A Brief History

A Murder in Hollywood was originally written in 1973 and intended to be published under Crichton’s pen name, John Lange, a name he used for writing quick thrillers during medical school at Harvard. In the introduction by Sherri Crichton, Crichton’s widow, we learn a little about his use of pen names. Unfortunately, we don’t learn anything new, specifically the reason the completed manuscript was never published in the first place. This lack of context is the biggest disappointment of the book. It would have been nice to have a little more information.

What can be worked out is that 1973, the year the book is said to have been written, was the year Crichton’s film Westworld was released. This was the second film he directed, the first being the TV movie Pursuit, based on his novel Binary, which he wrote under the Lange name.

The timing of the composition of A Murder in Hollywood makes a lot of sense. A book about the struggles of filming a Western: dealing with know-nothing studio heads and egotistical Hollywood actors. The book has many details that only someone with the experience of working in Hollywood could have knowledge of. Crichton has explained before that Westworld was a trying experience. Perhaps this was a bit of catharsis.

But why didn’t the work get published in 1973? I have a few thoughts:

1. Maybe at this point in his career, Crichton didn’t need a pen name anymore. John Lange was behind him, and now, with The Andromeda Strain under his belt, he could focus on his work under his own name.

2. Maybe it was written for fun. Crichton had an idea and just went with it. Then, since it didn’t align with his plans or his future passions, he moved on, much like he’d later do with Hollywood.

It makes sense to be a writer struck with an idea and just going with it to see where it leads. Crichton has claimed he could dish out these books relatively fast; one was completed in nine days. As we know, he was very prolific when writing, constantly typing away until the work was done. He even ate the same thing for lunch every day while working, to save time and stick to a routine.

It would have been nice to have been provided with answers to these questions. People are interested and continue to be interested in Crichton’s work. I think it’s important to give some clarity to his loyal fans.

The Review

The book is a fun, quick read. I received my copy in the mail around 6 p.m. on release day and proceeded to finish it in two days. One of those days was spent on the beach reading. As a beach read, especially for summertime, I couldn’t agree more that this is the sort of novel that is made for reading on the beach. I wouldn’t say breezy, at least not until the end of the book, as it does take some time to get into. This is not the fault of the manuscript itself.

Before reading this book, I had read Rising Sun another work by Crichton. I also struggled to get into that. Both are mysteries. As someone who currently has a mystery on submission with my agent, I can attest that mysteries take time to unfold. However, one fun aspect of this novel is that it already opens essentially with the murder.

The story takes place on the film set of a Western called “Bloodrock.” It’s narrated by Harvey Jason, the unit publicist on the film. By page 6, we learn that the lead writer has been found dead in his bathtub. Originally, its thought to be an accident, but we soon learn fingerprints had been wiped away from the crime scene, leading people to assume that it was a murder after all. There are several suspects, Clete Williams, the lead of the film, being the number one. As the leading man, you can imagine the media frenzy.

The studio calls in a special auditor by the name of Harlow Perkins. Because Jason is the publicist, he has to deal with Perkins and essentially becomes Perkins’ Watson. Harlow Perkins is meticulous in every detail, down to his dress, which is formal and neat, and not the sort of thing you’d expect someone to wear in the 100-degree weather of Tucson, Arizona.

Perkins is your typical genre detective. He has peculiarities, to the point that he feels like a cross between Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. No doubt, the initials H.P. are a reference to Agatha Christie’s famous detective. There’s a scene where Perkins expertly taps open the top of a boiled egg, reminiscent of, if not an homage to, Christie’s detective. Like Holmes, Perkins keeps his suspicions to himself. Like Poirot, he has a show of solving the case.

Without spoiling the story, the book builds at a modest clip. By the last 100 pages, you can’t put it down. Like Crichton’s other books with the Lange pen name, the ending twists and surprises, which is exactly what you want out of a mystery.

