20 years ago, I wrote a book and a half of a trilogy. It was stilted because I tried to write it in a generally non-time-specific way, and I don’t like how that worked out. The plot, as well, has many many many many issues. Most of the characters are not fleshed out, which is beside the point because even the fleshed out ones were not allowed to live fully because I was not ready to bring all of myself to write a book. It’s totally embarrassing and cringe-inducing, and I hope nobody ever sees it. Ever. EVER.

Lots has happened in these 20 years. But that first draft is a Treasure, because I know who these people are now. And because I haven’t had anything to narrate for two months, I started noodling around with them.

I’m on Chapter 10. Which isn’t saying much. Some of the chapters are shorter than this post. And the story hasn’t even begun yet.

We’ll see what happens. If anything at all. But I definitely wouldn’t be playing around with this if I were still working full-time at a school.

(How many epic sagas* are we missing out on because we don’t have Universal Basic Income? Just idly wondering.)

 

 

*Not that mine’s an epic saga. It wanted to be, 20 years ago. But now it’s kind of laying around in its old age, looking at its bellybutton and wondering what’s inside. So am I, for that matter.**

**Wondering what’s inside the story’s bellybutton, that is; not looking at my own.***

***Well, of course NOW I am.