I finally cracked 10,000 words, one full day behind schedule. Watch for me to be typing furiously this weekend, folks. I have a curve to get ahead of. Anyway, here’s an odd chunk of text I churned out tonight.

I also devoutly wish that upstart big-city tyrants-to-be would consider how much work it takes to rule an entire planet with an iron fist. If only they’d asked me, I could have saved them a great amount of trouble. Take it from me, folks. I have experience in this sort of thing. Just one example: You have to delegate authority. No, really. It’s been tried the other way and no matter how well you schedule your time you spend every waking minute making stupid, petty decisions. All day. Every day. And well into the night, most nights. So the delegating is good, but then you have another problem. Every person you give authority to is a potential usurper.

Remember, you’re dealing with a tyrancy. (Don’t tell me there’s no such word. I’ve earned the right to make one up if I damned well please.) Because you’re essentially a glorified thug, you have to hire thugs as your lieutenants. Thugs, by definition not gifted with an overabundance of imagination, are still bright enough to envision being the Head Thug In Charge. If they’re not that bright, why are you putting them into positions of authority?

Are you starting to see the problem yet? Good. I hope you keep this in mind if you’re ever faced with the task of subjugating a large population and ruling over it for any serious length of time.

Before you wax rhapsodic about how being the Head Thug In Charge would mean always getting to do whatever you want, think about the fact that there are petty and not so petty thugs all gunning for your job, all the time. And don’t forget all those decisions that have to be made. You can’t delegate all of it, or you’ll find that you’re no longer in charge, very quickly.

Are you still thinking about a life of tyranny? Then remember that you will be utterly and completely alone in the world. Yes, you’ll have your harem (or stable if you prefer) and your henchbeings and vast wealth and power… but not one friend. None. Everyone is either a threat to you or a threat to someone near you. If your friend is innocent, they will be eliminated by the competition, and no matter the consequences. If your friend isn’t innocent, well, can you completely trust them?

Love? Forget about it. A full thirty five percent of dead tyrants met their end in the bedchamber, and at least half of those fatalities were by the hand of the tyrant’s supposedly devoted spouse. I’m not even going to argue this point further.

So that’s what you have to look forward to. Hard work, paranoia, almost no time to yourself, and no meaningful relationships. Tyranny sucks. Take my word for it.

In lieu of actual content, will you accept a slice of today’s novel writing efforts?

“I don’t know why you feel the need to shop for me as well, my dear,” Andrew complained. His arms were already draped with a variety of shirts, and now Tara was browsing a selection of men’s slacks.

“It should be obvious, love. I simply refuse to spend my vacation with a man who looks like he should be conducting funeral services.”

“I do not!”

She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“I’m over two thousand years old, and you think I can’t dress myself?”

Silence, punctuated by the clacking of hangers as she made her way through the rack, was all the answer he received.

“Fine, I can find an outfit that isn’t done entirely in black. But let me choose my own, all right?”

A disdainful sniff greeted that request. Tara pulled a pair of slacks off the rack and held it up against the bundle of shirts Andrew carried, shook her head and replaced the unworthy selection.

He sighed. “It’s your vacation, dear. But some day you and I are going to have a talk. You know full well how I feel about being bullied.”

“I’m not bullying you. I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to do things exactly the way I want for the first time since I met you.”

To that, he had no reply.