-expanding avenue the movement had yielded up. He’d also led innumerable seminars at Esalon Institute. It’s a concise, down-to-earth, truly helpful book (presently out of print). But the part that has stuck with me for forty years is his final chapter, Endarkenment. It begins, Sometimes my striving toward growth becomes the object of amusement to the part of me that is watching me. He tired, occasionally, of that striving and rebelled.

      So he devised a workshop called Endarkenment. In it the participants were encouraged to be devious, superficial, and to wallow in their self-made misery. They drank hard, smoked like chimneys, stuffed themselves with junk food, and blamed everybody else for their problems, starting with the other workshop members all the way up to Almighty God. In teaching sessions, each person divulged their worst trait and explained how the others could acquire it. One man said he never finished things. He promised he’d teach the group how to do that the following Wednesday. When Wednesday came, he had dropped out of the workshop.

      The results of the Endarkenment workshops were startling. They were as effective as regular workshops in raising people’s awareness of the human comedy, and in realizing that they themselves chose what they did and that therefore they could make other choices.

      I’ve adapted the word endarkenment and redefined it to use as a guiding principle. When alternatives, ironies, warnings about, or contradictions to previous advice or ideas pop up, the concept of endarkenment is at work. (Originally the word in bold marked those places, but these intrusions bit the dust in the editing process). This term and methodology, I hope, will trigger the notions that truth (not the same as facts) can be many sided, and that Vonnegut was a human being, not a dogma god.²

      Right after I was offered this project, Julia Whitehead turned me on to artist Tim Youd, who had just been doing a performance at the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library. His art? Retyping novels, using the typewriter model that the writer used, in the same place where the writer worked or the novel takes place. He types the entire novel using the same page over and over, with a cushioning sheet beneath, reading aloud, sort of in a mumble, to keep his place and stay engaged. The page rips. He applies masking tape and continues. The accidental punctures and tears create the tangible work of art: at the end, he separates the top and bottom sheets and frames each.

      At the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, Tim Youd typed Breakfast of Champions one week and Slapstick the second, using an electric Smith Corona Coronamatic 2200.

      Tim Youd, Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions, 2013, typewriter ink on paper. 303 pages typed on a Smith Corona Coronamatic 2200, Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, Indianapolis, Indiana, September 2013.

      The experience of immersing myself for two solid weeks gave me an appreciation of Vonnegut’s genius. And especially of his bleakness, Youd said.

      One of Youd’s purposes is to focus people’s attention on the writer’s work. We’ve come to the point where we’re more interested in looking at the scrolls of Kerouac than reading Kerouac. The same with Hemingway’s home in Key West. Fetishism of famous writers, he suggested, occurs because it’s such heavy-lifting to actually read books.

      Swag proliferates around Vonnegut: mugs, greeting cards, bookmarks, note cards, mouse pads, T-shirts. Indianapolis sports a mural of him on a downtown wall. His phrases name coffee shops, bars, bands. People tattoo his quotes on themselves.

      Whether these artifacts honor or defile, act as talisman or kitsch, only God and the individual can know.

      Tim Youd acknowledges that his own performances may contribute to fetishism. I fear contributing as well. Because I’ve taken Vonnegut’s marvelous words out of context. I’ve shifted, shortened, somersaulted, and squished them into molds for the purposes of this book.

      It’s like the quotes of Vonnegut’s that appear frequently online. They’re out of context, like anyone’s quotes, and sometimes misleading. For example, his rules for writing the short story, listed in the short story collection Bagombo Snuff Box, aren’t intended to apply to the novel. But they pop up as rules for writing all fiction.

      A person could read Pity the Reader without ever reading Vonnegut’s fiction. But his words within these pages belong first in their proper homes, where they were born.

