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morganeboydauthor
Aug 163 min read

Ghosts of the Steel Road: Then and Now

My upcoming novel, Ghosts of the Steel Road, has a history that goes far beyond its current state.


I can’t remember exactly when I first came up with the idea of a low-fantasy story of a woman whose private detective father goes missing and throws her into a whole host of problems, but I know it was at some point early in high school. It was during a time when I was obsessed with my writing, but hadn’t actually learned much about what made good stories good. There weren’t really any classes I could take, so instead, I just wrote whatever came to mind until something stuck.


Of course, what would one day become Ghosts of the Steel Road stuck.


I worked on-and-off on Ghosts of the Steel Road for years, but the world and the plot changed drastically over time. But, I recently wondered, how much has the story changed?


Unfortunately, I no longer have much of my writing from early high school, due to the unfortunate and untimely death of my first laptop three days into the COVID-19 shutdown, but there are still some old documents from my school’s Google Drive that I swiped before they shut my account down.


One document, which must’ve been early as it was titled “Untitled WIP,” definitely had some differences. For one, private detectives in this version of the story took on apprentices, and Melandra may have been the older sibling, rather than the younger.


My father was only supposed to be gone for three days. It was a simple case, he said; a man was killed in his home in a small village, which always pointed to either the son, the wife, or the man that was lusting for the wife. If it had been such a simple case, he would’ve been back already. It was five days since he had left for the village that was only two, maybe three miles away. I wasn’t exactly sure which village he was going to, but I knew he was heading west, heading inland. But, he had to be close, with his estimate of how long he would be. The weather had been fair for those five days he was gone, a miracle during the summer when you live by the sea. If he had gotten stuck, he would’ve sent a letter, but there was no reason for him to get stuck. I had begun to repeat my nervous habit of pacing the floor in our home. It was a small, two floor building, the first floor being my father’s office and our library, while the second floor was the kitchen and bedrooms. The hard oak floors were old and worn, since this building had been used as the city detective's house for what was probably the three detectives before my father. Whenever one retired or passed, he put in his will for the building to be given to his apprentice. One strange thing about my father, he never took an apprentice.

Melandra’s mentor was also different; instead of her boss, Melandra relied on her neighbor with the very British-sounding name of Meredith Bridgewater. Zarothe was called Vanlett, and Finlune was called the Young Night Festival.


Caspian was already Caspian, though, and Melandra was already stab-happy. Nice to know some things never change.


Then, there’s a document that is titled “RAGT Draft.” What did RAGT stand for? I have absolutely no clue. I bet it was very cool-sounding to me in high school, though.


The beginning of this draft was definitely much more upfront about Melandra’s aggressive nature. I definitely was in my history moods during this time, given my direct mention of “consumer goods,” but already Zarothe is Zarothe.


Before we begin, I would just like to comment: I know what I may do may seem brash, or even stupid at times. I may be a little harsh on some people, and become almost too willing to pull out a knife and threaten people. Additionally, I may have a lifestyle that may not really be seen as “normal”, especially with the expanding markets and so-called availability of consumer goods of that day. But, I swear to you: I am a completely sane human being. Now, that that’s over, this story begins in the bustling city of Zarothe, where I was wasting away the warm day pacing around the living area above my father’s office, jumping at every noise to rush towards the window and look out at the street below. It was filled with the usual foot traffic, being an area where the new vehicles of the time weren’t allowed, but I would never see the familiar brown hat that my father usually wore, or the flash of his faded blue coat that he refused to replace. Each time I would sulk away from the window, trying to preoccupy myself with some other thought, before running back with the next noise that could signal my father being home. But, as it was for the past two days, he wasn’t there.

Interestingly, in both of these drafts, Alia (Melandra’s friend and major side character) calls Melandra “Mellie” multiple times, though I don’t think I ever call her that in the current novel. It’s actually kind of cute, though.


Though I only got eight thousand words into this draft, Caspian did still show up. He really just got bullied by the antagonist and then panicked, but at least he made an appearance. At this point, though, he had gloves instead of his rings.


The rings are definitely much cooler.


Today, I won’t give too much away from the novel, but I will give a sneak peak of the first page. My writing style has certainly changed a lot, especially my novel beginnings, so you don’t get too much information in this little snippet.


But hey, that’s all for the better, isn’t it?


Life had its rules. Its boundaries. They made things neat, made things easy. Anyone with the right amount of sense learned those rules automatically, and wordlessly breathed them in like the stench that always surrounded the city I grew up in. Never mix water and hot oil. Protect the time you have away from your workplace, guard it with your life. Know when you plow through a crowd and know when to let the crowd pass you without a fight. And, most of all, there are two kinds of people in life: somebodies and nobodies. Know exactly which one you are.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever have a story with as long of a development cycle as Ghosts of the Steel Road. Not only am I older and more knowledgeable in how to write a novel, but I’m also getting more serious about creating and publishing these novels. In fact, I’m about to start the editing process for a novel idea I came up with in April. Months compared to years, it’s almost remarkable.


Still, though, changes will always happen within novels. It’ll be interesting to know how those changes manifest in future novels, even if it’ll be much different than with Ghosts of the Steel Road. 


Either way, it warms me to know how this novel has grown with me. Now, though, it is almost time to let it go into the world, where it will remain as is for the rest of time while I grow without it.


Strange, isn’t it?

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