The writing style is personable, always referencing the reader with phrases like “I’m sure you remember hearing about…” and “If you’ve ever had…” Jason, as a narrator, has much more personality than most other narrative styles of Crichton’s later works, specifically thinking of Rising Sun, which was also written in first person. However, Jason is much more subjective in his assessment of situations, and we get to know him, and his personality reads through the text much more so than Peter Smith in Rising Sun, which, at times, makes it easy to forget it’s even in first person. That was not the case here.

The Verdict

There’s a lot that could be critiqued in this manuscript, but overall, as a mystery novel written in 1973, it’s fun. I’d give it four out of five stars. It was an engaging read, and as a mystery enthusiast, I think it does a good job of building suspense, dare I end on a cliché, and keeping the reader guessing.

This is the 5th posthumous book by Crichton, following Eruption, published in 2024 and co-written with James Patterson. I’ll be honest, that one was a bit of a disappointment. I’m not a huge Patterson fan, and I felt the blending of their two storytelling styles didn’t work well.

Yes, they both write lean, but Crichton can build suspense and characters, unlike Patterson. Also, Crichton cares about details and exactitude, and Patterson… not so much.

This new novel should be more exciting.

On the eve of its release, it got me thinking about the first posthumous book, Pirate Latitudes, published in 2009, a year after his death. It was a completed manuscript. In a 1979 interview, “Ready When You Are, Dr. Crichton” by Patrick McGilligan, Crichton is described as planning to “complete a long-standing book project about Caribbean pirates in the seventeenth century.”

In 1981, Crichton mentioned the book again in Wayne Warga’s Los Angeles Times interview “Fact, Fiction Intertwined by Crichton”:

“I’ve been working on a pirate story set in the seventeenth century, but it has been tough work. I spent a week trying to figure out what people had for breakfast then, and I couldn’t even find out if breakfast existed at that time.”

The book had likely been completed for almost 30 years before publication.

It makes you wonder how old A Murder in Hollywood is and how many more manuscripts Crichton might have in an attic or drawer somewhere. It takes a lot of time to write a book. Sometimes, even ones we finish end up in a drawer waiting to be rediscovered.

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The hunter becomes the hunted.

What do you do if you’re a mouse with a pest problem?

Death is a standup guy. He’s just a little touchy about his standup.

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Sometimes, it’s nice to catch up with old friends and have a good warm cup of imaginary tea.

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If you’ve ever played Risk, you’d know it’s a game of world domination, the goal being to essentially conquer the world one country at a time. Most games end with the last two players, one player has conquered every territory except one, and the other player is in Eastern Australia. Don’t ask me why but the final battle always takes place in Australia.

I don’t recall how I lost, but knowing my luck, I hadn’t made it past my third turn (and Ontario). My game was over.

So, I ended up in the philosophy section, where a battered copy of Marcus Aurelius’ “Meditations” was staring back at me. The book itself was not old enough to warrant the level of wear and tear it wore. It was a seasoned veteran, with sunbaked pages and old underlines from someone who not only read the book, but reread it and revisited passages again and again.

I like used books. I especially like used books with highlights. It’s interesting to see what other folks found compelling. The book grows character, personality. Reading a book with highlights builds another layer of community. If a book is a conversation between the writer and the reader, highlights are like a discussion, offering a new layer of communication.

For a book so heavily read and reread, highlighted and underlined, why did the previous owner ditch it? Were the highlights for study, maybe for an exam. At the time, I believe it would be 2009, I was in college myself, and in a philosophy class. But the teacher didn’t talk much about Stoicism. It was my humanities professor who did, but we didn’t have to read “Meditations.

At the time, my friend Nick was obsessed with our philosophy teacher. In college, or fresh out of high school, you are curious, curious about the world, curious about your place in it, more so than you ever will be, at least more curious for a long time. The mind is open to these new experiences, new attitudes and ideas.

You’re especially more open if you lost a game of world domination to your friend Nick, and you have nothing better to do than wander a bookshop. I remember sitting back down at the table with my new find. It was one of those cheap, plastic, white-top foldable tables with the sturdy metal legs that if you don’t pay enough attention to kick you in the shin.

