My next novel, the one I have just started the first draft of, is a novel about music and dreams. Sing Sad Songs is the title, unless I decide to change it back into Sing Sad Songs… with Clowns.
I have an insane urge to write my next novel as music. I intend to have it narrated in first person by three different characters, none of whom are themselves the main character. So there are three back-up singers to the lead singer who carries the tune and drives the plot forward.
And there will be death and murder in this music, as well as a touch of the H.P. Lovecraft’s Dreamlands. And together we will transcend genre and the borders of a single novel and common sense entirely. Can I do it? Of course not. Metaphors are never literally true… even if Bible thumpers claim they are, invoking God as the author. But it will be the biggest, most complex, and difficult novel I have ever written. The writing of it may kill me. But if it works, it will be worth it.
Hyperbole, you say? An oxymoron come to life? Well, of course it is. Believe the worst about it, and it will become true. But if I believe the best about it… well, we shall see what we shall see.
I mean to try.