When I first conceived the idea of a character arrested for chronocide, or the act of killing time, I was relatively new to my writing journey. I had the idea that a good idea sufficed, and the rest was a combination of craft and brutal workshopping. I didn’t realize that writing fiction was more akin to discovering one’s own Dorian Gray portrait in the attic of one’s brain. Not that I suppose everyone’s journey is like that, given the varying depths of popular and literary fiction.   But my journey began with a Miranda who was too much like Alice…