Emerson Ward Mysteries

It’s a requirement of fiction (if writers truly want readers to indulge them and buy their books) to suspend the reader’s disbelief. That is, to make the characters’ actions plausible. Readers don’t have to believe; in fact, in many cases we want them to doubt, to misjudge, to be misdirected. But we must take care to make sure they don’t disbelieve, either.

Here’s how it works. The other night, my wife and I turned on “Private Practice” for lack of anything better to watch on television. Two of the principals, Addison and Sam, were hiking through the desert and suddenly came across a wounded man. The man said he and his wife had been in a car accident and she was trapped in the car. Sure enough, the wrecked car was over the next rise.

After some discussion, Addison decides to stay and tend to both the wounded husband and trapped pregnant wife while Sam goes for help, which Sam says is about a three-and-a-half-hour hike.

Riddle me this, Batman: How did these people get their car into the middle of the desert in the first place? Where was the road they presumably ran off? Why did Sam decide to hike back the way he and Addison came—three and a half hours—instead of looking for this road and flagging down a passing motorist?

Needless to say, the writers of this show did not suspend my disbelief. Within the first three minutes of the show, I was so incensed with the poorly set-up premise that I stopped watching. Some advertisers on ABC should be very unhappy.