Tuesday, December 4, 2012

It's Not Yet Over

I can finally put quotation marks around "Dreams in Ebony" because, though I missed my 50,000 word goal (NANOWRIMO) I did reach 44,000 and I consider that a good size novel. And being a novel, as the rule dictates, I can now " " it.
"Dreams in Ebony" Excerpt: Gentle Thoughts

I want to say something important but every time I write all that comes out is filth. I suppose that’s because my life is full of it. I have thought many times to quit this novel, to delete it, to throw it out and forget about it, but I can’t. I know there is something here.
This is the scene and this is where it starts and this is where it ends and everything in between is rubbish and I hate myself for wallowing in it.
  I don’t want to say something important, I want to say something profound but what is profound? I could tell a story and you wouldn’t realize I’m telling you a completely different story than the obvious one.

Take Moby Dick. It’s a whaling adventure story on the surface. Yet it’s really a story about obsession. And even that doesn’t do it justice! There is a deeper hidden meaning within the story that is so profound you really can’t put it to words. You can feel it but only if you’re ready to feel it.
This is not Moby Dick. This book is crude, borderline porn. But somewhere in it there must be a profound ineffable message. As the writer, I find it hard to feel that feeling towards my own work. As the writer, I am biased and I think, most of the time, that it is great, that it is genius. That is a guess of sorts. But other times it seems like trash, and I want to stop writing because I feel sick when I write it; I feel like I am doing a swan dive into hell of my own volition.
Here I am baring the bones of my own writing process, the Wizard of Oz throwing back the curtain without fear. Why does the author want to write this book? See above. What does the author think of the subject matter? See above. Yet it is important that you know my heart in this, that I am sorry, not only for my sins but for writing them down. It’s important that you know that I share your hate and disgust and shock. It’s important that you know that I am not evil just misled. It's important that you know, even in a pile of filth the most precious thing can be found.

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