I am feeling exceedingly glum, uncreative, and uninspired. I cannot write for you a new thing tonight.
So, here’s an old thing. I wrote it probably two years ago, or somewhere around there. I had finished writing the first draft of The Psychnomast and I was a little stir-crazy, and I jotted down a sentence that came to me in a flash of brilliance while I was star-gazing at my family’s campsite in the summer.
What follows is the introductory passage to the hypothetical second novel I may even write some day. Enjoy.
I always thought it fitting that Venus was the brightest of all the stars in the night sky.
After all, the Roman goddess fancied herself better than all others, god and mortal alike. Then again, Venus isn’t really a star. Just so, Venus wasn’t the most important. No. In fact, Venus did very little other than gaze at herself and pine after handsome men.
This story follows the most unlikely of heroes. One that is outshone by Venus in appearance, perhaps, but certainly not in any other respect.