[A Mysterious Romance]

Ah, the romantic(ized) life of a writer...


I just spent the past two hours doing this:

She was Destiny, by name and nature. She was many other things: Grace, Joy, Charity, Hope. But William had no choice in her name. She was Destiny long before William built her out of rusted building girders, discarded tins from canned meat, and useless car parts whose purposes had been forgotten since The Drying.

She was Destiny, in name and nature. She was many other things of course, but William had no choice in her name. She was Destiny long before William built her out of rusted building girders, discarded canned meat cans, and car parts that had been useless and forgotten ever since The Drying.

She was Destiny, in name and in nature. She was many other things of course. But William had no choice with her name. She was Destiny long before William built her body out of rusted girders, discarded canned meat tins, and car parts that had been useless ever since The Drying.


I even went to the gym to get my mind off syntax and semantics.