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For some reason my little story, "Frontiers", has generated more interest than any of the earlier ones. Almost 30,000 more downloads than the previous leader. More Library clicks, more Comments, more letters. More, so far as we can tell, Followers have been generated.
But one category - Votes - is lagging (by a few ballots) behind my very first story, "Winter's Wonderland".
So, be a dear, cast a vote for "Frontiers". Because I have absolutely no interest in reader scores, I don't care whether you decide on a 9 or a 10. Let your guilty, soulless, conscience dictate which lever to pull.
Only two more chapters to go,
The GateKeepers must have fallen asleep. Yes, the unfathomable has happened. The Earth is off its axis and the space-time continuum is rent. (Torn, not leased, you gomers.)
Paige Hawthorne, in full camo, has somehow belly-crawled past enemy lines and is in the Final Ten for Author of the Year, Big Clit Division.
Now there is little doubt that The Authorities will regroup. And little question that I'll finish in the moldy cellar of this little locked-cage deathmatch. But, for my three remaining readers, it's an opportunity to take screen shots before the Big Realignment.
Ah … regard the typical SOL-hater, middle finger poised above the 1 key. He's trembling with eager anticipation and can't wait to debase my latest story, "Frontiers".
Well, lucky you - I've twerked the Voting lever, several chapters earlier than planned, to the ON position.
Have at it boys!
PS Bonus fun - don't Big-Clit vote for me! Twerk-Twerk.
My newest story - a Western called "Frontiers" - is quite the departure from Winter Jennings and modern-day Kansas City. Or is it? Killing is killing, and bad guys are bad guys. And, thank heaven for little girls, sex is sex.
In "Frontiers" I continue to explore mother-son relationships. Why? Because the subject interests me in RL. Like murder, like sex, family ties had to have resonated just as strongly in the Old West as they do today.
Acceding to pleas from a majority of my three remaining readers, I'll post a chapter every three days instead of every other day. They, poor babies, could not read fast enough, simply could not keep up. Lips got tired, I would imagine.
A magnum oater, 16 chapters. Voting to be turned on at the halfway mark.
PS … FWIW, a few hapless voters clicked on my name in the Big Clit jamboree. But, worry not, I'm hopelessly behind. (Not that I pay the slightest attention to reader scores!)
Despite pleas, threats, and resignations from 27 of my 38 editors, I have decided to ignore them. Yes, I'm acceding to the slavering mob, the pitchforked rabble, and the Polar Vortex.
So, today is "Ms. Sloane Presides" day, you 1-bombers. I pulled down the Voting lever, feeling much like the prison official who, sitting in the electric chair to test it for comfort, accidentally pushes the ON button.
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