Twisted and sick

It's quite surprising how, after nearly thirty years of marriage, my wife can always come up with new and interesting adjectives to describe me.

   She's talking about my writing of course, but by extension she obviously means me. It's not even as if it's real. All decapitation, evisceration, and mutilation remain firmly within the pages of my work. And as there isn't enough money in the world for her to read my work, I'm free of her gimlet eye and can enjoy myself. I should have finished the last three stories for my compilation and plan to upload the lot in a week or so when I can find somewhere to do it.

   I was thinking of either CreateSpace or smashwords. From what I hear Kindle Direct retains rights to an author's work until about fifty years or so after their death. I'll have to check up on that but it seemes a bit constricting.

   While I'm looking that up tonight, I have to discover how much intestine there is in a human body. I maintain that it's about thirty feet. These facts are important if one is to retain any reality in one's writing. Looking over my shoulder, my wife groaned and offered to settle the question with a carving knife. But I'll just look it up - it wont hurt so much.