The last few days, I felt like I would go crazy if I didn't finish writing something. Anything. Habis Neil Gaiman la ni.
So I searched my old drives and backups of my old drive and found a detective story I wrote when I was 19. That was 10 years ago, man. Fuck!
I wrote it as both a short story and comics script. It's supposed to be either a four or six-issue mini-series.
I read it. Cringed at some bits. Deleted around 20% of the dialogue, and commissioned an artist friend to draw six pages and character design, so I can send it to people and see if it gets published.
Speculative work usually don't, you know. And it is a waste of the writer's and artist's time. But hey, I got some cash, and a half-decent script. And great artist friends. Might as well be hung as a sheep than a lamb.
I wonder, what else I have lying in the old backup drives.
