Synopsis
Victor is unique: Whenever he gets hurt, he can heal from the injury simply by sleeping, regardless of how bad it is. No one else is this way, however, and Victor wants to know why he's so special.
Meanwhile, strange monsters called the Famished are plaguing the world. Creatures who can only move at night, yet will disperse a poisonous miasma if killed during the day, they can devastate entire cities within days.
Victor is sent to discover the genesis of these monsters and, at the same time, why he is this way. The closer Victor gets to the truth, the more disturbing it becomes.
Meanwhile, strange monsters called the Famished are plaguing the world. Creatures who can only move at night, yet will disperse a poisonous miasma if killed during the day, they can devastate entire cities within days.
Victor is sent to discover the genesis of these monsters and, at the same time, why he is this way. The closer Victor gets to the truth, the more disturbing it becomes.
Background
Two pieces inspired this story. Piece one: I was teaching The Canterbury Tales when I started this story. I had finished Words of the Silenced and had some basic ideas for a story, but I didn't know where to begin. I did, however, like the way that Chaucer had a strong major arc that allowed him to intersperse longer, diverse, more complex stories into the central narrative. Using that as a starting place, I wrote an excessively long prologue (which I didn't call a prologue) to set the tone for the rest of the story.
Piece two: I had this one image in my head of a person, standing at the top of a cliff that surrounded a lagoon, who jumped off. Upon striking the water, his neck snapped. Rather than drowning, the neck healed and the man, disappointed, swam to shore. I was curious and wanted to write a story about this guy.
Unfortunately, it fell off the rails about midway through. Part of it was too little groundwork on my part: I didn't put together a story bible, I didn't do much world building, and my attempts at outlining were pathetic.
I pushed on--leaving a project unfinished rankles me--and I printed it out, but I never looked at it again. It is one of the most embarrassing pieces I've ever written, and only two other people--maybe--have read it. It's bad, it's gross, and I'm glad it's over.
I'm also glad I wrote it, since it gave me the spark I needed for Writ in Blood, which is the novel on which I've worked longest and hardest. So I owe Tales some credit, even if it is, itself, a steaming pile.
Piece two: I had this one image in my head of a person, standing at the top of a cliff that surrounded a lagoon, who jumped off. Upon striking the water, his neck snapped. Rather than drowning, the neck healed and the man, disappointed, swam to shore. I was curious and wanted to write a story about this guy.
Unfortunately, it fell off the rails about midway through. Part of it was too little groundwork on my part: I didn't put together a story bible, I didn't do much world building, and my attempts at outlining were pathetic.
I pushed on--leaving a project unfinished rankles me--and I printed it out, but I never looked at it again. It is one of the most embarrassing pieces I've ever written, and only two other people--maybe--have read it. It's bad, it's gross, and I'm glad it's over.
I'm also glad I wrote it, since it gave me the spark I needed for Writ in Blood, which is the novel on which I've worked longest and hardest. So I owe Tales some credit, even if it is, itself, a steaming pile.
Status
Hahahahahaha.
I'm never touching this thing again.
I'm never touching this thing again.