If you’re working on something you’ve carried too long, I see you. I’m right there, too.
Before moving onto my project about AI and interactive storytelling, I need to finish the novel that I started 20 years ago.
A couple of years ago, my teen-age daughter asked me, “How long have you been writing that novel?”
I replied, “18 years.”
She remarked, “Your novel is now an adult.”
It’s approaching 20 years. My kid will occasionally ask me, “How’s your adult novel going?”
Of course, there were many months, which turned into years, where I never touched the novel. Most of the writing happened in 2009 when I would stay up all night writing a scene, night after night. It often took about half-an-hour before I got into a trance-like writing flow. But, still, it would take hours to write 1,500 words. By that point, I was exhausted but I considered it a good writing session.
The work originated in 2005 after I had quit a six-figure job in Miami and moved to Buenos Aires without a plan. That was the best decision of my life.
A few months after settling into Buenos Aires, which turned into 8 years of my life, I decided to write a novel. Why not? But I didn’t know how to write fiction. I should have started with a short story. Later, I stopped the novel and wrote some flash fiction and a short story that did get published (though the online magazine is no longer online).
Returning to the page
I’m finally finishing it, over 70,000 words that I wrote entirely on my own. All those years ago, this story about forgery emerged within me.
The novel is not only about forgery but about creativity and the value of art. These themes have lived with me for 20 years, and have become even more meaningful now that I am immersed in the impact of artificial intelligence on creativity and art.
Letting Go
Editing a novel this old is emotional. I’m doing something unexpected: I’m letting parts of it go.
There were entire scenes I loved that I had to cut to make the story stronger. I had written over 100,000 words. Letting go is one of the hardest parts of editing. But it’s also where clarity begins.
A big mistake was telling this story from multiple points-of-view. In the editing, I eliminated the point of view of a major character. But the absence of his perspective makes his presence on the page stronger.
That POV of a man named Federico was originally the main character, and he still plays a critical role but we only see him from the alternating POV of two others: Andrea and Daniel.
Letting go of Federico’s POV unlocked the entire story. In rereading, I realized that I had almost finished this novel years ago.
I want to note the character Daniel, who is the forger in the story. His character did not even exist in the first couple of drafts. Then he emerged in one scene, and then in another. Slowly, I discovered that the novel is his story. I should rewrite the novel entirely from only his POV. But, after 20 years, I don’t have the energy for that. I need to finish this story.
Listen to your own story
I also listened to the entire novel using ElevenLabs. I used the voice of “Eleanor” in ElevenLabs. When I release the audiobook, I’m not sure if I’ll use that voice or not. At this stage, I’m only thinking about how I’m hearing a voice read the text to me.
“We all have these moments, when we meet ourselves in hell. When our struggles lead us to where we don’t want to go, hands bound, unwillingly, but we’re there, nevertheless.”
Hearing the story out loud changed how I understood it. I could feel the rhythm. I could hear where a phrase did not work or where a line surprised me in a good way.
A Research Lab for Narrative Transmedia
An outcome of this novel is that I will have a completed work for which I own the copyright and can use it in anyway I want. After the print version is published, I’ll be using the text of Forgery Lessons as a foundation for exploring variations in the story through AI. I also will be benchmarking how well AI handles the editing of fiction.
Plus, there’s a tie-in to my interactive story Never Fear Paris, which is set in the 1920s. The central mystery of Never Fear Paris is the disappearance of an artist. That missing artist turns out to be the father of Federico in Forgery Lessons.
Will I write another novel? I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m more pulled towards the questions of how we tell and read stories through visuals, whether it’s 2d or 3d graphics, VR, open-world games, and examining where AI enables each person to experience a unique narrative.
In so many aspects of my life, like retiring from academia, I’m letting go of an old version of myself so I can build something new. You’re never too old to re-invent yourself.