The tale of Rue’s haunt of Tammond Dale is no more. It’s over, damn you, and done. The tale describing an undead lagomorph intent on rending Kyle’s soul has been concluded, and I can only hope I avoided being obvious. Now I must combine the hundreds of separate entries into one giant thing and format it as expected by publishers. I need to print, edit, and refine.
“Hit it again!” they jeered.
Crowded around an ancient willow, the godlings pointed and sneered. “Eww! Gross. Look at it!”
I’ve always wondered just how many “words” makes an average printed page, so I looked it up. Apparently that number is roughly 250, with about thirty lines per page. Assuming the average six-by-nine inch book format and a one inch margin, that seems about right. Unfortunately it also means my page count estimates have been the product of pure fantasy.
Well, half of my kitchen sink is missing, stolen by the maintenance man for my building. Why? Because half the pipes were filthy, rusted amalgamations of leaky steel. My sink leaked, badly. Running any water through it, via dishwasher, or just through the main drains, would result in water dumping all over the storage area underneath.