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Saturday, February 19, 2005

I didn't get died, people, but GAN is coming!

Man, I tell you, man, I was gone from this blog for so many days that person are beginning to wonder did I died. Well, I didn't. In fact, I return to my home country for two week of beautiful vacationing experience. I sitted on the beach and watched the seagulls pooping on the woman walking on the pier. I also eated a nice "carne de vaca en salsa marron con queso verde", which is the most favorite national dish of my homeland. While I was home in the country of the origin national of me, I begin to think about a project I wanted to finished ever since I was the tiny child. This is a thing I call the Great American Novel. Maybe you never heard of this, but people in literary circles are always saying how every single writer want to write the Great American Novel but nobody ever really did it. Yes, there are many of the good style books out there by the Vonnegut and the Discardionstein and the Koontz, but none of them yet to be called the GAN (great american novel). So I took upon to myself the task of writing the GAN, even from the youngest tiny age of 8. You said to me, I suppose, "Jorge Carlito, you are not the American citizen. How could you write such a thing as GAN whilst being a loser?" I reply that oh but I AM an American, of the special variety called Latin American. That is why I am the most suitable one to write it, and I have been working on it every since, but I can't decide what is a best opening sentence. Here are some I have written, which I am considering.

1) It was a fetid morning, the cold tendrils of graying cloud creeping down the moors, as Rontinald Fhlapp rose from among the broken pile of plastic cans and hoisted his shimmering orb of strength toward the glistening moons.

2) Cold came the cloud-like tendrils down upon the shining pate of one rotund gentlemen called Greg Phlinschtein, tickling the pinkish skin of his sun-dried head until he shook his great fist at the angry sky and screamed aloud, "Oh, where is my ostrich egg of Danny Devito?"

3) Twas the dead darkness of a starless night when the smallish form crept from the wastrel's lair, bent blade in hand, and, step by step, wide eyes dripping tears of excitement, moved toward the moat, where awaited the lustful crocodile with its stash of gold bars.

4) Onthlenberger John was the name of that most greasy-faced of men, the burlap-robed figure standing on the balcony, his thick and hairless arms, like two bloated sacks stuffed with ground beef, leaning heavily upon the balstrade, as his thick lips parted to reveal a row of teeth browner than the mud of a thousand lost civilizations.

5) Horace McGruderensteinensteen shouldered his way into the room and kicked over the card table with a violent howl, sending cards and poker chips and someone's teeth and perhaps a very small horse scattering in all directions like the bits of a hammered melon, and screamed, "I have come here to take back what is mine, the stolen cylinder of purest hog grease with which I shall moisten my dog!"

6) Oh, how the smallest little dwarf of a man plunged that dagger into the soft core of the watermelon, unleashing the rancid juice from within as he grinned and sweated and shook his squarish head, and all the world marvelled at his disaffection and wept for his rotting heart, knowing he could never succeed with such an ugly face.

So here you see six of the what I am calling "options" for an opening sentence of this GAN I have worked on for many years. It is a daunting and powerful story of the variety where emotion pours off the page like the glass of water tipped over into the lap. Look for it soon upon the shelf of the Noble Barney Bookstore soon.


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