Three unfinished novels. Scattered along my nineteen-year lifespan were three novels. I never finished any of them. I wrote the first one when I was about ten or eleven. I wrote it in a notebook that had a cartoon character at the cover, with matching celluloid protection that I expertly did on my own. Those where the days where the books I devour where our Grolier’s encyclopedia set and anything written by Jules Verne. So as to be expected, I fancied myself writing science fiction.

My first novel attempt was set in a really futuristic future. You still live in a regular house and have a biological body intact, the only difference is that everything is automated by machines. Kind of like the setting in the Walt Disney Film’s Meet the Robinsons. So anyway, I remember this young boy. I think I named him Andy. This story was about how Andy, along with his school friend (a girl of course) discovers a portal right under his house which happens to lead to a kingdom long-buried underneath the earth. The concept is kind of like an underground Atlantis. This kingdom had its own culture, they had strange creatures as pets, and even had their own close-to-wizardry-like science.  Now I don’t remember what happened really after Andy and his friend got in there, what I do remember is that a series of events actually leads him on a mission to save the Kingdom by trying to guard this magical floating crystal at the center of which happens to power the whole Kingdom and every living creature inside of it. Reason why I didn’t finish this novel: I lost the notebook (also the first biggest disappointment in my pseudo-writing attempts).

I wrote my second novel when I was a teenager. Being a girl just stumbling into puberty, it would be obvious what my general theme would be. It was about love. There would be no way in this global-warming-infested Earth that I would talk about what happened in my second novel attempt. Reason why I didn’t finish this novel: Just. No.

My third and most recent novel attempt was a real heart breaker for me. I wrote it just after high school, during the summer of two thousand six. I didn’t know what pushed me into writing that one, though I do remember being so self-disillusioned about really making a good novel this time. And why not? I felt I was a lot better than that ten or eleven kid who wrote in a notebook, I accumulated more taste in fiction, and best of all, it was summer and I had nothing to do. So I set out to make this novel. Again, I invented a world. Instead of two friends, there where four of them. There’s even this whole back story. There’s this whole historical fight between the light and the dark and the fate of humankind. Lot’s of action definitely. I had to pitch in philosophical and existential moments too. And yes, there may have been a bit of the L thing going on. I remembered being so involved with my characters that I even did some research just for their names. I wasn’t satisfied with doing just that so I even made a whole genealogy just for it. I was gushing thousands upon thousands of words every week. Until suddenly, college kicked in. Reason why I didn’t finish this novel: The home pc where I typed the whole thing got reformated </3

And so, here I am. After three (or two legitimate ones actually), I am still novel-less. Moral of the story: (1) never write a novel in a notebook, (2) never write a love story, and lastly (3) remember to always have a back-up. That or forget about it at all.

I’m still wondering if I should still try. Or, nah, plan B is to be filthy rich someday so I could afford to buy an infinite collection of fiction novels and possibly a conducive reading spot- like an island. Yeah, definitely plan B.

#this is my goal in life #I really need an island #and a library of my own

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