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Hey /lit/
I've been struggling on the intro to my novel. I think it sounds too edgy and pretentious, but I'm not sure. Brutal tips welcome. Thanks
1/3
The complex sciences of unexplored phenomena have always fascinated me.
My teacher, too long ago for me to remember the exact grade, once mentioned the multiverse theory. He claimed that there were infinite variations of me. One where I outshined Einstein. One where I was dumber than a rock. Even one where I was poor. The theory, to the mind of a affluent third grader, was incomprehensible in essence. The psyche of a child has the transcendent ability to conjure false realities, yet unlike most adults unable to recognise that these realities are false. Even adults get lost in their dreams. Take, for instance, when you ask a toddler what they want to be when they grow up. Don’t be surprised when they answer with Batman. Ask the same child ten years later, and they will tell you, now with a supposed keen sense of actuality, something along the lines of the next Zuckerberg or Steve Jobs. Add in--say--another fifteen years and that same child--now an adult--would say they’d be lucky to make general manager. Many people don’t change for their dreams, but rather alter their ambitions to fit current circumstance.
There’s no clear moment when you realize you will never be Batman, Bill Gates or the Bossman. To survive the ego-blow, ambitions must be fitted to your capabilities.
The multiverse theory went around this. The idea was always nestled in the back of my mind, inspiring daydreams of fighting pirates on a war frigate, space battles, and conquering the foreign landscape of the old west. The aspect of the multiverse theory that fascinated me most was that I was actually acting out these adventures in an alternate dimension.
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2/3
All those intense tutoring sessions, language classes and business lessons that would have otherwise destroyed my youth were off put by the knowledge that in reality I was off fighting evil zombies on the planet zebulon four. As I got older and the lessons became more intense, the truth was depressing. Those other me’s were not me, for your personality is shaped by your environment. I was shaped by my boring upbringing and not captaining a pirate ship. Life is doing the dishes. Life is typing on a computer. Life is driving. Life is sleeping. Life is fooling yourself into thinking the moments you have a break in the same ol’ same ol’ is actually life. Life is stale. Only a few hours out of the week does one truly have fun. People find excitement in drama, elections, and tragedy. We, as a economically incentivised species, endure hours of torture and injury to our backs to experience two-sevenths of our life. The glorious weekend.
Today was a weekday. Just like every weekday, I slipped on my striped orange jumpsuit with my student ID code tattooed across my back. No matter how much I changed my haircut, flannel shirt or khakis, that orange jumpsuit was always underneath. Every time I took off the jumpsuit at final period, I was lifeless--but in a good way. My life was made of chores and work. Lifelessness--and I don’t mean death--was hanging out, playing video games, and unmitigated elation.
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3/3
In this portion of the multiverse, my daily schedule was that of reverse aging. In the beginning of my day, I was an adult. Like an adult, my hope was throttled by reality. At seven o’clock, I had a test. At eight, I would receive math homework. Only by school’s end would I ‘un-live’ and become a teenager. When school got out, the world was full of opportunities. These opportunities, granted, were also throttled--but less so. I aged backwards even more, finally into the realm of limitless impossibilities. In the night, I returned to childhood through dreams.
All my stories start with me getting up in the morning and coming back to life. The rest of the day was reenacting my routine. I followed through school in a zombie-like trance. I got to school a bit too late. The bell rang when I was right down the hall--for the fourth time this week. My teacher was pissed at me regardless, so why not enjoy that extra five seconds of sleep?
For first period, I was hardly awake. While my teacher droned on about various charts and statistics, I zoned out and processed my life. I thought about nothing in particular, just going over previous events and repeating them in my head. What did ‘so and so’ mean when they said that? Why did ‘what’s-their-face’ act that way? I paused my trance momentarily to look at the clock, only to sigh and mutter how much time was left before my next class. Once the bell finally rang, I stuffed my half-assed notes into the front pocket of my backpack and carried on in this manner until lunch. When lunch finally arrived, I was once again disappointed. The idea of food and a break had seemed so heavenly compared to classwork. The reality was extremely lackluster, crummy food and poor lighting. Any socializing I would have was cut down by short time restraints.
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Anyway, ik it sounds too wordy--but that stops after the intro.
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The best cure for an author writing himself as a main character (the shit you're doing here) is to switch to third person, non-omniscient if possible (though from what I can see your only purpose in writing is to share your clever rambling thoughts, so you wouldn't be capable of such a shift). In any case, stop the Stephen King-like indulgence in short snappy sentences/fragments, and assume your reader wants you to get on with the plot someday.
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>>8837248
Alright, thanks.
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