So last night I write a little over 2300 words on A Natural History of Dragons, and then it’s Very Late, so I go to bed, and lie there for a little while, and then get up and go back to the computer and type in this:
I’m one of those people who, soon as you tell me not to do something, I turn around and do it. Because fuck you, even if you are a friend. And Tia wasn’t that much of a friend.
So I’m talking about how I’m bored with the Meltdown and there’s this old club over on Hall I might check out, and she says I shouldn’t, and we argue about it a bit until she says — only half-joking — “J, I forbid you to go,” and that’s it: to hell with her. Which I say. So she storms off, and I pin up my favorite skirt with some giant safety pins, braid gold LEDs into my hair, and go off to see what this old club is like. Because fuck Tia, and anybody else who tells me what to do.
I’m not sure why my brain decided that 4:30 in the morning after 2300 words of novel was the ideal time to mug me with a framework and two opening paragraphs for a “Tam Lin” retelling that could possibly cruise all the way through without having any fantastical content whatsoever (only then where would I sell it?) . . . but that’s how it goes, sometimes.
The funny thing is, I’ve had the opening page and a half for a “Tam Lin” sequel story hanging out in my “unfinished” folder for years now. And now I’m wondering if what I need to do is throw out everything but the first line (“Faerie trouble never really goes away.”), splice a bit of fantastical content into the story up above, and then link these two together.
Well, no need to decide right away. I have several deadlines breathing down my neck which take first priority. But it’s a thought for the future.