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…which makes house-hunting sound much more exciting than it is, but there you are. It can be done.

You just have to begin with some judicious internet stalking –not a lot, just a little, you know. The MLS listing, an aerial view, maybe a google street view if there is one– and then ease carefully into a slow drive-by: a subtle one, so the house senses danger and is unnerved, but not enough to bolt. Then you gather a pack and surround it, run it down, get its throat in your teeth… and decide the roof lines aren’t straight enough, the lot is funny-shaped, and you really do want a fourth bedroom, and let it wander, dazed and bloodied, back to the herd.

*looks at coffee mug*

Um. It’s possible I brewed this a little strong today.

Anyway. This is my life for the last two, and probably the next two, weeks. Trolling real estate listings for something with a new listing number and the right price. Contemplating the virtues of capes vs. colonials. Wondering why there are so many Greek revivals in the ass-end of nowhere Maine, and how much water a basement has to get to warrant channels being built directly into the cement floor to accommodate flow. How much land does Her Dogginess need to roam freely? How far is it from work? How crazy are the taxes?

Oh. And also, you know, working, sleeping, and somewhere in the middle of all this, writing. Because I’m sitting pretty at 90K, I have two big scenes to stitch together and about two more two write; one disastrous and bloody and desperate, and then some nice falling action I’m not 100% sure about yet.

Eeep.

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