By my count I’ve written 36 “Notes from a Decrepit Boat Ramp” since last April, posting every Sunday with only three weeks off for good behavior, a.k.a. travel and holidays.
Though it surely isn’t clear from my Notes, I have always shied away from memoir - I still do, in its traditional form - but I admit these short essays have been stand-ins for that, revealing more of myself than I thought I would or have ever done before. Sometimes I’ve had difficulty deciding what to write about, but I haven’t regretted writing any of them.
Fiction, however, is my business (like ‘mankind’ was Jacob Marley’s in A Christmas Carol, though he learned his lesson too late). I feel at home in fiction. I believe I’m at my best when putting characters on the page who are NOT me, and making those characters do things that I have never done.
So starting on January 8, I want to try something different for a while, and I hope that you will play along (for play is what I hope it will be).
Every Sunday, in place of an essay, I’ll post an episode (read “chapter”) of a prequel to my recent novel, The Grievers’ Group, The episodes will be roughly the length of my essays, so reading them shouldn’t take much more of your time.
Though I’m no Charles Dickens, I want to emulate what the great man did in London back in his day, with his episodic novels. Unlike Dickens, however, I will annotate my episodes, either in a postscript or through a mechanism Substack has called, inventively, ‘Chat.’ By ‘annotate’ I mean that I will own up to whatever autobiography there is, and otherwise reveal the inside dope of a scene. You can then comment or not comment as you will (or won’t).
This is an experiment. I will call it“The Anatomy of a Novel,” though the book you’ll end up reading, if you stick with me, will forego an actual title for a while. Maybe we’ll name it together when we’re done.
My only hint is that those of you who read The Grievers’ Group already know my main grieving character, Cornelius MacLeish, and in this prequel you’ll get to see him during his younger life.
If you haven’t read The Grievers’ Group you won’t be at a disadvantage, of course, for any work of fiction must stand (or fall) on its own.
I’ll write some nonfiction “Notes” of the kind I have been writing, too, but only occasionally, on the theory that too much of ‘me’ is not a good thing.
Thanks to everyone who has joined me over the past nine months. My great hope is that you’ll enjoy what’s coming.
If you happen to be new to my Substack page and feel the urge, you can, of course, go back and read any of the 36 essays that might grab your attention.
Here’s to a wonderful holiday and a happy beginning to 2023 for everyone.
See you again on January 8!
Postscript…
Thanks, also, to those who wrote me, on Substack or privately, concerning last week’s essay about my mom, whom I think had a mental condition called Munchausen syndrome by proxy. One of these days, maybe later next year, I’ll write about that!
Brings to mind Nabokov's declaration that he wanted to read a translation of Pushkin's 'Onegin' with "footnotes, annotations and errata reaching literally to the sky." (Or something along those lines.)
Looking forward to seeing the part of the iceberg that's below the waterline.
Every novelist has flaws, and every novel is flawed. Dickens is my all-time favorite flawed novelist. I've spent more time with him in my life than with any other writer. That's a lot of writers. But give me Bleak House any day of the week.