I opened the pages and read lines here and there. All while listening intently to the battle cries of the Australian division (Nick).

I still have this same book (it’s the lede image of this post) and I’m leafing through it now. It’s the Gregory Hays translation, a more modernized version. It has more wear. Its pages are more yellow. The back cover is missing a corner because my dog went through a phase of eating book covers. He had good taste.

Later that evening, I would read it. Read it through and through over the course of a few months. Over the course of a few years, I’d reread it again and again, multiple versions and translations.

But this version, this translation is my favorite. There’s a strange attachment you have to the first book you pick up and read, and I’m happy I still have this edition, this aged version. I have two editions of this book, because, if you haven’t learned this already, when you lend a book, especially one of your favorites, you should have a copy in case the person you lent it to never gives it back, and for the off chance you suddenly want to read what you don’t have. Happens all the time.

Little did I know that day I was in that bookshop I’d be discovering a philosophy, Stoicism, that would change my life.

I wouldn’t say I’m a Stoic by any means, but I find myself always going back to Stoicism, finding comfort in Aurelius, and the other Stoic philosophers.

Since that fateful day in the book store, I have read beyond Meditations. I discovered Epictetus, Seneca, and Musonius Rufus, and more modern thinkers like Ryan Holiday.

I haven’t gotten any better at Risk, but I like to think that because of Stoicism, I’m okay with that.

to sit down and get to work writing nonfiction, so I can be the patient, kind, caring and the Stoic dad I would like to be.

I know that being a dad won’t be easy. I know that it will be challenging, it’ll challenge me. This is why I’m creating a weekly Stoic blog to ensure I stay on track with my reading, my writing and my patience.

The thinking is: if I have a blog, I’ll read more Seneca, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. I believe I will be a better dad doing so, and better at being more kind to myself and to the people close to me.

Even though I’m writing this for me, I like to think it means I’m writing this Stoic blog for you, too. The advice I discover, the stories I tell, the reading and Stoic exercises I practice—I think they will be helpful to you.

You probably noted that I said in 1 day I will have a daughter. This is my first child, so technically I’m not a dad yet. I’m a dad-in-waiting. A dad-in-waiting who is anxious about what is on the other side of this title change, this new role I’ll have—a promotion some would say.

To say I’m anxious would be an understatement. I’m concerned (as any new parent likely is) about what exactly it is I got myself into. But I’m mostly excited.

This is where Stoicism comes in handy. Stoicism is a practical philosophy that can be distilled down to a simple idea: you can’t control events but you can control how you react to them. As Epiecteus says right at the start of The Enchiridion:

“There are things which are within our power, and there are things which are beyond our power.”

I can control how I react, and I can try to understand that my nervousness is warranted but I do not need to let it consume me. Nervousness is a fear of the unexpected. As Seneca says in Letter 13 of Letters from a Stoic:

“How often has the unexpected happened! How often has the expected never come to pass!”

Why run to meet a what if if it’s unlikely to happen? And surely it’s most likely not going to happen.

What are my what ifs? I’m nervous about being a dad. I want to be a good dad. I’m nervous about the operation my wife is undergoing. I’m nervous for my daughter. But I should instead focus on what I can control, which is myself. Be a good husband, do the best I can, and focus on the excitement I have. Don’t focus on the later which is what nervousness is, an overreliance on prediction. Remember how often your lucky numbers won you the lottery? Instead, focus on the now.

These sorts of insights are what makes studying Stoicism important.

I can’t promise my interpretations will always align with yours, but that’s the great thing about literature and thought: conversation.

I’m a new dad who is writing to figure out what that means through the lens of Stoicism. There may be a ton of these sorts of blogs but what makes this unique is I’m the one writing this one. This is A New Dad’s Stoic Journey.

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We’ve heard it. We understand. Which is why we’re adding more AI!

