NEW MEDIA & LITERATURE: A Confession

Here’s what I said:

This brings me to another train of thought–why some of us don’t particularly go wild over hyperfiction.  But that post is still festering in my mind, wanting to heal itself before I rip open the wound of self-revelation.

Though it’d be hard to guess that I’m one of those who don’t, based on my stream of consciousness style of writing (worse, lots worse when verbalizing) and my interest in hyperfiction that hasn’t given up in a couple years now, and I’d have to add my long run-on sentences, I truly don’t enjoy reading hyperfiction novels. 

Afternoon, A story by Michael Joyce was my first major undertaking and I had to push my way through it.  Patchwork Girl, by Shelley Jackson, well, I’ve had several stabs at it in the past several months. Both feature exceptional writing and story line(s).  So the problem isn’t the novel, it’s me.

In trying to pin down my inner conflict here, I’ve come up with a few bits of rationale. Why would I enjoy writing like this, but not reading the style?  Well I’ve come to accept that while I certainly can multitask (open jars and put on cream with one hand while brushing my teeth with the other), I’m more of a project, high intense, total focus type of person.  That explains the intrigue of putting together a hypertext piece.  But it also may explain the problem or the dislike if you will with the short paths, the turning off, the derailment of a constant train of thought.

Here though may be the real problem:  Once off the known track, I feel lost.  I get lost easily in reality, both in sense of direction (remember, I was supposed to grow up to be a martyr, or an archaeologist) and in physical direction of left, right, north, south, etc.  It takes me a few visits to know if I’m supposed to go left or right at an intersection.  I drive to new places with each turn clearly marked, and the way back home is written in reverse.  I’m not sure if an incident started this fear or the fear was bought out by the incident, but I remember being very little and with my sisters and a terrific uncle who took us out into the woods behind his house for a walk.  I remember him telling us we were lost.  I remember screaming and crying in fear, and of course, his surprise and how he knelt down to console me and confirm that he’d been only teasing. 

Another possibility could be my dedicated focus and willingness to go for a long time attention span.  There are project people and there are short-term experts.  I wonder if there is some relevance as to their tastes in literature or in anything that might require a preference for a three-minute clip versus a four-hour extravaganza.

There likely are some studies and research on the audience or consumer end of hyperfiction.  I’m wondering exactly what it might show…