trance novel

I wrote some sentences for my book about Juliette Lewis and Robert DeNiro in the remake of Cape Fear.  I worried about whether I am digging myself into a hole, writing a novel with practically no variation of pace, or if that’s just what it sounds like when I read it to myself.  I tell myself I can change it up any time I want but then I go back in there and it’s the same rhythm as the last ten pages, as if I didn’t want to change it up, as if I just forgot I was going to try that.  Maybe it’ll be a trance novel and all the kids will get high to it.  I put some notes in an order like bricks knowing I’m going to plaster it all out into one seamless thumping block.

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2 Responses to trance novel

  1. Tim Ramick says:

    I suppose I think changes in rhythm are mostly overrated, as if writers are supposed to be baseball pitchers and fool the readers with changes of speed. I’m drawn to writers like Beckett and Mann and Dostoevsky and Stein and Robbe-Grillet and Proust et al who seem to have one measure and wield it with tenacity and ferocity. Same with music such as Coltrane’s Ascension and almost all of Morton Feldman’s massive compositions. Get in there and stick with it. Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! is another great example—everyone talks like Quentin thinks (no surprise, considering), and yet the grueling stridency of it all is partially what makes it so delightful to me. The ocean at Cape Fear does its usual thing (most days and nights) and never sacrifices one smidgen of its mystery.

    I’m always eager to read your musings, Lucy, and await your new book as an antidote for disillusionment.

    Meanwhile, I’ll lurk here.

  2. lucy says:

    Thanks Tim. Just truly thanks for being here.

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