      When Dan Wakefield published his first best-selling novel in the ’50s, his publisher, who was also Vonnegut’s, asked Vonnegut if he would be Wakefield’s editor. That editorial work, Dan says, consisted of a two-page letter to me with seven suggestions for improving my novel. I carried out four of the seven, and my novel was better for it. Most important of all was his advice that I should not follow any of his suggestions ‘just because I suggested them.’ He emphasized that I should only carry out those suggestions ‘that ring a bell with you.’ He said I should not write or change anything simply because he (or any other editor or writer) suggested it unless the suggestions fit my own intention and vision for the book. Wakefield says it was one of the most valuable editorial lessons I ever learned.

      Looking back at Vonnegut’s assignments at the Writers’ Workshop now, I see that more importantly than the craft of writing, they were designed to teach us to do our own thinking, to find out who we were, what we loved, abhorred, what set off our trip wires, what tripped up our hearts.

      It’s my ambition that Vonnegut’s words in this book will provoke similar effects for readers.

      Kurt Vonnegut said:

      When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth.³

      Is this advice? It is for me. It says: You can do it. Every writer feels inept. Even Kurt Vonnegut. Just stick to your chair and keep on typing.

      What’s more, though, and uniquely Vonnegut-esque, is that it’s outrageously comic and demands perspective. Because I’m fortunate. I’m not armless or legless, and I have more than a crayon. Don’t most of you?

      And so it goes as good advice for teachers who despair of teaching, for readers who don’t understand a difficult text, for anybody tackling anything and feeling inadequate to the task. That just about takes in all of us. Carry on! Cheer up! Have a good laugh! We’re all inadequate to our tasks!

      Vonnegut was fueled as a writer by humanitarian issues he wanted to bring to the attention of others. Those of us who were his students were fortunate. But his readers are his largest, most important student body.

      As a teacher at the Writers’ Workshop, Vonnegut was passionate, indignant. He wheezed with laughter. He was considerate, sharp, witty, entertaining, and smart. In other words, he was similar to the author of his books. Though not without protective poses, he was very much himself—the same funny, earnest, truth-seeking, plainspoken Hoosier—whenever he spoke and in whatever he wrote.

      Kurt Vonnegut was always teaching. He was always learning and passing on what he learned.

      I have assigned Vonnegut’s stories, novels, and essays to a wide spectrum of students. His work crosses borders of age, ethnicity, and time. Two of the best assignments and liveliest, most effective classes I’ve ever taught were inspired by Cat’s Cradle—one in an Introduction to Literature class in the late ’60s at Delta Community College, and the other in a Literature of the ’60s class shortly after September 11 in 2001 at Hunter College—thirty years apart.

      What I hope we will be doing here, to quote Vonnegut on the pleasure of reading stories, is eavesdropping on a fascinating conversation that he was having with his readers.

      I am reminded of the way one begins a letter to an anonymous but responsible and hopefully responsive person: To Whom It May Concern. This phrase may sound formal and removed to some, since that’s how it’s usually used. But please take it literally and as it’s meant here, as a warm welcome: to all whom it may concern.

      Chapter 1

      Advice for Everyone on Writing Anything

      When I teach—and I’ve taught at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop for a couple of years, at City College, Harvard—I’m not looking for people who want to be writers. I’m looking for people who are passionate, who care terribly about something.

      —kurt vonnegut, Like Shaking Hands with God

      In 1980 , the International Paper Company sponsored an advice series in the New York Times . Each two-page piece was composed by a well-known expert. Each featured the principal points in headline bold, with illustrations and further explanation beneath. They included How to Make a Speech by George Plimpton, …Write a Resume by Jerrold Simon of Harvard Business School, …Enjoy Poetry by James Dickey, and so on.

      In view of the fact that I had nearly flunked chemistry, mechanical engineering, and anthropology, and had never taken a course in literature or composition, I was elected to write about literary style, Kurt Vonnegut said of his contribution.⁴

      I spotted Vonnegut’s How to Write with Style in the Times when it was first published, and handed out copies of it every semester after to my writing students at Hunter College. That’s the Vonnegut format I’ll follow to begin with here. It offers general advice directed to everyone, about writing anything, including seven numbered rules.

