The Big Mo
Posted the revised Chapter 2 yesterday. I happened to read some of the comments on the chapters page after I updated it – there was a flurry of activity on the site after Timothy Noah of Slate wrote an article about how Fox News might as well be a chatbot; I wrote him about this book/site and he blurbed me at the end of the article, giving me a visitor bump which may never again be rivaled. (I’m sore tempted to delete the post on Proust was a Neuroscientist since the only traffic this site seems to get is for people searching on “cezanne mountain” – I could finally get accurate stats then, but then again, those stats would read 0 every day.)
One of the folks who visited then wrote that the story seemed “airless.” He wrote it in the context of the lack of a sense of place, which I made deliberate – set it in Silicon Valley, where I’ve never been, and you have to “prove” the locale by describing places and events and a sense of place I don’t have. But after converting the story to first person, it seemed to me that the “airlessness” was due to me, the narrator, having sucked all the air out of the room, leaving none for Caroline to breathe. All the interesting comments and thoughts were mine, not hers. Now, having transplanted myself into her, suddenly I have Given My Creature Life.
Funny that the last two nights since I redid chapter one, I’ve slept like a baby, an inordinately long 7 or even 8 hours of sleep. Correlation is not causation, yeah I know, but still. It feels good to have gotten at least some momentum in my push against the Monolith.