I Think This Book Is Not A Home

I’m at an interesting place with writing my book. Like Professor Grady Tripp (from the movie version): “It’s done! Well, basically; I’ve still got a little tinkering I gotta do…” Now, of course, that will change if it ever finds its way into the rending claws of an editor; but for now, I’m finding places here and there where adding a line or a short scene, or extending a particular scene, or cutting some lines or a scene, all just tweaks the story a little bit, and brings in elements that I’m realizing I want/need.

And it’s fun; kinda like building a huge house, and all the plumbing and electrical work is done – now I’m just decorating and painting the walls. Maybe the walls are even painted. It’s ready to “live” in, it’s just not a “home” yet, filled with all my personal knick-knacks, and maybe some floral arrangements. I’m secure in my manhood, and some greenery brings life to what might be an otherwise dull home.

And I’m not saying my book is a dull home – I rather like it. But I’ve also been living in it longer than any of you, and I’ve gotten quite used to it. I know where everything is, and I like it there; and I think I have a few interesting gewgaws tucked away unobtrusively in the corners that some people touring might notice and think: “Wow, that’s really cool!”

But I have been living in it longer than any of you – even my fiancée, who has declared to me that she’s ready for me to move on; I mean, she has read probably five versions of chapter one. And I’m uncertain if anyone else might enjoy living in it, even for a few days. So I’m opening it to some select, discerning friends to take a tour of the house, see if it’s ready for the market.

That, at least, is one place where the metaphor flips: people looking for a nice house are looking for somewhere to stay. And, in a sense, with an entire series planned I do want them to be comfortable enough in my world to want to stay. But, really, the true measure might not be how long they stay, but how quickly they tour the house. “I just couldn’t put it down” is, after all, supremely higher praise than: “I just couldn’t pick it up.” I can’t say I’m looking for people to lose sleep over it – the best book I’ve ever read, Card’s Ender’s Game, was absolutely riveting; but it still took me two days to read it. At the same time, I hope they return for the knick-knacks and floral arrangements – those little tweaks I’m working in now that give the book its “replay value,” to mix in a gaming metaphor. Games with low replay-value are ones where the gamer catches everything the game offers in one play-through. Books with low re-read value are the same way – and generally have the suffix “genre-“ attached to them. Games with high replay-value, on the opposite hand, are games which are so expansive and so detailed in gaming and plot that there is no earthly way to get everything out of just one play-through.

I would suggest – not argue, just yet, but suggest – that books with high re-read values are the ones that are so “true” that a reader’s context will change their perception of the book. That a scene, read ten months after the first reading when the reader’s life and circumstances have changed, will carry new meaning that it could not carry – not for that individual reader – when it was first read ten months ago.

So that’s what I’m trying to do: add contexts, details, ideas and themes that will resonate differently at different times in a reader’s life. We’ll see how that goes.

See you Monday.