In the soft, mumbling fog, night swells and grows. Distant glowing balls of light appear in the mist, forlorn and empty. All is quiet, save the drone of cars up on the highway hissing urgency. Angry, flustered, they race home through the soup of oncoming headlights. Their taillights blaze a growling red as they brake.
It is not even 5 o'clock and it it night. This is actually throwing me off this year. No fair! The day isn't over yet! I'm not done! But I guess it is. It is time for night operations, candles and lanterns fighting back the night.
Little by little stuff gets done. Repairs on the barn continues. I have to hit home depot again for more planking. Always more planking. Once that's done I can put Gen on stands and switch to cutting away the rusted metal and replace it with new.
Tonight I will resubmit Shard's Thugs to double dragon press. If there has ever been a better example of the prancing poodle dance that publishers make writers go through then humanity is doomed. I suspect they don't realize that they're unleashing their pent up feelings of inadequacies on unsuspecting wordsmiths.
But bit by bit it's getting done.
Bit by bit.
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