Another First Novel

Writing the second novel is supposed to be hard, because you write into expectation.

What bollocks. Writing a second novel is hard because writing any novel is hard. With a first novel there is so much uncertainty. And if there's problems associated with a second, they are made up of uncertainty too.

The problem is always uncertainty. And also, the problem is certainty. The certainty that this second novel will not do all the things you dreamt of to get you through your first. All the hopes and dreams, impossible ones, that got me through that first book are gone now. I am certain this next novel will not make me happy, wealthy, wise, complete. This certainty is hard.

But it strikes me now that the story I most want to write is the one in between the two books. Open a book by a prolific author and there's that page entitled: By the same author...

What I'm on about now, is that the real story I want to write is the one that exists between the titles in that author's list. The story of the writing. The bit of it all you can actually live. The bit you can experience. You can't properly experience your book on the shelves. You can't properly assimilate the sales. But the life that happens to you in and while you do the writing.... Another matter entirely.

This, now, is the matter most at hand for me. And if in some ways that deadens the passion, it certainly invigorates the experience -- the vividness of it all. Because it is located more in the work, the voyage, the journey (insert your own platitude), and less in the ethereal destination of arrival, success, ego, fame, some killer whale of need (insert your own platypus).

Sisyphus (sisyphus, platypus, tomayto, tomato) springs to mind. What would Sisyphus have done if he'd ever got that rock to the top? How would he have felt? Don't we need the struggle, even if we struggle with it?

So in this way, every novel is a first novel. All the uncertainty, even if they're different uncertainties. All the investment. But mostly, the same shackling to the fundamental experience the novel takes place in: your life.

Comments

[Sal C. Jones]

Jon. Enjoyed Rocks in the Belly very much, think it will probably win an award or two, not that I'm any great expert. But well done indeed and thank you. You signed the copy my mother bought for me in Sydney: "Enjoy the ride" and I did, though not sure in a way that I would normally enjoy a ride, if you see what I mean.

A few questions:

1) Is the 'soft' sexism of the adult narrator, eg., "Nursey" and some of his thoughts in and after the scene in the bar, supposed to reflect the boy's disturbed upbringing and blaming of his mother, or is it simply your take on the average (Aussie) bloke thing? Not sure if it's set in Aussie, I like that vagueness of place and it-could-happen-anywhere thing.

2) Do you lay blame with the boy, his mum, both, someone else, no-one?

3) Why (very briefly) did you write about this topic?

4) Aunty Deadly is a bit of a stereotype. You're way too smart to deal in stereotypes and it kind of strains credibility that the parents would rely on this 'old hag' to the extent that they do, did her part in the story worry you at all? I realise she needed to be unsympathetic, but still.

I'd be very interested to hear your response. Thank you.

[Jon Bauer]

Hey Sal,

I think these questions are all up to you. I merely suggest things in the story and like readers to have their own reaction. I worked hard to make it complex rather than clear. But I definitely don't blame the boy. I don't really blame any of the characters, though they all could make more artful choices than they do. As for Aunty Deadly -- I had a great aunt just like her.

I'll be at the Sydney Writers Festival talking about the book.

Thanks for reading.