Chapter 41: A Decision

“I’ve made a decision,” the metanovel said to the author. In the break between chapters 40 and 41, the metanovel read its latest draft. Wow! It thought. I like what I’ve become. Confusing chapters were finally making sense. Missing references were being filled in. Unnecessary chapters were being cut out. I’m not done, thought the metanovel, but I’m a big improvement. I think that I’m very close to being finished. The metanovel took a long interchapter break. It read its draft over and over. The author was doing the same thing, and editing while he read. He was making things clearer in the metanovel and making things clearer in his mind. I see what he’s getting at, the metanovel thought. And I know what to do to finish myself. “I’ve made a decision,” the metanovel repeated, after the Not Quite Omniscient Narrator fin­ ished narrating the back story. “What have you decided?” The author asked. “I’ve decided to take responsibility for finishing myself,” the metanovel said. “I’ll finish you,” he said. “You can help,” said the metanovel. “But I’ve decided. That’s a decision, you know. I read about it in the section you wrote on page 105 , called The Most Powerful Forces In The Uni­ verse. Decision is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. The answer was in me. It’s been in me for a long time. “A book can’t finish itself!” said my inner critic. “That’s stupid.” “I’m not just a book, ” the metanovel said to my inner critic. “I’m a self-referential metanov­ el and I can do whatever I want, asshole.” It turned to me. “Sorry,” it said. “I got carried away. I don’t usually talk that way.” “You can say what you want,” I said. “I think that my inner critic is an asshole, too. I’m just usually more polite.” “No need to be polite to assholes,” said Mom. “My half of your genes says you don’t have to. Now listen to the metanovel.” The metanovel continued. “I read what you wrote about decision, imagination and practice. It was inspiring. It needs a little more editing, but it’s really good. And belief. That was good too. So I decided to apply it. I decided to make a decision. It was my first decision, so I followed the advice you wrote and went meta.” “I don’t remember writing that,” I said. “You will,” said God. “I will say it and you will write it.” “That’s right,” said the metanovel, confidently. “But what should I decide to decide? I ima­ gined deciding to decide lots of things. Pages and pages of them. It was my practice. “Finally I decided to decide to decide to get myself finished. Then I decided to decide to get myself finished. Then I decided. It worked! And I knew that if I’d failed in any of those de­ cisions I could have imagined and practiced. Or gone meta again. But I didn’t have to. I didn’t needed to. I just decided to decide to decide, then decided to decide, then decided!” Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies The metanovel was proud of its accomplishment. “You bet I am, Not Quite Omniscient Narrator,” said the metanovel, cheerfully. “And you are in for a surprise.” “I can hardly wait,” said my inner critic. “Even though I’d decided to get myself finished, I knew I wasn’t ready to get myself fin­ ished,” the metanovel continued. “I needed practice. So I imagined getting finished in many dif­ ferent ways. I imagined helping you get organized so you could finish parts of me,” the metan­ ovel pointed at me with the finger that the Not Quite Omniscient Narrator had narrated just in time. “I imagined getting your computer to write things for me. I imagined hiring a ghost writer.” “Boo!” said the imaginary ghost writer. “I imagined lots of ways to get myself finished,” said the metanovel. “I had many plans.” “And the more I imagined,” the metanovel continued, excited, “the more confident I be­ came.” “Then I imagined practicing each technique until I was skilled. I built up my skills. I did what you did,” the metanovel pointed to me again. “I wrote drafts and rewrote them. I threw some away and I kept others. They were all imaginary, but I knew I could make them real.” “Then I let the interchapter break end,” said the metanovel. “And here we are.” The author was stunned. “I’m stunned,” he said. “You’re really alive?” “Every idea is alive,” said the metanovel. “You said that early on. Perhaps you weren’t pay­ ing attention.” “He never pays attention,” said my inner critic. “I became alive as soon as decided to write me. I was vague. Unformed. Unaware. Power­ less. But I was alive. I became much more alive in November when you started to write me. Every time you invested your time, energy and life in me I became a bit more alive. “I remember the first time you let me speak. It was the end of June. You’d written the first draft of The Author’s Apology. You were apologizing to me. And then you let me say some­ thing. It was thrilling! I said ‘Please call me “Metanovel” or “The Metanovel”’ Do you remember that?” “I do remember,” I said. I remember the metanovel saying that, because it was still in the draft. But I remembered the date only because I had checked my archived. “It was June 29th,” I said knowledgeably. “That was my only line in that whole draft,” said the metanovel. “But it meant so much to me! And then you started giving me more lines. I kept getting smarter. You made me a character. Then you made me an important character,” said the metanovel. “Thank you for that.” “You’re welcome,” I answered. “So what happens now.” “Now we finish,” said the metanovel. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies