A Writer's Notebook, Day Nine-Hundred-And-Two

 I have been thinking quite a bit about the novel I am conceptualizing, and I think I am beginning to get a handle on it, at least in terms of the larger aims of the work.  It is largely an exploration into the nature of story, looking at many ideas I have been discussing here, already.  In some sense, it is intended to deconstruct itself, to pull apart the elements of the story in a way that reveals them as artificial, but I hope to find a way of doing this that feels to be an expansion, not a destruction.  In part, this is related to my interest in metafiction, and, in particular, with the original intents of that approach.  I think many authors of fiction who play in this arena, do not understand the point of it, or, perhaps, they are just doing it for reasons that are alienated from the original intent of the technique.  In part, I want this piece to break the wall of the novel by stepping out of the work and explaining it, in the way that a Brecht play might include an explanation of a theatrical illusion for the audience.  The key, though, is to do these things in ways that alienate the reader from the narrative, but not from the work as a whole.  In essence, I want to strip away the elements of the story and remain alone in the book with the reader, with an understanding of what has been as a means of reaching this point, an illusion that was necessary to create something real.  Of course, this is all very lofty, and it sounds quite good, but doing it is a different matter.  At present, I am just making pretentious claims.  The proof must be in the work itself, but, still, I must indulge in these flights to get to the point where that work is possible.  It may be impossible to achieve what I am seeking, but that cannot be the reason I do not try; not trying would only make it the reason I never know what can be.