"I KILLED MY LAST SERIAL TWELVE YEARS AGO. NOW I'M MEDICATED, AND THERE ARE CRYPTIDS. (Introducing The Cryptid Cataloger)"

Twelve years ago I started a serial. I hosted it here, then moved it to some custom-domained Medium situation, and then — like a frankly alarming percentage of things I begin — I just… stopped. I don’t even remember why. One day there were updates, and then there weren’t, and the story has been lying in a ditch beside the information superhighway ever since. (If you’d like to visit the crime scene, here’s the original post about it.) So naturally, the obvious move is to start another one. I can hear you. “Dylan. Buddy. Why would you start a second serial twelve years after the first one died in a ditch?” Excellent question. I’m so glad I imagined you asking it. Here’s the thing: people change. Possibly even me. The me of the early 2010s was an unmedicated pantser running entirely on vibes and the storage capacity of a brain that — as we established earlier this week — functions less like a memory palace and more like a memory hoarder’s storage unit. The me of right now is medicated,…