although she knows no one reading this story—should she manage to sell it—will ever see the connection.
She works right through lunch, forgetting the salad she made the day before which is sitting in the refrigerator, neglecting the cooling cup of coffee beside the typewriter, and even forgetting that she is improperly dressed for the task, not wearing her slacks and favourite shirt but a short-sleeved shift dress in pink, orange, gold and green paisley.
It is mid-afternoon by the time she types the words:
The End
—pulls the sheet of paper from the platten and sets it face-down on the pile beside the typewriter. She turns over the manuscript and carefully lines up each page until the corners are square.
Sitting back, she feels an ache lay itself across her shoulders like a yoke. A deep sense of satisfaction fills her, a heartfelt gratitude that the past year has not taken from her the ability to write science fiction. She knows the story will need going over with a sharp eye, but she is happy with this first draft.
Her coffee is too cold to drink, so she slips her shoes onto her stockinged feet, and heads to the kitchen to brew herself a celebratory cup.
And if mention of Ginny’s feet in nylons seems an odd detail to include, there’s a line in The Astronaut Wives Club , “Even when she wore her ‘at home’ slacks and went barefoot, she always put on her makeup”, about Martha Chaffee, wife of Roger, a homecoming queen at Purdue and described by Koppel as “drop-dead gorgeous”. It’s for good reason Koppel repeatedly likens Martha to Twiggy—those bare feet! only hippies go around in bare feet! Martha was plainly a bit of a free spirit, a tad “individual”.
Unlike Martha, Ginny has given up her “at home” clothes, she is trying hard not to be “individual”. Because she and Walden are childless, the other wives feel no compunction to call ahead when dropping by. Ginny has had the lecture once, and she knows Walden’s feelings on the matter; let them see her doing as she’s told, she still has “Virginia G. Parker” and not one of them knows about her.
The following morning, she goes over the story once again, but it needs only minor changes and takes her no more than forty minutes to type out a final draft incorporating them. She writes a quick cover letter to Evelyn at Galaxy , puts it and the typescript into a large envelope and, on her way to the beauty parlour, drops it into a mailbox.
#
That Saturday night, Ginny and Walden are watching television, he has a beer, she’s skimming through an issue of Good Housekeeping but the contents are boring her, when the telephone rings. Ginny puts down her magazine gratefully, goes to answer the phone and it’s Evelyn from Galaxy .
This story, Evelyn says, I like it, I like it a lot, but I think you need to fix the ending.
Ginny is proud of ‘The Spaceships Men Don’t See’, she thinks it’s the best story she’s ever written, and she doesn’t like hearing that it’s not perfect. But she also knows that Evelyn knows her stuff, she’s an excellent editor and has been doing this for over a decade. Besides, if changes are needed to sell the story, Ginny is happy to make changes.
What do you mean? she asks.
Evelyn elaborates, You tell the story from the wife’s perspective, and you drop plenty of hints she’s the solution, but you don’t actually explain the consequences of what happens. You need a twist, Ginny; readers need to know there’s a reason it’s her story and not his.
“The reason for how the story ends…” Ginny realises not only is Evelyn right about the story but her words describe Ginny’s own life here in Texas equally well. The Apollo flight schedule has been postponed while the Apollo 1 fire is investigated and the Block II command modules brought up to scratch. Though it has been six months, a pall continues to hang over Houston, adding a bite of melancholy to the ever-present pollution. Impatience
She works right through lunch, forgetting the salad she made the day before which is sitting in the refrigerator, neglecting the cooling cup of coffee beside the typewriter, and even forgetting that she is improperly dressed for the task, not wearing her slacks and favourite shirt but a short-sleeved shift dress in pink, orange, gold and green paisley.
It is mid-afternoon by the time she types the words:
The End
—pulls the sheet of paper from the platten and sets it face-down on the pile beside the typewriter. She turns over the manuscript and carefully lines up each page until the corners are square.
Sitting back, she feels an ache lay itself across her shoulders like a yoke. A deep sense of satisfaction fills her, a heartfelt gratitude that the past year has not taken from her the ability to write science fiction. She knows the story will need going over with a sharp eye, but she is happy with this first draft.
Her coffee is too cold to drink, so she slips her shoes onto her stockinged feet, and heads to the kitchen to brew herself a celebratory cup.
And if mention of Ginny’s feet in nylons seems an odd detail to include, there’s a line in The Astronaut Wives Club , “Even when she wore her ‘at home’ slacks and went barefoot, she always put on her makeup”, about Martha Chaffee, wife of Roger, a homecoming queen at Purdue and described by Koppel as “drop-dead gorgeous”. It’s for good reason Koppel repeatedly likens Martha to Twiggy—those bare feet! only hippies go around in bare feet! Martha was plainly a bit of a free spirit, a tad “individual”.
Unlike Martha, Ginny has given up her “at home” clothes, she is trying hard not to be “individual”. Because she and Walden are childless, the other wives feel no compunction to call ahead when dropping by. Ginny has had the lecture once, and she knows Walden’s feelings on the matter; let them see her doing as she’s told, she still has “Virginia G. Parker” and not one of them knows about her.
The following morning, she goes over the story once again, but it needs only minor changes and takes her no more than forty minutes to type out a final draft incorporating them. She writes a quick cover letter to Evelyn at Galaxy , puts it and the typescript into a large envelope and, on her way to the beauty parlour, drops it into a mailbox.
#
That Saturday night, Ginny and Walden are watching television, he has a beer, she’s skimming through an issue of Good Housekeeping but the contents are boring her, when the telephone rings. Ginny puts down her magazine gratefully, goes to answer the phone and it’s Evelyn from Galaxy .
This story, Evelyn says, I like it, I like it a lot, but I think you need to fix the ending.
Ginny is proud of ‘The Spaceships Men Don’t See’, she thinks it’s the best story she’s ever written, and she doesn’t like hearing that it’s not perfect. But she also knows that Evelyn knows her stuff, she’s an excellent editor and has been doing this for over a decade. Besides, if changes are needed to sell the story, Ginny is happy to make changes.
What do you mean? she asks.
Evelyn elaborates, You tell the story from the wife’s perspective, and you drop plenty of hints she’s the solution, but you don’t actually explain the consequences of what happens. You need a twist, Ginny; readers need to know there’s a reason it’s her story and not his.
“The reason for how the story ends…” Ginny realises not only is Evelyn right about the story but her words describe Ginny’s own life here in Texas equally well. The Apollo flight schedule has been postponed while the Apollo 1 fire is investigated and the Block II command modules brought up to scratch. Though it has been six months, a pall continues to hang over Houston, adding a bite of melancholy to the ever-present pollution. Impatience
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