Chapter 83.7: My 9/10 Novel

Living in northern New Jersey, it's difficult, if not impossible, to not think about the events of 9/11, 2001. Indeed, it's probably bad for your mental health not to think about it from time to time if you lived through it here. I suspect I will always remember exactly where in my commute I heard about the first plane hitting one of the Twin Towers. I chastised myself for assuming we were under attack — especially after the guy on WDHA amended his comments saying that it had been a small plane, not a large plane as he initially had heard.

In between the time I parked my car and turned off the engine and I entered my office, the second plane had hit the second tower. It immediately struck me: We're at war.

By 9/10, 2001, I had begun my first novel and written about thirty pages. I was stuck not on what to write next but when did my story occur. Was the time significant? On 9/11, I realized that we had just experienced an important line of demarcation in history; there is a pre-9/11 world and a post-9/11 world. From there, I had to determine how this affected my novel

I decided to use it obliquely. My novel begins on 9/10, 2000 and ends on 9/10, 2001. Because such attacks were barely contemplated by the average person, nothing more than faint glimpses of fear and omen are displayed. The story takes place in Hoboken, New Jersey, a town I know well that lies directly across the river from New York City. Ground Zero is within view. Indeed, the clouds of smoke and debris floated above the river after the towers fell.

Whether my oblique references to the tragedy of 9/11 should remain part of my novel — and not an overt focus of it — has been a frequent point of discussion with my initial readers. Usually I bring it up, but some of my readers have anticipated the question. I still think it's more than just a moment of inspiration; I think it's important to the story, subtle though it remains.

So, each year, I think a lot about the people who experienced 9/11 first hand. I lost a friend that day and thank God that I didn't lose more people who were close to me. I lost some innocence as well, which is largely what my novel is about — not my loss of innocence, but the nation's; or maybe it's that our eyes were opened to the terrible possibilities. And I reflect on those fictional people who mean so much today who came to life on 9/11.

With my young innocents at home, I have had almost no time to work on the latest novel much less to send my "finished" one out to agents. I respect their time and my own too much to look for representation when I don't have the time to respond appropriately if I should actually get an offer. It's like going fishing without the strength to reel in the fish.

Remember 9/11, my friends, in your own way. It's important for all Americans, regardless of political party or ideology.

Chapter 73.2: In Like a Drunkard

March has arrived. The old saying is that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb (I believe I have that right). Well, today, these lions are heading up to Hoboken for a little R&R.

These days, we don't spend much time in the town where we lived for many years. The demands of life in suburbia -- such as running a company, paying a mortgage and mowing a lawn or shoveling a driveway -- take up too much of our time. But it'll be nice to meet up with old friends that we haven't seen in too long. Appropriately enough, we're heading to Carpe Diem.

More to report, perhaps, later. After we've seized the day.

Chapter 67: The Rest Is Academic

Yes, that title line is supposed to be a joke. I finished the book earlier today, though I have discovered in some skimming that I still have a bunch of smaller tweaks to make still. Tomorrow, after a hearty jog, I'll devote as much of the day as possible to reading it full through. I know there'll be some word changes to make, and I want to make sure my town names remain consistent (aside from Hoboken and New York City, I decided to fictionalize the other towns I mention, though they're based on places I know -- some of the cities have been combined for the sake of convenience.)

Of course, I still don't have an agent, much less a publisher. I'm confident that the right opportunities will arise.

Chapter 64.1: The PATH Most Taken

Riding on the PATH train this morning, while ensconced in the last forty pages of the slow but enjoyable anthology of Graham Greene works I've been reading for the past few weeks, I was jolted back to reality by the grinding and grating of the train. It slowed and stopped. Nothing to worry about -- happens from time to time. Then it began again, only this time with a nasty grinding sound like I've heard when my car is about ready to die. And on toward Christopher Street. Reading during the several minutes of windy, wavy travel is like resting with my thoughts on a hammock in a soft breeze: quickly forgotten until the next time you experience it. After people disembarked at Christopher Street, the train urged from the station once again. It barked and squealed in frustration before finally it moved. At Ninth Street, the movement was the same at first. Then, quite suddenly, the train jumped with a terrible crunching sound. Passengers looked at each other as if to say "What the fuck was that?" A man beside me was reading his book. Without looking up, he said, "That's not a good sound."

In my mind, I joked. "We finally shook off that brake we didn't need. Now we can really get moving!"

At 14th Street, we arrived -- brakes intact -- and I noticed far more people than usual disembarking with me. Seems they'd had enough too.

Chapter 54.7: Here Comes the Sun

As I arrived at Hoboken station this morning, the Beatles' Here Comes the Sun began playing over the loudspeaker. Most days there is no music whatsoever on the platform, save the scant whispers coming out of other people's iPods as I pass them.

I don't know why the George Harrison song was in the air, but for the ninety seconds or so that it took me to get from one end of the platform to the PATH trains, I was pleased and amazed and happy.