21 November 2010
Write Your Own Book
“Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print;
A book’s a book, although there is nothing in it.”
-Lord Byron, quoted on the back cover of an old notebook
The little book somehow survived thirty-five years of civilian and military moves, a host of houses, and multiple continents. I found it when it fell to the floor, having been nestled in something else while wrestling out a manuscript to brandish at my publishing agent.
“This book is dynamite! It will blow the lid off the story of the transfer of a Naval Intelligence Officer captured in Vietnam to the Soviets!” I said. “I have come up with the only answer that makes sense!”
I suspect she has dealt with crackpot authors before. She got me calmed down by explaining the process of setting up the Limited Liability Company in Virginia, and why I had to give the Commonwealth a check for hundred bucks for the privilege. Then I had to get on the road for Annapolis, since this is about the last weekend the air will be filled with footballs.
I looked at the little book later. I am not sure where it might have come from, being buried in other papers of unknown origin. It has a flyleaf, unusual for such a trifling little thing with a plastic alligator spine. The colors are bold and slightly psychedelic, an ironic tribute to the title and the bicentennial year in which it was sold. The Great American Novel is the grandiose title, in bold, along with the helpful admonition to “Write Your Own Book” from the people at the Abbey Press who published the novelty.
Whoever the young person was who wrote this used it all. Inside the flyleaf is a cryptic aide memoire that appears to be a chronology along with a poem that runs horizontally across the entire width.
As a forensic exercise in the pre-Bi-centennial American world, I will give it to you verbatim:
S- Party-scapegrace
M- Scapegrace.Beverly
T- Scapegrace night sail
W- Down East. Freeport
Th- North to Lamoine
F- Bar Harbor/Lamoine
S- Rain in the National Park
S- Cliffwalking/Ranger
M- Shower. Belfast
T- All Star Game/Appollo
W- Max to Bangor. Beverly
Th- Long Sail with Jeanette
F- Bye Bye Beau
S- Move to Neith
S- Sunday papers
M- Rainout for Ed and Jim
T- Scraping
W- Scraping
Th- Scraping
F- Rain and writing
That appears to be the itinerary of a trip. Apart from that, the flyleaf has nothing to reveal. The commercially-printed title on the inner little volume reads “The Great American Novel,” followed by remarkably neat ink cursive script:
“…and trip journal ’75, The Eastern Connection.”
More inspirational factory words follow in bold italic:
“A living, growing book-
Blank pages to plant ideas
And nourish dreams.”
Following in ink are the cursive words “When I hear the word Culture, I release the safety catch on my Browning.”
I was intrigued by this narrative message appearing from thirty-five years ago. The text of the book begins auspiciously. Whoever wrote it really knew the art of foreshadowing. Probably an English Major, who knows?
“Need:
Soda $.60
Bottle (from car)
Cigs $1.20
Ice
matches
a paper? $2.70
Lemon
Zukes
Or whatever
"Or whatever" was written twice for emphasis.
Then the author appears to have pulled himself together- I infer the gender from the list in bold cursive that follows, titled “Lessons Well-learned:”
“The gulls stand on every letter of the Belfast Chicken Co. Bldg.”
“It is always raining in Maine.”
“Two lobsters make a dinner.”
Seawalls are great places to make love to Ohio Women.”
“Beware the Arts and Crafts.”
“More than three fish sandwiches is a mistake.”
“Drink. Then drive.”
“Don’t feed The Boys. Don’t leave your car.”
An introduction of sorts follows:
“The following narrative is a jumbled and hackneyed accout of my early unemployment period in the Great Recession of ’75. The Author has drawn Certain Conclusions.”
The latter two words are underlined, but there is no further explanation. I will have to plunge deeper into the little book to see what they might have been.
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
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