I’ve definitely decided my novel needs bullet points.  I recently looked through a global history textbook tailored for middle-school kids and realized, what’s good for them is good for me.
        Obviously, illustrations would be helpful, to keep the easily distracted reader from abandoning the attempt to read—I just don’t know where I’ll get them.  Note for further investigation: Photocopy illustrations from 18^th century publications obtained at library.
  
References in a narrow column to the right of pages on the right, and to the left of the left side, will refer to photos, or drawings, with codes like: See Figure 11.  In the narrow bullet-like references, important events from the novel will be mentioned, such as: Notlieb sustains concussion when struck by tree branch.  I think it will work better if these bullet points highlight injuries the hero suffers, to engage the reader, heighten tension, and maybe affect empathy.
        Another example: On the fifth tee, Notlieb backs up to gauge direction, is tripped by a small garbage can, hits head on pavement and suffers mild skull fracture.
        In this way, the reader can skim through the book and may be encouraged to buy it.  Question for further research: Does information in bullet points actually have to be in book?  Provisionally, I think not, since all that is needed is for the reader buy the book, not that the book actually be read.
        Perhaps by mistake we can include photos of scantily-clad female persona as well, since I like such things.  But above all, yes, causing grievous injury to the main character is the way to go, as the reader will virtually be cheering on the hazard-challenged fictional being, perhaps under his or her breath saying things like: “Watch out for that puddle!” “Oh no, I can see it coming!” “Look out for that flying chipmunk!”—kind of in a write-it-yourself mode.
        Geography, yes, will be skillfully displayed, with, perhaps, Bernie’s medical records, X-rays, and photos of generic, first-aid adhesive strips.
        Also, I plan to make Bernie (the main character’s name), more attractive to female readers, by making really stretch-of-the-imagination attempts to convey the impression that the character—a guy—has real feelings.  The thought now is to make him burst into tears while walking down the sidewalk.  Too extreme?  Too shocking?  Pathetic?  Certainly a bold, groundbreaking move on the author’s part, one surely to win him the Nobel Prize.  Either that, or Bernie could buy a
box of Cracker Jack, throw it into traffic and
say, “f---!”
        It occurs to me that the Tourette-syndrome style of writing may be wonderfully jarring, keeping the reader awake by inserting the occasional F-this, or this sucks, or F-you, like, right in the middle of something—from out of nowhere.  Yes, this might be fun too, counter-balanced by an already planned, secret strategy to include not only leitmotif, but planted, subconscious suggestions, to reader-subliminal messages—where I’ll say, “This book is terrific!”—or “Wow!  This is inspired!” and—“I love this book!” Then, in another passage—“What a great writer!”—and have these items littered throughout.
        Yes, this is definitely the way to go.
  
Now, leitmotif, a word I just learned,
I hope is Swahili, not one made up by supercilious Parisians.  Whoa—hold on there!  Is it possible that I might offend some French people—even folks from Canada?  I’ll think about that later.  Anyway, leitmotif, as I understand the strategy (here, in parenthesis, I candidly admit a phony attempt—no, a real attempt, to manipulate the reader), is to graft on a fake plot device, kind of stringing things

 together, using the same color or something…
        I’m struggling with the effort to come up with the right color.  Tan?  Is white a color?  How about stripes?  I suppose you could constantly say things are striped—and maybe further implant the Tourette problem.  What about checks?  Yeah, everything could be checked—like, “The lawn was checked that day” or, hmm, “I notice you are wearing a checked blouse.  They are prohibited here.  Please take that off immediately.”  Yes, I can see that this might work.
        I’ve got to get away from stupid, pathetic self-absorbsion, however—a condition so weird that I may have just invented a word to describe it—as my spell-check seems to imply.  Actually, I considered taking a photo of myself writing this, so that the reader could see how real it is.
        Okay, what the hell—I just quit smoking.  Right now, I’m into full-scale exploitation of all other distractions—hmmm—the camera didn’t seem to work.
        Another fake device in this book is, you might notice a character, let’s say Lucy, having yellow hair in one chapter and in another, red.  In filmmaking, they try to avoid this by having technical nerds continuously check for “continuity.”
  
It was a truly fortuitous event when
I ran across an article about the “novel in stories” concept, apparently used by some authors.  Sure is good to know I didn’t invent this fraudulent device, in widespread though perhaps scant use in the literature industry.  What you do is, like, glue a number of stories together by having characters in the stories have the same name.  So, of course, through the miracle of modern word processing, granted, along with a few miscellaneous errors, you can, with the touch of a key, change Gloria’s name to Beth, or vice versa, willy-nilly.
        Now I’m thinking it might be entertaining to have all the characters in one chapter have the same name.  Frustrating for the reader?  Like, John says to John: “John, I’m going to the John.”  And the other guy says, “Wait, hold up—John’s in there.”  “What”  “I said John’s in there.”  “You mean, John’s in the John?”  “That’s what I said, idiot.”  Junk like that.
        Now, I think, what if a woman has the name John?  That would be creepy. 
        He looked into her eyes and said, “John, you’ve got to change your name.  I know a guy in the IRS.  Think of the joint return—two people—both with the same name: John.”
        “So what,” she says.  “What about people named Pat?”
        “Well, sure, they’re Patrick, or Patricia.”
        “Not necessarily.  I heard of a guy named Pat.”
        “What, like on his driver’s license?”
        “Hey, you know what?  Pat this.”
  
I don’t know—I better stop this.  It’s already way out of control.
 
 
                         About The Author
  
        Long-time SIG member, Jim Brearton, says that the best thing that happened to him in 2007 was that he quit smoking.  “There is hope for the future because a large percentage of my generation has done the same.”
        Jim is in the process of editing 3 or 4 short films he shot last year, which is difficult and expensive.  He’s hoping that he will find more time this year to sell the novels he has written.  
    
  
                                        Copyright © Jim Brearton