There are people in my drawer.
My center desk drawer, to be exact.
Tucked behind the sharpies and a wad of rubber bands.
Men, women, old, young, present, past. They’re all there.
Not stacked but strewn. A case of haphazard tossing, I’m afraid.
Every author has such a drawer. A place where characters they’ve created but not used are put away for another time.
A better time.
A more opportune time.
For me, that time is now.
I’m going Full-Frontal Literary, ladies and gents.
Rejects from failed Romances, Horror, Women’s Lit and more, are coming out from behind the sharpies. All will be given a chance at second lives in Literary Fiction.
How will this all work?
I don’t know. I’m still untangling ‘Alice Shook’ from the rubber bands.