Chapter 6: Test Marketing The Concept

How would the world react to his writing a self-referential metanovel? He didn’t care when he had started writing, but in what he thought would be the third-to-the-last draft but actually was the twentieth-to-the-last, he started to wonder. There was one good way to find out. “Excuse me?” Asked a young woman at the cocktail party he’d just imagined. “Have we met?” “No,” he said. “I don’t believe we have.” “You seem familiar,” she said. “I just don’t know where I’ve seen you. What do you do?” “I’m writing a self-referential metanovel,” he said. “It’s going to be called Self-referential metanovel Writing for Dmmies: a self-referential metanovel.” “How very interesting,” she said. “Jim?” She tapped the shoulder of the man she was with. He turned from the conversation he’d been having. “Jim, this man is writing a self-referential metanovel.” “You’re writing a self-referential metanovel!” Jim said, surprised. “I am,” I said. “What a novel idea!” Jim said. Then quickly apologized. “No problem,” I said. “I don’t mean to be pushy,” Jim said, “but can we be in your metanovel.” “I think Jim would be a great addition to your self-referential metanovel,” said the woman. “He’s a professor of English Literature at a university that I don’t have legal clearance to name. And I would be a great addition, to your metanovel, too. I don’t have Jim’s academic credentials, but I’m hot.” “Certainly,” I said. “I’ll put you both in Chapter 6, which I’ll call Test Marketing The Concept.” “Wonderful,” said Jim. “Hey everyone! This guy is writing a self-referential metanovel. If you’d like to be in it, come on over.” “A metanovel!” Someone said. “A self-referential metanovel,” Jim corrected. People began to converge on the the group, more and more as word rippled through the hun­ dreds of elegant, intelligent, imaginary people at the imaginary cocktail party. “Here,” said the woman who had first approached him. She took out a piece of paper. “Here’s my number. Please call me. I just have this crazy feeling about you and me. I feel like I know you from somewhere. I just can’t remember where.” He took the paper and put it in his pocket. He too felt he knew her but couldn’t remember from where either. Their memory lapse was strange because every time he edited the metanovel, they would start to become intimate in A Necessary Sex Scene, which he’d first written in draft many drafts prior to the draft in which the first draft of the cocktail party had first appeared, and which would end up later in this draft, and also in the final metanovel, on page 49. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies They’d both been in that scene dozens of times, but as soon as anyone turned page 49, and went to the next page, they’d forget about it. “Brilliant!” he said to himself again. “Stupid,” said his inner critic. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Ego Amok “Your ego is running amok,” said my inner critic. “You’re writing this book because you want to be admired and famous. You need to get yourself under control and stop indulging in these fantasies.” The author’s inner critic was wrong. The author had an inflatable ego, currently inflated to medium-large. He would not be displeased if he was admired and famous. But fantasies like that were peripheral motivations. They were not fundamental. He’d originally started writing as a joke and jokes were more fundamental to him than fame. He’d continued because he’d dis­ covered there was something that he really wanted to say. Then finishing became his goal. And then something happened that pushed the metanovel to completion. “I know what it was,” said a reader who had skipped to the end. “Please don’t tell them,” said the metanovel. “I think it’s better if it’s a surprise.” Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies