The Wicked Intrusion of Reality

Nothing ruins a good time quite like the realization that in order to pay rent, utilities, and a growing Taco Bell habit, one must function as a “normal person” and work at whatever job one finds themselves in. Churning out endless pages of nerd fiction and waxing poetic on the virtues of pixie society in the aftermath of the great milkweed famine don’t go very far towards paying the bills. Plus, aside from a handful of perverts that entered “pixie famine” into a search engine and wound up here, it is highly doubtful that anyone much cares one way or the either. I’m wary of you pixie-philes; all dolled up with lacy wings and whatnot, buzzing around poking around in people’s nostrils. Just tone it down there, cupcake.

Back to the issue at hand. The necessity of functioning in life, however poorly and misguided, means that I am unable to produce the wit and insight I would like to, at times convenient for me, and present them here for you to ignore. Just be patient, and I’ll do my very best to let you down easily and with as much mercy as I can muster. Just need to get past some pesky overtime issues at my “real job” so I can get back to focusing on things more interesting.

You might also be interested to know that book three of the von Vorkel saga is coming along quite nicely, and the final phase of the tale, which is book four, promises to be a rollicking tale, the sort of thing your grandchildren will be forced to read for their senior literature project. This is assuming that there are still schools in the distant future, which might be unduly optimistic, but hey, wedging oneself into the niche market of high school fundamental texts is a great way to guarantee immortality.

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