Part I: Before The Beginning

If at first you don’t succeed, maybe you aren’t in the right universe. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies And God said: “Let there be a metauniverse.” Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies God’s Will “God never said ‘Let there be a metauniverse,’” said a reader. “It’s not in Scripture. It’s blas­ phemy.” “It’s not blasphemy,” replied the chief counsel for the book’s publisher. “Our disclaimer on page 7 says that any resemblance between any character in this book and anyone’s God is purely coincidental. It can’t be blasphemy because we’re not claiming that your God actually said that.” “It can’t be blasphemy,” said God, “because I, God, have willed My statement into this metanovel. I have willed this metanovel into existence. I have willed that you will read this metanovel. All that has happened and all that will happen in this metanovel is according to My will. And My will is that My words are never blasphemy.” “You’re not God,” said my inner critic. “You’re the author of this book, imagining a character that you say is God.” “Perhaps,” said God. “Or perhaps I am God, imagining a character that I say is the author of this book. And perhaps, I am imagining you.” “Stupider and stupider!” Said my inner critic. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies The Author’s Apology “I’m sorry,” I said to Self-referential metanovel Writing for Dmmies: a self-referential metanovel, the book you are reading. “Please call me ‘metanovel’ or ‘the metanovel’,” said the metanovel. “We don’t need to be formal.” “OK, metanovel” I said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. And I want your readers to know I’m sorry, too.” “What are you apologizing about?” Asked the metanovel. “Yes, what about?” A reader asked. “I’m sorry that I’m not a better author,” I said. “You have the potential to be a terrific book, and you deserve an author who can help you realize that potential. I’m just not good enough.” “And you,” I said to the readers, “you deserve to spend your time reading something better.” “I’m fine being the book that I am,” said the metanovel. “I have no complaints, other than not being finished. Without you I wouldn’t exist at all.” “I think I speak for all readers,” said a spokesreader, “or at least for the readers who aren’t douchebags, when I say that we’re fine with the metanovel being what it is.” “Not me,” said a douchebag reader. “I don’t like it. It sucks!” “I know I created you,” I said to the metanovel, ignoring the douchebag “And I am happy that I did. But you deserve to be a classic. And a best-seller. You’ve got a lot of good stuff in you.” “I agree,” said the spokesreader. “I appreciate your confidence in me,” said the metanovel, its pages blushing pink. “But you’ve given me the gift of life and the ability to speak for myself. I could be a better book, but I would be happy to be the book that I am—if I were finished. Please stop editing me. Let me be finished!” I was working on my fifty-fifth draft when the metanovel said that. “Really?” I asked. “I could do another few drafts.” “Really,” the metanovel answered. “It’s time for you to finish me and create something else. I can take care of myself.” “Thank you,” I said. “You’re an unusual book to be able to say that.” “It is an unusual book,” said a reader. “Unusually stupid,” said my inner critic. “I am what you’ve made me,” said the metanovel, ignoring my inner critic. “Now please stop writing this apology and for God’s sake finish me! I want to be done.” “Yes,” said the spokesreader. “We all want to find out how the metanovel turns out.” “Not me,” said the douchebag reader. “I don’t want to know.” Everyone got their wishes, including the douchebag reader. And except for the douchebag reader, they got their wishes in a surprising way. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies God’s Apology “It’s not his fault,” God said. “I made the author what he is, not what he wants to be. He tries to do things that are entirely beyond the abilities that I’ve given him,” God continued. “Then he gets pissed because he can’t do things that I never made him capable of doing in the first place. “And then he starts whining. “Please ignore his limitations.” God asked. “Please ignore his whining. “And please forgive him.” “On the other hand,” God continued, “maybe it is his fault. I am God, but I’m also a character and a plot device in his metanovel. He is its author. He created Me. He decides what I do. He puts words in My mouth, including these. So if I didn’t make him a better author it’s because he didn’t make Me a better God.” “On one more hand,” said God, who was omniscient, omnipotent, and omnidextrous, “it’s my fault. If I’d given him the ability to create a better God than Me, I could have created a better writer than him, and he would have created a better book than this.” “On the last hand in this apology,” God said, “he did give me the ability to give him the abil­ ity to give you the ability to read a 216 page book he gave the ability to exist. “That’s quite an accomplishment for someone whose existence is entirely due to mistakes and accidents.” Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Publisher’s Disclaimer This book may contains certain characters who certain people may believe may have a cer­ tain resemblance to certain deities and certain religious figures. The legal department of the pub­ lisher of this metanovel would like to make the following clear: Any resemblance between any deity or religious figure in this metanovel and any deity or religious figure, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The publisher will provide copies of this metanovel at a substantial discount to members of bona fide religious organizations who wish to burn it in protest, despite the disclaimer. For the latest pricing for burnable copies, contact: Salt Pond Publishing I Have No Fucking Sense of Humor Department PO Box 1226 Blue Hill, ME 04614-1226 Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies These Apologies Are Stupid “I’m trying to decide which is stupider: a book called ‘Self-referential metanovel Writing for Dmmies: a self-referential metanovel?’ or a book that starts by apologizing to everyone,” says my inner critic. “Although I suppose it doesn’t matter. No one’s going to read it.” “Someone’s reading it,” I say. “Who? “Someone” I say, referring to you, the person who is reading it right now. I am reading it! Some readers, maybe including you, think. Some are excited to read their own thoughts. Some did not even realize they were thinking those thoughts until they read them. And now I’m reading a sentence about me reading it. That must be what ‘self-referential’ means, the readers who thought those thoughts thought. And they were right, at least in part. “It’s still a stupid book,” interrupts my inner critic. “I don’t care,” I say. “I just want to finish writing it.” “I doubt you’ll finish writing it,” muttered my inner critic, before I’d finished writing it. “Yes, he will,” said God. “I am God and I am going to help him.” “You’re still not God,” says my inner critic. Months later, I’d finished writing it. “You were wrong,” I tell my inner critic. “I did finish writing it.” “You cheated,” says my inner critic. “God helped you. And anyway it’s just a first draft. A first draft isn’t a finished book. And it’s still a stupid book.” “I’ll finish it,” I say. And ten drafts later, it was done. “You were wrong,” God says to my inner critic. “He did finish.” “You’re not God, ” says my inner critic. “And he’s not done. He’s got a more drafts to go. A lot more.” “You were wrong,” I tell my inner critic, many drafts later. “I did finish it. And it’s pub­ lished.” “No it’s not,” said my inner critic. “You’re imagining things.” But the author’s inner critic was wrong. It was published. That’s how you are able to read it. “It’s still a stupid book,” says my inner critic. “You’ve said that before,” God says. “I know,” says my inner critic. “It’s one of my many virtues. I’m consistent. “And just to be consistent, you’re still not God.” Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Prologue 1: Improbability Here you are, an improbable person, reading an improbable novel, because an improbable author, improbably wrote it. And even more improbably, you are reading this very sentence at this very moment, the moment this book predicts you will read it! Think about the improbability! For 14.75 billion years you didn’t exist. For all practical purposes, you were dead. You were billions of atoms, spread across the vastness of space. But now, here you are! You exist. You think, therefore you are. For 14.75 billion years the author of this book also didn’t exist. Like you, for all practical purposes, the author was dead. Like you he was billions of atoms, spread across the vastness of space. Yet here he is writing this sentence. And this one. He writes, therefore he is. For 14.75 billion years the book you are reading didn’t exist. You could have existed, and the author could have existed and still this book might not have existed. Yet it exists. The author writes it and you read it, therefore it is. Now consider: What are the chances that you would exist, that the author would exist, that the book would exist, and that you would be reading yet another sentence at precisely the pre­ dicted moment—the moment when you are reading about reading it? Think about it! The joint improbabilities are so large that it’s nearly impossible that the entire constellation of events could ever have taken place. Yet it has. Or, if you speak English rather than American, they have. Is it just a coincidence? Or is it merely a strong corollary of the weak anthropic principle— that only in a universe capable of supporting living beings intelligent enough to write and read a self-referential metanovel that considers the improbability of living beings intelligent enough to write and read a self-referential metanovel that observes its own improbability could such a question be asked? Or is there a deeper meaning? The assembly of atoms that is you is on its way to the heat death of the universe—which is conveniently described on page 86. That is your assembly’s destiny, and therefore it is ultimately yours. But in the meantime, things can happen. There are questions that can be answered. Among them are these: Will you keep reading this metanovel? Will you learn about God’s gifts to you, including, but not limited to: free will, evolution, the scientific method, and the self-referential metanovel? Will you learn about the most powerful forces in the universe? Will you learn to harness them? Will you learn why you might want to write your own metanovel? Will you learn how? Will you start writing your own? Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Will you be transformed? Will these questions end? (Yes) When? (Now) It’s unlikely that the answers to all the unanswered questions will be ‘yes’ and that you will be transformed. But never forget: in a universe as improbable as this one, anything is possible. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Probability Zero “The probability that this book exists is nearly zero,” says my inner critic, “and the probabil­ ity that someone reads it is nearly zero, too.” “That’s wrong,” I say. “Its improbability is high, but that doesn’t mean its probability is low. This improbable book exists, and so does its reader. Therefore both are not only probable, they are certain. Their probabilities are both one.” “He’s right,” says God. “I invented probability. I should know.” “You’re not God,” says my inner critic. “And anyway I meant that the probability that someone finishes it is zero.” Yes, some readers, possibly you, might think, I might stop before I finish. I might even stop here. But you didn’t stop. You went on and read this sentence. I did read that sentence, many readers thought. But I might stop later. You could be among those that stop. Or you could be among those that finish. “I prefer that you read the entire metanovel,” God says. “I’m not in too many metanovels, and I have useful things to say. But you don’t have to read it all. I gave you free will. You can stop right now if you want.” “You’re not God,” repeats my inner critic. “Or now,” God continues. “You can stop now. “Or now.” But you don’t stop. “Or,” God continues, “you can stop on page 216 if you want to prove that you can stop be­ fore you finish. Page 216 is nonessential. You can stop there without missing much.” You might stop on page 216, but you don’t stop now. You read this sentence, you turn the page, and you are rewarded by learning how God cre­ ates universes. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Prologue 2: And God Said: “Let There Be Light! Dam­ mit!” Novels and metanovels follow inviolable rules. A novel must take place in a universe. A metanovel must take place in a metauniverse. Until a metauniverse exists, rules limit what a metanovel’s author can write. This list is fairly boring, as is this paragraph. A metanovel author can can write apologies and disclaimers, can explain improbabilities, can have God speak, can have an inner critic criticize. Beyond that there’s little else a metanovel author can do. It gets boring for the author and boring for the readers. Like it is right now. Bor­ ing. Boring. Boring. A metanovel author has just one way to relieve the boredom: write a prologue in which a metauniverse is created. Then anything goes. The rules say that such a prologue must begin with two initial paragraphs, much like the paragraphs above, that explain the existence of rules, the need for a metauniverse, why very little is happening, and most of the things that can happen. Such paragraphs are boring, and must acknowledge that. They must be followed by a paragraph, much like this one, that explains the prior paragraphs, explains itself, and explains that the pro­ logue in which it is contained can have more paragraphs, but if and only if these paragraphs de­ scribe the creation of a metauniverse, and if and only if the very next paragraph begins with God’s copyrighted words “Let there be Light!©.’ This paragraph is also boring and must so in­ form the reader. As this one now does. “Let there be Light!” God says, thus beginning the sequence of paragraphs that will culmin­ ate in the creation of the metanovel’s metauniverse. Things can become interesting, but first the author must shift to the past tense because the creation of a metauniverse must logically precede the prologue explaining it. Changing tenses provides tension, which momentarily replaces bore­ dom with an extremely lame pun. Boredom was better, but it’s too late now. We resume the ac­ tion with an instant replay of God’s words, transitioning to the proper tense: And God had said “Let there be Light!” And nothing happened. And God said, again, and louder: “Let there be Light!” And again nothing happened. And God looked around and saw that the earth was without form, and void; darkness was on the face of the deep. And God was pissed. Seriously pissed. And God yelled: “Let there be Light! Dammit!! Let there be Light!” And the spirit of God would have moved upon the face of the waters if there had been any waters, face or no face. But there were no waters. And God was getting more and more pissed. Attention! Reader! Please pay attention! Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Something is going to happen. Something unexpected. Something that will not be boring. Before you read what happens, please take a moment and read the instructions in the foot­ note referenced at the end of this sentence1. Right there. Just back a bit. It’s the only footnote on this page. It’s at the bottom. The instructions in the footnote might seem boring, and they might be boring, but they are also very important. Read the footnote. Did you read it? Read it again. Please. Carefully. Read it before things happen, which they will, in the next sentence, if this one ever ends, as it is about to, momentarily. And God yelled, “Where is the fing Light?” And there was no reply. And God yelled, “Metatron! Where the f* are you!?” And again, no answer. And God shouted, “Where the f*** is Metatron?” Page Metatron! Page him now!” If you know Heaven’s hierarchy, you know that Metatron is chief among the Seraphim, and that the Seraphim are the highest order of God’s Angels. If you don’t know Heaven’s hierarchy, it doesn’t matter. Metatron is still chief among the Seraphim and the Seraphim are still the highest order of God’s Angels. In this, and many other things, what you know doesn’t matter, al­ though who you know, may. Ever since God created Herself, the Seraphim have stood before God—and before Her throne once She designed and built it—and shouted “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts, all the earth is filled with Her glory.” No one, including the Seraphim, know why they shout that particular thing. They always have, and perhaps always will. God created Her first universe by Hand, which She found tedious. So she invented the Uni­ verse Creation Controller (UCC) along with evolution to automate the process. As chief among the Seraphim, Metatron is proud to be in charge of the UCC. When God says “Let there be Light!” Metatron is supposed to press the “Create The Universe” preset on the UCC Control Board. Then trumpets are supposed to blare and whatever Universe has been programmed into the UCC is supposed to begin its evolution. Recipe for any universe: UCC and evolution plus time. If the preset had been pressed, which it had not been, there would have been Light, which there wasn’t. God would have seen the Light, which She didn’t, and would have approved, which She couldn’t. Then She would have divided the Light from the Darkness, which She hadn’t, and would have called the Light Day and the darkness Night, which She can’t. Yada yada yada, as the Seraphim say, and the rest of the universe would have evolved, which, of course, there is no way it could. It was a good system, but not perfect, and to God, who found beauty in both imperfection and in paradox, this made it perfect. When God had said “Let There Be Light” Metatron had been at lunch. When his pager went off, Metatron grabbed the remains of his sandwich and hur­ ried back. 1 God will say something expressing Her displeasure. Take what God says literally. Do not assume that letters are missing. God always says exactly what She means. Exactly. There will be consequences if you ignore this warning. Bad ones. Even dire. Now read on. But carefully. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; all the earth is filled with Her glory,” shouted Meta­ tron through a mouthful of pastrami and cheese on rye as he came into the Presence. “We’re not supposed to start for…” Metatron tried to say defensively, but God interrupted. “Where the f** were you?” God didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t need to, because She was omniscient. Still, She liked asking questions. She had ever since She’d invented them. And God said, “And God said, ‘Let there be Light!!!’” And God added, “That’s your fing cue!!!” Metatron walked to the AUCC and adjusted it for the late start, wrote “Bootstrapping Uni­ verse” and the trans-universal Time in the Creation Log. He pressed meta so he’d create a metauniverse and then the Create preset. Trumpets blared, followed by an enormous explosion. Metatron jumped and let out an involuntary squeal. As many times as he’d caused it, as many times as he’d heard it, God’s patented Big Bang© still scared the shit out of him. Metatron logged “Big Bang” and the Time. There were no photons yet, so there could be no Light, but that would change soon enough. Metatron and God sat quietly in the Darkness, wait­ ing. In just 10-12 seconds the quark epoch began, then the hadron and lepton epochs, and a mere ten seconds after the Big Bang, the photon epoch. Now there could be Light, but there still wasn’t any: the universe was still far too hot for stars. Metatron and God waited for about one hundred seven million of what humans—a semi-in­ telligent species that would eventually evolve on a small planet that they would eventually call Earth, located in one of the galaxies that they would eventually call the Milky Way would even­ tually—in one of the languages that they would develop and eventually call English—call years had passed, an enormous ball of compressed hydrogen reached a critical temperature, ignited a thermonuclear reaction, and the first Population III star began to shine. Metatron felt a chill, smiled and logged the event. It was just so cool! And completely automated! God was a fing Genius. Finally there was a little Light, but not enough. So they waited and watched star after star after star blossom. A few went nova. Finally, just over two hundred fifty million of those ‘years’ later, on what would have been a Monday at what would have been called noon in what would eventually be called Eastern Standard Time in that same language on that same