After much tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth, I’ve decided to get rid of my unreliable narrator. Along with him goes a rather chunky section of DND subplot and unconvincing dialogue that I’ve faithfully transcribed on little index cards. Despite a synopsis rife with quirky characters that temporarily made me feel like the next David Foster Wallace, I was hanging a block of cement around my neck. I feel a little sad for B, but he is in a better place now that he’s not in my book. It’s weird how attached you get to characters, even flawed ones that only live on paper.