Frostwriting

The Arcing Crystals

by M.J. Nicholls

K.Y. Jellette was so eager to send his latest novel, Arcs of Crystal, to publishers, he forgot to write it. So much time had been spent scouring websites and books for appropriate markets, drafting cover letters and self-promoting on the internet, that he assumed the novel had been written somewhere in those four months of intense networking.
 
His outline described how Mr. X was involved with another character, named Mr. Y, and that when these characters collided, there was a confrontation, or a disagreement, or a minor quibble – something potentially exciting. In the second paragraph, he explained how his characters adored speaking to one another on various subjects, or having brief conversations about mutual interests, and went and did something together on weekends – often behaving quite amicably towards one another.
 
On his website, a huge message in neon Helvetica read ‘Something Thrilling Is Going To Happen!’ He spent months convincing people to join his site, to which he added Flash effects to make the letters glow and sparkle. After the first three months, he had over 4,000 hits on his website from people eager to find out what thrilling thing, if any, was going to happen.
 
One afternoon, the head of Fraction Publishing telephoned him as he sat weeping in the bath.

“K.Y. – I’ve read your outline and I love it! It’s so cryptic and original. It’s as though you are inviting the reader to fill in the story for themselves. What a metaphor! In an age of condensed fiction, it’s as though you’re making a profound point about the death of the imagination, about the transience of literary experience, that sort of thing,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I can’t wait to read the finished draft. Can you send it to me straight away?”

“Uh-huh.”
 
K.Y. took his laptop into the bath and opened a Word Document. He wrote the phrase ‘The crystal arced’ and thought about electrocuting himself. Deleting the phrase, he wrote ‘The arcing crystal’ and lowered the laptop tray nearer the water. It struck him after eighteen more deletions, and an attempt to immerse the keyboard into the suds gradually for a slow death, that his novel was finished.
 
His novel had been finished from the very beginning. The excitement building up to the novel had been the most entertaining part of his work. There was no need for an actual novel. If people had to read a dull prose work of over 80,000 words, their expectations would be murdered and his left career in tatters.Having no novel was the perfect hook. People would fork over £9.99 for 340 blank pages and leave the bothersome reading process behind them, reveling in the profundity of it all. The move would go down in publishing history as the most powerful metaphor for the vacuity of contemporary culture ever conceived, as well as the biggest waste of trees since the canon of Wilbur Smith.
 
In short: hype alone would sell the novel.

Three weeks later, after sending the publisher 340 blank pages and the front cover with his name and the title written on it, K.Y. received a second
telephone call in the bath.

“K.Y. – I’m loving the manuscript. Just have a few changes, however. How about instead of ‘Arcs of Crystal’ we have ‘The Crystal Arcs?’ If you’re not loving that, that’s fine. Also, maybe put your forename instead of initials? How about if on page 360, we put like a scary picture of a witch or something? Beef up the climax?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great. I’ll go ahead and make those changes. Have a great day!”

K.Y. sank under the water. As he came up for air, he thought about having a great idea for his next novel. This nonexistent great idea would be the sequel.

The novel was finished by the time he came up.