By Christopher Munroe
He did NaNoWriMo, you know.
Yes, he was there, writing 50k words, crafting his novel.
He finished, too. Finished, and was pleased. His story was everything he hoped it would be, yet even after edits he couldn’t figure out what to do with it.
Every publishing house said no, called it unrealistic in spite of every word being true, and that was when he realized his autobiography had no home in the literary world.
He’d wait for somebody else to write his story, however they might change it.
And so, his real life went unread.
The unpublished labor of Hercules…