i feel like i can’t remember how i feel

So now that I’ve finally found my voice, I can begin to write that Marginal American Novel.

I think its major theme will be The Search for Personal Identity.

Because, quite frankly, I still haven’t figured out who the hell I am.

So in addition to its being the Marginal American Novel, it’ll also be therapy for me.

Because I sure as hell can’t afford a therapist.

Besides, I already know what a therapist would tell me if I went to one.

They would tell me I’m still a child and I’m still not ready for adulthood.

There, I juat diagnosed myself.  I’m cured!

So anyway, my protagonist [Okay, you might as well say it's me] is on this search for personal identity.  He strikes out into The World alone.  Tries to break from society’s conventions.  Grapples with the notions of loss of personal control and whether people can change their situations in life or whether they are in the grips of forces beyond their control, blah blah blah…

What do I know?  I’ve never written a novel before.

But I have read a few here and there.  Now and then.  Whenever the spirit or martinis moves me.

I especially like novels that don’t have a lot of big words in them or sound like they were written a hundred years ago by some highly educated over-achieving European aristocrat.

Okay, so I’m shallow.  Sue me.

The point is, my novel’s not going to have a lot of words.

I know most novels are like at least a couple hundred pages long, but, man, I just don’t have the time to be writing that many words.  I’m working a full-time job and I only have a couple hours a night to work on the damn thing.  By nine o’clock, I’m ready for bed.

So you can see my dilemma.

And on top of that, I’m going to be forty-five years old in December, so I’m not exactly a wunderkind.  Of course, I’m not exactly a wundermensch, either.  There’s hardly anything wunder about me at all.  And that’s not an easy thing for a guy like me to admit.  It’s bad enough you got me to admit that I don’t know who the hell I am.

Like it’s a crime to be forty-five and not know who you are.

Do you know who you are?

You don’t even look like you know where you are.

Me, I’m in a six-hundred square foot subsidized apartment with leaky faucets and a family of mice living inside my bedroom closet wall.

Nice, heh?

And I keep getting these goddamn bug bites on my legs and arms.  I don’t know if they’re mosquitos or spiders or bedbugs, but they’re pissing me off!

So, as you can see, I have a hell of a lot of obstacles that are getting in the way of me writing the Marginal American Novel; which, at this point is probably going to end up being the Marginal American Novella or Short Story or Poem.  Or whatever’s shorter than a poem.

A slogan maybe?

Can you write about somebody who’s searching for personal identity in the form of a slogan?

Oh yeah, Nike did it, didn’t they?  “Just Do It.”

Okay, well, there’s always variations on a theme.

Every writer steals from every other writer.  Shakespeare stole from the Greeks.  George Harrison stole from the Chiffons.  Milton Berle stole from Bob Hope.

Me, I think I’ll steal from Moses.

Hey, it’s the greatest story ever told, right?

Better I should steal from Moses than from say the writers of “Hello, Larry.”

I mean I would at least like a shot at being reviewed by somebody at the New York Times.  I don’t care if it’s the obituary writer, for Chrissakes, I’m not choosey.

I just gotta come up with a plot now.

I mean, I sort of kind of have a plot.

I just have to figure out how to resolve my inner conflicts.

Errr, I mean my protagonist’s inner conflicts.

Which are…

I’m glad you asked.

Somebody once told me there are anywhere from one to thirty-six plots in all of literature.

I have no idea what they are.  I’ll let you go on Wikipedia to find that out.

But because the major theme of my novel is The Search for Personal Identity, I just have to find out my identity.  I mean, my protagonist’s identity.  And then I’ll have my novel.

Apparently, there’s like a beginning, a middle, and an end to every story, so…

I just have to find the…

Whaddaya they call it?

Structure?

I think that’s what they call it.

I don’t want you to think this is easy for me.  It’s not.  At all. I mean, quite frankly, I usually get migraines and boils on my a*s from trying to be creative.

I don’t even think Hemingway got migraines or boils on his a*s when he was trying to be creative.

