In February I read a story called, " The Birthday Party Log of Ned, Born on February 29th." The joke being that the birthday only comes every four years, so the person ages differently than people with an 'annual birthday'. Reading this story totally shocked me.
Late last year,perhaps for the first time in literary history, I had the same idea as another author. About half way through January, I put some of these ideas together. If I'm not tired from watching Boxed DVD sets, I like to jot a few words down. January 15 I wrote Birthday Toasts to a Leap Year Baby.
Unfortunately I had no idea my muses were begging me to finish the thing.
So I put my draft (pictured) in a binder.
I put the binder in my lock box. Put the lock box in my desk drawer. And then I put my desk in my secret compartment. And then I sealed the door to my secret compartment with wax and the Seal of Sir Justin.
And because of that, I lost a great slice of literary glory.
I should very much like to bury the resulting pain with my stacks of drafts in the secret compartment.
But redoing the wax is such a pain.
