I quit reading the exploits of Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny somewhere between #20 and #30 in the series. Wikipedia tells me there are over 100 titles now, which makes me very curious in a lazy sort of way. I honestly can’t imagine the most placid of authors getting that far in the series without kicking the shit out of Benny at least once. Maybe that’s why the series has multiple contributors. Anyway, even with so many new mysteries to their name, I doubt the four intrepid Alden children would have found much meat in solving what happened to an author who quit posting on his blog the very same day his first book launched.
This is somewhat disappointing, especially when you consider that Violet was my first book crush. Alas, such young love often goes unrequited, and we push onward. Still, I will take this opportunity to be childishly vindictive and spoil the mystery just so no future royalties can be made at my expense.
Where was I these past two months? The answer, dear reader, is quite simple: I stepped out into the author superhighway and got creamed by a truck. A truck carrying a locomotive made entirely out of unhappy thoughts.
Depression is something I’ve fought my whole life. The intensity fluctuates dramatically and without warning, but rarely has it hit so hard and stayed so long. Most of my energy and willpower was reassigned to maintaining status quo at the day job and helping Tori with her post-graduation job hunt, leaving precious little for anything other than the basest of activities (in my case, Skyrim). Until I discover the secret of using liquor as a catalyst to convert a tsunami of depression into a literary masterpiece, I don’t have much choice but to ride out the wave and hope the damage isn’t too bad.
I’m hoping the worst of it is behind me for now so I can get back to actually doing things. Barring that, I could do worse than splitting my time between Tamriel and Rune Factory: Tides of Destiny. Yes, my means of self-medication are pretty lame.