Thursday, November 04, 2004

Novel Writing Exercise Days Three and Four - Oh the futility of it all


Kensal Green Cemetery, London
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Didn't try write anything on November 3rd. My time was taken watching US Election Coverage then feeling depressed about US election coverage. Throughout all of the experience I keep thinking the same thing 'Why did John Kerry let people know he spoke French?'. OK, him dressing up in Woodland Camo and shooting ducks for a photo opportunity was an understandable, if cringe making, exercise in reaching out to the redneck male, but the French thing? That alone lost him a couple of million votes. Coupled with the oh-so-convenient Bin Laden video on Friday and he was toast; as will a lot of innocent people shortly be around the World. George Bush can now get back to sowing hydra's teeth in a dozen far flung places. Raytheon and McDonnell Douglas and all the others can look forward to decades of continuing business for multi-billion dollar systems; for use on orphaned teenagers armed with explosive satchels. Marvellous.

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Anyway, the novel thing. On the Fourth Day God created the Sun and the Stars. I didn't do so well and jotted down another spastic 1,000 words. This just isn't working.

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I set out to write a piece that would communicate something about the human condition. I just cannot achieve that in a novel format. In communication I prefer to be direct and ironic. The essence of all novels is to be long-winded and pompous. 'What I'm saying is soooooo important'. That's just not my thang.

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All novels, yes all novels, are written to convey the following message:

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Life is hard
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and, either
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It's worth it
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or
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It's not worth it
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The hardness comes from adversity, oppression, sickness, loss, other people. The worth it comes from love, beauty and a sense of purpose. The not worth it comes from a belief in the essential wickedness of mankind and a pointless God-less eternity.
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The rest is padding. Novel's are for adolescent teens. Thinking adults know, consciously or subconsciously, that The Reaper is waiting patiently at the end of the corridor, possibly reading a novel, and that life is too short to read waffle.
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So, I will almost certainly soon pack in my current efforts and start writing a yarn rather than a novel. Maybe I won't have enough time to complete my 50,000 word deadline for the end of November but at least if I'm going to write crap it will be entertaining crap. I will try to come up with something non-formulaic. A story that features hundreds of demented ninjas abseiling from the ceiling of a huge cave, the rediscovery of a long-forgotten secret and lots and lots of shagging.
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In the meantime, I think I'll visit a large cemetery, take photographs and contemplate eternity.
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