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27Nov2018 2030: Sorry Not Sorry

On November 26th, 2018, at 10:44 PM, I typed the final words of A Beacon of the Hope. It is a work I have variously described as deeply stupid and a blade between the ribs of literature. Now you know why. The novel maintained its form throughout the year -- I don't write something without knowing how it ends -- and a fifty-thousand word neurotoxin is exactly what I had in mind.

Actually it ended up being 66009 words, so: nice.

As the end approached I began to feel some regret for what was about to happen. My base assumption is that nobody reads this site, especially after a year of book chapters, but if somebody does read this site that somebody is probably a personal friend. It's the sudden sharp regret a movie villain expresses when he realizes his dastardly plan for the Earth's destruction will also kill his cat.

If you've followed me this far, know that I am almost sorry. I executed my vision and you got caught up in it. I crafted a horrible terrible thing and threw it out into the void hoping no Patient Zero would ever stumble across it (but hoping that it would cause a plague). I may someday go to a vanity press and print one lovely leather-bound copy to sneak into an unsuspecting library. Would that be too cruel?