A friend of mine died in an accident. I started writing about it both to try to understand and possibly to have something to give to her children and husband. I’ve come to realize that what I’ve done is equal parts upsetting, detached, inappropriate and not good enough, but that I cannot do it any other way. I don’t even think I can show it to my husband. Y’all are the only ones who will ever know about it. I’ve been wanting to tell someone since I’ve been working very hard on it.
I’ve written many roleplaying books now. None of them have ben published yet, but they are all moving into that level of quality.
I wrote two of the last Eamon role-playing games to be published on the Eamon Adventurer’s Guild website. I am working on another, and have plans for two more. This counts as esoteric because Eamon is a role-playing text adventure system for the defunct Apple II computer, and it’s quite likely that less than a dozen people will ever play the games that I wrote or will write. What’s more, my games were published as disk images and so can’t be played on an actual Apple II, only on emulators. And yet, for reasons I can’t explain even to myself, I feel that I must write and publish five of these games. Go figure.
I just ecently helped a friend rewrite his epic sprawlin and ultimately worthless Justice League script.
Early in the project I offered to script doctor it for him when it was done. (I’ll say right now that I am a struggling tv writer who has no credits and never had any work produced… but I am very good and I get asked by other wannabes to script doctor occasionally) He came down to stay with me for a week and claimed that it was done… IT was not… not by a long shot. We worked on it and I restructured, edited and also wrote the climax.
But since neither of us have any contacts at Warner Brothers and it would be fantastically expensive to film… This was just a writing excercise.