      There is a five-paragraph introduction. Then Vonnegut offers this first, most important, suggestion: Find a subject you care about.

      Notice how he writes that. He assumes that, since you’re a human being, you care about something. All you have to do is search around in the storehouse of yourself and locate it. Beneath the bold headline, though, his complete sentence is more complex:

      Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about [italics mine]. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.

      I am not urging you to write a novel, by the way—although I would not be sorry if you wrote one, provided you genuinely cared about something. A petition to the mayor about a pothole in front of your house or a love letter to the girl next door will do.⁵

      The following anecdote will illustrate his complete sincerity in what he says about these comparatively humble forms. Discussing his six children in Palm Sunday, he talks about interests and artistic proclivities he feels he bequeathed them, in woodworking, drawing, music, and chess. At that time, his son Mark had published his first book, and his daughter Edie had illustrated a published book. He praises those achievements, along with the artistic and general productivity of his other children, but saves his highest praise for a letter his daughter Nanette wrote to a complete stranger.

      What is my favorite among all the works of art my children have so far produced? It is perhaps a letter written by my youngest daughter Nanette. It is so organic! She wrote it to Mr. X, an irascible customer at a Cape Cod restaurant where she worked as a waitress in the summer of 1978. The customer was so mad about the service he had received one evening, you see, that he had complained in writing to the management. The management posted the letter on the kitchen bulletin board.

      Nanette’s reply went like this:

      Dear Mr. X,

      As a newly trained waitress I feel that I must respond to the letter of complaint which you recently wrote to the ABC Inn. Your letter has caused more suffering to an innocent young woman this summer than the inconvenience you experienced in not receiving your soup on time and having your bread taken away prematurely and so on.

      I believe that you did in fact receive poor service from this new waitress. I recall her as being very flustered and upset that evening, but she hoped that her errors, clumsy as they were, would be understood sympathetically as inexperience. I myself have made mistakes in serving. Fortunately, the customers were humorous and compassionate. I have learned so much from these mistakes, and through the support and understanding of other waitresses and customers in the span of only one week, that I feel confident now about what I am doing, and seldom make mistakes.

      There is no doubt in my mind that Katharine is on her way to becoming a competent waitress. You must understand that learning how to waitress is very much the same as learning how to juggle. It is difficult to find the correct balance and timing. Once these are found, though, waitressing becomes a solid and unshakable skill.

      There must be room for error even in such a finely tuned establishment as the ABC Inn. There must be allowance for waitresses being human. Maybe you did not realize that in naming this young woman you made it necessary for the management to fire her. Katharine is now without a summer job on Cape Cod, and school is ahead.

      Can you imagine how difficult it is to find jobs here now? Do you know how hard it is for many young students to make ends meet these days? I feel it is my duty as a human being to ask you to think twice about what is of importance in life. I hope that in all fairness you will think about what I have said, and that in the future you will be more thoughtful and humane in your actions.

      Sincerely,

      Nanette Vonnegut.⁶

      I myself have uncommon sympathy for the contents of Nanette’s letter. My first published story was from the point of view of a dishwasher in a restaurant who exacts revenge upon an oppressive boss.⁷ I waitressed my way through college. Later I discovered it paid as well as adjunct teaching. As the poet Jane Hershfield quips, many writers have been in the food trades.⁸

      At any rate, Nanette’s letter fulfills her father’s primary criteria. She cares enough about her subject to write the letter and she thinks others should care: specifically, her boss, the man who complained, the waitress in question, and presumably the other employees at the restaurant.

      Nanny’s letter is quite serious. But you can write about a serious subject in a playful way. God knows, Kurt Vonnegut did.

      Thirty-one years earlier, at the age of twenty-five, Kurt wrote a contract for himself and his wife Jane to observe. They were newly married and expecting their first child.

