Day 9. 95 pages, 43,751 words.
Bear with me, I just got the bus home and neglected to write a blog post while doing so, since nothing very much happened today. A whole lot of sweatin’ and that’s about it. Bought some groceries. I watered the garden and will try to remember the rest before bed.
In case this fascinating laundry list of tasks hasn’t tipped you off yet, I am living the bachelor life for another few days, as the girls have gone to the kesämökki once again for an extended weekend of wool-dyeing. Leaving me to sleep at stupid hours and eat at even stupider hours.
Gonna get on with some writing as soon as I get my equilibrium back. Stay tuned.
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.
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