One Hundred Thousand is a lot of anything. It’s enough cash to buy a Porsche, put a down payment on a house, or buy enough ammunition for a while. It was for many decades the senior-citizen age for automobiles, 100,000 miles, unless you owned a Volvo, which are like some Middle Earth race invented by Tolkein: the Volvos are born elderly but never die.

100,000 words is about the size of a short novel or nonfiction book (or a Neal Stephenson short story).

Over the weekend, the content of passed 100,000 words.

That’s in under two months. At this rate we could be somewhere in between War and Peace (560,000 words) and Atlas Shrugged (645,000) by year’s end. Well, in size, anyway.

This entry was posted in Administrivia on by Hognose.

About Hognose

Former Special Forces 11B2S, later 18B, weapons man. (Also served in intelligence and operations jobs in SF).