Evil Tides on the Tilikum

A novel is a massive undertaking. It takes time to nurture, like a child. It evolves from the ether, the mist of imagination. It is demanding. If the proper time is taken in creation, it results in even more editing and consideration. Each character reveals itself in new forms without the slightest provocation. The joy in writing something from what was once nothing is indescribable. Passion outplays planning. Characters act in ways the writer must adapt to, rather than simply react. There is no cadence in pure creativity. It must be tamed, but always allowed to roam. There is no timetable here. I have to read what was written in what can only be described as a trance. It must be felt, then allowed to expand. Once the first draft is done, it will undergo massive transformations. Situations which unfold from nothing require the utmost focus to become sharp. Characters must adapt to what is to come. Charlemagne, a name wholly derived from another favorite Steely Dan tune. Deke you alread

Author's Note: Hello, and welcome to a place where nobody knows what is real, what is about to happen, or why. Just beware riding your bike alone on the Tilikum... Have you ever noticed an anomaly on the bicycle counters on either end of the Tilikum Crossing? I have. Numbers vary widely from the downtown-bound to the outbound. When I first noticed, I wondered why more people would pedal into downtown than those who ride eastbound. Now, the truth is clear. Cyclists are disappearing there on a regular basis, but their demise does not appear in news media. Why?!? Is there a coverup happening at the highest levels of local police and government? Is the truth itself so terrifying the "public interest" is best served by intentional misdirection? Through thoughtful consideration and observation, I have determined there is a troll beneath that bridge, and it eats bicyclists. It is masterful in disguise, nearly impossible to see. But a Kid saw it, so she says. I cannot pinpoint an