A Novel Discovery.

One night, when I was missing my dear friend Mr Comp most dreadfully, I re-read the first two chapters of my novel for the first time in several years. I was horrified. The writing style in the first chapter is so immature as to be almost unreadable (to me, that is.) The second chapter is much better.

I remembered that the first chapter started life several years before as a short story in its own right, but wasn’t offered to publishers for superstitious reasons. I never noticed the difference in style when I was writing the rest, and that’s pretty bad. And it’s no consolation that the second chapter was the point at which a certain goddess took over…