Is it lame to laugh at something you yourself wrote? Not that I don't acknowledge that I'm lame for a variety of reasons, but this one seems almost conceited. Like tooting my own metaphorical horn. I laugh far too much when I reread Thistleswitch. Ah, well.
In other news, I tried to write a synopsis for the basic plot of the Unnamed Companion, and failed miserably. In further news, I still have no name for the Unnamed Companion. At the very least, I wish I had a clever working title, but I've got diddly squat.
At least the story itself has started taking shape. It's strange - there are parts of it that I really, really want to write. I've been dreaming about them, even. And then there are sections that I have no ideas for, that I'm wary of attempting. We'll see how it goes once...I'm about three-fourths of the way through the prologue right now, and I think I know where I'm going with the first part of the first chapter, at least. After that...the magic that is Thistleswitch will need to get my creative juices pumping.
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