I’m not writing from a true underground bunker. It’s more like the boiler room of Mapping the Edge Headquarters. It was the only door security never locks. The gang and I have been in heated contract negotiations over the past three months, and I think we’ve reached an agreement. I agree to sign a blank contract and they agree to fill it in afterwards.
Before I begin writing again in an official capacity, and become hamstrung by Mapping the Edge’s 71 pages of corporate rules and regulations, I feel compelled to write for myself. I’ve got a new series planned and it has indications of going dark, so dark that it may need to go on another site or be posted with some form of restricted access. Or I may post a watered down version here to make Upper Management happy, then give you a link to the unedited version. Regardless, expect weekly inputs, starting by next weekend.
I’m wiping off moisture on the screen with my sleeve, but it’s not helping. The steam is excessive in here, almost like heavy mist. That’s what I get for writing from a boiler room and not an underground bunker.
Maybe that’s another contract stipulation I should include. I want my new office to be the Mapping the Edge underground bunker, not that broom closet of an office I had before. I didn’t have space to turn around in there. Literally, I had to back out of the room to leave. I could stretch out my arms and touch three of the four walls. Every time I inserted the key, I jabbed a hole in the back wall.
Anyway, just wanted to say I’m back. It’s been a long three months without you guys. Talk to you in a week. Then talk to you again seven days after that, and seven days after that, and seven … hopefully you recognize a pattern. You’re smart like that. That’s why you read Mapping the Edge.
Or did reading Mapping the Edge come first?