      CONTRACT between KURT VONNEGUT, JR. and JANE C. VONNEGUT, effective as of Saturday, January 26, 1947

      I, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., that is, do hereby swear that I will be faithful to the commitments hereunder listed:

      I. With the agreement that my wife will not nag, heckle, and otherwise disturb me on the subject, I promise to scrub the bathroom and kitchen floors once a week, on a day and hour of my own choosing. Not only that, but I will do a good and thorough job, and by that she means that I will get under the bathtub, behind the toilet, under the sink, under the icebox, into the corners; and I will pick up and put in some other location whatever moveable objects happen to be on said floors at the time so as to get under them too, and not just around them. Furthermore, while I am undertaking these tasks I will refrain from indulging in such remarks as Shit, Goddamn sonofabitch, and similar vulgarities, as such language is nervewracking to have around the house when nothing more drastic is taking place than the facing of Necessity. If I do not live up to this agreement, my wife is to feel free to nag, heckle and otherwise disturb me until I am driven to scrub the floors anyway—no matter how busy I am.

      II. I furthermore swear that I will observe the following minor amenities:

      I will hang up my clothes and put my shoes in the closet when I am not wearing them;

      I will not track dirt into the house needlessly, by such means as not wiping my feet on the mat outside, and by wearing my bedroom slippers to take out the garbage, and other things;

      I will throw such things as used up match folders, empty cigarette packages, the piece of cardboard that comes in shirt collars, etc., into a wastebasket instead of leaving them around on chairs and the floor;

      After shaving I will put my shaving equipment back in the medicine closet;

      In case I should be the direct cause of a ring around the bathtub after taking a bath, I will, with the aid of Swift’s Cleanser and a brush, not my washcloth, remove said ring;

      With the agreement that my wife collects the laundry, places it in a laundry bag, and leaves the laundry bag in plain sight in the hall, I will take said laundry to the Laundry not more than three days after said laundry has made an appearance in the hall; I will furthermore bring the clean laundry back from the Laundry within two weeks after I have taken it, dirty that is;

      When smoking I will make every effort to keep the ashtray which I am using at the time upon a surface that does not slant, sag, slope, dip, wrinkle, or give way upon the slightest provocation; such surfaces may be understood to include stacks of books precariously mounted on the edge of a chair, the arms of the chair that has arms, and my own knees;

      I will not put out cigarettes upon the sides of, or throw ashes into either the red leather waste-basket, or the stamp waste-basket which my loving wife made me for Christmas, 1945, as such practice noticeably impairs the beauty, and the ultimate practicability of said waste-baskets;

      In the event that my wife makes a request of me, and that request cannot be regarded as other than reasonable and wholly within the province of a man’s work (when his wife is pregnant, that is), I will comply with said request within three days after my wife has presented it: It is understood that my wife will make no reference to the subject, other than saying thank you, of course, within these three days; if, however, I fail to comply with said request after a more substantial length of time has elapsed, my wife shall be completely justified in nagging, heckling and otherwise disturbing me, until I am driven to do that which I should have done;

      An exception to the above three-day time limit is the taking out of the garbage, which, as any fool knows, had better not wait that long; I will take out the garbage within three hours after the need for disposal has been pointed out to me by my wife. It would be nice, however, if, upon observing the need for disposal with my own two eyes, I should perform this particular task upon my own initiative, and thus not make it necessary for my wife to bring up a subject which is moderately distasteful to her;

      It is understood that, should I find these commitments in any way unreasonable or too binding upon my freedom, I will take steps to amend them by counter-proposals, constitutionally presented and politely discussed, instead of unlawfully terminating my obligations with a simple burst of obscenity, or something like that, and the subsequent persistent neglect of said obligations;

      The terms of this contract are understood to be binding up until that time after the arrival of our child, (to be specified by the doctor,) when my wife will once again be in full possession of all her faculties, and able to undertake more

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