NaNoWriMo Day 2: Gathering the troops

Astronomical Clock (Astronomical Dial), Prague...
Astronomical Clock (Astronomical Dial), Prague, Czech Republic (Photo credit: Grufnik)

I’m up at 3:49 a.m. I just wrote 144 words. I don’t know if these words will find any place in the ol’ novel, but there they are. On paper (digital paper) and not bothering me any more.

I just watched The Great Gatsby. Ok, Ok, it’s a good story. I love the last line.

I’m struggling.

Ray Bradbury, Tom Robbins, and Chuck Palaniuk are sitting on my desk. No, totally, they are here, keeping me company. Guys, move over, I’m trying to type.

Dovlatov is still on the shelf. This isn’t a job for him. This ain’t no memoir.

But it is a rumination of what I’ve been thinking over for the past three or four years. Weird how these recurring ideas and themes stick with a person. I think to myself: maybe the answers are in mythology. The Greek Myths. There they are on the shelf.

But no. I wouldn’t go for Greek myths. Not me. I would have to be interested in Slavic myths. I’m thinking about having my DNA tested. Let’s put an end to this mystery.

But that would be wrong, according to me. Yes, it’s right there in the outline (pathetic though it is) of my novel. Mystery, I’m saying, is good. Is necessary. Is critical. That nothing is more important to our very survival than mystery. Knowing kills.

I should probably wander off to bed now.

Fahrenheit 451 was written in the third person.

1984 was written in the third person.

Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas was written in the second person.

Fight Club was written in the first person.

First person draws you in immediately. It captures your attention. It’s limiting though because you can only tell the story from that one perspective. You only know what you know. You can’t be all knowing. You can’t have those “side conversations” with your reader about yourself. You and your reader cannot be in cohoots.  (Hmm. Or can you?)

But first person. I like it. Dovlatov writes in first person. Of course, it’s pretty much memoir. I don’t know. Seems I’ll have to write all around this novel before I can bull’s eye into it.

OK, I’m going to wander downstairs now. I may or may not pass up the television. There’s a movie down there I want to watch.

 

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