Sexy Banker Shops for Shoes and Finds Love: An NY Times Bestseller!

I've decided on a career path. I'm going to write chick lit.

Listen, I know it sounds crazy. It's not my favourite idea in the world either. But my student loans aren't going to get paid by magic elves, 'cause I've spoken with their union and apparently they "don't deal with that type of scoundrel". (Other creatures who refuse point-blank to be associated with the National Student Loan Service Centre: leprechauns, imps, dwarves, fairies, drow, gnomes, and sprites. Goblins will, but they are not on your side, strictly speaking. Bureaucracy-minded swine.)

I've got it all figured out. It can't be that difficult. All I really need is a bunch of the necessary elements, and I can just write a program that will cobble them together in some semblance of a plot. It'll be like Mad Libs!

First off, you need a heroine, and she needs a name. It should be a total anachronism (i.e. something that is popular for kids now, but you never hear on adult women), unisex/masculine, and also perhaps the surname of a famous political figure. I assure you that there weren't a lot of Madisons born back in the late '70s and early '80s, since that has risen to fame ever since little girls who loved Darryl Hannah's "Splash" character (and apparently didn't get the joke) have begun to procreate. But the chick-lit heroine needs a sassy, masculine name to show you just how tough she is. She doesn't need you OR your help! She's named after the fourth President of the United States!

So let's say we have, oh, McKinley J. Ashcroft. She has a job that is in some way glamorous, but attainable. Fashion editor? Professional photographer? Political secretary? Yes, yes, yes. Perhaps all those things at once. Such a multitasker, that McKinley. She needs a circle of quirky friends (but not too quirky! Rockabilly bisexual jugglers don't play in Peoria!), a location in some major city or another, and a closet of fabulous shoes and purses in her giant apartment that belies her salary.

Then, of course, she needs the love interest.

There are lots of directions to go in here. Do you make him a smooth, debonair man about town, whisking her hither and yon in his private jet, showing her a whirlwind love that lasts forever (or 376 pages, give or take)? Or how about a rugged, down-to-earth stud who teaches her how to let go of her day-to-day stresses and get back to the simpler things, like primal (yet highly euphemistic) sex on a bearskin rug? What about both? However will she choose? (It doesn't actually matter which one she winds up with. In the end, McKinley realizes that above all else, she must love herself and her wacky girlfriends, because navel-gazing platitudes and shoe-shopping are what Feminism Is All About.)

I think I have everything I need here, aside from some wacky hijinx and hilarious misunderstandings, and I've seen all those reruns of Three's Company growing up, so that should probably be plenty of inspiration. I'm going to open that Microsoft Word file and just let the genius flow forth.

I'll let you know when I've received my paycheck. We'll go out for martinis.