Actually I started writing some ridiculous little thing about a girl living in ancient Rome. Actually, she moves to Ancient Rome from the country. I'm not really sure which country exactly, as I'm too lazy to do much research aside from a little Wikipedia about ancient Roman architecture and villa layouts and the function of a peristylium. So I'm stuck with this too-modern, unoriginal mess about slaves and honor and unrequited love, and I'm lamenting those four years of Latin in high school when I complained about having to watch Ben-Hur and translate thirty-line stories about the Cornelii.
But you would be proud, because, going against all my most powerful procrastinator's instincts, I sketched out the whole plot before I wrote a word of the narrative.
How's that for reckless abandonment of a perfectly good, nearly-finished manuscript?
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