  I've started reading Anna Karenina, I'm about fifty pages deep. And I'm enthralled. I've decided that at least tentatively, I want Intertwine (my grand masterpiece) to be something even a tenth as incredible. The characters and the psychology of this book are unlike anything that I've ever read before. My eyes will likely be occupied with text translated from Russian for some time. So, I scrapped the last draft of Intertwine.
I wrote up a new plot, that will hopefully appeal to more distinguished readers. In any case I started a new draft (the fourth or fifth, over the course of at least a year, probably two). The draft follows, mostly unedited-- Reflected on the windows of a zeppelin cabin, the city of Nelence looked beautiful. Majestic skyscrapers climbed the sky, their minarets skewering the clouds. The metals that had been forged together by a combination of great wealth and great skill gleamed in the morning sunlight, as if they were made of silver, or as if they were competing with the sun in the sky to be the brightest. Throngs of automobiles sped through the city streets, accompanied by bowler hat toting businessmen, all of them wearing suitably dark clothing, as was the fashion of the age.
The city brimmed with life and with activity, and to look upon it at such an early hour would easily quell even the greatest fatigue. Coffee shops were rare in Nelence. The miasma of life and excitement could not be ignored by even the laziest of travelers. The sky was packed with zeppelins, many of them large enough to blot the sun out for the entire length of a city street. Inside the cabin of one of the bigger zeppelins, a transport being readied to travel to the distant isle of Vadaina, sat a lone noble from a distant, quieter region, where the only noises came from frogs and from dragonflies. This had been his first trip in awhile to Nelence, for he hated the city with a passion and avoided it whenever he could, in spite of his title as Lord of Bethnen, a province to the far, tenebrous south.
He was an irritably shy young man who had assumed the helm of his lordship only months ago, alienating his now deceased fathers officers and diplomats and officials, who had been used to a jollier noble, who could wring a smile out of anyone by merely looking at them. His father was a great man, and an DBethne lived far within the confines of his shadow, even in death. He had left most of the work up to the officials, preferring to instead stay within his quarters and stare at his desk, or the latest dispatches, tax reports, various municipal problems. It bored him to the brink of insanity, and yet there was no alternative. Somehow, his father, whom an had felt his entire life was a rather clumsy and stupid fellow, had managed to command all of these ostentatiously complicated tasks, all the while with a gleam in his eye and a wide, pleasant smile on his handsome face. He had succumbed quite unexpectedly to the Halberd Fever, an incurable disease, and died less than a week later.
an had searched frantically for another heir, perhaps a distant relation, but there was none. And then, only a few weeks after taking over as head of Bethnen, an had been instructed by a high-ranking official calling himself Ignav in Nelence to meet up with his old friend, Salax DVadai, a prince of the Isle of Vadaina, a beautiful paradise, of thick jungles and wet draperies of leaves and foliage. an went to Vadaina whenever he had the time to. In spite of its large capital, Tune (an hated large cities. Or cities at all) it was quiet and lovely. There was always a pretty girl to flirt with and grin at, always a bathwater ocean to dive into.
The instructions told him to meet up with Salax and then bring him to Nelence, where the tri-annual Council of Nobles would convene to discuss matters pertaining to governing the vast Isardan Empire. The cabin he sat within was quite opulent and, for the moment, quite quiet, since an had arrived early enough to beat the traffic and the crowds. In fact, an noticed that he was the sole occupier of it. Its walls were lit with the warm, orange glow of oil lamps, and lavish, comfortable couches were scattered about its floor. None of this really concerned an, howeverhe had seen it all before. His whole life he had been surrounded by luxury and riches.
As such, flying first class on a zeppelin was not unusual at all. He had brought a book along for the journey but didnt feel like reading it. He didnt feel like doing much of anything. an DBethne was depressed beyond what his outward looks could convey. Before him he saw year after year of boredom and misery and municipality. His hairs would gray over, his skin would shrivel and he would die in his bedsomehow he knew it.
Since his childhood he had always craved the life of an adventurer, and the death of one tooand yet, in these times adventures were hard to come by. With these inward thoughts he slumped in his chair. At the far end of the cabin the wooden door was quietly opened to allow a rather obese man inside, his suit clinging to his fat and sweating body. His head was bald and gleamed under the oil lamps, and his face seemed to be wrinkled in a perpetual smile, one so wide as to reduce his eyes to mere slits. He trotted over to the seat directly across from an and maneuvered himself into it, the chandeliers shaking as his rump hit the cushion. He was holding a newspaper, but quickly tossed it to the ornate table at his side.
Beautiful day, he declared, to an, who had already noticed. Yes, quite nice. Yes, an replied, quickly attempting to derail any attempt at conversation, his eyes drifting to the window. My names Edgar, said the man, pitching his blubbery body forward and extending his hand, Edgar Semmel. How extraordinary, murmured an, who briefly shook Edgars hand. Edgar noticed the sarcasm and the venom in ans voice, but pretended not to.
Still leaning forward, and with a shine in his eye, he asked And what might your name be? an DBethne. Ah! Sounds like a northerly name! Dya hail from the Scend territories? I hear winters up there are pretty rough.
an shut his eyes with frustration, then opened them again. No, actually Im from the south. From Bethnen. Edgar seemed unhindered in his attempts to elucidate conversation. Oh, sorry my mistake, I should have recognized the accent. Do they make good Rennel in Bethnen?
Im quite fond of Rennel. Have you ever tried it? Before an could answer, Edgar shrieked waiter! At once, a thin, tall man in black tails arrived. He hovered quietly over Edgar, visibly hoping to get the business over with. Yes, sir?
he murmured. Bring us two dozen Remmel. Andand be quick about it. The waiter nodded and then hurried away. As if to convey a secret, Edgar leaned forward once more, nearly taking his chair with him. I take this flight every week, and Ive never been too fond of that man.
All he says is yes sir, and he never stops looking so annoyed. Havent you noticed that too, Mr. DBethne? an nodded. Slowly. Oh, good, I thought I was going crazy. This job of mine, you know, working in the Kings Foreign Ministry, its a nightmare!
He always wants me to be so aggressive with everyone I meet, but it just isnt in my nature. Im terrified of getting fired, because its quite a good income, and for doing next to nothing! Except for threatening foreigners of course, but dont we all do that at some point or another in our lives? Isnt it just in our nature? Hmm, well anyway And for the next ten minutes Edgar droned on about his work, mentioning a phrase that involved the word nature every few sentences. an nodded every now and then, sometimes made grunting noises with his neck, and found himself fighting to stay sane.
Here was a fat man, who had come out of nowhere to talk to an about his job. And for what? He didnt know an. And then the Remmel arrived. The funny thing is, I came up with the name Elan god knows how long ago, since the very first draft that character has been around (even though he has shifted from comedic relief to something a bit deeper...I hope). However this year a freshman came to my high school with the same name.
He seems like a cool guy, I spoke to him once for a second, but I'm worried that if I ever get the book published and keep the name that people will think I'm some kind of stalker and named the fellow after him. Hmm... 