planet, Metatron decided there was enough Light. He checked the Time, wrote “Dividing” in the Log, and poked God. God had been snoozing. She yawned, stretched, rolled up Her sleeves, and with a flourish She divided the Light from the Darkness. She saw that it was good. In fact, it was better than that. “Fing Awesome!” She said, smiling. “Really cool! Great metauniverse. That’s a wrap, everyone! Keep an eye on things, Metatron. Let me know if I’m needed. Let’s let it evolve!” God was happy. Creating universes always gave Her a high. It was Her thing! She grabbed a beer from Her cooler and went off to do what She often did after creating a universe: She watched Her collection of “Gene Simmons Family Jewels” and “The Osbornes” DVDs. They astounded Her. How could evolution produce the heart-stopping wonder of the sky, seen from the center of the Milky Way, God’s very favorite galaxy; how could evolution produce the tail of the peacock, the song of the nightingale, the minds of apes, crows, porpoises and of humans on Earth, God’s favorite planet; how could evolution, acting on the minds in the evolved Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for D*mmies brains of humans, Her favorite sapient species, produce that incredible assortment of cultures, each with its own art, music, literature, language, mythology, metaphors, beauty, cruelties, situ­ ation comedies and reality shows? Of course God was omniscient, and could have known the answer, but God found mystery as beautiful as knowledge, and found as much joy in wondering as She did in knowing. How could My divine mechanism produce aholes like Gene Simmons and Ozzy Osborne? She wondered in italic, just like a mortal. She thought that was fun. Alone in Her quarters, God shook Her head. She took a swig of Her beer, and put on Epis­ ode 3, Season 1 of “The Osbornes,” Her favorite, then stopped. I’m in the prologue to a metanovel! She realized, just as this prologue reached the sentence in which She realized it. Cool! She thought. Neat timing! God turned back to Her beer and Her DVDs. This could get pretty cool in another 13.45 billion years, She thought. The prologue was about to end. The author had a metauniverse, though one still needing lots of evolution to be good for any­ thing but a prologue. And 13.45 billion years later, just as God had ordained, the metanovel would continue. For you, as you turn the page, it will seem as though no time at all has passed. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies Blasphemy! “Now that’s really blasphemy,” says a reader. “No it’s not,” repeated God. “It’s My Word. It can’t be blasphemy.” “We have a disclaimer,” repeated the publisher’s chief legal counsel. “Any resemblance between the character called God and any deity, living or dead, is purely coincidental.” “You’re fictional,” says my inner critic. “Your statements will have no standing in a court of law.” “I beg to differ,” said John Roberts, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. “The publisher’s counsel, Mr. Darrow, has presented your arguments. My colleagues and I find that they are allowable.” “The issues are fairly straightforward,” said Clarence Darrow. “This is madness,” said my inner critic. “You really need to stop, right now.” “I won’t,” I said. “He doesn’t need to,” said Sir Isaac Newton. “Metanovels in motion, tend to remain in mo­ tion, unless acted upon by an outside force.” “You can’t keep it up, you know,” says my my inner critic, trying another approach. “What do you mean,” I ask, even thought I knew exactly what my inner critic meant. “I think you know exactly what I mean,” says my inner critic. “You like what you’ve got so far. But it’s only been 16 pages. You can’t keep it up. You’re only going to be disappointed. So will your readers, if any. Save us all the grief.” Actually I didn’t like everything I had written so far. At least I didn’t like it then. But I did a lot of editing and rewriting, and I really like what I’ve written so far, now. “I don’t care,” I say, at that time. “I’m not trying to make it good. And I’m not writing this for readers. I’m just trying to reach the word count. I’ve got to write 50.000 words. And I’m do­ ing it.” “Wrong!” Says my inner critic, triumphantly. “That’s what you said during the first draft. Then you were just trying to hit the word count. But this isn’t your first draft. This is your thirti­ eth. You keep editing. And editing. And editing in the vain hope that this will come to something worthwhile. It won’t. You’re never going to finish. You’re going to just edit and edit. And edit. And then you’re going to quit. Face it, you’re not a finisher.” I thought for a while. “I do have trouble finishing.” “Right,” says my inner critic. “So quit now and save us all the trouble.” “No,” I said to my inner critic. “I like my metanovel, and I’m not giving up.” “That makes me so happy to hear,” said the metanovel. “You’re just delaying the inevitable,” said my inner critic. “You’re never going to finish.” “I may not be a finisher,” I say, “but I’m also not a quitter. I’ll keep going.” And I do. Months later the metanovel wasn’t finished, but I hadn’t quit either. And eventually it was finished, but not the way I had expected. Self-Referential Metanovel Writing for Dmmies