This is what spooky looks like.... In case you were wondering.
I have been working on writing a book. Like a real one. With words and pages and everything. Maybe even some commas. I know, I'm impressed too. It's a murder [slash] mystery [slash] one day you'll read it and you'll figure the label type shit out for yourself type of book. If it never gets published, I'll probably end up posting it on this blog. I just finished the second to the last chapter and freaked myself out. Like seriously. Freaked. Myself. The. Hell. Out. Here's the thing
I wrote it. I thought it up. I know it isn't true. Yet, I'm still scared. I think I might be balancing the frightening against the "this must be pretty good if I can scare myself". Then again..... I'm easily scared like a bunny a sissy. I want my friend, Cath, to read it but, I need her to read them in order. The problem is I don't write them in order. I write chapters as they come to me. The epilogue was the second thing I wrote. I had my 59 year old mother read and it scared her. That doesn't prove much. Now the dogs are barking and I won't go check because my fictional character might be out there and he might pretend kill me.
Also, no one in Alaska reads my blog. Apparently.
Right then. I'm done talking.
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