One
thing is for sure, I can remain poised on the horns of the same
dilemma as long as anybody. I can do it for years. I do this
effortlessly, and to no particular purpose, but I do it very
successfully in terms of shear ability. “Keeping the ball in the
air” might be a good way to describe it. I believe that the
Japanese call the phenomenon, “massaging the idea.” Whatever you
call it, it's a way of delaying a decision. Whatever you call it, I
can do it indefinitely.
For
instance, I got through about half of a first draft of a novel about
ten years ago. Just about half, something like forty or forty-five
thousand words. It was a stressful time for me, and I found the
writing stress-reducing. When my stress level became manageable, I
stopped writing. The deeper into the process that I got, the more I
could see that the effort was lacking in many ways. Finishing it up
would require quite a bit of study and a great deal more work. I also
reminded myself that I have no talent for marketing, and no one would
publish the book anyway. There was no traditional path to publication
for a shy, unpublished sixty-year-old's first novel, so why bother? I
was probably right.
Times
change, though, and now there exists a path to publication that is
simple and direct no matter who you are, or how old, or what you're
previous experience might have been. It's almost free, and they never
turn a writer down. I've never entirely given up on the idea, and I
find myself being drawn to the idea more strongly than ever. Maybe my
recent brush with mortality added some impetus to the idea. One thing
that we can all agree on: if I'm going to do it, it better be soon. I
ain't getting any younger.
But
why would anyone do such a thing? Even in the age of Amazon
self-publishing, it will almost certainly never repay the frightening
amount of work that goes into a genuine novel. Ah, the “almost.”
There's the rub. Somewhere between none and slim there is a sliver of
daylight showing on the spectrum of possibility.
I've
always been glad that I made that halfhearted go at it ten years ago.
I've been reading novels at a pretty good pace since I developed the
habit at the age of twelve. I've read a lot of good ones, a handful
of the classics, some very professional genre fiction, a lot that
were mediocre but entertaining, and quite a bit of total crap. I have
always enjoyed book reviews, so I've read a lot of those as well. I
went through a period when I regularly read literary criticism. But
until I really immersed myself in writing a novel of my own, I had
never really come to grips with exactly what a novel is, what it must
be, what it must do, not what and not how, how is a novel
constructed, how can the pieces be made to fit, and certainly not
why. What followed was ten more years of reading many novels, as
usual, but reading them with a more critical eye to what the author
was doing. I had been sailing through them for pure entertainment,
seeking only their outer beauty, but after my effort I found myself
looking deeper, trying to include the bones of the novel in my
vision. Hey, if I never write one of my own, having a go at writing
one enriched my reading experience. I've learned a lot, and I enjoy
novels more than I ever have. That has been a net-positive already.
Long
ago I read an interview with a newspaper writer. She was a youngish
woman, and I had enjoyed her work. She had published books of her
usual newspaperish things, essays or something, and she told the
interviewer about the time that she had attempted a novel. She
finished it and a publisher friend agreed to read it. When they met
to talk about it, the friend said, “it's a good story, but nothing
happens.”
The
newspaper writer was confused by this. As far as she could see, there
were three-hundred fucking pages of things happening. She expressed
this frustration to the friend, who kindly told her, “yeah, but
something has to happen to somebody. Somebody has to be changed by
the things that happen in the story.” This was my first real
understanding of the meaning of the “psychological dimension”
that is required of a novel.
That's
good to know, of course, but the reading public takes a view that is
very different from that of the critics and a publisher like the
friend. For instance, people love mysteries. I've never understood
the attraction myself, not of the who-done-it variety of so-called
mystery novels. The Agatha Christie type of popular books. Maybe I
was unconsciously looking for that something that is supposed to
happen to somebody. That rarely happens in who-done-its. Many things
happen, but it's all a cheat. The author carefully lays out the
clues, and some red-herrings, and then boom! All is revealed! It's
like Sigfried and Roy's disappearing tigers. I don't really care how
it's done, and I know that it's a trick. I am not amused.
I
suppose you could say the same thing about the popular genre of
thrillers, you know, the Tom Clancy books, Lee Child's Jack Reacher
series, things like that. God knows they sell like hotcakes. They
make good “railway novels” too, they will help to fill the time
while one is riding the train to work in London. They are too full of
certain things happening, while nothing important happens at all.
Characters
don't change.
No
one matures or learns anything.
No
genuine attitudes are revealed.
I've
read a lot of those books, and I've enjoyed a lot of them, too. They
were fine as time-fillers. I don't regret reading them. I wouldn't
want to spend the huge investment of time required to write one,
though. This is almost certainly a mistake, because genre fiction is
probably easier to sell on Amazon. That's me, however, I wouldn't
know my best financial interest if it jumped up and bit me on the
ass. If I make the effort, it will be to write something that I can
be proud of.
That
would be a novel with a fine story arc, good characters whose
attitudes are reflected in the things that happen, a main character
who starts out in one place and ends up in another, and I don't mean
California. There'll be some excitement, for sure, and a bit of
mostly off screen sex, chances will be taken, someone could even get
murdered! Who knows? It might be fun.
It
could happen.
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