Day 128. 170 pages, 80,242 words.
In the past 24 hours, in case the word count didn’t make it clear, I’ve mostly been writing. Work is steadily picking up and we had a failed attempt at watching more Game of Thrones last night that ended with an excellent game of Munchkin Quest. That game is definitely worth your time and effort if you like the card game.
Off to Jumbo today, to put some of my Ropecon-workshop-earned XP into the task of creating a last-minute Noro Metak costume from basic materials. To be continued.
I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends.
Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages?
I am Hatboy.