Two thousand eight hundred years since Aristotle’s Poetics prescribed the rules for Greek tragedy fiction conventions continue to bend to its rules. Greek tragedy is to fiction what a catapult is to the antiballistic missile, the steam engine to the space shuttle, the carrier pigeon to the iPhone, a papyrus scroll to the Internet. Time had forgotten Aristotle’s structure, beginning, middle, end, resolution, until patriarchal constraints enslaving story. Time (plot’s purpose) should have frayed the knot. Although the umbilical cord withered and fell off the writer remains tethered. Although fiction is burdened with Aristotle’s dictum for Tragedy if ever he had laid eyes on his bastard child he would disavow paternity.