On fragments and the unwritten

I’m reminded today of certain characters and plots I’ve thought about writing, some of them for years now have lived in the back of my mind, but every time I consider them I eventually decide to leave them right where they are, as if unwritten is their natural state, their habitat, so to speak.

One of these is Mister Wonderful, who made his first appearance in my head as a collage I once made. He showed up in print for the first time in Renegade Robot as an irritating TV personality who wouldn’t go away, and then again in The New Guy in Moon Base Twelve, where he was promoted to a sort of right-wing news-star , but he’s been clamoring for his own story for some time now. I might have to regress him a bit, knock him down a peg or two before that happens.

Another is the Soul Searcher. This would be a person whose job it is to search for lost souls, really lost ones, so lost that even God has no idea where they got to, but they have to be accounted for sooner or later.

Then there is the tale of the reclusive machinist who lives in a lighthouse and manufactures unique jigsaw puzzles.

Then there are characters who have had their own stories told and retold, who have been written and then rewritten. Sylvia the sometimes-unhappily-psychic is one. Epikles is another. They never get tired of being reinvented, it seems.

I find bits of these characters and plots in other people’s stories, which is both annoying and reassuring, as in the idea that nothing is ever lost in this world. It’s all circulating somewhere, as if every possible character gets their own story, and every possible story gets their own book in the end.

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