And then there was none.
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!”
When the man approached, he wondered what they stood over; why they slapped a dusty old plank against the tree. Bored maybe, or curious; children always were.
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. Judging by the pipes he showed me, this has been happening for months, and the previous occupant never noticed. I was clued-in by wet garbage bags and the fact that the bottom of the sink cabinet was warped crazily. Well, I guess it’s good I found it before things got really bad. I just hope the guy comes back tomorrow so I can actually use my kitchen sink.
Yikes! Move from one apartment to another, and suddenly things just go to hell. I’ve managed (barely) to keep up with Rabbit Rue, but all my other activities have seemed to suffer. And then of course, they had to release the end of Harry Potter, and my weekend was pretty much shot.