Hexagonagall.
Oh, hey, I kinda lost the conceit on the last one, didn’t I. Shoulda been something like Heptanomicon, instead of an ansible quote.
Anyway. —The kid’s now had a thirteenth birthday, which has me feeling the passage of time in all kinds of ways; the first draft of no. 39 proceeds apace, on track to finish on time, if not necessarily under budget (there’s already one scene that went on for over 1,800 words because it took me a while to figure out what it was trying to do, so that’s gonna need to be completely restaged on the rewrite, and no, it’s not the one with the adraxone monologue). —But it’s nothing we can’t handle.
Click here, then, for the cover reveal (or here, for the underlying image): the VERN, Chilli’s unofficial headquarters on Southeast Belmont, as fine a Tower as he’s ever likely to fall from. —The real name of the joint is Hanigan’s Tavern, but it’s been called the Vern by just about everybody ever since the night somebody parked a tall truck a little too close. Or, at least, that used to be the real name: couple of years ago a couple of entrepreneurs added this dive to their portfolio of reclaimed watering holes, remaking the interior with tchotchkes salvaged from other dead bars, redoing the menu and the liquor shelf, and renaming the new joint officially as the Vern, which seems to miss several important points all at once.
In the meanwhile, my coffee cup’s (once more) almost empty, which means the cat asleep on my lap is about to be rudely awakened (again), and I’ve yet to hit today’s word count. Happy November, y’all.
—posted 895 days ago
(Originally posted on the Patreon.)
