The Story I Never Wrote

I almost wrote a novel in my twenties. The idea came to me in one long dream I had while sick with a kidney infection. (Note: fevers are great for giving ideas. Margaret Mitchell purportedly wrote Gone with the Wind while out with the flu.) I could only remember snippets, but the bare bones of the dream became this:

• The fall of the US began with attacks on universities by blue-collar mobs fronted by mysterious benefactors ("Blue-Collar Wars," 2012-2015)
• The Blue-Collar Wars developed into factional fighting. Occasionally, a faction would develop or steal weapons, and much burning and looting occurred, so there's a breakdown of infrastructure, and sone limited radioactivity in places.
• Because infrastructures, industries, and social structures have been disrupted, the wars (more a free-for-all) eventually splinter the US into several chaotic states.
• The Religious Right and the White Supremacy Movement have melded into the Free White State, which takes up much of the Pacific Northwest. Some "states" have become distrustful and insular. Some states with severe shortages of basic necessities have become feral lands. The desert areas are said to be where people go when they wouldn't be allowed to live anywhere else*.
• The protagonist was a young assistant professor of Anthropology** who was traumatized in the attack on her university, the first attack of the Blue-Collar Wars. Shell-shocked and having just lost her parents to murder six months before,  she decides the only thing she has to live for is research, so she clears out her bank account, outfits herself, and leaves campus even as the buildings burn. (An interesting note: One item in her safety deposit box is a passport, birth certificate, and social security card under another name).
• The protagonist wanders around, researching emerging urban legends. She's hypothesized that the tales would resemble "Mad Max meets King Arthur", which they do for the most part. However, there's another thread she keeps hearing, from people who were shown kindness from people of compassion and love, who seemed to shine just a little when you looked just right ...

Yes, elves. Not in the Keebler variety, and less tight-assed than the Tolkien variety, but perhaps if some of them didn't sail to the west because they liked humans too much ...

Don't worry, more happens.

Yes, there was a plot -- in my head. There were several scenes written, mostly about a relationship from meet-dire emergency to pledging undying love. Those are still the fun ones to write, especially if there's awkwardness around the whole thing. Only about five people have read any of it; one of my friends nicknamed the idea "Dirty Commie Gypsy Elves in the Desert", and I've called it that, rather sardonically, ever since.

I never wrote this story. I felt overwhelmed by the potential of plot holes. I didn't know enough about living off the land, hydroponics and aquaponics, or desert climate to describe the habitats of the Folk. I wasn't sure whether the forces outlined above would be enough to topple the US (now I'm afraid that they are). 

Most of all, I didn't think my ideas were worthy of exploring. 

And I didn't write a novel for almost 30 more years.

Think of the time I wasted.

**********

* Yeah, I know, Mad Max. The Postman. But it makes sense.

** Not an insertion. I was an undergrad in a foods-related career path.