Welcome to the Inaugural Issue of Unverified, Reader!
I thought we'd kick off this unhinged storytelling experiment with one of my favorite historical troublemakers: Jeanne de Clisson, a.k.a., the Lioness of Brittany. If you don't already love her, give me a couple minutes.
Here's the short version:
It's the 14th century. Jeanne's a noblewoman, respectable and unremarkable - until the French king accuses her husband of treason and has him executed in a public square. No proof, no fair trial, just political chess at its ugliest. Jeanne doesn't have a powerful family to back her up or a royal title to hide behind. So, naturally, she goes full scorched earth.
She sells off every scrap of her family's estate, arms three ships, paints them black, and sails into the English Channel with a loyal crew of cutthroats. For more than a decade, Jeanne de Clisson's black fleet stalks the French navy like a phantom. They'd corner a French nobleman's ship, kill almost everyone on board, and leave a few terrified sailors alive to spread the word: the Lioness of Brittany remembers. And she holds a grudge.
No poetic license here. The legend checks out. I researched her for an upcoming World Herstory episode with the Lawless Ladies podcast, because this is exactly the kind of woman history teachers somehow 'forgot'. Jeanne didn't ask permission. She didn't settle her score politely. She found a ship, made it hers, and let the rumor do the rest.
So what does a medieval pirate queen have to do with my half-finished digital project?
More than you'd think.
A while back, I sunk weeks into building something called The PIVOT Playbook. The idea was solid: a toolkit to help creatives and small business owners navigate big shifts when what they're doing doesn't fit anymore. I mapped out steps, templates, even a bonus section for how to survive when you wake up one day realizing your whole business needs to be burned to the waterline. (Cheery stuff, right?)
It looked polished on paper, but in my gut? It felt dead in the water. I'd outgrown it before it even launched. The voice felt off. The people I wanted to serve didn't need that version of me. And so, in true pirate fashion, I took a deep breath and scuttled the whole thing.
No dramatic blaze of cannons. Just a quiet, slightly embarrassing goodbye to hours and dollars I couldn't get back.
Here's what Jeanne's black fleet taught me, and what that sunken draft reminded me all over again: not every ship is worth saving. Some missions aren't about rescue, they're about revenge.
And sometimes, the best revenge on a bad idea is to toss it overboard before it sinks you, too.
Which brings me to another half-baked gem: my idea for a Pop-Up Pirate event under the Myths & Miles banner.
Picture it - a one-afternoon gathering for curious souls who'd happily spend three hours swapping maritime ghost stories, secret smuggler routes, and scandalous pirate gossip.
We'd toast Jeanne de Clisson and every other feral legend who refused to stay polite. Maybe there'd be a questionable rum cocktail or two. Maybe, we'd all end up singing off-key about sea turtles while we plan our next story-fueled adventure.
But then I remembered what happens when you try to corral a room full of pirates, virtual or otherwise. So for now, that plan's stashed in my treasure chest of half-finished ideas - waiting for the day we're all ready to go rogue together.
So what's the actual lesson here? Besides 'don't mess with a woman who owns three black ships'?
Revenge stories are satisfying because they show us what happens when someone refuses to stay small. Sunk costs, though - they remind us that revenge isn't always loud or bloody. Sometimes it's quiet and internal. It's saying: I'm not dragging this dead thing any further. I'm saving my energy for for something better.
Jeanne didn't just punished the people who betrayed her. She rewrote her own story. She burned the old plan, turned grief into grit, and then sailed too far outside the lines that even her enemies couldn't decide if she was terrifying or brilliant. Probably both.
Same for us. You're going to have drafts, projects, and plans that feel like a good idea, until they don't. You'll pour money, time, and heart into something that fizzles out or never feels true. It's normal. It's human. It's part of the story.
If you're looking for permission to scuttle a half-sunk plan, Jeanne and I say: Light The Match. Let it drown.
There's always another black ship waiting. You can't rewrite your empire if you're still patching the holes in a vessel that's already gone down.
Next week, I'll bring you another tale, another footnote, and maybe a fragment that's still dripping with disaster.
Stay Curious,
Tabitha