The Story So Far

So I still have this blog, thing, and I figure that, as long as I have it, I should probably endeavor to do something more with it than just not updating it. Like update it.

Side note: I'm a big fan of the word "endeavor."

The way I'd like to update this blog - that is, the way I'd like to endeavor to regularly update this blog - is by writing about writing. More specifically, I'd like to do this by writing about the other non-blog writing that I have a tendency to do throughout the week. Whether or not I'm able to do this consistently remains to be seen, but I had the idea today, and I thought it was a decent one, so here I go with the endeavor.

Lately I have been endeavoring (really, like that word) to write a novel. And before I begin writing what I hope will be daily posts about the process of writing that novel, I feel I should elaborate upon the history of this would-be novel, as its history is, perhaps, of some slight interest to someone somewhere. That someone being me. So, in an attempt to begin at the beginning, I give you...the story so far:

I've been writing this novel, on and off, for the past 11 years. The name of the novel right now is The Acolyte, although that is only its most recent iteration, and probably just a short-term fix. I have a feeling I won't give it a title I'm satisfied with until I finish the thing. Of course, having been in the process of writing it in some manner or another for the last decade-plus-one, doesn't lend much support to the idea that I'll have a solid title any time soon.

Let me go back to the beginning like I promised I would. I was laying in bed one night as a teenage boy, half-comatose from too much pasta and not looking forward to waking up early for school the next day. In this state, I had an idea for a story - which was nothing too out of the ordinary for me at the time - and that idea was that a young man of roughly the same age, appearance, and level of intelligence as myself, would board a bus to somewhere and, unbeknownst to him, take a seat next to the devil.

Over the course of the ensuing bus ride, the boy and the devil would progress from chit-chat to small talk to conversation and, eventually, pass into deep philosophical discussion. That I didn't know what "deep philosophical discussion" really was at that age didn't stop me from thinking it was a good idea (these days, however, that lack of understanding does at least give me pause for thought). The upshot of this deep philosophical discussion would be that this particular devil would turn out to be the cause of pretty much all of the world's problems, and that the protagonist would feel a deep, hopeful, soul-permeating responsibility to do his very best to thwart this devil. It would be more or less at the point at which the protagonist's soul was being fully permeated by this feeling that the devil would then say something along the lines of, "So, kid...that soul of yours looks pretty nice. What do you want for it?" And the protagonist, against the good advice of centuries' worth of literature and folklore, would think that this was the best idea he'd heard in a long, long time. And the reason he would think it was such a good idea would be because he would have an even better idea of what he would like to get in return for the sale of his soul.

I'm not about to say what that thing was, but I will say that I basically stole the idea from a cartoon.

I never did end up writing that story. I started it once, but I didn't get very far. That whole "deep philosophical discussion" thing kept getting in the way. But even though I didn't write the story, the idea stayed with me. It actually enthralled me, the idea of the wish, of the moment where the protagonist would say, "Alright Mr. Devil, you think you're so smart. I'll sell you my soul, but in return, this is what I want..." (still not telling), and then he would tell the devil what he wanted, and the devil would fall back, aghast, and it would just be totally awesome. Furthermore I, as the story's author, would also, more likely than not, be feted like a returning hero. Or so I thought (or so I still sometimes think during what I hope are my vainest moments).

And so the idea stuck with me. A common yet accurate metaphorical description would be to say that the idea germinated in me. And I continued to not write the story. And then I went to college.

This story of the story is already much longer than I thought it would be. And if there's anything I know about people who read things on the Internet, it's that they don't like to read things of any great length. I know this because I don't like to read things of any great length on the Internet, and I can only assume that everyone else everywhere is exactly like me in that (and most) respect(s). So what I'm going to do right now is stop the story, to be continued at a later date which, should all go according to plan, will be tomorrow's date. Goodnight for now, dear readers.

Tomorrow: The College Years - Like the Wonder Years, only with more vomit!