My husband and I exist in some kind of weird electrical black hole. The man can put out streetlights like no one I’ve ever met. We just drive down the road, and at least one blinks out as we go under. This happens with enough regularity not to be coincidence and has for years and years—ever since I’ve known him.
He can’t buy electronics, like sound systems or TVs. He does the research and picks out what he wants, but I have to actually make the purchase. We learned that lesson after returning brand new component after component that refused to work for no known reason. Even his car when we were in college. The electronic dashboard stopped working one day, which made for guessing speed and how much gas was left an exhilarating game. And the brand new one he bought right from the dealer to replace it when he graduated? The windshield wipers refused to work during the first big downpour after he got it. I buy all the cars now, too.
What my mis-adventures taught me is to back up, all the time, every night. That, and the time I accidentally hit “replace” and saved the wrong file, losing the last twenty thousand words of the manuscript I just finished, but that’s another story. I back up to an external hard drive with Time Machine and use a program to save from my laptop to the desktop PC (still pretty much fried and only used for browsing and playing games) and an online location. Every night, before I go to bed, I copy my “Stories” file to a flash drive. That clammy, cold sweat, hot flash, stomach-tumbling, nausea-inducing feeling of losing hours, months, years of work is nothing I ever want to experience again, so the paranoia and extra effort is worth it.
Do you have a nightmare story of losing important files?
Demon-slayer Conor O’Shea is about to engage in the most dangerous encounter of his life—facing the woman he scorned.
“Stay here,” Conor told her. “Don’t move, no matter what you see. No matter what happens, Merry. Stay right here.”
He waited until she nodded her assent before he turned. The woman hissed, and his shoulders rolled as he took a step toward her. Merry’s eyes grew round when long-bladed weapons appeared in his hands.
“Wraith,” the woman snarled, lowering herself into a half-crouch.
The wicked blades twisted in his hands to point in her direction. He took another step toward the redhead, unnaturally swift but pure and beautiful in his power.
“Go now,” he said in a quiet, even tone. “And I’ll let you live one more day."
The woman’s attention left him for an instant to settle on Merry, her eyes narrowing with speculation. A slow, feline smile curved her red lips.
“You think you can protect her,” she purred. “How sweet. I’m going to find out if she is as delicious as she smells after I’m done with you.
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