narrators and me

I have a cd of the audiobook version of my first book, my novel, done by a really nice woman with a lovely voice.  I am very moved that she decided to do it, very glad it is in the world, and I did hear a clip so I’m pretty sure she did a superb job.  I have been thinking that I’m supposed to listen to it, in appreciation of another artist’s work and attention to mine.  But I want to keep the book cozily in my past, my first book, little pumpkin, and isn’t it creepy to listen to a person read your whole book?

Now for art I’m making a new book, several good work days in a row, so happy.  Letting this chapter draft settle and meanwhile making to do lists for revision, categorizing my notes.  My narrator is coming together, my unreliable third person, just shy of dramatized, just shy of “I” but says “um” also stays just shy of direct address, but can slide right up to the universal “you” in desperate moments.  So, always barely contained this side of metafiction.  But I’m also blurring the other side of pov/narration, the one attached to a real live writer, privately honoring the literal events that the book comes out of with little codes, for the names of some people, for example, for the literal me.

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2 Responses to narrators and me

  1. Jeremy Hawkins says:

    Reading through these entries, I can’t help but picture you approaching art as though it’s an elderly neighbor, and each day you feel the need to do something nice for him, like bake a pie or prune his hedges, but some days you’re just annoyed you don’t have a neighbor that can take care of himself. Or maybe you’re worried your pie taste funny? I don’t know, but I’m enjoying the blurbs and the way your writing makes me think of art and duty.

  2. lucy says:

    gosh I think that’s about it… that poor man…

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