No Jet, Just Lag
No Boxing Day in these United States. I was up at four in the morning for reasons too tedious to plumb. I worked on a new novel in a novel new way: instead of intruding on the main file I worked in a separate file that is labeled notes. Here are some things that happen at the four in the morning when working on a novel in a file called notes.
First the Notes thing: if I work in the main file, I worry about spelling, punctuation, garbage collection, universal health care, and other stuff that defeats the purpose of writing. Plus “Notes” sounds important. Remember after we’re dead, people get all excited about stuff like this. “Notes” might give someone a thrill some day. Another name for this file might be “Idiotic stuff I Can’t Put in the Novel Unless I’m Dead and Then It’s Okay.”
At fifteen after the hour I was thinking that if I had to catch a plane this morning I’d be up anyway. At this point “working on the novel” means staring at the screen. If I turn my head sideways I can see my reflection: this is good for ten minutes of cheap entertainment.
We had four additional people for dinner last night. That’s a four am sentence for its implied cannibalism. I don’t mean it that way. I was thinking about the duality of man. That’s not true I’m waiting for the coffeemaker to finish making those strange noises, all the more ominous due to the early hour.
Wow, ninety minutes of actual work. The only thing more exciting than writing a novel is watching someone else write a novel even if that person is pretending to be thinking about the duality of man but really craves coffee.
This is why the file is called “Notes.”
December 27th, 2006 at 2:49 pm
I was up at four am novelizing as well (which explains why I’m having my morning coffee right now at 1:45 pm).
“Notes” for the edification of posterity is an excellent idea. I’ve always loved seeing pages of typewritten manuscripts amended in the author’s handwriting.
What I think I’ll do is type up selections from various works–Gatsby, let’s say, along with fragments of JMG Le Clezio short stories, and a few pages of Joan Didion. Then I’ll print these out, cross out the typed sentences, and scribble the text of my novel between the lines. That should make them scratch their heads.
Meanwhile, you should be working on the text of “Voltaire’s Miasma” to leave in a shoebox.
December 27th, 2006 at 4:16 pm
Whoever opens that shoebox will find themselves transported in time and space. Or fall victim to Plague.