I called my finished sim Writer's Retreat#a9f5d4e2.My first few days spent within the digital sanctuary led to zero results. Aside from a few typing noises and agitated mutterings, I only really stared out the beautiful window. The first thing I initially wanted to focus on was jotting down the biggest accomplishments in my life (uploading being the ultimate achievement) and my favorite memories from growing up. The more I reflected on my life though, the more I chastised myself for past failures and regrets, none of which I bothered writing down. Instead, there was this nagging feeling at the back of my mind, thinking about how much better that one bad romance novel would've been if the main character's love interest had a little more interest in getting to know her.
"I'll work on it after I'm done with this project," I promised myself.
Another few days passed. I broke away from my isolation in order to join Zion again at the Infinite Café, only for my melancholy to disappear when they mentioned how busy they were with a sim commission and had sent a fork in their place. Seeing the duplication of my friend sitting before me, relaxed and completely invested in our conversation about backlogged projects, caused a great idea to pop into my head.
"That's it!" I suddenly shot up from our table with the widest of smiles. A few heads turned but didn't remain focused on me. "Zion, you're a genius! A brilliant, brilliant genius!"
"No need to heap praises on me," their fork replied after laughing. "By the way, why am I a genius?"
I demonstrated it by suddenly creating a forked version of myself, who promptly returned to the Writer's Retreat.
They immediately understood, sharing my grin. "You're right, I'm a genius, sweetie. Just don't push yourselves too hard, okay?"
Not at first, we didn't. After renovating my one-room cabin for dual capacity, my days were spent at that desk, either jotting down vague notes or thinking back to repressed memories I'd been trying to erase. When I couldn't bear just staying in the cabin as my forked instance eagerly typed away on his own typewriter, I decided to venture outside and explore the sim. Within a couple of days, my fork asked if I'd be interested in reading the novella's rough draft. I eagerly accepted it, much to his delight, and mine.
"Not bad, actually," I said after skimming through the first chapter. "It'll need some work."
"We've got all the time in the world, right?" He sat across from me in the living room, now communal. "If this'll need to be edited and reworked, I'll want to stay for longer. I've got some other ideas I want to work on too." My fork began to snicker.
"What?" I asked.
"From now on," he explained, "you can call me 'Romance Genre'."
I stared blankly at him. "Really?"
"Yes!" He nodded vigorously, wearing a glint in his eyes I never thought was possible to see on my own face. "If I ever feel like making any forks to write other book ideas, let's name them after genres! I'll be Romance Genre, and if you ever want to start working on a political thriller, but won't get away from this slump you're in, you'll fork out Political Thriller."
I shook my head and laughed. "Whatever."
"Genre Clade" by Domus Vocis, exploring the origins of a wide-ranging clade, will be in Clade — A Post-Self Anthology, out August 1! Pre-orders open soon :D