I Know What I Like Chapter 1: Interrogation

There is an art to a proper beating. Damaging enough to hurt, not so damaging that it kills the victim. The parade of padded knuckles and body blows that can leave a victim brutalized without giving a hint of how badly they’ve been beaten. The nose unbroken, the body free of bruises, the skin not contused. The art of the abusive husband. The art of the secret bully. The art of the police officer. The sequence practiced by those who must maintain an image of moral fortitude, in spite of all their deeds. If a martial art was named for that which inspired it, then surely this panoply of beatings and soul-breaking torment would be called the Upright Constable Style.

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Chapter 9: Second Prize, Two Weeks in Philadelphia

The child looked up at her mother, and her grandmother stood further still behind. All three shared hair of the deepest black but few other things connected them, save for their mien of iron and blood. They were brutal women and heartless. And yet I saw on the girl’s cheek a single tear trailing down, a trace of salt, regret for what she had to do, for she would taste mortality but know all along that it was temporary.

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Temporary schedule change

To deal with a bit of slowdown, I’m shifting my schedule; Tuesdays are novellas, four chapters a month, Sundays are continuations of the main novel. If I have good progress on the next novel, I might move back to the previous schedule; I’m dealing with the usual issues, simple straightforward combination of ‘day job’, ‘loved ones need attention’, and ‘does anyone care about what I’m writing’, the usual stuff. A big part is just to make sure that I have a constant stream of entertainment to keep people involved, so I don’t vanish like I kind of did last year!