MORE AI TO EVERYTHING!

Now, everywhere you look on any of your devices (Phone, Computer, TV), you’ll see the tell-tale signs of AI slop. Someone sent you an email, don’t worry about reading it. AI will incorrectly summarize it for you. Did someone compromise your bank account… or is it just a standard invoice? You’ll have to find out after your trip to the cardiologist.

We know, we know! How did we find more space to add AI slop?

We have to tell you, it wasn’t easy. Not in the slightest. We’ve already jammed every inch and corner with AI crap. But, we took a beat from Pizza Hut. Like cheese on a pizza, we can find new places to stuff it—cheese crust, double cheese, cheese dough, cheese on cheese action!

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Now, we’ve decided to add AI right to your device’s home screen. Right there waiting for you like a deranged Clippy.

If you want to know how to switch it off. You can’t. Not without really Googling it… and even that will pull up an AI response which won’t help at all. We made sure to prevent you from switching it off so you just deal with it until you can ignore it properly, like that weird pain you have in your lower back.

You’re wondering. Please, God! When will this end?!

Look at the stock market. You have to wait for these bright-eyed investors to realize that no one wants AI. Of course, our investors don’t use AI—that’s crap. But you… you will have to one day. And we’ll be there, waiting, in plain sight. Ready to offer you bad writing, bad advice, and bad images that can be shared on Facebook and convince your aunt that a dog really can play poker.

You’re welcome.

Signed,

That tech executive

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You’ve got writer’s block!

Gene Fowler said it best:

“Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”

So, let’s pack some Band-Aids you’re in for a bloody time.

Here are important questions that should help you overcome writer’s block.

Why do you write?

This is an easy question to ask. It takes four words: an adverb, a transitive verb, a pronoun and a noun. It isn’t so easy to answer. A lot of thought has gone into answering this question from people much smarter than me. Think about it. Think about it real hard. If you think long enough writer’s block will pass. Time’s up! There’s no time left to write today! Feel satisfied knowing you don’t have to worry about writing anymore.

What is it that’s holding you up?

Is something on your mind? Are you thinking about how much of a failure you are? A 30-something washout who hasn’t written anything clever besides that response to your sister’s funny birthday card—the note that was tossed into a waste basket like your dreams?

Are you thinking about that pain you have down your left side? Google it. By the time you’re on your fourth Reddit forum you’re pronounced dead. Great, now you don’t have to worry about writing! Maybe your sister will have something funny to say in your condolence card!

What do you want to work on?

That’s the problem. You’re stuck between ideas. You’re at a crossroads. The thing about a crossroads is you have to make a clear decision. But you’ve never been good at that. That’s why you became a writer in the first place.

You’ve f***ed your life up enough. Flip a coin. Let fate decide for you.

Now that you have some answers, let’s go over some solutions:

1. Stare at the blank page. Keep staring until either you or it blinks. Someone’s going to lose here, and it damn well isn’t going to be the paper.

2. Purchase eye drops. You’re going to need them.

3. Write your name at the top of the page. If you write it in big enough letters, you’ve already filled a whole page! Great work!Draw a picture of an animal of your choice. Was it a cat? It was probably a cat. If you make it big enough, you’ve completed a second page. Great work!

4. Alright, now it’s time to start. If you don’t know what to write, let’s do some brainstorming. Here are a few topics that usually get the juices flowing:

   1. Generational wealth: Why don’t you have it? How can you get it? Can you think of someone who does? What a jerk.

   2. Jerks: Who do you really hate? Is it the person you thought of above? Probably. Now put that person in a room with no doors or windows. What happens next?

   3. Favorite animal: If it’s a bear, add it to the doorless windowless room. Now you’re cooking.

5. Now that we’re done brainstorming ideas. Let’s get to writing.

   All great stories start with a great opening line.

   “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…”

   That Dickens! What an opener!

   How do we start with something that will stand out like that? Let’s take our example from above and use it as a template:

   He was having a great time; he was having a terrible time.

