I’ve spoken before that The Rogue King Saga is an old creature. It started way back in ’97. Eighteen years later, there’s little left of the original story.
The overarching story is still there. Veng has always been a man facing down a god who seeks to destroy him. But the story within? It grew darker. By bounds rather than inches. I’ve rewritten the entire thing three or four times now and each one gained an additional film of grime.
It’s not all doom and gloom, there’s just more… gloom.
Looking back at the beginning, I don’t think I truly understood my story. But, just by the sheer virtue of continuing to live, thirty-year-old me has more experience than twelve-year-old me…
In those eighteen years, I’ve seen death (more death at any rate), I’ve come close to it twice and considered it once. I’ve experienced pain, both in the physical sense and the emotional. And been so angry that I blacked out and had to be dragged off my victim. I’ve smacked against, and crawled out of, such aching nothingness that sucks at your very soul until you’re numb. I’ve also fallen in love. Created life and saved little furry lives.
They say a writer’s personal experiences colour their stories. And whilst twelve-year-old me knew of certain things, but she didn’t know.
The Rogue King Saga has changed so much, darkened beyond my first notes, that some things at the end no longer fit. Lately, I’ve rewritten more and more of The Vengeful God than I have in a good long while. It’s suffered more chopped chapters and alterations than any other part.
I’m okay with that. The bits that matter survive to live on in another part of the story.
Are there any particular experiences you’ve drawn on in your stories? Done any major alterations to a novel?