Wait, what’s that? Something was completed?
Suspend disbelief, because Farnham actually delivered to us his finished first draft of…Book #4.
Why are we calling it book #4? Because this isn’t the ending we were promised. 124,692 words, and there is still another book to bring us to conclusion. And there is no mention of the titular technology, Plasma Rain. Beggars can’t be choosers at this point, so we’ll look on the bright side: at least we know what to title book #5!
We know what you’re thinking: It’s going to go on forever, right? This bleeding saga is perpetual, and we, the poor readers you SAY you adore will have to suffer through another two and a half years, only to be TEASED with a conclusion.
Are we right?
Let us put it this way: writers are awful, terrible people. They lounge with a grotesque sense of entitlement, deigning occasionally to contribute something interesting. Levels of inebriation bordering on “clinical” render them invulnerable to physical torture, and because there is so little gray matter left, there are few moral or empathetic levers we can throw. In short, we hate them. Also, we kind of love them. It’s a hate/love thing that we’re still reconciling. Don’t judge us.
Needless to say, a first draft isn’t nearly a finished work. We need beta readers now who’ll slay that ego-monster that is our only client. We’re looking for that skin flaying, pride-obliterating critique that would make a war correspondent turn callow. We know you’re out there. Don’t be shy.
Any who’d like to fire the first shots across the bow can find the raw manuscript here. Seriously, be brutal. Please. He deserves it. And if you have something you’d like to say, but you’re thinking, No, he’s a human being. I can’t say that.
Nope. He isn’t. He’s a shiftless layabout that has kept a dedicated audience in cruel suspense for a rat’s age. He should be beaten, actually. And then force fed all of the lyrics to America’s most popular songs for the last decade. It’s just and fair.
Looking forward to your thoughts!