   Doesn’t quite capture our attention, does it? Let’s be more specific.

   He was having a great time, he was having a terrible time, he was stuck in a room, he was being mauled by a bear.

   The last part is a real shock. Let’s move that to the beginning. You want to start with something that makes the reader ask: “What the heck am I reading?”

   He was being mauled by a bear but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was he liked it.

   There you go. Now, that’s an opener!

6. Once you’ve got your first line, it’s time to string a few sentences together.

   It’s like adding grounds to your coffee maker. It doesn’t have to be exact, no matter how much you add, it’s still going to come out looking like crap.

7. Stop! This is the most important part. Once you’re on a roll, just stop! You don’t want to intimidate anyone with your progress.

   Hemingway always stopped as soon as he knew what was going to happen next. That’s terrible advice. Instead, stop writing when you aren’t sure what’s going to happen next.

   The great thing about writer’s block is you don’t know what’s going to happen next before you begin. So, before you start writing. Stop! Set the pen down. Close your laptop. Feel good that you’ve conquered writer’s block before it got a hold of you.

Where’d they get those bags?

Do you think that’s how they eventually got caught? The police went straight to the source.

Bank Robber: Yes, I’d like a beige bag with a cash symbol embroidered right there on the side… Hey, wait a second, you’re not my embroidery guy!

Sometimes, they wear Halloween masks. There’s really nothing like getting held up by Cat Woman and Spider-Man.

Hostage: I thought you were on my side?... Times really have changed!

The robbers would line everyone up first.

Bank Robber: Single file, everyone!

It felt like you were back in school lining up for a field trip.

Bank Robber: No cutting the line! We may be robbers, but we won’t put up with that sort of thing.

They sit everyone down behind one of the reception desks. Start taking away phones.

That’s got to be the hardest thing. We’re all so attached to our phones. It’s the first thing we pick up in the morning—the last thing we put down at night.

Hostage: You want this phone. You’ll have to pry it out of my cold dead hands!

There’s always that one hostage who tries to become best friends with the robbers. This idiot thinks he’ll be the first hostage to be set free—to be let out for good behavior.

The police lineup out front. Ducking behind their cars. FBI shows up in dark aviators. There’s always two of these guys, with one toothpick shared between both of them.

There’s that argument over jurisdiction between the FBI and the cops. But sunglasses and toothpicks beat local law enforcement.

Then the FBI calls the robbers.

Of course, maybe there aren’t bank robbers around anymore because it never worked out. There’s always that one guy who grows a conscience.

Bank Robber 1: Should we be doing this

Bank Robber 2: You could have picked a better time to have a moral crisis, Dave.

Bank robbers always demand a helicopter, which they never get.

What would happen if someone tried to rob a bank today?

Bank Robber: Give me the money; preferably the largest bills you have!

Bank Teller: We don’t have any bills. Everything’s digital now.

Police arrive, handcuff the guy.

Police Officer: Everything is digital. Why’d you try and rob the bank?

Bank Robber: I thought I’d get away with it. I didn’t even get to demand a helicopter.

When you’re looking for something, you never find it. Only when you stop looking, that’s when it finds you.

Of course, this sort of logic breaks down when you start to think about it. If Christopher Columbus stopped looking for a new path to the East Indies, would the East Indies have found him? I don’t think so.

Then again, Columbus never did discover the path. Instead, he found the Americas—yet, totally missed the actual North American continent and landed on a few scattered islands (on 4 separate voyages!). So, maybe if Columbus did throw up his hands and shout, “I’m not looking anymore!” the East Indies would have found him.

You might be asking, “Jamie, what’s all this stuff about Columbus have to do with you?”

I can sense your concern, especially since Columbus doesn’t have the best reputation—to say the least. Maybe this isn’t the best metaphor.

Let me explain.

