The Great errr...French Novel
About three years ago now, Oct 1999 to be exact, Karen, my mother and myself
went on a trip to France. Karen’s first trip out of the Americas. It was
a wonderful, magical, mystical mystery tour. We all had an incredible time.
We saw such things. Experienced so and such.
It was what let Karen and myself know that we could in fact live together.
However, the trip is only tangential to the tale I have here to tell.
About two years ago, shortly after Buffy Pride and Prejudice, Karen
and I started talking about writing a travel book about our France adventure.
Sort of. While France was incredible, we wanted to set our two characters
(who are pretty much us) to traveling across the France of the magical
real. Sorry mom, but I just can’t write your dialog. This France would
be populated with ghosts and vampires and a whole lot of philosophical/pop
culture discussions.
Karen and I talked and talked and did a whole lot of not writing. Beautifully
glowing prose that not writing was. Then sometime last year, I wrote a
prolog. And then a whole lot more of not writing. Mainly because I knew
that once I started, the story would ride me. Especially if I didn’t finish
it. I’m like that.
Anyway, I’ve decided that talk is talk. Much longer and it’ll be the
ten year anniversary of the trip and memories will grow vague.
So, each month we will produce one chapter/day of the trip. Don’t you
like how I commit Karen’s time to long drawn out projects. I know I do.
To begin, here is the prolog.
A month and a day.
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