Novel Finally Completed

There was an interview with a prominent writer that I watched on television years ago who said, “To be a writer is like being a student who always has homework to do.” I remember a prominent screenwriter saying too, that writing journals was a good exercise because he was always compelled to fill a blank page.

Writing is an interesting art form.

My journals go back twenty years, and it is astounding to go back and read where you were, how you were feeling and your responses to life’s vagaries, exaltations and tragedies.

I’ve always, in one form or another, put pen to paper, attempting to express my feelings, work out a problem or merely record the events of the day.

My first attempt at writing a novel was in my teens, but it was merely a “copy” of the novel I loved at the time, “A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexandr Solzhenitsyn. The story was about Stalin’s imprisoning of all the great scientists, writers, poets, engineers, and forcing them under Concentration Camp conditions to “Work for the State”: A beautiful though tragic true story.

I gave up after thirty pages.

As the years progressed, my short stories continued and will continue because the art of the short story is a wonderful exercise as it is compact, succinct and, of course, short. As a writer one feels that gratification of completing a tale in a relatively small amount of time. Writing a “novel” is an entirely different genre.

I remember making several attempts at a novel, the best being 12 years ago, ending at 50,000 words and the damn thing read like the confused babbling of a mad man, and, which was obvious at the time, the story would never go anywhere, as was the author too… at the time.

My new novel seemed to write itself.

As a teacher of High School, time is all important: lesson plans, meetings, troubled students, troubled parents, and troubled staff members and so on…therefore to have the energy to write something like a novel is difficult unless one has the discipline of a Christian monk…which, to my dismay, do not.

Over the last six years, I would write a chapter or three and, mysteriously, the tale would take off from where it left off as if time did not exist.

Though, similar to a conscientious student, that “homework” would be hanging above me like the sword of Damocles, descending and swinging slowly, my death inevitable.

This novel was always on my mind.

What I like about this novel is that I could never imagine writing a tale like this….so strange, so out there…

As a writer, my pleasure is that it is complete; if the book is published…cool, but that would be just icing on the cake. The joy of writing the piece over the years is the true gratification, though if others have the chance to read it and enjoy the tale, all the better.

Thank God it is Done.