As a writer, I’ve been looking for a literary agent for nearly 14 or so years—around as many years between Columbus’s first and last voyage to the Americas. Now, I’m not saying writing is anything like Christopher Columbus finding the Americas (it’s more like Magellan finding whatever it is he found). I’m saying that after so many years looking for an agent, I threw up my hands and shouted, “I’m not looking anymore!”

I had a polished query letter and a polished manuscript. I went to several writer’s conferences, met and pitched multiple agents. Yet nothing happened besides some terse feedback and a hole in my wallet about the size of Hispaniola.

For anyone who doesn’t know, the process of finding a literary agent is sort of like finding an island in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. There are a ton of agents and it takes time to find one that matches your specific genre and taste.

Once you do find an agent to submit to, you have to personalize a query letter, which is a letter of introduction that briefly pitches your story. This takes a lot of time.

In addition, it takes time for the agent to respond to you (if they ever do). I’d say about 20% of agents actually sent me a response. To be fair, agents receive a ton of manuscripts. Some estimates are thousands of queries a month. If anyone ever gets overwhelmed opening their inbox after a long weekend, imagine how an agent feels opening their inbox after a short one.

Now, I didn’t stop submitting queries but I stopped hoping for immediate results. I was just sending them out there and not expecting much. I stopped overly complicating the process and stopped personalizing queries. I just made sure they were looking for my manuscript’s genre.

I also started using QueryTracker. It’s an amazing way to find agents and track submissions. I heard about it during my research on submitting. The paid version is only $25 a month and is totally worth it.

I tried for years submitting without a tool and keeping track of a spreadsheet, but QueryTracker makes everything so easy and seamless. If you are a writer, check it out. I don’t get paid for singing its praises—I just am that impressed by the tool.

I kept submitting once or twice a week. Finally, years later, I had a bite. An agent was interested.

The process was fast. He responded within about a day of my query… I missed his response because I use my iPhone’s inbox and if anyone has ever used the iPhone’s built-in Mail app… I’m truly sorry. I reached out a few days later and he was understanding.

We did an initial phone call. He was animated and passionate about my project, telling me how he could pitch it. He asked for a quick revision. I revised my manuscript and sent it back. And we were connected.

Now, I am currently on submission. This means my manuscript is in the hands of publishers. It’s like querying all over again, except this time it’s the agent who’s doing the querying. It’s a waiting game. Some estimates are that it can take up to a year to even longer.

But I’m going to focus on the win. After years, I finally got a literary agent.

Submitting your work is like a sea voyage. You aren’t really sure where you’re going or how to get there, but the journey is part of the adventure.

Set your sails to the winds and let fortune be your destination. There may be slight detours. You may end up on an archipelago or Calypso’s island—maybe you never end up where you intended (like the East Indies), but if you take a step back from the helm and stop stressing—keep to the work—you’ll find your way.

As you know, there’s a shortage of experienced pilots, which is why Northeast decided to find inexperienced ones. It has become extremely important to not disrupt air services, which is why qualifications for the FAA have been… streamlined. Candidates were required to have time on their hands… and I can assure you, I was the most qualified candidate. *laughs*

*panicked screaming*

Don’t worry! Qualification is just a big word that means nothing as it relates to air travel. It doesn’t matter how qualified you are, if the lord decides it’s time to bring this big bird down into a mountain, then I’m as qualified as anybody.

*inaudible shouting*

You ask, “How much experience do I have?” Well, let me ask you, “What is experience?” Look at me, I almost sound philosophical. Is experience defined by familiarity with a specific role? Yes. So, do I have experience as a pilot? Absolutely… not.

However, I have experienced air travel! Which, in itself, is almost exactly the same thing as being the pilot of a Boeing 737. I know what it’s like to wake up early, drink stale coffee and get into a fight with the TSA about a bottle of water—and totally miss my plane because of it. I know what it’s like to try and put my carry-on into an overhead compartment and not be able to close the bin properly without bashing my head (or someone else’s) into it. I know what it’s like to have to climb over the person in the aisle seat while they nap so I don’t wee in my pants. There’s really no difference flying economy and flying a plane.

