As the result of a bad case of end-of-project anxiety ("Whadda I write about NOW??"), I'm poking at a -- novel? -- novelette? -- historical fantasy thingie? -- sci/fi? -- which is my usual way of starting something completely now.
Right now it's only some vague historical meanderings, with a gloomy kid (guess what I was like as a teen) wandering around in it. No, it is NOT Catcher In The Rye.
I'm actually going back and putting the action and dialogue in to spice up the liveliness (I can hack as good as the next guy). What I've got is just a skeleton, and an author with no clue. I don't even know what this thing is about, yet. Mystery? Teenage angst? Rage against the machine? It's talking to itself and I have no idea what it wants. I'm waiting for it to start talking to ME. The kid is probably just a place-holder until the real character shows up -- which is what Stinz did.
What later became the the centaur hero of one of my most -- dare I say? - beloved series was just some two-legged sidebar mayor in An Insupportable Light, a story about a young nobleman trying to take over a position in life he didn't really want. Stinz was standing on the sidelines smoking when he perked up and said, "Okay, I'm in charge of this plot line now."
My best work is nothing if not organic.