He Used to Be Mine

I had a pretty deep conversation with Snepperboo over the holiday, and one of the seeds sprouting from it is the idea that this is the year to write a novel.

I've been wanting to knuckle down into a project for months now; the most obvious (and potentially-rewarding) is the Patreon, where I write stories and get paid a little money for them. The entire reason I created a Patreon in the first place was to just "noodle around" with ideas I found neat; it would be a place where messy first drafts would go, so I could practice writing for an audience and build a good routine. I never could get that off the ground; the pressure of weekly updates without the discipline to get ahead of them broke me, and after many many years it's been all but defunct.

I planned for this to be the year of its resurrection. I have an angle on "Swiftie's Intergalactic" that I think I can work with, so that would be the first serial I'd present -- but only once it's done. The protagonist, Deimo, is simultaneously thrilled and terrified about the freedom of having his own jump-capable starship and interstellar courier service on the night he paid off his last debts. He had planned to party at Swiftie's Intergalactic Bar, this planet-sized saloon on the edge of the galaxy, but it's nothing like he imagined -- and mostly that's his fault. He's frozen by the reality of his dreams, so he can't actually act on them when they're right in front of him.

The short story follows Deimo's thawing through the evening. First, through the waiter who serves as his guide to the random hook-up that bought him a drink from "across the bar"; then, the valet who serves as introduction to the mysterious benefactor and....kind of a "Cerberus" guardian into the sexual escapades to follow; then, the Prince, a kaiju-sized squirrel recognized as royalty on a dozen worlds. And through the conversation and congress that follows, the tension caused by the mystique dissipates into a fraught, but quick companionship between people of vastly different worlds -- and sizes. By the next morning, Deimo is a little more content with himself -- and a bit more ready to take on the unknown constellations in front of him.

It's a good story to work on as I resolve my own block. :) The waiter and valet could be ciphers of the problems I'm struggling through myself, so that I get my own answer for these problems out on the page. It's a bit...confessional, nakedly earnest, but that's where I am right now. It'll be good for me -- if I can finish it.

But that's not the novel I'd like to write. When thinking about that, my mind keeps coming back to the idea other writers have always expressed -- writing the book they needed as a kid to feel better. I can't think of a better way to engage and explore my Shadow, the parts of myself that give me shame, fear, anger. Working through my experiences, and acknowledging the ways in which they've shaped me, could be this tremendous healing exercise that allows me to reconfigure my personal story. The more I think about it, the more excited I am by the prospect.

That might also mean I blow a good idea on a bad novel, but that's all right. The whole point is to get it done, to give my whole self over to his project until it's out there. Then, I can shape, cut, steal, or whatever.

So far, this is the basic idea: a sensitive black kid in Baltimore transfers to a new school after a divorce from his alcoholic father. He travels between three worlds -- his school, his home, and his church -- but without feeling like a part of any of them. Each carries dangerous elements he feels the need to hide from, even though they also provide something he's desperately looking for.

Somehow, he discovers he's one of the Folk, a magical race of beings created from the synergy of man with their environment. He's a Totem Child, one of the Folk with an affinity for a specific animal -- as well as the mythological traits associated with it. But there are many, many different kinds of Folk. Some are friendly, some are not.

The Space that the Folk inhabit is fraying because, well, the environment is dying. The imbalance between man and his world causes all kinds of problems that the Folk must deal with, while also dealing with the pressure of disapproving religion and disbelieving science on either side.

The novel would be his discovery and acceptance of his true nature, with the recognition that the world doesn't become less hostile in the face of self-knowledge. We just become better equipped to handle it.

I'm still cooking. We'll see where we end up with either story.