I was intending to do National Novel Writing Month this year.

I had a pretty good idea, I thought, about a story. A guy is pretty awful, and he decides to tell the story of his lives. First, he’s a rapist, who dies mid-rape somehow. He gets punished by being turned into a tree, or something, and being burned alive in a forest fire.

After that, he becomes a dog, but he starts attacking people, so he gets re-incarnated as a sex slave, malnourished, unable to get away.

During the course of these little events, he learns a little something different every time, and over time, he begins to understand just how he was fucking his life up.

The story was going to end by him being born again as a regular guy, with a full life to live.

But I didn’t write it. Oh well.

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