Do you ask a plane if it has experience flying? Of course not, that’d be absurd—and not just because a plane can’t answer, but for other reasons that currently escape me.

I also have experienced some terrible cart service. When you ask for a Jack and Coke, not just any whiskey will do! Okay… Anyway, I will tolerate this drink right now… But please, I would appreciate good service. Of course, this is what you get when you hire an inexperienced air hostess.

*inaudible shouting*

What did I do before this? That’s a terribly personal question. If you must know, I was between jobs. Which is why I jumped at this.

But I do… I do have a lot of experience.

As you can tell, I have no problem speaking over the intercom. Let’s face it, most of this job is just a pilot telling you where we’re going and how we’re going to get there. I may have no formal pilot training, but I have used Google Maps before, and can easily tell you where we’re headed, so long as this flight offers complimentary WI-FI…

*inaudible whispering*

Apparently this fight does not offer complimentary WI-FI… Sorry, how much? Yes, well we’ll be flying without Google Maps then. But that’s fine. I can always orient myself by licking my finger and sticking it out the window…

*Rush of wind over the intercom. Plane plunges.*

Yes, east is that way…

Anyway, if you look to your left, you’ll see a big city. To your right, the ocean. And if you look straight ahead, that’s the ground.

That feeling of weightlessness you’re currently experiencing is perfectly normal. It is not, as the shouting copilot next to me suggests, the feeling you get coming down from the ark of a really big swing. But, what does he know? He’s only six.

*blaring beeping*

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed your flight with us today. Please, as you frantically escape the fiery fuselage, do not forget to thank your air hostess.

1. You can end up at the destination on the ticket. This is ideal. But due to airline regulations, it’s not necessary. It’s totally happenstance if you end up where it says on your ticket. It’s certainly not due to the airline, since they try everything possible to ensure you don’t arrive anywhere at all. So don’t blame them if you end up where it says on your ticket.

2. You can end up where you started… gray-haired and angrier begging the airline associate to tell you when your delayed flight will arrive—or get canceled! “Please, please just give me some closure!”

On the day of our trip, the airline texted Klara and me, informing us that our flight had been canceled. Learning this before leaving bed was great! It meant we could sleep in. But another text said our flight was rebooked for the same exact time.

Ah, the tell-tale sign of a computer making a mistake, I said to myself.

Algorithms have a digital fingerprint. Like a poorly trained intern, computers are about as effective at booking a flight as an ant is at doing arithmetic. So, we packed our oversized luggage into the undersized Uber and were on our way.

At the airport, the line to talk to an airline associate was about 100 miles short of the 5,000 miles we had to travel. Waiting in line really reaffirms your place in the universe; it’s the quintessential human experience. A line has a way of punching the ego right in the solar plexus. A long queue can deflate even the most self-assured, egotistical airhead. It’s safe to say even my ego took a hit.

By the time we reached the agent, my smartwatch told me I had completed my steps for the next year.

“Your flight was rebooked,” the agent said smugly, “for tomorrow.” She dealt with enough angry customers to know where to slide the dagger.

I reeled.

Nowhere did the text message state the day, it merely said the time.

“But we have a connecting flight,” I protested.

The connecting flight was also rebooked for the next day. Identical times, different day.

“It’s in the app,” she suggested.

Klara wasn’t having it. When she’s determined to do something, she does it. She’d fly the plane if she had to.

“Rebook us on the connecting flight for today,” Klara pressed.

“If you miss that flight, it’s not our responsibility.” The airline associate tapped away at the computer in that special way that customer service representatives do; needlessly loud and with extra letters for emphasis. “You won’t be able to get a refund.”

“We’ll make the flight,” Klara said without doubt. I wish I had that confidence.

Klara booked another flight with another airline for an undisclosed amount. We had a short window to make the connecting flight at JFK.

