Think about the concept. Fiction, written in the first person. "I" is a fictitious character of my own invention. '"I" is?' I must be forgetting my English! Help! I'm semilingual. Due for a trip to Canada. Or not. "I" is due for a trip to Canada. I am a strange loop. I am loopy. "I" is going nuts tonight. "I" is out of my mind.
My friend Rona Altrows is giving a course on writing first person fiction. We are currently booked to "go writing" together in Calgary on January 29.
I booked my Air Canada flight way back in the summer. What prompted me was Tala's teacher's comment, "When Tala sings Torah, the angels weep". Jan 21 to Feb 10 was far enough in the future to be abstract, fictitious. And then Benino was conceived, with a projected opening date of December 15. Could I leave Beno and Benino alone a month after opening? I would decide, closer to flight date. And then the opening was postponed to who knows when. The place looked upside down, all sawdust and dream. This restaurant will never open, it felt to me. I'll fly to Canada and fly home to Israel. ( Did "I" say "home to Israel"? Has it happened? Oh, home is where "I" is. I am able to say, "I'll fly home to Canada for three weeks and then come home to Israel".
Now, suddenly, the restaurant is set to open on January 21. Maybe.
"Does that mean you're not coming? " Oh my. I'll sleep on it tonight. Air Canada tickets are changeable, with a small fee.
So here's where the first person fiction idea comes in: in the event that I cancel my trip home to Canada because I have to be home for the opening of Benino, I shall write the trip as a work of luscious fiction, that sweet loving feeling I have when Mommy pops in to 2406 in the early morning, to see if I'm up yet, and to tell me to come over for branflakes and coffee and Globe and Mail and CBC. I love those mornings with Mommy and Daddy at the round table, glassed in high above the snowy world, looking down over the planetarium. I'll write the story of my first hug with dancy acrobat Sunny, my tour of Shlomo's coin collections, my walk in snowy streets with Janie. I can Skype duets with Janie, read the Globe and Mail on my computer screen, hear CBC by internet radio loud and clear. I can imagine my trip to ice and snow, picture myself in all the scenes, see Picasa slideshows of Bitsy's new house, send my love, as I always do, to Larry and to Izzie. I can write the fictional story of my trip to Canada, if I don't make it. It will be a beautiful story. But sad.
My friend Rona Altrows is giving a course on writing first person fiction. We are currently booked to "go writing" together in Calgary on January 29.
I booked my Air Canada flight way back in the summer. What prompted me was Tala's teacher's comment, "When Tala sings Torah, the angels weep". Jan 21 to Feb 10 was far enough in the future to be abstract, fictitious. And then Benino was conceived, with a projected opening date of December 15. Could I leave Beno and Benino alone a month after opening? I would decide, closer to flight date. And then the opening was postponed to who knows when. The place looked upside down, all sawdust and dream. This restaurant will never open, it felt to me. I'll fly to Canada and fly home to Israel. ( Did "I" say "home to Israel"? Has it happened? Oh, home is where "I" is. I am able to say, "I'll fly home to Canada for three weeks and then come home to Israel".
Now, suddenly, the restaurant is set to open on January 21. Maybe.
"Does that mean you're not coming? " Oh my. I'll sleep on it tonight. Air Canada tickets are changeable, with a small fee.
So here's where the first person fiction idea comes in: in the event that I cancel my trip home to Canada because I have to be home for the opening of Benino, I shall write the trip as a work of luscious fiction, that sweet loving feeling I have when Mommy pops in to 2406 in the early morning, to see if I'm up yet, and to tell me to come over for branflakes and coffee and Globe and Mail and CBC. I love those mornings with Mommy and Daddy at the round table, glassed in high above the snowy world, looking down over the planetarium. I'll write the story of my first hug with dancy acrobat Sunny, my tour of Shlomo's coin collections, my walk in snowy streets with Janie. I can Skype duets with Janie, read the Globe and Mail on my computer screen, hear CBC by internet radio loud and clear. I can imagine my trip to ice and snow, picture myself in all the scenes, see Picasa slideshows of Bitsy's new house, send my love, as I always do, to Larry and to Izzie. I can write the fictional story of my trip to Canada, if I don't make it. It will be a beautiful story. But sad.
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