The Human Race Is Doomed

So I was at the store today, as one occasionally is. The total came to $80.10, and having just been to the bank, I handed the cashier a hundred dollar bill and a dime. She typed it into the cash register wrong, so she had to figure out the change herself.

Except she couldn't do it.

No, really. She had to call over her supervisor to help her do the math. And to make it better, the supervisor studied the situation for a moment and then pulled out her cell phone to use the calculator feature. Granted, I think they were both a bit thrown off by trying to work backwards from whatever the cashier had accidentally typed in, but still. The second time I told them that the correct change was a twenty, the supervisor assured the cashier that I was right and we all got to move on.

Any society in which two supposedly-functional adults cannot subtract $80.10 from $100.10 and get $20 does not deserve to survive. The aliens can invade any time now.

Done!

I have tweaked the last beta-suggested tweak, pulled the last tape flag. ...And The Kitchen Sink is officially done!


For now, of course. I know better by now than to say a novel is ever truly done. But it is time for me to set it aside and move on to the next thing.

For the record, that was three months for the first draft, and another three months for revisions (adding scenes, de-bracketing, beta-reading). That latter more represents a lot of waiting and flailing about than the actual amount of work involved; the first draft is probably about a 95% match to the for-now-final. 86,438 words, for those who are counting. I am happy with it. And this proves I can turn out a solid novel in six months -- probably less if I had to.

I need a "Woot!" userpic. Woot!

Make that...

...86,439.

Done? What's that?