Elizabeth just had a brilliant idea actually.
Why not just print her rumbled heap of scattered notes… just as it is. In four volumes if needed.
What Lemone was saying in his Words of Comfort for the Descended already?
It’s not the writer’s job to piece the stuff life is made of together, it’s the job of the reader.
“Bloody good point,” she’d be keoon saying.
Trust the reader to take what they want, read on impulse… Whatever or not… She had a feeling that in the future when people are reading her stuff, that it will make more sense to them than to current day average readers.
She was so leading-edge.
Of course, her editor would make a fuss, but he would have no other choice than recognize her genioos.
How exciting it all was.