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The ten thousand things and the one true only.

by Kip Manley

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Duoteny.

The momentum, I think, is picking up; enough solutions have presented themselves that I have the feel in my hand again, I know the shapes of the scenes to come, and can begin to plot out the logistics to make them come about, and having that sort of work for the one part of the brain to chew on makes it easier for the other part to delight in dialogue. No promises but soon, but. Soon.

And then there’ll only be one to go. —If you hold any truck at all with a classical five-act structure, well, here we almost are, at the highest turning point of the whole megillah, the crisis that usually crashes in the third act (we only had the budget and the time for four seasons, we’re making do), and after this only the downslope of the falling action, faster, much faster, until they never let us out ten blocks later, and the catastrophe (whether eu-, or mal-), and (of course) the epilegomenon, and a dinner of fish. —That this peak may well seem muted, dulled, deflated when we get to it: well. I should maybe not spoil things with anticipatory defenses. Let’s get there, first, and see what we might see.

But: as we climb for just a little further, look: the next cover.


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