Wherein I Attempt to Make the Flisties Cry.
Uuuum. It’s not happening this weekend, peoples. Here’s the deal: this thing’s been my every waking second for over four months now. I care far too much about it to turn in a chapter I’m not happy with to meet a schedule. And I’m not happy yet. It might be a few days before I am. As soon as I am happy, you will have it.
It’s nearly there. But it’s not. And these last three chapters are especially important to me in terms of what they are and what they say. I want to get this right. I want to be done, but I want to get it right, more than I want to be done.
I’m respectfully requesting patience. Please know that I am working very hard behind the scenes, and part of the reason I am being so uncompromising with myself and this story is due to the amazing reception YOU have given this fic. I continue to be completely humbled and dazed by the level of enthusiasm and support you have all lavished upon Blind Spot, and the Dragon behind its blood-spattered curtain.
So, as a token of my gratitude, and to fill the ten minute gap you would ordinarily spend reading this week’s installation, I challenge you all to view the clip beneath the cut and not BAWL like a GIANT GIRL.
Especially you horsey gals on my flist.
Thanks again, guys. I’m doing my damnedest to make the wait worth your while. I'll be as quick as I can.
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