Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Yes, my husband is Sam Kage, who I’m sure you’ve read about. He’s a very private person and doesn’t share much about his homelife. He’s protective of his husband, me, and our two kids. I’m the same, but I also know how important it is to remember passing moments in time so I can recall them when I’m old and gray. And catching up with old friends should always be this fun
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED…
Let me start by saying if I was good at math, I probably would have been a construction engineer. That always sounded really interesting.
In school, my teachers would always say, “but you really seemed to have a grasp of the material in the homework”. That’s because my sister Melissa did it. Me and math parted ways when I was in the third grade, with multiplication and division, and it was never the same after that. Also, there was tracking in schools, a hundred years ago when I went, and because of math, I didn’t get to do all the fun things my sister did in high school in her AP English classes.
Later, in college, I barely made it out, because I needed one more math credit… and it was Geometry or Statistics. Can you imagine? That’s like the devil or the deep blue sea? Neither option was great. And really, Geometry, are you kidding? I nearly died laughing. I got a C- in statistics and graduated. I thought, once I was out, that this would be the final curtain for me and math. I was so naïve then.
When you’re a writer, there’s this fun thing called “plot math”. Over the years, many of my editors have said, “wait, what?” And so, because of that, when I was ready to publish my newsletter ficlets, I had to examine what I had done with the ages of Sam, Jory, Kola and Hannah as well as all the people in their orbit. In figuring out all their birthdays—which my husband was horrified I didn’t know when he was creating a spreadsheet—I figured out where it all went completely off the rails. And, yes, of course, I knew birthdays…just not the attached year that went with it. Now, as you read these, know that all ages are correct within these volumes. It took some time, but I’ve got it. Math is static, did you all know? So once I figured it out, I never have to do it again. I finally found something I like about it.
When I republish the books in the A Matter of Time series, there will be adjustments there that I’m excited about, but know, now, that my entire timeline is finally, mathematically, correct. It only took seventeen years. Just don’t get crazy and look at ALL my books. My goodness…
HE SAID, HE SAID VOLUME 1
Hello all, Jory Harcourt here. Back in 2017, I started writing a newsletter. Why? Many reasons. As a keepsake, to vent, to talk about my wonderful kids as well as to remember special moments and memories. Some entries might sound like silly ramblings or slice-of-life events with my favorite people—family, friends and blasts-from-the-past. But they were important to me or to those around me.
Yes, my husband is Sam Kage, who I’m sure you’ve read about. He’s a very private person and doesn’t share much about his homelife. He’s protective of his husband, me, and our two kids. I’m the same, but I also know how important it is to remember passing moments in time so I can recall them when I’m old and gray. And catching up with old friends should always be this fun.
JULY 2017
“Okay-okay,” I said, starting over, inhaling deeply before reading what I wrote. “Here’s what I’m gonna say: Hi, all, my name’s Jory Harcourt. I’m married, I have two kids, and I’m the part owner of a graphic design company and I’ve been asked to––”
“Why do you sound so perky?” Sam Kage, the love of my life, said from the couch where he was flipping through channels waiting for one of the qualifying games for the World Cup to come on. He’d explained it, something about in the four years leading up to the next one that teams from all over the world competed to see who got to be in it, but I’d stopped listening. What was nice was that my kids were upstairs, one in his room playing Call of Duty with friends across town, the other in her room with four of her best friends plotting God knew what. Everyone safe under one roof was a blessing I never took for granted.
“I want people to know I’m upbeat,” I answered him.
“Are you talking to them?”
“No, they’ll be reading this.”
“Then how will they know what you sound like?”
“It’s tone, Sam.”
“Tone in words on a page?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said like I was nuts. “Just don’t sound fake.”
“What sounds fake?”
“All that stuff about who you are.” He yawned, stretching out, sliding farther down, looking very warm and inviting from where I was.
I jolted, ready to move, to go drape myself over him, but I stayed where I was because this had to get done. “Okay, so I’ll just say I’m a love god, then.”
“That would make more sense,” he said, carding his fingers through his hair. There were colors that caught the light: copper, gold––