Today’s weblog is below. It will tell you most of what you need to know, which saves me from typing it up… very helpful right now, for reasons explained in the video.
So, yes, it would seem that the little shop of horrors has struck again. I’m beginning to believe that my characters have somehow turned themselves into cooking utensils and planted themselves here in the shop in order to seek their revenge on me for all of the terrible things I’ve done to them. Murderous flying knives, BBQ booby-traps, and now giant pot ambushes? Not cool guys. Ben and Jesse have assured me they have nothing to do with it, but I’m not entirely convinced. But more on that later. Below is a picture of the bruise forming on my poor little squashed hand. It doesn’t look too bad, but that’s because I took the picture quickly, before it could really form.
Finally, I will leave you with just a tiny snippet of Chapter 3 for the night. I don’t know why I like this little quote so much, but I do, and can’t help wanting to share it with you.
No matter how hard I try, how much I want to believe, it never works. They never come back to me. I can see them plain as day, but something’s always missing. Father’s breath warming my neck, the weight and heat of Momma’s hand, the life radiating off of my father, prickling the hair on my back with excitement. I’ll never get that back. The memories, they’re just like mirages. False hope to a walking dead man.