Yes, I know, it is the writer’s curse. Thinking about it is a terrible idea. What you’re supposed to do is just do it without thinking at all, and then think about what you’ve done. Thinking is in the editing stage, not the first writing stage.
It’s eBay’s fault. I’ve been having so much fun writing descriptions it’s become more important than making the money. That’s dangerous too: mortgage companies are not known for accepting payment in witty ripostes and humorous anecdotes.
It was Panoptica that forced this bout of unaccustomed brain activity. Nobody visits graves in Panoptica, in fact, while writing, I realised that no character showed the slightest inclination to even mention a parent or relative and since I had no churches (of any religion) I realised I had no graveyards.
It works like that sometimes. Only when you see the imaginary world from a character perspective do actually notice what’s wrong with it. The character does not notice.
In Panoptica, nobody dies. They just retire to somewhere warm, where they’ll meet all their old friends and never have to lift a finger again.
So there are no graves.
And there’s no retirement home.
And the windmills don’t turn but the lights stay on…
I can’t find the story now, it was a long time ago, but that’s not entirely fiction. It’s already happened. So far they’ve had the decency to wait until people die a natural death.
So far.