If you’ve ever been to John F. Kennedy International Airport, then you know that a short window—a little over 2 hours—is not enough time to:

1. Pick up your bags at the carousel

2. Take the AirTrain to a different terminal

3. Check in and drop off bags

4. Go through security

5. Run the 100 miles to your gate

6. Scan your ticket at the gate

7. Collapse in your compact seat

The other airline was quick and efficient.

The only delay was security, not because of a long line (surprisingly there wasn’t one) but because I was scatterbrained. I realized after awkwardly sliding my shoes on and nearly tumbling and taking out a trash can, that my AirPods were nowhere to be found. I had placed them in the bin with my other belongings—and that bin was now redeposited into the ever-revolving security carousel.

I quickly asked a security agent if they found AirPods. He said no, but suggested I use the Find My app.

I flipped to the app. The signal was weak. But the app found them.

• Distance: 30 feet

• Distance: 20 feet

• Distance: 10 feet

It had taken a loopy carousel ride on the belt.

My screen turned green. There they were in the bin.

“That’s lucky,” Klara said. “Someone could have taken it.”

The flight wasn’t memorable, which is exactly what you want a flight to be. It’s the memorable ones that are a problem. “And that’s about when the wing came off…”

We landed at JFK, legged it to the baggage carousel—and waited 45 minutes for our luggage to be properly digested and deposited onto the moving belt. Luggage in hand, we raced to the AirTrain. By the time we arrived to check our bags, we were making solid time. We had over an hour and a half until the plane took off.

It was that airline again (I won’t say the name of the airline out of respect, something they could learn); they were a total mess. We tagged our bags—only after the machine broke in the middle of printing a tag—and had to wait in line to hand the bag to an associate to deposit onto the conveyer belt.

The line was longer than the one we waited in at the start of our untrip—that’s what I’ll call this, an untrip.

Untrip. Noun. Similar to what an unbirthday is to a birthday, except without tea, cake, or any food or water because you haven’t got time to breathe because you’re busy running to a flight you are about to miss. (Usually experienced during air travel, specifically at the airport). Example. Our trip to the Bahamas became an untrip when we missed our flight there, lost our luggage and had to bribe our way onto another flight with sticks of gum. Syn. disaster, trial, labor, ordeal. Ant. a successful trip.

It took 45 minutes to get to the end of the line. All we did was hand our luggage to the associate. That was it. 45 minutes. The line was explicitly for this terse interaction. However, because people need to ask questions—and get into needless arguments with airplane staff—it took 45 minutes!

Security was another huge line. We made it this far! We can’t miss the plane now; who would be on the other side to pick up our luggage?

There was the priority line. We don’t fly priority because we are losers. But Klara asked the priority agent policing the line if we could skip ahead because our flight was leaving in a few short minutes.

We must have looked like a total mess. She gave us a once over, and with a pitying look, waved us through. This time, I did not lose my AirPods; only my sanity (what was left of it).

After security, the new Herculean labor appeared before us.

We were supposed to go to gate 37… we were at gate 20. The doors to our flight were going to close soon and we had about a mile ahead of us. A sign on a wall said 15 minutes to the gate! There was no time to walk, let alone run.

I spotted a lifeline. It was one of those awkward and amusing golf carts that drive people to gates. I flagged it down. The driver smiled with a mustache that had large white teeth. He happily picked us up, whisked us through the airport, pressing the horn whenever some unsuspecting, oblivious air traveler stood in our way.

A few things I observed when carted through like airport royalty:

1. People do not pay attention to their surroundings

2. The golf cart driver had steely patience, but was firm on the horn

3. The driver stopped only once, when it was necessary, however, he expertly floored the thing, dodging people here and there

4. It literally was a mile to the gate

At last, we made it. The headaches. The fear of missing the flight. It was all over. We were exhausted. Drained. But we had arrived just in time. The last people boarding the plane. We were those people.

We sat down triumphantly. Tired. Worn. Thirsty. Accomplished.

We were ready to go!

Except...

The plane needed repairs.