This is Traistal and Émon. Neither of them actually looks like this, because I’m really terrible at getting pictures in my head to be pictures on paper. They are father and son (although, depending on which draft you read, Émon doesn’t know it yet). They both had their heads shaved to prevent disease in the slave camp they inhabit. Traistal doesn’t usually wear a nightcap or make the peace sign because they live in a fantasy world, a world called Naryen-Mair, a world which I invented when I was 14 and have never quite been able to let go of.
Once in a while, I miss these guys quite a lot. I know them better than I know most of my friends. I’ve written about three novels with them in it— between all the different versions, I’ve drafted almost a thousand pages about the adventure of father and son (occasionally grandfather and son until I figured out that the timeline was ridiculous). I spent about six years of my life writing them. Considering that I’m only 23, that’s a huge chunk of time.
When I was younger I was determined to be a novelist. I submitted my query letters to a couple different agents. One of them requested a sample, and then the entire manuscript. She rejected it because, quite frankly, it was awful. Still, it was an accomplishment, and it gave my writing skill a huge boost.
Then my life took a different turn. I started traveling, and started writing about my travels. I realized I quite enjoyed creative nonfiction. I even like article writing now. I’ve put my novel dream on hold, because although I know I have the time to write one, at this point in my life I don’t have the energy to commit to one.
But don’t worry, Traistal and Émon. I’ll get back to writing you guys. Eventually…
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