I've got an unfinished novel gathering dust in a drawer. Okay, it's a series of computer files, but that doesn't have the same ring to it.
It's an albatross, this novel, so personal, quirky, and long that it may never be marketable. Yet it was what started me writing fiction. I also happen to love it. Those close to me who've read the first two thirds are very enthusiastic, but that isn't related to actually selling the thing.
Occasionally I prepare for the battle: "I'll revamp it," I declare. "I'll rework the first part into its own novel." "I'll change basic elements of the premise so it's more accessible."
But I never actually do that. It's my first born, albeit specially challenged, and it's beautiful to me just the way it is. Still, I'd like it to be able to grow up and have a life of its own someday outside of my hard drive...
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