The All American Novel

Be forewarned, for those of you who have thought about doing it, or are trying to gear yourself up to do it, or think you might like to try it--at least once--before you die: writing The All American Novel is not that easy. 

I think if a cute little Jeanie in a bottle appeared to me in my dreams and said, "Masteresse, what wish can I grant you?" I'd say, "for starters, you can morph yourself into a strapping man and make sweet sweet love to me; and then, after we've done that and smoked a cigarette (this is a world where smoking is healthy, and so not forbidden), you can 'presto-chango' a seven inches-by-nine inches plot of erstwhile empty matter into a great American Novel; one that's replete with funny, loving, flawed characters, adventure, brilliant plot threads, love, history, intensity enough for crying, and a satisfying, cherry-on-top ending. 

Though I have to admit: I'm not sure what I'd say if she looked downcast, and sighed, and replied, "Oh," as she climbed back into her bottle. Then with only her head poking out, her little Jeannie hands gripping bottle's edge, "I said wish, masteresse. I don't perform miracles." 

So fuck me, it's all good. Guess I'll just have to keep writing. Sigh.