But I do.

Not that that makes me a better writer than Hemingway.  God knows I’m not.  I’m just saying…

I don’t know what I’m saying… probably because I’m drunk… but so was Hemingway.

Some of the time.  I don’t want any lawsuits.

Besides, I have no money.  I’m a parking lot attendant.

I know it’s not the most glamorous job in the world, but it’s better than my last job.  I was a janitor at a porno theater.

Talk about a self-esteem buster.

Not that it fills me with confidence to be sitting inside a tiny booth calculating parking charges and collecting fees from customers, but, it’s a hell of a lot better than mopping up dried semen.

And it gives me a lot of time to think about my novel.

Which I’m sure I’ll start any day now.

Reviews

[roarke]

I might recommend, audio books or live podcasts… as for finding ones self… it’s a lot like hide and seek… but you’re always “it”… it seems if you are not well healed, or politically connected, then the best advice is when all the lemmings are running hell bent for the cliff edge… walk slowly and calmly in the opposite direction… no one’s gonna notice ya… but it makes dining on that cheese and onion sammich more digestible. This write is all about feeling… now, like Pandora, get all that stuff back in the box and market it on EBay. Who knows?

[Philip Gaber]

Dude, I listen to podcasts all the f****n' time. Rogan, Brand, Howie Mandel, etc...loads of them. I wish they were around when I was a kid. All I had were AM radio talk shows. The only host who ever made me laugh in those days was a dude named Tom Leykis. He's still around. Have to check in with him. Everything's packed very efficiently in
corrugated boxes held shut by blue masking tape. Ces't la vie and all dat bullshit!

[emmajoygreen]

' Grapples with the notions of loss of personal control and whether people can change their situations in life or whether they are in the grips of forces beyond their control, blah blah blah… '

And so we start, the thrill of self-analysing on the journey of witty, searching, abnormal paths to a great novel. Enjoyed this exchange between protagonist and Self - in fact much of the conversation makes a lot more sense than the norm! Your dry wit is something needed these days, so much - too much unfunny, crass and more stuff put out to entertain but rarely does.

'But I do.
Not that that makes me a better writer than Hemingway. God knows I’m not. I’m just saying…I don’t know what I’m saying… probably because I’m drunk… but so was Hemingway. Some of the time. I don’t want any lawsuits.' :)

Thank you for cheering up a dull, wet day by brightening a stormy night Summer might visit the morrow.

[Philip Gaber]

Thanks, Emmajoy. Thank you for your time and your comment.

[emmajoygreen]

You're welcome. Am anything but an 'academic' reviewer but I do know what wit means!

[Philip Gaber]

THANK YOU! F**k academics is my motto. How are you doing today?

[emmajoygreen]

Tis 05.36 in the UK and didn't expect an response quite like that!! My day has yet to begin. Have been on a Helpline, had erratic rest times in here. Now on countdown for six a.m. Will let you know about today when today has passed into rest mode!

[Philip Gaber]

UK, heh? Some say I'm an Anglophile. I would agree—especially the rock musicians % and actors from every little burg in and around Londontown and beyond into Shakespeareland. I hope your day is lovelier than a spider's at dawn, Emmajo. I'll write later. Cheerio.

[emmajoygreen]

Dire Straits, Black Sabbath, The Who, Pink Floyd, etc. Know and enjoy them via sharing my oldest brother's music choice. In fact have many of Joshua's vinyl in my attic! Guess Dire Straits and Pink Floyd are my joint no. 1

[Philip Gaber]

Nice, girl!!!

[emmajoygreen]

Laughing, almost missed the comma between those two words! Been sorting two gardens for local ladies, back tired, spirit smiling. :)

[Philip Gaber]

That's cute.

[emmajoygreen]

It's great to be outdoors when UK weather is kin, PLUS am happy to help out. Although earn by landscaping (or catering) but will only accept cakes or cookies from local people.. although do not ask for anything - tho' a smile is acceptable!

[Philip Gaber]

This sounds like an episode from Doc Martin!