In the realm of things that are totally are-you-freaking-kidding-me ridiculous: last night, I officially hit my goal of writing 100,000 words for Seven Sons. There was no fanfare associated with this, nobody standing there and cheering or popping champagne bottles, but it was an event for me nonetheless.
The threshold was crossed on the following sentence: A few lies would set them back on their way just as easily as a blade, but the death would only mean questions later.